Liffy ahoy!
Day after day went by. Though we occasionally saw a sail, we kept out of her way.
At length, one morning the look-out shouted, “A sail on the starboard quarter!”
We were just then setting royals, which we did not carry at night. We watched the stranger. “She has borne up in chase,” cried La Touche, who had gone aloft.
Dubois immediately ordered the brig to be kept before the wind, and studding-sails to be set on either side. The wind freshened, and away we flew before it. The brig being lightly laden, it was her best point of sailing, as I had observed. It took us out of our course, however. I sincerely hoped that the wind would increase, and that it should carry away some of our spars, and thus enable our pursuer to come up with us, for I took it for granted that she was English. The Frenchmen watched her eagerly, for we could see her topsails from the deck.
“Do you think we shall get away from her?” I asked La Touche in an indifferent tone, as if it were a matter of no consequence to me.
“I hope so,” he replied. “This brig is a regular little fly-away, and your frigates are not generally fast sailers.”
“But why do you think she is one of our frigates?” I asked. “She may be French after all, and you may be running away from a friend.”
“I think she is English, because none of our cruisers are likely to be hereabouts at present,” he answered; and then, as if he had said something without thought, correcting himself, he added, “Of course she may be French; but we think it safest to keep out of the way of all men-of-war.”
The topsails of the stranger rose gradually above the horizon; she was evidently a large vessel—a frigate, if not a line-of-battle ship. The little brig flew on gaily, as if feeling as eager to get away as were those on board.