Soon after, some catspaws began to play across the water.
“Hurrah! we shall get the breeze before the stranger feels it,” cried Nettleship.
Now the canvas began to bulge out; now it again dropped. The royals and topgallant sails filled, and the frigate moved slowly through the water. Her speed soon increased, however, as the breeze freshened. At length we could see the stranger from the decks, for, as she still lay becalmed, we were quickly coming up with her. Nettleship again went aloft, and I followed him.
“What do you think of her?” I asked.
“She’s Spanish or French; I’m pretty certain of that. A flush-decked ship, probably carrying twenty to six-and-twenty guns.”
“If she can’t escape, will she fight, do you think?” I inquired.
“If her captain has any pluck in him, he may hope to knock away some of our spars, though he can’t expect to take us,” he said.
When we again came below, and Nettleship made his report, the drum beat to quarters. Every stitch of canvas we could carry had been set, below and aloft. We were carrying down the breeze as we glided on towards the stranger. She also made all sail, though she still lay becalmed; but every moment we expected to see her canvas blow out, when, if she was a fast vessel, she might lead us a long chase before we could come up to her. As our object was to get down to Barbadoes with all speed, the captain might consider it his duty to let her go, rather than be led out of his course. As we approached, our bow-chasers were got ready, to send her an unmistakeable message that she must strike, or run for it. Hitherto she had shown no colours. Presently the French ensign was run up at her peak. Immediately afterwards a flash issued from her stern, and a shot came bounding over the water towards us; but we were not yet within range.
“That’s a long gun,” observed Nettleship. “If she keeps ahead, she may do us some damage with it before we get alongside of her.”
“Give her the starboard bow gun, Mr Saunders,” cried the captain.