Land was still visible, blue and indistinct, but many fears were naturally entertained lest the slaver, which had already given them so much trouble, should have got out of the river with her living cargo, and by keeping either way along shore, have escaped them. For some minutes the wind entirely failed, and curses loud and deep were uttered at their ill luck, when, as if to rebuke them for their discontent, the fine fresh sea-breeze set in, and, with a flowing sheet, carried them gayly along.
Every eye was employed in looking out for the slaver, for they could not suppose she would have lost the opportunity of getting out during their absence. They were not kept long in suspense.
“A sail on the starboard bow,” cried the look-out from the masthead.
“What is she like?” asked the first lieutenant.
“A schooner, sir. The slaver, sir, as we chased afore,” answered the seaman, his anxiety that she should be so making him fancy he could not be mistaken.
“The fellow must have sharp eyes indeed to know her at this distance,” muttered the lieutenant to himself with a smile; “however, I suppose he’s right. We must not, though, be chasing the wrong craft while the enemy is escaping. Which way is she standing?” he asked.
“To the southward, sir, with every stitch of canvas she can carry,” was the answer.
The officer made the proper official report to the captain.
“We must be after her at all events,” said Captain Staunton. “Haul up, Mr Collins, in chase. Send Mr Stevenson away in the barge to watch the mouth of the river.”
The brig was forthwith brought to the wind, the barge in a very short space of time was launched and manned with a stout crew well-armed and provisioned, and she shoved off to perform her duty, while the “Sylph” followed the strange sail. The man-of-war had evidently an advantage over the stranger, for while the sea-breeze in the offing blew fresh and steady, in-shore it was light and variable.