The eyes of all on board were naturally turned towards the stranger. As yet, however, it was difficult to say whether or not she was gaining on them. Norah saw that her father and his mates were anxious on the subject, but, being sure that they were acting for the best, restrained her own feelings—yet, as may be supposed, she could not help reflecting what might be her and her father’s fate should the stranger prove to be an enemy and capture them. She had often heard of the cruelties to which the prisoners of privateers were exposed, and she was well aware of her father’s hatred to the system, although privateering was generally allowed to be honourable and lawful. The stranger, though an enemy, might be a king’s ship; and, if so, she might hope to receive courteous treatment from the French officers. Though she had resolved not to ask questions, she listened to her father’s and Owen’s opinions as to the character of the stranger. At noon, which soon arrived, the captain and his mates came on the poop to take an observation in order to ascertain the ship’s position. They had before this run some way to the northward of the latitude of Lisbon.
“Sure, it’s enough to provoke a saint,” exclaimed Gerald, who was accustomed to express himself somewhat vehemently; “if it hadn’t been for that fellow out there we should have been half across the Bay of Biscay by this time or to-morrow. I only hope, if he comes up with us, that we’ll be after giving him a good drubbing; it will serve him right if we send him to the bottom.”
“What, do you think our father intends to fight the strange ship, should she prove to be an enemy?” asked Norah, with some natural trepidation in her voice.
“I’m sure we’re not going to be taken, and lose the ship and our cargo, and be made prisoners and ruined without having a fight for it,” answered Gerald, “especially as Owen says that he feels pretty sure she is a privateer. Why he thinks so, I can’t quite make out, except that her masts rake more than those of most men-of-war and her sails are cut somewhat differently—it is impossible to be certain.”
“Grant Heaven that, if there is a fight, our father and you and Owen may be preserved!” murmured Norah.
“They wouldn’t fight without a good hope of success—but we must run our chance,” said Gerald, laughing; “but, you know, we shall stow you down in the hold among the cargo safe enough.”
“Oh no, no! I hope if there is a fight that I may be allowed to remain on deck, or at least in the cabin, where I may be ready to help any who are hurt,” exclaimed Norah.
“That would never do,” answered Gerald; “you might be hit as well as anybody else, and you wouldn’t like to have a leg or an arm shot off.”
Poor Norah shuddered at the thoughtless remark of her brother. Gerald observed the expression of her countenance.
“I didn’t intend to frighten you,” he said; “I hope that none of us will be hurt—only of course there’s a risk, and we must save you from being exposed to it. We shall only make a running fight of it, and try to knock away some of the enemy’s spars and prevent her from following us. If she were to come up with us, she is so much bigger than we are, and so much more heavily armed, with probably six times as many hands, that we should have no chance in a broadside fight.”