The Champion, after rounding Port Morant, stood to the northward towards Saint Jago de Cuba, and chased several vessels, which got away from her, not perhaps very much to Lieutenant Foley’s disappointment. He even ventured, when dining with the commander, to speak of the importance of visiting the northern coast of Jamaica, in case the slaves should really, as was supposed possible, be contemplating an insurrection. The commander, who did not imagine that such a thing was likely, was, however, bent on looking out for enemies of a size which he might hope to capture. He was heartily joined by Lieutenant Tarwig, who, if he did not care much for honour and glory, was at all events anxious to obtain a good lump of prize-money, with which he might set up housekeeping with Mrs Tarwig, whenever he had persuaded some lovely damsel to share his fortunes. The master and the other officers were very much of his way of thinking.
“A sail on the weather-beam, sir,” said Gerald, entering the cabin where the commander, the second lieutenant, the purser, and two midshipmen were his guests at dinner.
“Empty your glasses, gentlemen,” said the commander hurriedly, rising and running up the companion-ladder on deck. “What is she like?” he shouted to the look-out on the mast-head.
“A ship, sir, going free, and standing to the eastward,” was the answer.
“Make all sail, Mr Tarwig; we shall be up to her before dark, and ascertain what she is. Haul up a couple of points—she can’t escape between us and the land.”
The breeze was fresh, and the stranger continued on her former course, either not having discovered the corvette or not being desirous of avoiding her. Beyond her was seen the coast of Cuba rising into mountainous elevations, the more distant scarcely to be distinguished from the blue sky.
The corvette having been lately out of dock, and being in good trim, sailed her best. To deceive the enemy, the commander had had some canvas painted black and hung over her sides, triced up a couple of feet or so above the hammock nettings, to give her the appearance of a merchantman, but an observant eye might have detected her by the perfect trim of her sails. This, however, under the present circumstances, could not be avoided.
The stranger, now clearly visible from the deck, was after a time seen to haul to the wind. She was apparently not much smaller than the Champion, and probably did not carry fewer guns; it was hoped, therefore, that she would before nightfall heave to and await a contest.
“She is a fast ship whatever she is,” observed Mr Tarwig; “but as to her wish to fight us, or whether she is French or Spanish, I have great doubts.”
“She has hoisted Spanish colours, at all events,” said Mr Foley, who had been looking at her through the telescope, “but she does not shorten sail.”