“You may rest assured that we will do our best to avoid an encounter,” answered the captain, “and, should we be recaptured, that we will say all that we can in your favour; but I trust that we shall escape—it would be cruel to be caught after all.”
The wind was becoming lighter and lighter, and thus their anxiety was prolonged. Still the Coquille—for that such she was very little doubt existed—kept creeping up. The sea became much calmer.
“I will send a boat away with Norah and Gerald; it were better to save her from the annoyance to which she would be exposed should we again fall into the Frenchmen’s hands,” said Captain Tracy. “I should wish to let you go too, Owen; suffering from your wound, you are but ill able to stand the confinement of a French prison.”
“I am grateful to you, captain; and thankfully would I escort your daughter, but she will be safe with her brother, and I cannot bring myself to desert the ship,” answered Owen.
“That is like you, Owen,” replied the captain; “perhaps I might have said the same were I in your place. It is my principle that every officer should stick to his ship as long as a plank holds together; but we shall have hands enough to take her in, should yonder stranger prove not to be the Coquille, but a friend—or should we be recaptured, the fewer people there are on board, the fewer will there be to suffer. I have therefore made up my mind that you shall go. I will send Dan Connor or Pompey, and Tim and Gerald can pull an oar and you can steer; you’ll not have more than ten or twelve miles to row before you can get fresh hands, either at Duncannon Fort or at Passage, to take you up to Waterford. See, we are scarcely making three knots an hour; the boat can pull nearly twice as fast as that, and you will be able to keep well ahead of the enemy. Come, I wanted to see what you would say, but I have resolved you should go; so order the boat to be got ready, and the sooner you are off the better.”
Owen was, of course, willing enough to go for the sake of Norah; he had no choice but to obey his commander.
“Norah,” said the captain, turning to his daughter, to whom the French officer was endeavouring to make himself agreeable, and who had not heard the conversation between her father and the mate, “go and get your traps together, my girl; I am going to send you and Gerald with the mate on shore, and I hope that we shall be soon after you.”
Norah was too well accustomed to obey her father to question the command, and immediately went below.
“Gerald!” shouted the captain to his son, who had some time before come down from the mast-head, “go and help your sister; you must be smart about it—the boat will be in the water in less than five minutes.”
In a short time Dan and Tim, who had been sent into the cabin, appeared with Norah’s trunks. She quickly followed. Having learned from Gerald the reason of her being sent on shore, she addressed her father. “Oh, father, I must not, I ought not to leave you,” she exclaimed; “you think that the Ouzel Galley will after all be recaptured, and you will be carried off to France, and perhaps ill-treated by those men from whom you have retaken the ship, while I shall be left.”