The captain was all the time pulling away with might and main, now looking ahead to judge of the direction to take, and now watching the two ships.
“Thurot hasn’t calculated on getting becalmed under the land; if he does that, he’ll find the Champion soon walk up to him,” he observed. “Pulling is harder work than I thought for, or my arms have grown stiffer than they used to be. The sooner we can get on shore the better, and we can wait there till the tide turns, when perhaps we shall find some hooker running up to Waterford which will take us in tow. I’ll pull in for Portala Bay, which you see just inside Red Head.”
“As you please,” said Mr Ferris. “By climbing to the top of the Head we shall, I fancy, be able to watch the proceedings of the two ships.”
The captain pulling on, the boat soon reached a small bay just to the northward of a headland at the western side of the entrance of Waterford harbour. Ellen was eager at once to climb to the summit of the height. The captain and Mr Ferris having drawn up the boat, they set off, and were not long in gaining it. From thence they could command a view of the whole coast of Waterford as far as Youghal Bay, towards which the Coquille was standing. Her boats had been hoisted up, but she was still, even with a favourable tide, making but slow progress. The ship to the eastward had now come completely into view. The captain took a steady look at her.
“She is a sloop of war—I thought so from the first,” he exclaimed, “and from the cut of her canvas I have little doubt that she is English.”
As he spoke, the stranger’s ensign blew out from her peak.
“Yes, I knew I was right—she is the Champion, depend on it. If the breeze favours her, far as she is to leeward, she’ll be up to Captain Thurot before noon,” he continued. “If she once gets him within range of her guns, she’ll not let him go till he cries peccavi.”
Ellen was seated on a rock which formed the highest part of the headland. Even under ordinary circumstances she would have watched the two vessels with much interest, but the intensity of her feelings may be supposed, as she thought of one who was on board the British ship; for although the gallant lieutenant had not yet spoken, she fully believed that he had given her his heart, and she could not avoid confessing to herself that she had bestowed hers in return. In a few short hours he might be engaged in a deadly strife with a ship equal in size and the number of her crew to the Champion; and though she could not doubt that the British would come off victorious, yet she well knew the risk to which each of her gallant crew would be exposed. The Champion had stood within a mile of the mouth of the harbour, when she tacked and steered for the French ship. The breeze, as Captain O’Brien had foretold would be the case, gradually favouring her, enabled her to go much faster through the water than the other. The captain several times pulled his watch, resembling a big turnip in size, out of his fob.
“The tide will soon be on the turn, and if we are to get home to-night we must take advantage of it,” he observed, “though I should mightily like to see the end of this.”
“Oh, do remain, I pray you,” said Ellen; “we can have no difficulty in getting back to Waterford, for the weather promises to be so fine. Do you think it possible that Monsieur Thurot can escape?”