“Make the answering signal,” said Mr Foley. “Tracy, go and report to the captain.”
The wind was at this time about south-east. The Thisbe was in her usual station to windward of the fleet and abeam of the leading vessel, and the fleet with flowing sheets was steering to the westward. The Champion, hauling her wind, stood out from among them.
“The commodore suspects the stranger to be an enemy,” observed the commander to Mr Foley. A look-out with sharp eyes was sent aloft, to report as soon as the sail indicated by the frigate should appear in sight. She was before long seen, and was evidently a large ship standing to the north-west, a course which would bring her up to the convoy.
“We must have a nearer look at her,” said the commander; “she is more probably a friend than an enemy.”
“Two other sail,” cried the look-out from aloft, “following in the wake of the first.”
Still the corvette, according to orders, stood on. As she approached the stranger, the commander changed his opinion.
“They are Frenchmen,” he observed to his first lieutenant; “we’ll keep away and run back to the commodore. If, as I suspect, all three are frigates, or perhaps larger craft, we shall have to bring them to action and allow the convoy to escape.”
The announcement caused considerable excitement on board. “We shall probably be in action before the day is out,” cried Gerald, as he went into the midshipmen’s berth, “and have pretty hot work, too, if the Frenchmen show any pluck.”
“The best news I’ve heard for many a day,” said old Crowhurst. “Notwithstanding all I’ve done for my country, it’s the only chance I have of getting promoted.”
“I don’t see how that’s to be,” said Gerald; “mates are not often mentioned in despatches.”