“Lower the boats, Mr Saltwell,” was heard in the deep tones of the captain’s voice.
The first lieutenant repeated the order. Mr Brown’s whistle was next heard piping the boats away, and getting out the cutter, and in another minute the crews and the respective officers were in them, waiting for the commander to shove off. He had gone below for an instant for his sword, and when he stepped into his boat, though he looked pale, there was resolution in his eye to dare the worst, and if needs be to suffer the worst. With a hearty cheer from their shipmates, the boats shoved off, and pulled with lusty strokes towards the stranger. They had no positive right as yet to consider her an enemy, except from the fact of her having led them a somewhat longish chase; but as it was not much out of their course, they had no reason to complain. The Ione still kept under sail, slowly drawing ahead.
The stranger appeared to be no way disconcerted at their approach, but as she was almost entirely becalmed, she hauled up her foresail to get it out of the way, and seemed quietly to be waiting for them.
“Can you make out what those fellows are about, sir?” asked Jemmy Duff of his superior. “They don’t seem to be afraid of us.”
“Just stand up in the bows, and try what you can do to arouse their fears, Duff,” said Linton, laughing. “We must have sharp eyes to know how they look at this distance, and perhaps as they know that they cannot get away from us, they think it better to put a bold face on the matter.”
The sun was just about to sink in the waves as the boats came within range of the stranger’s guns, but she allowed them to pull on without molestation, and as they got still nearer, they saw that she had no boarding nettings triced up, though, through the open ports, the crew were seen at their quarters, and the guns were run out ready for action. She appeared to be crowded with men in the Greek costume. They had but little time for observing anything before they were close to her.
“What do those boats want here?” hailed the voice of some one standing on her poop.
“These are the boats of His Britannic Majesty’s brig, Ione,” answered Captain Fleetwood, standing up in the stern sheets of his gig. “What brig is that?”
Linton every instant expected a shower of grape as the answer of the stranger.
There was a pause.