We have seen that he was a man of extraordinary nerve, and he bethought him that he would try once more to blind the master and crew of the Zodiac, and, ordering a boat to be manned, he pulled boldly on board her. Had not Bowse been forewarned, there can be little doubt but that he would have triumphantly succeeded, and there can be no reflection on his want of talent either in planning or executing that he did not do so. Had he known as much as does the reader, he would probably have had nothing to do with the speronara, which was suspected, but would at once have run alongside the Zodiac in his own vessel which was unknown. When he found himself, on his second visit to the Zodiac, so nearly caught in his own net, he pulled back to the Sea Hawk, vowing that he would not again be foiled.
Chapter Thirteen.
The master of the Zodiac, as he laboured without ceasing at the important work of getting his ship once more in sailing trim, every now and then glanced at the pretended Austrian with feelings in which the undaunted courage of the British seaman were fearfully mingled in his bosom with dark forebodings as to the result of an engagement with an enemy in every respect so much his superior. His eye would also, ever and anon, range round the horizon in anticipation of those rising signs of the coming breeze, which he prayed Heaven might yet be long delayed till the work was completed, and then that it might come from the eastward, as it would thus give him the weather gage, and enable him to manoeuvre to better advantage in the coming fight; for he had already seen most convincing proof of the superior sailing qualities of the Sea Hawk; that he had no expectations of being able to avoid it, even should he be able to make sail before the arrival of the breeze. With voice and example, he cheered on his crew to the work; the topmast had been got up, and the rigging fitted over its head; but the topsail-yard was not yet across, and much remained to be done to make their previous labours of any avail. Bowse himself had taken his meals on deck, as had his mates; and the men had snatched but a minute to satisfy their hunger. He had just before sent them below to their dinners, when, as he was taking a look at the enemy, to see what she was about, he observed beyond her a dark blue line on the horizon.
“Ah,” he muttered; “there’s no doubt what is coming now, and long before the canvas is spread, we shall have the breeze blowing strong, and the brig coming down on us. Well, we’ve done our best, and men can do no more. I’ll let the poor fellows have this meal in quiet; it will be the last many of them will eat, I fear. Ah! Heaven only knows if any on board here will ever taste another, if those cursed villains get hold of us—and nothing but a miracle can save us, that I see—yet, we’ll make them pay dear for victory, at all events.”
He took two or three turns on the deck, watching his antagonist, and the coming wind; and from his cool and calm exterior, no one would have supposed how fully he felt the dangerous position in which his ship was placed. Broader and broader grew the line, till, at last, the wind filled the loftier canvas of the corsair, which was spread to catch it. The time, he saw, was, come to prepare for the final struggle. He summoned the mate from below.
“Turn the hands up,” he cried out, in a firm, sharp tone, to be heard throughout the ship. “We shall have work before long to warm them up a bit.”
The men sprang on deck with alacrity, casting an eye at the stranger as they went to the work in hand.
The topsail-yard was ready fitted, and all hands now joined in swaying away on it. Meantime, the wind, though still light, had filled the pirate’s sails, and she was stealing through the water towards them, before they even felt the wind. At last a few catspaws, the avant-couriers of the stronger breeze, began to play round them. The foresail and the fore-staysail were the only sails they could yet get to pay the brig’s head off before the wind. These were now set; but the so doing delayed the work of bending the topsail, and the Sea Hawk was now coming fast up with them. As soon as the Zodiac was got dead before the wind, the main-topsail and topgallant-sails were hoisted; the studdensail-booms were run out, and studdensails set, which much made amends for the loss of the headsails, as long as they desired only to keep before the wind. Notwithstanding, however, all the canvas the Zodiac could set, the corsair still came up with her hand over hand. Bowse watched till he thought she had come within range of his guns, and he then ordered one to be brought up, and pointed at her over the taffrail.