A fresh breeze carried the cutter along at a good rate. Before nightfall she was off Portland. Hitherto neither Lord Reginald nor Voules had come below.
“I only hope they’ll not show themselves, for it will be a hard matter to keep a quiet tongue in my head if they speak to me,” thought Dick. “It will be all the same, though, for I shall be flogged to a certainty when I am on board again, and I should like to give them my mind first.”
Though below, Dick could judge pretty accurately what the cutter was about. She was evidently making little or no way, for he could hear not the slightest sound of a ripple against her side. She lay, indeed, becalmed, in West Bay, between Portland and The Start. It was night, and the men round him were asleep, as their loud snores in various tones told him. He would have had no inclination to talk, however, had they been awake. The only other sounds which reached him were the occasional footsteps of the watch on deck, as they paced over his head, or the creaking of the jaws of the mainboom and gaff, and, now and then, the flap of the mainsail. In vain he tried to get one subject out of his head—the thought of the flogging. Not that he dreaded the pain he should suffer one-tenth part so much as he did the disgrace. His father’s heart would well-nigh break should he hear of it. The stout English yeoman was as proud in his way as was the Marquis of Elverston.
“It is he—he, that Lord Reginald, who has brought me to this!” he muttered, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. “If ever I have the chance I will be revenged on him! I must, I could not help it.” Dick conjured up a fearful picture—the young lord in his power, his hand upon his throat. He forgot that it was through his own folly that he had enabled Lord Reginald to treat him in the way he had done. Had he kept free of the smugglers, had he not been tempted to desert, Lord Reginald, when exhibiting his ill feeling, would have been seen by all to be in the wrong.
The cutter made no way during the night, and though she drifted to the westward with one tide, the flood carried her as far back again; so that when morning broke The Start and Portland Bill were almost at equal distances from her. Dick dozed off while the crew were washing decks. He was only fully aroused when, as before, breakfast was brought down for the prisoners. After some time, sounds of laughter and frequent footsteps reached his ears, and he guessed that the commander with his young passengers were walking the deck after their breakfast. Presently he heard the former order the steward to hand him his spyglass.
“What is she, Mr Mason?” asked Lord Reginald.
“A large lugger, at all events. She may be a Jersey privateer, or she may be French. As she is bringing up a fresh breeze from the eastward, we shall know more about her soon.”
“Suppose she is French, shall you attack her?” asked Voules, in a tone which showed no great satisfaction at the thoughts of such an event taking place.
“She is more likely to attack us, as she probably carries six or eight guns and one long nine-pounder. Such is the armament of most of those craft, and twice as many hands as we can muster, while we have only got our four small carronades, which are of very little use except at close quarters.”
“Then I suppose we shall have to run for it,” said Voules; “there’ll be no honour or glory in fighting her.”