The Thisbe had hoisted French colours, that her expected antagonist might not take the alarm, and run on shore to avoid her.
It was at length ascertained that the stranger was a flush deck ship, and ten guns were counted on the only side visible. Though she was apparently larger than the Thisbe, and more heavily armed, Captain Headland no longer hesitated, while the master volunteered to take the ship in among the numerous shoals which guarded the entrance of the harbour. Taking his station on the fore-yardarm, guided by the colour of the water, he gave directions to the helmsman how to steer.
The stranger remained quietly at anchor, apparently not suspecting the character of her visitor.
Harry was amused, as he went from gun to gun, to hear the remarks of some of the men who saw the French flag flying at the peak of the corvette.
“I thought our craft was an English ship, and we British tars, and now I see we be turned into mounseers,” said one, cocking his eye at the tricoloured flag.
“If we be, my boy, we will show yonder ship that the mounseers can fight their guns as well as British tars for once in a way,” remarked another who stood near him.
“Never you fear, mate, that gay-coloured flag will come down fast enough before we open fire.”
The last speaker was right—the moment to which all were looking forward was approaching. Every man was at his station. Not a word was now spoken except by the master as he issued his orders from the yardarm.
The stranger gave no signs that she was aware of the approach of an enemy.
“We will run alongside and carry her by boarding; it will save our anchoring, and we shall not injure her spars—an important object, as I hope we may have to carry her off to sea,” observed the captain to his first lieutenant.