“She has hoisted English colours,” exclaimed Harry, who had his glass fixed on the chase.
A general exclamation of disappointment escaped those who heard him.
“That is no proof that she is English,” observed the captain. “The cut of her sails is English, and though she is a large ship, she is no man-of-war, of that I am certain. We will speak her at all events, and settle the point.”
The stranger was seen to be making all sail; royals were set, and studding sails rigged out, but in a slow way, which confirmed Headland’s opinion of her being a merchantman. This showed that her commander had no inclination to await the coming up of the corvette, of whose nationality, however, he might have had doubts.
Although the chase had now every sail set she could carry, the corvette still gained on her.
“Those heavy tea-chests require a strong breeze to drive them through the water,” observed the master to Harry. “I rather think, too, we shall have one before long. I don’t quite like the look of the sky, and we are not far off the hurricane season.”
The crew were piped for breakfast, and the officers who could be spared from the deck went below. De Vere had been attacked by fever at Bencoolen, and was in his cabin. The master remained in charge of the deck.
Breakfast was hurried over.
When Harry and the captain returned on deck a marked change had taken place in the weather. Dark clouds were gathering in the northern horizon, and fitful gusts of wind came sweeping over the ocean, stirring up its hitherto calm surface, and sending the spoon-drift flying rapidly over it. Still the chase kept her canvas set, having altered her course more to the southward.
“They hope that we shall get the wind first, and be compelled to shorten sail, and that she will thus have a better chance of again getting ahead of us,” observed the master.