“There comes the Kennebec, my boy. We’ll have this fellow now. We’ll teach him not to play tricks with national flags and man-o’-war signals.”
The race across the Gulf of Mexico was now putting on new and interesting features, but Ned Crawford, posted well forward to watch the course of events and what might have been called the race-course, sagely remarked:
“I don’t know that two horses can run any faster than one can. We are as far ahead as ever we were.”
That would have been of more importance if the newcomer had not been so much to the southward and westward, rather than behind them. She was, of course, several miles nearer to the Goshawk than she was to the Portsmouth, and neither of these had as yet been able to make out her flag with certainty. That she was a full-rigged ship was sure enough, and if Ned had been upon her deck instead of upon his own, he would have discovered that she was heavily armed and in apple-pie order. At this very moment a burly officer upon her quarter-deck was roaring, angrily, in response to some information which had been given him:
“What’s that? A British ship chased by a Yankee cruiser? Lieutenant, I think the Falcon’ll take a look at that. These Yankees are getting too bumptious altogether. It’s as if they thought they owned the gulf! Put her head two points north’ard. Humph! It’s about time they had a lesson.”
There had been some temporary trouble with the flag of the Falcon, but it had now been cleared of its tangle, and was swinging out free. It was of larger size than the British bunting displayed by the Goshawk. It was only a few minutes, therefore, before Captain Kemp had a fresh trouble on his mind, for his telescope had told him the meaning of that flag.
“Worse than ever!” he exclaimed. “She’d make us heave to and show our papers. Then she’d hand us right over, and no help for it. No, sir! Our only way is to scud from both of them. Some of our English frigates are slow goers, and this may be one of that kind.”
He was in less immediate peril, perhaps, because of the determination of the angry British captain to speak to the Yankee first, and demand an explanation of this extraordinary affair. This it was his plain duty to do, and the attempt to do it would shortly put him and all his guns between the Portsmouth and the Goshawk. This operation was going on at the end of another hour, when Captain Kemp’s lookout shouted down to him:
“Sail ho, sir! ’Bout a mile ahead o’ the British frigate. Can’t quite make her out yet, sir.”
“I declare!” groaned the captain. “This ’ere’s getting kind o’ thick!”