On the Solway, however, there had been a feeling of absolute certainty as to overtaking the schooner. She had been in plain view, they said, up to the moment when her crew so foolishly swung out a lantern. It was a mere glimmer, truly, but it would do to steer by. It was many minutes afterward that an idea suddenly flashed into the experienced mind of the British commander.
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "No Yankee would have held up a light for us to chase him by. That's a decoy! Hard a-port, there! The rebels'd go off before the wind. They can't take in an old hand like me."
Precisely because the Noank had not gone off before the wind, her seemingly safest course, the Solway was not immediately following her. More minutes went by, and then there arose a storm of exclamations on board the seventy-four.
"Captain," asked an excited officer, "did she blow up?"
"No," he gruffly responded. "That's only part of the decoy."
Not all his subordinates agreed with him, however, and it was plainly his duty to carry his ship past the place of the now vanished light and of so tremendous an explosion. He did so grumblingly.
"I know 'em," he said. "It's only some trick or other. They're sharp chaps to deal with, on land or sea. They're a kind of Indian fighters, and they're up to anything. Do you know, I believe we've lost her!"
That was what he had done, or else Captain Lyme Avery had lost the seventy-four, for when the next morning dawned her lookouts could discover no sign of the Noank's white canvas between them and the horizon.