The firm of Hortalez and Company received word from their Spanish agents and the representatives of Lazzonere and Company that four English vessels—two brigs, a large lugger, and a ship (the last a most valuable prize)—had arrived at Corunna, all sent in within a week after the sailing of the Revenge. So well had everything been arranged that there was a ready sale. Vessels and cargoes were disposed of without a hitch to Spanish and French merchants, in many cases auctions being held on the public wharves. Two weeks more and eight other prizes were added to the list.
England was now in a storm of indignant protest. The Admiralty was besieged with letters, and ship-owners and insurance people, frightened at the prospect of further losses, showed signs of panic. Vessels already loaded and ready for sailing were held in port until they could sail, under convoy of an armed guard-ship. Insurance rates rose twenty-five per cent. And all this time a little, fast-sailing craft drove up and down the Channel, occasionally flaunting the rattlesnake flag almost in sight of the fleets that lay at anchor in the roadways.
And so we find her on one bright day in August, still in sight of the white cliffs, but heading southwest in chase109 of a deep-laden vessel whose suspicions had been aroused, for she was staggering along under a press of snow-white canvas.
Conyngham had gone forward to the forecastle and was watching the chase through his spy-glass. The crew, much reduced in numbers by reason of manning the prizes, watched him carefully. There had been something about the set of the stranger’s canvas that had suggested the man-o’-war, and now—although, as we have said, she had all sail set—she seemed to display a slowness that was puzzling, for hand over hand the Revenge picked up on her. The six-pounders and the swivels had been cast loose and provided, and the men were only waiting the orders to take their stations. There was a ponderous sea running, and the armament of the Revenge was practically useless except at short range. Time and again had the captain longed for a bow gun, and he would have exchanged half of his broadside for a long twelve-pounder. They were within two miles of the vessel now, and for the last few minutes Conyngham had not taken his eye from the glass, crouching, or at least half kneeling, against the bow-sprit in order to steady himself. The lower sails were wet with the spray that dashed up from the bows, and he himself was soaked almost to the skin. Suddenly he arose and shouted some orders hurriedly. The Revenge came up into the wind as if abandoning the chase. The second mate, who stood beside the helmsman, saw the captain come running aft.
“She’s a man-o’-war brig!” cried Conyngham. “I thought as much. She has a drag out to hold her back.”
“There she comes about,” answered the second mate. “Now we can see her teeth. You’re right, sir. She110 hoped to bring us up to her. Hadn’t we better run for it?”
For an instant the captain did not reply. He seemed to measure carefully the rate of the other vessel’s speed against that of his own. The result apparently satisfied him, for he turned again with a smile.
“I’ve got half a mind to try a few passes with him,” he said, “and I would do it if it were not for the old adage about discretion. For an Irishman, sure I have a reputation for discreetness that must not be broken. And so,” he continued, “we’ll let well enough alone.”
It was evident to every one on board the Revenge that their vessel sailed faster and closer on the wind than did the brig. And though both were heading toward the white cliffs, it became apparent that if the wind held, the Revenge would not only cross the brig’s bows at a distance that was practically out of range of her broadside guns, but would also weather the point that was the southernmost cape on the English coast—Land’s End. By nightfall, if all went well, she should be past the entrance to the Irish Channel and in her new cruising grounds. But an unlooked-for occurrence put an end to all such hopes. Suddenly appearing around the point of land, carrying the wind from an entirely new direction, came a large three-masted vessel. At once the brig, that, although to leeward, was the nearer, began to set a little row of signal flags, and, as if noticing the shift of the wind, she came about, apparently abandoning the attempt to head off the Revenge. Instantly Conyngham divined her purpose, and came about also as quickly as he could. The breeze, which had been from the eastward, was rapidly dying down.
111 The big stranger, carrying the new wind, grew larger and larger. Through the glass Conyngham could make out three rows of ports, and the billowing canvas rising above the dark hull looked like a cloud hanging low in the sky. It was almost dead calm, and the Revenge swung lazily up and down, with her steering sails dipping uselessly in the water, while the brig, that had now caught the wind, bore down nearer and nearer. The men looked back at the quarter-deck with frightened, white faces. All the good fortune that had so far followed them in the cruise had apparently deserted them. They saw visions of their prize-money disappearing, and many of the knowing ones could imagine the crowded harbor of Portsmouth, with the big seventy-four lying at anchor, while black, faintly struggling objects depended from her yard-arms. The first mate and Conyngham had not exchanged a word, when suddenly the former, lifting his hand, broke the silence.
“She’s coming, captain; by tar, she’s coming!” he cried.
The big foresail of the Revenge lifted and the sheets and outhauls of the steering-sails spattered a line of spray as they tautened up out of the water. But it seemed almost too late that the breeze had reached them. Broad off the starboard bow was the brig, but a mile and a half away, while little more than twice that distance, dead astern, came the seventy-four, a roll of seething white playing under her forefoot and sweeping out on either side. Down on the wind came the ominous rolling of a drum.
“They’re beat............