or alarm her, while his manner was always deferential. He continued on friendly terms with Owen, and always spoke good-naturedly to Gerald, taking evident pleasure in describing the countries he had visited and the strange scenes he had witnessed, to which the boy always eagerly listened. Although the ship was short-handed, as it was of the greatest importance to get home as soon as possible, all sail which could be prudently set was carried night and day. At that period it was the custom on board merchant vessels to shorten sail at night, go that should the ship be caught by a squall she might the better be prepared for it; but as the two mates now took watch and watch during the hours of darkness, they allowed all the sails to remain standing which had been carried during the day. A bright look-out was kept from the mast-head from sunrise to sunset, and occasionally when a strange sail was seen, as soon as it was ascertained in what direction she was steering, the course was changed to avoid her. As each day brought the Ouzel Galley nearer to the shores of Ireland, the captain’s spirits rose, as did his hopes of getting in safe. The second mate seemed quite as anxious on the subject as any one else on board; but Pompey was not yet satisfied.
“We’re not in yet,” he whispered to Dan Connor. “Why he not send de ship to de bottom before dis I not know; but you see—he play some scurvy trick before he done wid us.”
Fortunately for the second mate, the rest of the crew were not so deeply imbued with Pompey’s opinions as to induce them to act according to his advice; but they still regarded Mr. Carnegan with suspicion, though they obeyed his commands with as much alacrity as at first. Several other strange sail were seen in the distance, and as before carefully avoided. The ship had got to about the latitude of Lisbon.
“How soon may we expect to get into port?” asked Norah of her father.
“If the wind holds fair, another week will carry us safe up to the quay of Waterford,” answered the captain; “but we may meet with a head wind, and it may be a fortnight or three weeks before we make the land—but we’ll hope for the best, and it will not be for lack of doing all that seamen can do if we don’t succeed.”
The sea was smooth, the wind being from the southward, while a light mist prevented the sun’s rays being over oppressive. Norah as usual went on deck after breakfast with her work and a book. Owen was below; it was the second mate’s watch, and soon after she had taken her seat he approached her.
“In a few days, Miss Tracy, we shall be doomed to part,” he said, “It may be that, compelled by a cruel fate to wander over the world, I may never again meet you; but, believe me, the time I have spent on board this ship I shall ever look upon as the happiest of my life.”
“You are very good to say so,” answered Norah, “though I should have supposed, from the account you have given of yourself, that you would have met with many other opportunities of enjoying life far more than you could have done on board the Ouzel Galley.”
“It is not the place, Miss Tracy, but the person with whom one is associated, on which one’s happiness depends. I speak from the depths of my heart—if I could hope to enjoy existence with you, I would not exchange my lot for that of the proudest monarch on earth,” said Mr. Carnegan.
Before Norah could reply, the look-out from the mast-head shouted, “A sail on the larboard bow!” At that instant, as he spoke, the captain came on deck, followed by Owen.
“What course is she steering?” asked the former.
“About south-east, sir, close-hauled,” was the answer.
While the captain was speaking Owen had gone forward, and was now making his way up the fore-rigging. He quickly reached the mast-head; he had not been there many seconds before the breeze freshening blew away the mist, disclosing to view a large ship under all sail, her hull already rising above the horizon. Unslinging his glass, he directed it towards her.
“What does she look like?” asked the captain.
“She is flush-decked, and I make out ten ports on a side, sir,” answered Owen from aloft. Saying this, he quickly came down on deck, from whence the movements of the stranger, which was standing directly across the course the Ouzel Galley was steering, could be discerned as well as from the mast-head.
“If we hold on as we are now we shall be within range of her guns in less than an hour, and I much fear that she is an enemy, sir,” said Owen, as he came up to the captain.
“We’ll do our best, then, to keep out of her way,” was the answer. “Port the helm—man the larboard braces—ease off the starboard braces and bowlines! We’ll stand away to the sou’-west till we run her out of sight; it will cause us some delay, but it will be better than running the risk of capture.”
The two mates and Gerald, with all hands, went to the ropes, while the captain taking the helm, the ship was brought on a wind, the mizen, which had hitherto been furled, being also set, and the Ouzel Galley stood away on a bowline under all sail to the south-east.
“She has the look of a fast craft, and is probably strong-handed,” observed the second mate.
“We shall soon see which has, notwithstanding, the faster pair of heels—the Ouzel Galley is no sluggard, Mr. Carnegan, and we may still hope to run the stranger out of sight. Let her go along, my lad,” said the captain to the man at the helm; “she sails best two points off the wind; we’ll run on till dark, Owen, and if by that time the stranger isn’t to be seen, we’ll tack, and may chance to give her the go-by.”
“I trust we may, sir,” said Owen, in a tone of some doubt; “we have the advantage of being well to windward, though, as Mr. Carnegan was observing, if she has a strong crew she can tack in half the time we can, and we couldn’t do better than to stand on till nightfall, as you propose, and then try to give her the slip.”
The eyes of all on board were naturally turned towards the stranger. As yet, however, it was difficult to say whether or not she was gaining on them. Norah saw that her father and his mates were anxious on the subject, but, being sure that they were acting for the best, restrained her own feelings—yet, as may be supposed, she could not help reflecting what might be her and her father’s fate should the stranger prove to be an enemy and capture them. She had often heard of the cruelties to which the prisoners of privateers were exposed, and she was well aware of her father’s hatred to the system, although privateering was generally allowed to be honourable and lawful. The stranger, though an enemy, might be a king’s ship; and, if so, she might hope to receive courteous treatment from the French officers. Though she had resolved not to ask questions, she listened to her father’s and Owen’s opinions as to the character of the stranger. At noon, which soon arrived, the captain and his mates came on the poop to take an observation in order to ascertain the ship’s position. They had before this run some way to the northward of the latitude of Lisbon.
“Sure, it’s enough to provoke a saint,” exclaimed Gerald, who was accustomed to express himself somewhat vehemently; “if it hadn’t been for that fellow out there we should have been half across the Bay of Biscay by this time or to-morrow. I only hope, if he comes up with us, that we’ll be after giving him a good drubbing; it will serve him right if we send him to the bottom.”
“What, do you think our father intends to fight the strange ship, should she prove to be an enemy?” asked Norah, with some natural trepidation in her voice.
“I’m sure we’re not going to be taken, and lose the ship and our cargo, and be made prisoners and ruined without having a fight for it,” answered Gerald, “especially as Owen says that he feels pretty sure she is a privateer. Why he thinks so, I can’t quite make out, except that her masts rake more than those of most men-of-war and her sails are cut somewhat differently—it is impossible to be certain.”
“Grant Heaven that, if there is a fight, our father and you and Owen may be preserved!” murmured Norah.
“They wouldn’t fight without a good hope of success—but we must run our chance,” said Gerald, laughing; “but, you know, we shall stow you down in the hold among the cargo safe enough.”