The lookout at the mast-head first called their attention to it, and as
it drew nearer and nearer the tall handsome gunner went aloft with a
glass to see if he could recognize it. In a few moments he came back
and said:
"It is the frigate, sir."
That she was in full chase, there could not be a doubt. Captain Parson
had little hope of escaping; but he put the _Dover_ on her best sailing
point and scudded away before the wind with every stitch of canvas they
could carry.
"Oh, golly! I hope dey won't mistake--dey won't mistake dis chile for a
Britisher!" groaned Job the cook, who was trembling from head to foot,
and whose black skin was almost pale.
The five deserters were pale but calm. They seemed to read their fate
and bore it like men. A flogging was the very least they could expect;
but the chances were that every one would hang. The frigate was the
swifter sailor and overhauled them so rapidly, that, in two hours and a
half, she was within a mile of the brig.
Suddenly a wreath of white smoke curled up from the forecastle, and a
moment later a ball came skipping over the water under their larboard
deck, while the boom of a cannon sounded over the sea. As the fine spray
clipped from the crested waves by the shot, flew over the deck, Mr.
Brown said:
"Captain, it's no use, she will be near enough to sink us in ten
minutes.
Pages:
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89