When Ada saw the paper drop from the hand of the young Italian mariner, her first impulse was to call out to him in order to restore it, but the look he gave as he left the cabin, convinced her that he had done so purposely, and feeling that if so, it was certainly of importance, as she did possess the quality of which I was speaking, she sprang forward to secure it. The paper she saw, as she returned to her seat, was the blank leaf of a book, torn hastily out, and folded up in the form of a note; but on opening it there appeared to be nothing written on it.
“Why, what is that you have got there, Ada?” said Colonel Gauntlett.
“Oh, I fancied that I had discovered an important document, and, lo and behold, it turns out to be merely a blank paper,” returned the young lady laughing. “One cannot help conjuring up some romantic incident in these lovely seas, and forgetting that in these matter-of-fact days nothing of the sort is likely to occur; but I believe after all there are some pencil marks on the paper.” She held it up closer to the light, and as she did so, her countenance grew graver. There were a few lines written in pencil, but so faint that it was not surprising she should, at first, not have remarked them. They were in Italian, and in the peculiar handwriting of the people of that nation.
“Trust not to appearances,” they said. “Avoid the polacca brig. The story told you is false.” At the bottom were the words, “An unwilling actor,” as if intended for a signature. There was nothing more to show by whom they were written, though there could be but little doubt that they were so by the young mariner, or by somebody who had employed him. Ada translated them to her uncle, who was at a loss to comprehend their meaning, further than that they contradicted the story they had just heard from the lips of the very man who dropped the paper. He thought over them for some time, and then summoned Mitchell, whom he directed to request the captain’s presence.
Ada was again called to translate them, when the captain appeared.
“And what do you think of them?” the colonel asked him.
“Why, sir, that they serve to confirm my suspicions, and those of my mate, that the felucca is not honest, and that there is a good deal of mystification going on somewhere or other.”
“Then you don’t believe the story of the Austrian brig having sent the felucca to us?” asked the colonel.
“Not a bit of it, sir; and my firm opinion is, that if the rascals had found us unprepared, she would have been alongside us before now. She had more people on board her than when she left Malta harbour this morning, though where they came from I can’t say; and I’m positive as to the craft, though the young man denied having been there for many a day. I can’t make it out.”
“But what does this paper mean about the polacca brig, think you?” asked the colonel.
Bowse thought for some time.
“I have it, sir!” he at length exclaimed, clapping his hand to his head. “That’s the brig those fellows wanted to make us suppose an Austrian man-of-war. If they had taken less trouble we might have been taken in.”
“And what do you intend to do, Captain Bowse? Remember I am under your orders, in the way of fighting on board here. If you ever come on shore when there’s anything doing, I will show you how we manage things there.”
The colonel spoke in a good-natured lively tone, as he always did the moment there appeared a prospect of fighting.
“Keep our guns loaded, and trust to Providence, sir,” replied the captain.
“Please, sir, Mr Timmins begs you will just step on deck for a moment,” said the steward, putting his head in at the door, and looking at the master.
Bowse jumped up and hurried on deck, for he knew the mate would not have sent for him except on a matter of importance.
“Here, Sims, what’s the matter now?” said the colonel, calling the steward from the pantry; “any more visitors?”
“O Lord, no, sir, I hope not,” answered Sims, coming forward and showing by the pallor of his countenance, and his trembling hand, that whatever the matter was it had alarmed him.
“What is the matter, then?” exclaimed the colonel. “Out with it.”
“Why, sir, they say on deck, that the Flying Dutchman is following us, and that we shall be sure to drive ashore or go to the bottom,” answered the steward, almost crying with alarm.
“Fiddle-de-dee, with the Flying Dutchman. What arrant fools the men must be to think of such nonsense,” exclaimed the colonel, in a contemptuous tone. “Come, Ada, let us go on deck before you return to your cabin, and we will have a look at the phantom.”
Bowse found his mate standing on the poop, looking intently over the weather quarter. He was so absorbed in what he saw, that he was not aware of his commander’s presence till the latter touched his arm.
“I thought it was better to send for you, Captain Bowse, for as I’m a living man there is that cursed felucca, instead of going to Malta, following at our heels, and coming up with us hand over hand.”
As the mate spoke, he pointed in the direction towards which he had been looking. Bowse, having just left the bright light of the cabin, could not at first discern anything; but gradually he perceived the dark shadowy outline of the speronara’s sails brought into one, and like a phantom gliding over the waves. There could be no manner of doubt that it was she, but the question in his mind was how to treat her. Though he might be almost certain that her intentions were evil, he could not fire into her, till there was no doubt of the matter, and she might be alongside, when the advantage he possessed in having heavy guns, would be much diminished, if not altogether lost. He might, possibly, by making more sail, get away from the speronara; but that he doubted, and the brig was already under as much canvas, as on ordinary occasions, it was considered prudent to carry at night. He remembered that he was not on board a man-of-war, when sail could be shortened, without calling the watch below. Yet sail must be made, as it would never do to have that little speronara buzzing about them all night without being allowed to punish her, or trying to get away from her.
“We must see if we can’t walk away from that fellow, Mr Timmins. Turn the hands up,” he at length exclaimed, after taking a turn on the poop. “Set the royals. Get the fore topmast, and lower studding-sails on her.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the mate, going somewhat slowly to obey the order. “Little good I’m afraid it will do us, though.”
The crew, though expecting to be roused up, for the watch on deck had let those below know of the reappearance of the suspicious stranger, went about their duty without their usual alacrity.
“One might just as well try to run clear of a hurricane as to beat that chap out there either on wind or off it,” muttered Jem Marlin, as he went aloft to rig out the studding-sail booms. “All the canvas in store in Portsmouth Dockyard wouldn’t carry us away from him, if he wanted to catch us.”
The additional sail, however, was set, and as the wind had fallen light, it was only what was required to urge her at her previous speed through the water. While sail was being made the master was joined on the poop by his passengers.
“Well,” said the colonel, laughing. “I hear we have the honour of the company of the Flying Dutchman again.”
“Dutchman or not, sir,” replied the master, “that little speronara has taken it into her head to dodge us; and, shame on the brig, which ought to do better, she seems likely to come up with us.”
“Well let her – we are a match for her, I should think; and my little girl here seems rather anxious for a brush. She puts to shame that steward of yours, who came skulking into the cabin just now as white as a sheet, declaring we were going to be boarded by ghosts or hobgoblins of some sort.”
“You must humour seamen, or you can never manage them, sir,” replied the master. “They as firmly believe in