“Bill,” said Captain Cosens, when the two vessels were again abreast, “jump aft, my lad, and dip the ensign!”
The ensign was dipped three times, the salutation being promptly responded to by the clipper; and then her colours were hauled down as, catching a freshening breeze, she gracefully inclined to it, and swept grandly out to seaward.
Such was Mr. Damerell’s last farewell to his son, on this eventful occasion at least. Poor old gentleman! well was it for him that he so little dreamed of what that son was destined to pass through before they two again should meet! Little, as they lost sight of her, did the light-hearted throng on board the Victoria guess at the horrors of which that noble ship was to be the theatre.
On clearing the Bill of Portland, and once more getting the true breeze, it was found by those on board the Flying Cloud that the wind had veered some points further to the westward, and was now almost dead in the teeth of their course down channel. There was a red-hot ebb tide running, however, which was so much in their favour, and Captain Blyth held on upon the same tack, pushing out toward mid-channel so as to get the full benefit of it. The ship was heading well up to windward of the Channel Islands, so that she was not doing at all badly; and the wind having veered so far, the skipper was in hopes it would veer still further, and so give him a favourable slant down channel after his next reach in for the land. Nor was he disappointed; for tacking at six o’clock to avoid the flood, which he knew would soon be making, he found himself, at ten o’clock that night, some four miles to the westward of Beer Head, the wind heading him more and more as he drew in with the land. On again tacking, it was found that the ship was heading well up for the Start, which was passed about four bells in the morning watch; when, feeling themselves at length safe for a fair run out of the channel, the ship’s departure was taken, together with a small pull upon the weather braces. A course was given the helmsman which would carry the ship well clear of Cape Finisterre, and away went the Flying Cloud to the southward and westward, reeling eleven knots off the log with all three skysails set. By three o’clock in the afternoon, Captain Blyth’s reckoning placed the ship off Ushant. They now began to feel the regular Atlantic roll, and shortly afterwards the wind, continuing to veer, worked round so far to the northward of west, that they were not only enabled to get another good pull upon the weather braces, but also to set studding-sails on the starboard side, when away went the ship plunging and rolling across the Bay of Biscay at a pace which amply justified her name, and sent all hands into ecstasies of delight. And the climax of their happiness was reached when, just about sunset, a large steamer, which had been in sight ahead since noon, was triumphantly overhauled and passed, though she, like themselves, was under all the canvas she could show. Captain Blyth was simply in a beatitude of bliss; he walked the poop to and fro, rubbing his hands gleefully, chuckling, and audibly murmuring little congratulatory ejaculations to himself, fragments of which—such as—“new hat—astonish that fellow Spence above a trifle, I flatter myself—reach the Heads a clear week before him,” etcetera etcetera—Ned Damerell caught from time to time as the skipper trotted past him.
In the forecastle, too, there was great jubilation that evening. Jack dearly loves a speedy ship; and now that they had had an exemplification of what the Flying Cloud really could do when she had a fair chance, all hands were fully agreed that she was by far the fastest ship they had ever sailed in.
Williams, the man who had assisted at the loading of the guns on board, was especially enthusiastic upon the subject.
“My eyes! mates, what a pirate-ship this craft would make!” he ejaculated when at length all hands’ catalogue of praises seemed to be about exhausted. “Why, if she was mine I’d make my fortune—ay, and that of all hands belonging to her in less than six months!”
This remark produced a general laugh. “Why, Josh, bo! you don’t mean to say as how you’d go piratin’ if so be as this here pretty little ship was yourn, do you?” asked Tim Parsons, a great burly, bushy-whiskered seaman, who was seated on a sea-chest on the opposite side of the forecastle.
“Why—no, I don’t perhaps exactly mean that,” was the reply. “And yet—I don’t know—why shouldn’t I? There’s worse trades than pirating, let me tell you, boys?”
“Ay, ay? Is there? I should like to hear you name a few of ’em,” objected Parsons.
“Well, then,” said Williams, warming to the subject, “to go no further than this identical fo’c’s’le where we’re now sitting, I mean to say that the trade of sailor-men like ourselves is a precious sight worse. We’re hard worked, badly fed, badly paid—not, mind you, that I’m finding fault with the treatment we’re getting aboard here—far from it—the grub’s good enough for anybody; and, as to work—well, we haven’t seen much of that yet. But this I will say, I don’t like the looks of either of the mates, and as for the skipper, why, he’s a good enough man, but this ship is going to spoil him. Now you mark my words if she don’t—he’s just finding out that he’s got a flyer under him, and what will be the consequence? Why, he’ll be everlastingly carrying on, driving the ship all she’ll bear, carrying on to the very last minute, and then it’ll be ‘all hands shorten sail’ to save the spars, instead of handing his canvas in good time, by which means the watch could do all the work. Now, you wait a bit, mates, and you’ll see I’m right.”
There were several melancholy shakes of the head at this, indicative of a belief on the part of the shakers that these prognostications would prove only too true.
“But what’s all this got to do with piratin’?” persisted Parsons.
“Oh—well—why, everything,” returned Williams. “Here we are, as I was saying, hard worked, badly fed, and badly paid; whilst if we was the crew of a pirate clipper we should have nothing to do but trim sails, we should live upon the fat of the land, and in six months, if our cruise was a lucky one, we could chuck up the sea and live like princes ashore for the rest of our days.”
Parsons burst into a hearty laugh.
“Why, Williams,” he said, “I wouldn’t ha’ believed you was such a greenhorn. You can’t mean what you’re sayin’, shipmate. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been a pirate, and I’m precious certain I never have—or I don’t believe we should either of us be sittin’ in this here snug fo’c’s’le to-night—so I reckon neither of us knows very much about the business. But anybody, not a born fool, must understand without much tellin’ that a pirate’s life wouldn’t be worth havin’. As to work, he’d have to work just as hard