chance of her having been captured by the French, in
which case her recapture would bring some little grist to our mill, and so
we crowded sail for her. And, as we drew nearer, it was evident, from the
talk among John Ozanne and his mates, that they could see more through
their glasses than we could with our eyes.

"Guyabble!" cried old Martin at last. "There's another ship hitched on to
her far side. I can see her masts. Now, what's this? A privateer as like as
no, and we'll have our bite yet, maybe."

And before long we could all make out the thin masts of a smaller vessel
between the flapping canvas of the larger. John Ozanne ordered us to
quarters, and got ready for a fight. He gave us a hearty word or two, since
every man likes to know what's in the wind.

"There's a schooner behind yonder Indiaman, my lads, and it's as likely as
not she's been captured. If so we'll do our best to get her back, for old
England's sake, and our own, and just to spite the Frenchman. If the
schooner should prove the _Red Hand_, and that's as like as not, for he's
the pluckiest man they have, you know what it means. It'll be hard fighting
and no quarter. But he's worth taking. The London merchants have put a
price on him, and there'll be that, and himself, and a share in the
Indiaman besides, and we'll go back to Peter Port with our pockets lined."

We gave him a cheer and hungered for the fray.

John Ozanne took us round in a wide sweep to open the ships, and every eye
and glass was glued to them. As we rounded the Indiaman's great gilded
stern, about a mile away, it did not need John Ozanne's emphatic--"It's
him!" to tell us we were in for a tough fight, and that three prizes lay
for our taking. We gave John another cheer, tightened our belts, and
perhaps--I can speak for one at all events--wondered grimly how it would be
with some of us a couple of hours later.

The Frenchman cast off at once and came to meet us, the Red Hand flying at
his masthead, the red lump at his bows, the red streak clearly visible just
below the open gun-ports.

"Do your duty, lads," said John Ozanne. "There'll be tough work for us. He
carries heavy metal. We'll close with him at all odds, and then the British
bull-dog must see to it."

We gave him another cheer, and then a cloud of white smoke burst from the
Frenchman's fore deck, and our topmast and all its hamper came down with a
crash, and our deck rumbled with bitter curses.

"---- him!" said Ma