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divided them, and the water took the bearings of the vessel. Hour after
hour did he sit on the bowsprit, watching her progress; a crest of foam
scarce appearing ahead, before it was glittering under the lugger's
bottom. Occasionally a pursuing sea cast the stern upward, as if about
to throw it in advance of the bows; but le Feu-Follet was too much
accustomed to this treatment to be disturbed, and she ever rose on the
billow, like a bubble, and then the glancing arrow scarce surpassed the
speed with which she hastened forward, as if to recover lost time.
Cuffe did not quit the deck until the bell struck two, in the middle
watch. This made it one o'clock. Yelverton and the master kept the
watches between them, but the captain was always near with his advice
and orders.
"That craft seems faster when she gets her sails wing-and-wing than she
is even close-hauled, it seems to me, Yelverton," observed Cuffe, after
taking a long look at the chase with a night-glass; "I begin to be
afraid we shall lose her. Neither of the other ships does anything to
help us. Here we are all three, dead in her wake, following each other
like so many old maids going to church of a Sunday morning."
"It _would_ have been better, Captain Cuffe, had the Ringdove kept more
to the westward, and the frigate further east. Fast as the lugger is
with her wings spread, she's faster with them jammed up on a wind. I
expect every moment to find her sheering off to the westward, and
gradually getting us in _her_ wake _on_ a wind. I fear we should find
that worse work than even this, sir."
"I would not lose her now, for a thousand pounds! I do not see what the
d--l Dashwood was about, that he did not secure her when he got
possession of the rocks. I shall rattle him down a little, as soon as
we meet."
Cuffe would have been shocked had he known that the body of Sir
Frederick Dashwood was, just as that moment, going through the
melancholy process of being carried on board a two-decker, up at Naples,
the captain of which was his kinsman. But he did not know it, nor did he
learn his death for more than a week; or after the body had
been interred.
"Take the glass, Yelverton, and look at her. To me she grows very
dim--she must be leaving us fast. Be careful to note if there are any
signs of an intention to sheer to the westward."
"That can hardly be done without jibing her forward lug--hang me,
Captain Cuffe, if I can see her at all. Ah! here she is, dead ahead as
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before, but as dim as a ghost. I can barely make out her canvas--she is
still wing-and-wing, d--n her, looking more like the spectre of a craft
than a real thing. I lost her in that yaw, sir--I wish you would try,
Captain Cuffe--do my best, I cannot find her again."
Cuffe did try, but without success. Once, indeed, he fancied he saw her,
but further examination satisfied him it was a mistake. So long had he
been gazing at the same object, that it was easy for the illusion to
pass before his mind's eye, of imagining a dim outline of the little
lugger flying away, like the scud of the heavens, wing-and-wing, ever
seeming to elude his observation. That night he dreamed of her, and
there were haply five minutes during which his wandering thoughts
actually portrayed the process of taking possession, and of manning
the prize.
Previously to this, however, signals were made to the other ships,
ordering them to alter their courses, with a view to meet anticipated
changes in that of le Feu-Follet. Lyon was sent to the westward, the
Terpsichore a little easterly, while the Proserpine herself ventured so
far as to steer southwest, after two o'clock. But a sudden and violent
shift of wind came an hour before day. It was the expected--nay, the
announced--sirocco, and it brought the lugger to windward beyond all
dispute. The south breeze came strong from the first puff; and, while it
did not amount to a gale until the afternoon of the next day, it blew
heavily, in squalls, after the first hour.
When the day dawned, the three ships were out of sight of each other.
The Proserpine, which we shall accompany, as our old acquaintance, and
an actor in what is to succeed, was under double-reefed topsails, with
her head up as high as west-southwest, laboring along through the
troughs of the seas left by the late Tramontana. The weather was thick,
rain and drizzle coming in the squalls, and there were moments when the
water could not be seen a cable's-length from the ship; at no time was
the usual horizon fairly visible. In this manner the frigate struggled
ahead, Cuffe unwilling to abandon all hopes of success, and yet seeing
little prospect of its accomplishment. The lookouts were aloft, as
usual, but it was as much for form as for any great use they were likely
to be, since it was seldom a man could see further from the cross-trees
than he could from the deck.
The officers, as well as the men, had breakfasted. A species of sullen
discontent pervaded the ship, and the recent kind feelings toward Raoul
Yvard had nearly vanished in disappointment. Some began to grumble about
the chances of the other ships falling in with the lugger, while others
swore "that it mattered not who _saw_ her; _catch_ her none could, who
had not an illicit understanding with the Father of Lies. She was well
named the Jack-o'-Lantern; for Jack-o'-Lantern she was, and
Jack-o'-Lantern would she ever prove to be. As well might a false fire
be followed in a meadow, as such a craft at sea. They might think
themselves fortunate if the officers and-people sent against her in the
boats ever got back to their own wholesome ship again."
In the midst of such prognostics and complaints; the captain of the
foretop shouted the words "Sail ho!" The usual inquiry and answer
followed, and the officers got a glimpse of the object. The stranger was
distant half a league, and he was seen very indistinctly on account of
the haze; but seen he _was_.
"'Tis a xebec," growled the master, who was one of the grumblers of the
day--"a fellow with his hold crammed with a wine that would cover the
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