By and by, as the light increased with the whitening moon, I did
indeed behold a large vessel under full sail beating towards us,
and I made no doubt 'twas Duguay-Trouin's privateer. The bosun said
her course would bring her athwart ours, and I felt how barren our
late victory would prove if she came to grips with us. 'Twas clear
she was outsailing us, and the seasoned mariners among my comrades
foretold that in a couple of hours we should be at her mercy.
We had spread all the canvas we could carry, and could only wait
and hope. I sat on a coil of rope, suffering much pain from my
wound, and trembling with anxiety as I watched the vessel drawing
nearer and nearer. A shifting of the wind helped us to mend our
pace a little; two hours, three hours, four hours passed, and still
the enemy had not come within range of us. And then, as day began
to dawn, I gave up hope, foreseeing a speedy end to the chase and
an enforced surrender.
But a cry from Runnles, who had gone aloft, raised my drooping
spirits.
"Four sail, sir, on the larboard bow," he shouted.
I sprang up (forgetting my wounded leg), and looked eagerly across
the sea. By and by I discovered four vessels of a large size
bearing down upon us from the west. Whether friend or foe I could
not tell until I saw the privateer change her course and at last
head directly back towards the shore. Then a great shout of
thankfulness broke from the throats of us tired men.
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