In mid-ocean--the Pacific. Two ships within sight of one another, less
than a league apart. Both sailing before the wind, running dead down it
with full canvas spread--not side by side, but one in the wake of the
other.
Is it a chase? To all appearance, yes; a probability strengthened by
the relative size and character of the vessels. One is a barque,
polacca-masted, her masts raking back with the acute shark's-fin set
supposed to be characteristic of piratical craft. The other is a ship,
square-rigged and full sized; a row of real, not painted, ports, with a
gun grinning out of each, proclaiming her a man-of-war.
She is one--a frigate, as any seaman would say, after giving her a
glance. And any landsman might name her nationality. The flag at her
peak is one known all over the world: it is the ensign of England.
If it be a chase, she is the pursuer. Her colours might be accepted as
surety of this, without regard to the relative position of the vessels;
which show the frigate astern, the polacca leading.
The latter also carries a flag--of nationality not so easily determined.
Still it is the ensign of a naval power, though one of little note.
The five-pointed white star, solitary in a blue field, proclaims it the
standard of Chili.
Why should an English frigate be chasing a Chilian barque? There is no
war between Great Britain and this, the most prosperous of the South
American republics; instead, peace-treaties, with relations of the most
amicable kind. Were the polacca showing colours blood-red, or black,
with death's-head and cross-bones, the chase would be intelligible. But
the bit of bunting at her masthead has nothing on its field either of
menace or defiance. On the contrary, it appeals to pity, and asks for
aid; for it is an ensign reversed--in short, a _signal of distress_.
And yet the craft so signalling is on the scud before a stiff breeze,
with all sail set, stays taut, not a rope out of place!
Strange this. So is it considered by every one aboard the man-of-war,
from the captain commanding to the latest joined "lubber of a
landsman"--a thought that has been in their minds ever since the chase
commenced.
For it _is_ a chase: that is, the frigate has sighted a sail, and stood
towards it. This without changing course; as, when first espied, the
stranger, like herself, was running before the wind. If slowly, the
pursuer has, nevertheless, been gradually forging nearer the pursued;
till at length the telescope tells the latter to be a barque--at the
same time revealing her ensign reversed.
Nothing strange in this, of itself; unfortunately, a sight too common at
sea. But that a vessel displaying signals of distress should be
carrying all sail, and running away, or attempting to do so, from
another making to relieve her--above all, from a ship bearing the
British flag--this _is_ strange. And just thus has the polacca been
behaving--still is; sailing on down the wind, without slacking
haulyards, or lessening her spread of canvas by a single inch!
Certainly the thing seems odd. More than that--mysterious.
To this conclusion have they come on board the warship. And, naturally
enough; for there is that which has imbued their thoughts with a tinge
of superstition.
In addition to what they see, they have something _heard_. Within the
week they have spoken two vessels, both of which reported this same
barque, or one answering her description: "_Polacca-masted, all sail
set, ensign reversed_."
A British brig, which the frigate's boat had boarded, said: That such a
craft had run across her bows, so close they could have thrown a rope to
her; that at first no one was observed on board; but on her being
hailed, two men made appearance, both springing up to the main-shrouds;
thence answering the hail in a language altogether unintelligible, and
with hoarse croaking voices that resembled the barking of muzzled
mastiffs!
It was late twilight, almost night, when this occurred; but the brig's
people could make out the figures of the men, as these clung on to the
ratlines. And what seemed as surprising as their odd speech was, that
both appeared to be clothed in skin-dresses, covering their bodies from
head to foot!
Seeing the signal of distress, the brig's commander would have sent a
boat aboard; but the barque gave no chance for this--keeping on without
slacking sail, or showing any other sign of a wish to communicate!
Standing by itself, the tale of the brig's crew might have been taken
for a sailor's yarn; and as they admitted it to be "almost night," the
obscurity would account for the skin-clothing. But coupled with the
report of another vessel, which the frigate had afterwards spoken--a
whaler--it seemed to receive full corroboration. The words sent through
the whaler's trumpet were:--
"_Barque sighted, latitude 10 degrees 22 minutes South, longitude 95
degrees West. Polacca-masted. All sail set. Ensign reversed.
Chilian. Men seen on board covered with red hair, supposed
skin-dresses. Tried to come up, but could not. Barque a fast sailer--
went away down wind_."
Already in receipt of such intelligence, it is no wonder that the
frigate's crew feel something more than mere curiosity about a vessel
corresponding to the one of which these queer accounts have been given.
For they are now near enough the barque to see that she answers the
description: "Polacca-masted--all sail set--ensign reversed--Chilian."
And her behaviour is as reported: sailing away from those who would
respond to her appealing signal, to all appearance endeavouring to shun
them!
Only now has the chase in reality commenced. Hitherto the frigate was
but keeping her own course. But the signal of distress, just sighted
through the telescope, has drawn her on; and with canvas crowded, she
steers straight for the polacca.
The latter is unquestionably a fast sailer; but although too swift for
the brig and whaler, she is no match for the man-of-war. Still she
makes quick way, and the chase is likely to be a long one.
As it continues, and the distance does not appear very much, or very
rapidly, diminishing, the frigate's people begin to doubt whether she
will ever be overtaken. On the fore-deck the tars stand in groups,
mingled with marines, their eyes bent upon the retreating craft, making
their comments in muttered tones, many of the men with brows o'ercast.
For a fancy has sprung up around the forecastle, that the chased barque
is no barque at all, but a _phantom_! This is gradually growing into a
belief; firmer as they draw nearer, and with naked eye note her
correspondence with the reports of the spoken vessels.
They have not yet seen the skin-clad men--if men they be. More like,
imagine some, they will prove _spectres_!
While on the quarterdeck there is no such superstitious thought, a
feeling almost as intense agitates the minds of those there assembled.
The captain, surrounded by his officers, stands glass in hand gazing at
the sail ahead. The frigate, though a fine sailer, is not one of the
very fastest, else she might long ago have lapped upon the polacca.
Still has she been gradually gaining, and is now less than a league
astern.
But the breeze has been also declining, which is against her; and for
the last half-hour she has barely preserved her distance from the
barque.
To compensate for this, she runs out studding-sails on all her yards,
even to the royals; and again makes an effort to bring the chase to a
termination. But again to suffer disappointment.
"To no purpose, now," says her commander, seeing his last sail set.
Then adding, as he casts a glance at the sky, sternwards, "The wind's
going down. In ten minutes more we'll be becalmed."
Those around need not be told this. The youngest reefer there, looking
at sky and sea, can forecast a calm.
In five minutes after, the frigate's sails go flapping against the
masts, and her flag hangs half-folded.
In five more, the canvas only shows motion by an occasional clout; while
the bunting droops dead downward.
Within the ten, as her captain predicted, the huge warship lies
motionless on the sea--its surface around her smooth as a swan-pond.