An hour went by and then another. The two vessels were now running on almost parallel lines, so that any attempt of the sloop to draw nearer cost her just so much of chasing distance. It might be that they were, in fact, nearly matched, now that the wind had lulled a little, and both of them were able to send up more canvas without too much risk of having their sticks blown out of them. It looked like it, but the Yankee captain had yet another idea in his sagacious head. "Let her keep on," he said. "The old _Kennebec_ is out there, somewhere westerly, not far away. That vagabond may find himself under heavier guns than ours before sunset. Lieutenant, give him a gun." "Ay, ay, sir!" came back, and in a moment more there was a flash and a report at the bow of the _Portsmouth_. Both range and distance had been well calculated, for an iron messenger, ordering the _Goshhawk_ to heave to, fell into the water within a hundred yards of her stern. "That's near enough for the present," said the American commander, but Captain Kemp exclaimed, in astonishment: "They are firing on the British flag, are they? Then there is something up that we don't know anything about. We must get away at all risks." They were not doing so just now, although another change of course and a strong puff of the gale carried the _Goshhawk_ further out of range. The fact was that her pursuer did not feel quite ready to land shot on board of her, believing that he was doing well enough and that his prize would surely be taken sooner or later. Besides, if she were, indeed, to become a prize, no sound-minded sea-captain could be willing to shoot away her selling value or that of her cargo. Noon came, and there did not appear to be any important change in the relative positions of the two ships. At times, indeed, the _Goshhawk_ had gained a quarter-mile or so, but only to lose it again, as is apt to be the case in ocean races. She was not at all tired, however, and both of the contestants had all the wind they needed. Two hours more went slowly by, and Captain Kemp began to exhibit signs of uneasiness at the unexpected persistence with which he was followed. "What on earth can be the matter?" he remarked, aloud. "I'd have thought she'd get tired of it before this--" "Captain!" sharply interrupted Zuroaga, standing at his elbow, glass in hand. "Another sail! Off there, southerly. Seems to be a full-rigged ship. What are we to do now?" "Keep on!" roared the captain, and then he turned to respond to a similar piece of unpleasant information which came down from the lookout. "We'll soon know what she is," he remarked, but not as if he very much wished to do so. "What I'd like to do would be to sail on into the darkest kind of a rainy night. That's our chance, if we can get it." It might be, but at that very moment the commander of the _Portsmouth_ was asserting to his first lieutenant: