“Let me perish else,” answered Halyard, whom the result of his search in his pockets, now that an attack on the galleon appeared uncertain, rendered desperate. “Hang me up, an’ I would not venture it in an old hen-coop.” “We will see to ’t, then,” rejoined Hildebrand. “Let all the spare hands turn in, and take an hour’s rest. We will be up with her by ten o’clock!” Reassured by a prospect so promising, Master Halyard thrust his hands into his pockets again; and hastened, in compliance with Hildebrand’s instructions, to order all the men that were not required for the navigation of the ship to take an hour’s rest. Having seen his order obeyed, he returned to the quarter-deck; and there, with becoming gravity, but not with any dread or apprehension of the result, arranged with Hildebrand how they could best realize their project of attacking the supposed galleon. Meantime, the ship, favoured by the wind, made good way ahead, and bid fair to fulfil her commander’s expectations. As the time slipped by, the galleon became more distinct, and her hull, which hitherto had been invisible, or only distinguishable from the mast-head, was apparent from the forecastle by the evening. It was, however, far from being viewed by our friends with satisfaction; for the hull of the galleon could not be visible to them, unless their ship, and its hostile bearings, which were indicated by its course, were visible to her. On discovering these particulars, she might alter her course; and so, under cover of the night, escape them altogether. But though Hildebrand thought such a result was not unlikely, he determined, after deliberate reflection, to bear down on her still, and pursue the course he had entered on without deviation. The issue justified his mode of proceeding. About three hours after nightfall, which (for it was now winter) was near the time that he had predicted, the look-out man in the weather-bow gave the anxiously-expected alarm. “A large ship ahead, Sir!” he cried to Hildebrand, who, together with Halyard, was still pacing the quarter-deck. The announcement drew a low buzz from the crew, who, though many of them were yet at liberty to remain below, had all assembled on the deck of their own accord; and a general rush, sounding like the roar of a cataract, was made to the forecastle. Loud as the noise was, however, the voice of Hildebrand, raised to its highest tone, was heard above it. “Silence there! fore and aft!” he cried. All was still in a moment--so entirely and distinctly still, that one would have thought it impossible, on observing their profound silence, that the crowd of men around could be living creatures, much less that they were on the eve of a fierce and deadly struggle. Hildebrand paused till his order was obeyed, when he resumed.-- “Pass the word for the drummer!” he cried.