The big foresail of the Revenge lifted and the sheets and outhauls of the steering-sails spattered a line of spray as they tautened up out of the water. But it seemed almost too late that the breeze had reached them. Broad off the starboard bow was the brig, but a mile and a half away, while little more than twice that distance, dead astern, came the seventy-four, a roll of seething white playing under her forefoot and sweeping out on either side. Down on the wind came the ominous rolling of a drum. “They’re beating to quarters, sir,” observed the mate; and then in almost semitragic despair he muttered, “and they’ve got us in their locker!” But the Revenge was now slipping along swiftly, although she had not yet felt the full force of the following wind. The brig had set a little answering pennant to a new string of signals that had risen to the masthead of the seventy-four, and in obedience, although at extreme range, she began firing with her bow guns, the balls plashing harmlessly in the water a few hundred yards away, but each one appearing to come nearer than the last, and threatened to reach the Revenge at any moment. It looked black indeed for the little cruiser. Her actions had placed her, beyond doubt, in the minds of her pursuers as the vessel for whose capture a large reward had been offered. Subterfuge was useless. She had proclaimed herself as much as if she had flown the cross-barred flag with the wriggling rattlesnake that, bent to the color halyards, lay on deck ready to have risen and to have been tossed to the wind. The feeling of terror that was spreading through the crew seemed to unnerve them. A French sailor, as a shot from the brig came closer than before, fell on his knees and began to call upon the saints. Something must be done, although it seemed that all human exertion would be futile, for even now the line-of-battle ship had opened up with her two forward guns, but, like her smaller consort, the shots fell harmlessly some distance off. Now the Revenge had caught the full force of the wind, and every sheet was taut as a bar of iron. The spray began to fly over her bows as she dipped and rose against the crest of the seas. For an instant it appeared as if she was holding her own, and it was so, as far as the brig was concerned; but the seventy-four was faster than her bulk would lead one to suspect. A shot came skipping along the water, jumping from wave to wave until it sank almost broad off the beam of the Revenge. “We must try the last resort, Mr. Minott,” said Conyngham quietly; “we must lighten her.”