Mr. Bolt, introduced into a cabin strongly lighted by a swinging lamp, tendered to his captain across the table a sail-cloth package corded and scaled, and a piece of paper folded in four, which, he explained, seemed to be a certificate of registry, strangely enough mentioning no name. Captain Vincent seized the grey canvas package eagerly.
"This looks like the very thing, Bolt," he said, turning it over in his hands. "What else did you find on board?"
Bolt said that he had found three dead men, two on the after-deck and one lying at the bottom of the open hold with the bare end of the foresheet in his hand – "shot down, I suppose, just as he had let it go," he commented. He described the appearance of the bodies and reported that he had disposed of them according to orders. In the tartane's cabin there was half a demijohn of wine and a loaf of bread in a locker; also, on the floor, a leather valise containing an officer's uniform coat and a change of clothing. He had lighted the lamp and saw that the linen was marked "E. Réal." An officer's sword on a broad shoulder-belt was also lying on the floor. These things could not have belonged to the old chap with the white hair, who was a big man. "Looks as if somebody had tumbled overboard," commented Bolt. Two of the bodies looked nondescript, but there was no doubt about that fine old fellow being a seaman.
"By Heavens!" said Captain Vincent, "he was that! Do you know, Bolt, that he nearly managed to escape us? Another twenty minutes would have done it. How many wounds had he?"
"Three I think, sir. I did not look closely," said Bolt.
"I hated the necessity of shooting brave men like dogs," said Captain Vincent. "Still, it was the only way; and there may be something here," he went on, slapping the package with his open palm, "that will justify me in my own eyes. You may go now."
Captain Vincent did not turn in but only lay down fully dressed on the couch till the officer of the watch, appearing at the door, told him that a ship of the fleet was in sight away to windward. Captain Vincent ordered the private night signal to be made. When he came on deck the towering shadow of a line-of-battle ship that seemed to reach to the very clouds was well within hail and a voice bellowed from her through a speaking trumpet:
"What ship is that?"
"His Majesty's sloop Amelia," hailed back Captain Vincent. "What ship is that, pray?"
Instead of the usual answer there was a short pause and another voice spoke boisterously through the trumpet:
"Is that you, Vincent? Don't you know the Superb when you see her?"
"Not in the dark, Keats. How are you? I am in a hurry to speak the Admiral."
"The fleet is lying by," came the voice now with painstaking distinctness across the murmurs, whispers and splashes of the black lane of water dividing the two ships. "The Admiral bears S.S.E. If you stretch on till daylight as you are, you will fetch him on the other tack in time for breakfast on board the Victory. Is anything up?"
At every slight roll the sails of the Amelia, becalmed by the bulk of the seventy-four, flapped gently against the masts.
"Not much," hailed Captain Vincent. "I made a prize."
"Have you been in action?" came the swift inquiry.
"No, no. Piece of luck."
"Where's your prize?" roared the speaking trumpet with interest.
"In my desk," roared Captain Vincent in reply. . . . "Enemy dispatches. . . . I say, Keats, fill on your ship. Fill on her, I say, or you will be falling on board of me." He stamped his foot impatiently. "Clap some hands at once on the tow-line and run that tartane close under our stern," he called to the officer of the watch, "or else the old Superb will walk over her without ever knowing anything about it."
When Captain Vincent presented himself on board the Victory it was too late for him to be invited to share the Admiral's breakfast. He was told that Lord Nelson had not been seen on deck yet, that morning; and presently word came that he wished to see Captain Vincent at once in his cabin. Being introduced, the captain of the Amelia, in undress uniform, with a sword by his side and his hat under his arm, was received kindly, made his bow and with a few words of explanation laid the packet on the big round table at which sat a silent secretary in black clothes, who had been obviously writing a letter from his lordship's dictation. The Admiral had been walking up and down, and after he had greeted Captain Vincent he resumed his pacing of a nervous man. His empty sleeve had not yet been pinned on his breast and swung slightly every time he turned in his walk. His thin locks fell lank against the pale cheeks, and the whole face in repose had an expression of suffering with which the fire of his one eye presented a startling contrast. He stopped short and exclaimed while Captain Vincent towered over him in a respectful attitude:
"A tartane! Captured on board a tartane! How on earth did you pitch upon that one out of the hundreds you must see every month?"
"I must confess that I got hold accidentally of some curious information," said Captain Vincent. "It was all a piece of luck."
While the secretary was ripping open with a pen-knife the cover of the dispatches Lord Nelson took Captain Vincent out into the stern gallery. The quiet and sunshiny morning had the added charm of a cool, light breeze; and the Victory, under her three topsails and lower staysails, was moving slowly to the southward in the midst of the scattered fleet carrying for the most part the same sail as the Admiral. Only far away two or three ships could be seen covered with canvas trying to close with the flag. Captain Vincent noted with satisfaction that the first lieutenant of the Amelia had been obliged to brace by his afteryards in order not to overrun the Admiral's quarter.
"Why!" exclaimed Lord Nelson suddenly, after looking at the sloop for a moment, "you have that tartane in tow!"
"I thought that your lordship would perhaps like to see a 40-ton lateen craft which has led such a chase to, I daresay, the fastest sloop in his Majesty's service."
"How did it all begin?" asked the Admiral, continuing to look at the Amelia.
"As I have already hinted to your lordship, certain information came in my way," began Captain Vincent, who did not think it necessary to enlarge upon that part of the story. "This tartane, which is not very different to look at from the other tartanes along the coast between Cette and Genoa, had started from a cove on the Giens Peninsula. An old man with a white head of hair was entrusted with the service and really they could have found nobody better. He came round Cape Esterel intending to pass through the Hyères roadstead. Apparently he did not expect to find the Amelia in his way. And it was there that he made his only mistake. If he had kept on his course I would probably have taken no more notice of him than of two other craft that were in sight then. But he acted suspiciously by hauling up for the battery on Porquerolles. This manœuvre in connection with the information of which I spoke decided me to overhaul him and see what he had on board." Captain Vincent then related concisely the episodes of the chase. "I assure your lordship that I never gave an order with greater reluctance than to open musketry fire on that craft; but the old man had given such proofs of his seamanship and determination that there was nothing else for it. Why! at the very moment he had the Amelia alongside of him he still made a most clever attempt to prolong the chase. There were only a few minutes of daylight left, and in the darkness we might very well have lost him. Considering that they all could have saved their lives simply by striking their sails on deck, I can not refuse them my admiration and especially to the white-haired man."