, had caught his galley alone. Into this
trap he had been led partly by the excellence of his crew.
Not only was his the fleetest vessel of the six, but he had always
been jealous to choose the strongest _forcats_ to man it.
Moreover, M. de Sainte-Croix had been slow in starting, and by this
time _La Merveille_ was a league or more behind her consort.

Still the Commodore was in no way disturbed. He admitted to his
lieutenant beside him that the frigate was showing desperate
gallantry; but he never doubted for a moment that his galley alone,
with two hundred fighting-men aboard, would be more than a match for
her.

Down came the _Merry Maid_, closer and closer, her red-crossed flag
fluttering bravely at the peak; and on rushed the galley, until the
two were within cannon-shot. M. de la Pailletine gave the order, and
sent a shot to meet her from one of the four guns in the prow.
As the thunder of it died away and the smoke cleared, he waited for
the Englishman's reply. There was none. The frigate held on her
course, silent as death.

_III.--The Frigate._

The two English captains stood on the quarterdeck, side by side,
the tall man and the dwarf. Beyond issuing an order or two, neither
had spoken a word for twenty minutes. Once Captain Barker glanced
over his shoulder to see how the merchantmen were faring, and
calculated that within half an hour their enemies would intercept
them. Then he looked down on his men, who stood ready by the guns,
motionless, with lips set, repressing the fury of battle; and beyond
them to the galley as she came, churning the sea, her oars rising and
falling like the strong wings of a bird.

"My God!" he said softly, "if only Tristram were here to see!"

_IV--The Galleys._

When the frigate failed to answer his salute, M. de la Pailletine
jumped to a fresh conclusion.

"_Mordieu!_" he cried, "here is another English captain who,
like our friend Salt, is weary of carrying his Sovereign's colours.
He doesn't mean to strike a blow. A minute and we shall see his flag
hauled down."

But the minute passed, and another, and yet a third, and the English
flag still flew.

By this time they were within musket-shot. One by one the four guns
had spoken from the galley's prow and still there was no answer.
On the brink of the tragedy there was silence for an instant.
Then a few of the French musketeers seemed to find this intolerable
and fired without receiving the order. Fo