CHAPTER XXI.

The Alabamans lucky day—­A trial of speed—­Brought to—­The Ariel—­Buying an elephant—­Prisoners of war—­Prize-money—­Still on the look-out —­Broken down—­A dilemma—­Yellow fever—­Release of the Ariel —­Under repair.

Sunday again!  The Alabama’s lucky day; and this time, at least, destined to be especially marked with white chalk in the annals of the ship.  The morning passed calmly enough; the ship in her quiet Sabbath trim; and nothing giving token of what was about to follow, save here and there a group anxiously scanning the horizon, or eagerly discussing the chances of a rich capture before nightfall.

The forenoon wore slowly away, and five bells had just sounded, when the cry of “Sail, ho!” from the masthead put every one on the qui vive, the excitement growing rapidly more and more intense as bit by bit the description of the stranger became more accurate and minute.  She is a steamer—­and a large one!  That sounded well, and the hopes of the sanguine rose higher and higher.  Brigantine rigged—­and a side-wheel steamer!—­so far so good.  This answers exactly to the description of the Californian steamers.  A few minutes will decide it now; the Alabama’s canvas has some time since been snugly furled, the fires spread and well supplied with fresh fuel, the propeller lowered, and the ship’s head turned in a direction to intercept the approaching vessel.  Rapidly the chase looms larger and larger, as the two swift steamers approach each other at almost top speed.  And now the huge walking-beam can be plainly distinguished, see-sawing up and down between the lofty paddle-boxes, and the decks appear crowded with hundreds of passengers, conspicuous among whom are to be seen the gay dresses of numerous ladies; and—­yes, surely that is the glimmer of bayonets, and that military-looking array drawn up on the hurricane-deck is a strong detachment of United States marines!

Swiftly, and in grim silence, the Alabama approached her huge but defenceless prey.  From her open ports grinned the black muzzles of her six 32 pounders, each with its crew standing round, eager for the word.  High above them towered the huge, black pivot-gun, while from the mizzen-peak floated the delusive Stars and Stripes, the sight of which was to tempt the stranger into a confession of his own nationality.

The ruse was, as usual, successful, and as the two vessels crossed, the Alabama passing a short distance astern of the stranger, the latter also hoisted United States colours, and expectation gave way to certainty among the delighted crew of the Confederate steamer.  Down came the Yankee colours from her gaff, and in its stead the white ensign of the Confederacy fluttered gaily in the breeze, while a blank shot from the Alabama’s lee bow-chaser summoned the chase to surrender.  Surrendering, however, seemed to be the last thing in the chase’s thoughts.  Already she was ahead of the Confederate cruiser, and trusting to her own well-known speed, appeared determined to make at least one effort to escape.  She held steadily on her course, at top speed, without noticing the pursuer’s summons; the black smoke that poured in volumes from her funnel, showing no less plainly than the rapid revolutions of her paddles the strenuous exertions she was making to escape.