The vessel to windward was not the first lugger, by fifty, that Captain
Cuffe had assisted in chasing, and he knew the hopelessness of following
such a craft under circumstances so directly adapted to its qualities.
Then he was far from certain that he was pursuing an enemy at all,
whatever distrust the signals may have excited, since she had clearly
come out of a friendly port. Bastia, too, lay within a few hours' run,
and there was the whole of the east coast of Corsica, abounding with
small bays and havens, in which a vessel of that size might take refuge
if pressed. After convincing himself, therefore, by half an hour's
further trial in open sailing under the full force of the breeze, of the
fruitlessness of his effort, that experienced officer ordered the
Proserpine's helm put up, the yards squared, and he stood to the
northward, apparently shaping his course for Leghorn or the Gulf of
Genoa. When the frigate made this change in her course, the lugger,
which had tacked some time previously, was just becoming shut in by the
western end of Elba, and she was soon lost to view entirely, with every
prospect of her weathering the island altogether, without being obliged
to go about again.
It was no more than natural that such a chase should occasion some
animation in a place as retired and ordinarily as dull as Porto Ferrajo.
Several of the young idlers of the garrison obtained horses and galloped
up among the hills to watch the result; the mountains being pretty well
intersected by bridle-paths, though totally without regular roads.
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