A little before noon next morning four strange sails were seen in the offing, which, before long, were made out to be the dreaded Madagascar pirates, with the Cassandra, Victory, and two prizes they had just taken.  The sight of them struck Brown with terror, though a little reflection would have shown him that the pirates would have little or no inducement to attack armed ships carrying no valuable merchandise.  He directed his whole squadron to anchor off Gheriah, which must have appeared puzzling to his late antagonists in that place.  Hoping to evade the pirate ships, anchor was weighed in the night, and the squadron sailed northward, no order being preserved, and the fleet getting much scattered.

As it happened, the pirates had mistaken them for Angria’s fleet, and were standing to the northward in search of prey, without any thought of attacking them.  Without any hostile intention on either side, the two squadrons became intermingled.  While it was still dark, the party on the London was startled by a cannon shot flying over them, and in the faint morning light they saw a large ship on their quarter.  On hailing to ask her name, an answer came back that it was the Victory.  Brown preferred to believe that it was his own ship of that name; but his answering hail, giving the name of the London, was replied to with a broadside, to which a smart fire was returned by the Revenge and the Defiance, that were close astern.  On both sides there was no willingness to fight.  The pirates were at first seized with consternation at discovering their mistake; they had turned their prizes adrift after throwing their sails overboard, and, with only three hundred men for their joint crews, forty of them negroes, were not strong enough to engage the Bombay squadron.  But England was a man who preferred fighting to running, so putting a bold face on the matter, the Cassandra ran through the fleet, firing into the Victory, the Chandos, and the Phram.  The Chandos, which was towing the Phram, at once cast it loose.  The fleet scattered in all directions, like a flock of sheep when a strange dog runs through it.  Upton, of the London, a chicken-hearted fellow, persuaded Brown that they ought not to engage, as Boone had sent them to attack Gheriah, but had given them no instructions about the Madagascar pirates.  Brown seemingly did not want much persuading, and crowded all sail to escape; at the same time striking his flag to show that he did not intend fighting, which excited the indignation of his own sailors and the derision of the pirates.  He next sent orders by a gallivat for the Phram to be burned, and thus that useless machine, from which so much had been expected; and that had cost so much money and labour, came to an end.

These foolish proceedings gave England the measure of his antagonists.  ‘Observing the indifferency of the fleet,’ the best way of saving himself was, he thought, to ‘play the Bull-beggar’ with them; so he set to work to chase them northward.  The superior sailing powers of the pirates enabled them to do as they pleased.