Shortly after midday the Bill hove in sight; then the wind failed, and until darkness set in the smack was rolling in the oily waters of Lyme Bay, with the distant sounds of the terrible Race being faintly borne to our ears in the calm atmosphere.
About an hour after dark the cornet and I went to sleep, having only the rough comfort afforded by a heap of sails but, thanks to our hardy life, we slept none the worse.
Our rest was fated not to be of long duration, for we were aroused by the master giving orders in a loud and excited voice.
Springing to our feet, we peered into the inky blackness of the night, and straight ahead we saw a row of glimmering lights arranged in series of three, of which the middle one was slightly higher than the two outside.
They were the stern lanterns of a fleet.
"We are overhauling them fast," said the master "though we can scarce hope to pass by them ere daylight. If we are to avoid them we must needs stand in Poole Bay."
"I care not what ye do, as long as we are not taken," replied the cornet, who still smarted under his previous rebuff.
The breeze had freshened again, and we had run past Portland and were, so the master told us, abreast of St. Alban's Head. Resolving to stand more inshore, he altered the helm, and gradually we brought the endmost lights under our quarter.
Day dawned and found us within a couple of miles to leeward of the squadron, with Christchurch Head about four miles to larboard. We were soon perceived, for a frigate altered her course and fired a gun for us to bring to, whereupon the master, seeing flight out of the question, ordered the Happy Adventure to shorten sail, at the same time sending us down below.
In the cramped, close cabin we were unable to see what was taking place, though we heard the hails from the frigate and our master's replies.