From all I heard I began to think whether I should not go and write a letter home, to tell them that when they received it I should have fallen fighting for my king and country; but then Spellman appeared on deck. He looked so absurd with his lugubrious countenance, and the plasters still on his cheeks, that I burst into a fit of laughter; and, all my apprehensions vanishing, I was in a minute joking away with my messmates as usual.
Chapter Seven.
The Doris under all sail, with our hard-won prize in tow, kept standing to the northward, the gallant Hercules bringing up the rear, while the French fleet, like a pack of yelping hounds, followed full chase at our heels.
A stern chase is a long chase, and so we hoped this might prove, without an end to it.
Our glasses, as may be supposed, were constantly turned towards the enemy. They had not gained much on us when the sun went down, and darkness stole over the surface of the ocean. Clouds were gathering in the sky—there was no moon, and the stars were completely obscured. It was in a short time as dark a night as we could desire. The Hercules, looking like some huge monster stalking over the deep, now ranged up past us, and a voice from her ordered us to tack to the westward, and keep close to her. This we did, though we had no little difficulty in keeping together without lights, which we did not show, lest we might have been seen by the enemy.
The next morning, when we looked round, not one of the French squadron was in sight, greatly to the vexation of our prisoners, who had hoped by this time to have seen the scales turned on us. We were out of the frying-pan, but before long we had reason to fear that we had tumbled into the fire.
Two days after this, when morning broke, we found ourselves enveloped by a thick fog. There was but little wind, and the sea was perfectly smooth. Suddenly the distant roar of a gun burst on our ears. It was answered by another much nearer; a third boomed over the waters on the other side of us. Others followed; then fog-bells began to ring—louder and more distinct they sounded; and more guns were fired.
“What’s all that about?” I asked of the boatswain, who was looking out on the forecastle. “Why, that we are in the middle of a big fleet of men-of-war, and if, as I suspect, they are French, and they catch sight of us, they’ll make mince-meat of our carcases in pretty quick time,” he answered, squirting a whole river of tobacco juice overboard, a proof to me that he was not pleased with the state of affairs.