By noon a breeze sprang up from the eastward, and under all sail we stood away to the southward. By nightfall we were well in with the French coast, but farther to the west than I expected.
“The tide will soon make in shore, and we must beat back to the eastward,” observed the skipper. “You mustn’t hope, howsomdever, young gentleman, to get ashore till to-morrow morning.”
This mattered little to me, as I had no great objection to spend a few hours more on board.
During the night I awoke, and found the vessel perfectly motionless.
“Can another calm have come on?” I thought.
I was going off to sleep again, when I heard a footstep in the cabin, and, looking out of my bunk, by the light from the swinging lamp I saw the skipper examining some papers at the table.
“Has the wind dropped again?” I inquired.
“No, we are at anchor; we have been chased by a chasse-marée, and so, to escape her, we slipped in here; and here we shall remain perhaps for some days, till the coast is clear,” he answered.
“In that case, captain, I shall prefer going on shore, and making my way overland to my friend’s house. I shall find conveyances of some sort, I suppose?” I said.
“As to that I can’t say. It isn’t much of a place, but you may get along in a country cart, or hire a nag.”