It took us another week to repair the damages we had suffered, to get out and bend to their places our spare sails, and to regain the course we were on when the storm first struck us.
Then followed a month during which we did not sight a vessel; it seemed as though the gale had swept clean the surface of the ocean, and left us the sole survivor of its fury.
The month of failure to discover a sail was succeeded by two weeks during which every ship we sighted ran away from us, and when they came to an end we had been eight weeks at sea without so much as the ghost of a prize to cheer our hearts.
We now were off the mouth of the St. Lawrence, and the orders had been given us to take a homeward course, when our lookout called out:
“Ship ahoy! Two points off our weather bow. She’s a large ship, and carries the English colors.”
Hoping at last we had found a prize, so that we need not return to port empty-handed, we changed our helm, and ran down towards her.
We had not gone a mile before the man at the masthead again called out:
“She’s a British frigate, a big one, sir, and she has headed down this way.”
Lieutenant Barrows, our executive officer, sprang into the shrouds and gazed at the ship through his glass for some minutes. Then he jumped down, saying to me:
“It is the Hind, Sir William Young commander, and carrying fifty-four guns. I’ve seen her too many times to be mistaken. Will you notify the Captain, Lieutenant Dunn?”