About ten, both vessels were on the starboard tack, standing to the southward and westward, or out towards the broad Atlantic, with the brig about a league under the Dawn’s lee, and a little forward of her beam.  This was the most favourable position for us to be in, in order to effect our purpose, since the cruiser had already passed her nearest point to us, on that tack.  The horizon to windward, and all along the margin of the sea at the northward, was covered with clouds, which threatened, by the way, a capfull of wind.  This dark back-ground would be likely to prevent our being seen; and the instant the night shut in the outline of the brig’s canvass, I ordered our helm put down.

It was lively business, tacking such a ship as the Dawn, under so much canvass, and in such a breeze, with four men!  The helm was lashed hard down, and at it we went, like so many tigers.  The after-yards swung themselves though the main-tack and sheet gave us a good deal of trouble.  We braced everything aft, sharp up, before we left it, having first managed to get the fore-yard square.  When this was done, we filled all forward, and dragged the yards and bow-lines to their places, with a will that seemed irresistible.

There were no means of knowing whether the brig came round, about this time, or not.  Agreeably to the rule of chasing, she should have tacked when directly abeam, unless she fancied she could eat us out of the wind by standing on.  We knew she did not tack when directly abeam, but we could not see whether she came round after us, or not.  At all events, tack or not, she must still be near a league under our lee; and we drove on, towards the English coast, until the day reappeared, not a man of us all sleeping a wink that night.  How anxiously we watched the ocean astern, and to leeward, as the returning light slowly raised the veil of obscurity from before us!  Nothing was in sight, even when the sun appeared, to bathe the entire ocean in a flood of glory.  Not even a white speck in-shore; and as for the brig, we never saw or heard more of her.  Doubtless she stood on, on the old course, hoping gradually to close with us, or to draw so far ahead and to windward, as to make certain of her prey in the morning.

According to our reckoning, the ship was now heading well up towards the coast of Wales, which we might expect to make in the course of the next four-and-twenty hours, should the wind stand.  I determined, therefore, to make the best of the matter, and to go directly up the Irish channel, hoping to fall in with some boat from the north shore, that might not have as apt intellects on board it, as those of our Scilly pilot had proved to be.  We stood on, consequently, all that day; and another sun set without our making the land.  We saw several vessels at a distance, in the afternoon; but we were now in a part of the ocean where an American ship would be as little likely to be disturbed as in any I know.  It was the regular track of vessels bound to Liverpool,—­and these last were as little molested as the want of men would at all permit.  Could we get past that port, we should then be in the way of picking up half a dozen Irishmen.