Previously to this, however, signals were made to the other ships, ordering them to alter their courses, with a view to meet anticipated changes in that of le Feu-Follet.  Lyon was sent to the westward, the Terpsichore a little easterly, while the Proserpine herself ventured so far as to steer southwest, after two o’clock.  But a sudden and violent shift of wind came an hour before day.  It was the expected—­nay, the announced—­sirocco, and it brought the lugger to windward beyond all dispute.  The south breeze came strong from the first puff; and, while it did not amount to a gale until the afternoon of the next day, it blew heavily, in squalls, after the first hour.

When the day dawned, the three ships were out of sight of each other.  The Proserpine, which we shall accompany, as our old acquaintance, and an actor in what is to succeed, was under double-reefed topsails, with her head up as high as west-southwest, laboring along through the troughs of the seas left by the late Tramontana.  The weather was thick, rain and drizzle coming in the squalls, and there were moments when the water could not be seen a cable’s-length from the ship; at no time was the usual horizon fairly visible.  In this manner the frigate struggled ahead, Cuffe unwilling to abandon all hopes of success, and yet seeing little prospect of its accomplishment.  The lookouts were aloft, as usual, but it was as much for form as for any great use they were likely to be, since it was seldom a man could see further from the cross-trees than he could from the deck.

The officers, as well as the men, had breakfasted.  A species of sullen discontent pervaded the ship, and the recent kind feelings toward Raoul Yvard had nearly vanished in disappointment.  Some began to grumble about the chances of the other ships falling in with the lugger, while others swore “that it mattered not who saw her; catch her none could, who had not an illicit understanding with the Father of Lies.  She was well named the Jack-o’-Lantern; for Jack-o’-Lantern she was, and Jack-o’-Lantern would she ever prove to be.  As well might a false fire be followed in a meadow, as such a craft at sea.  They might think themselves fortunate if the officers and-people sent against her in the boats ever got back to their own wholesome ship again.”

In the midst of such prognostics and complaints; the captain of the foretop shouted the words “Sail ho!” The usual inquiry and answer followed, and the officers got a glimpse of the object.  The stranger was distant half a league, and he was seen very indistinctly on account of the haze; but seen he was.

“’Tis a xebec,” growled the master, who was one of the grumblers of the day—­“a fellow with his hold crammed with a wine that would cover the handsomest woman’s face in Lunnun with wrinkles.”

“By Jupiter Ammon!” Cuffe exclaimed, “’tis le Feu-Folly, or I do not know an old acquaintance.  Quartermaster, hand me the glass—­not that, the shorter glass is the best.”