The men sent with him in the brig consisted of two able seamen, and three of the gang which had been collected from the gaols and brought round from the eastward.  Captain Northfleet spared the former, as it was necessary that a part of the crew should be able to steer and navigate the vessel; the latter, with the sincere hope of never seeing them again, taking it for granted that they would run away as soon as they arrived at Plymouth.  With the two prisoners, they were sufficient to work the vessel.

During the first ten days the wind was generally in their favour; and the brig was not far off from the chops of the Channel, when a low raking vessel was perceived bearing down upon them from the N.W.  Newton had no glass; but as she neared to within three miles, the vessel wore the appearance of a privateer schooner; but whether an enemy or not, it was impossible to decide.  The Estelle had two small brass guns on her forecastle; and Newton, to ascertain the nation to which the privateer belonged, hoisted the French ensign and fired a gun.  In a minute the privateer hoisted English colours; but as she continued to bear down upon them, Newton, not feeling secure, rove his studding-sail gear, and made all preparation for running before the wind, which he knew to be the brig’s best point of sailing.  The privateer had approached to within two miles, when Roberts, one of the seamen, gave his decided opinion that she was a French vessel, pointing out the slight varieties in the rigging and build of the vessel, which would not have been apparent to anyone but a thorough-bred seamen.

“We’d better up helm, and get the sail upon her.  If she be French, she’ll soon show herself by firing at us.”

Newton was of the same opinion.  The brig was put before the wind, and gradually all her canvas was spread.  The privateer immediately shook out all her reefs, set her lofty sails, hoisted French colours, and, in a few minutes, a shot whizzed through the rigging of the Estelle, and pitched into the water ahead of them.

“I thought so,” cried Roberts.  “It’s a Johnny Crapeau.  A starn chase is a long chase, anyhow.  The brig sails well, and there aren’t more than two hours daylight; so Monsieur must be quick, or we’ll give him the slip yet.”

The privateer was now within a mile of them; both vessels had “got their way;” and their respective powers of sailing were to be ascertained.  In half an hour the privateer had neared to three-quarters of a mile.

“I think our little guns will soon reach her,” observed Newton.  Williams, give me the helm.  Go forward with Roberts and the men, and rouse them aft.  Be smart, my lads, for she has the heels of us.”

“Come along,” said Roberts.  “You, Collins, why don’t you stir?—­do you wish to see the inside of a French prison?”

“No,” replied Collins, sauntering forward, “not particularly.”

“Only by way of a change, I suppose,” observed Thompson, another of the convicts.  “You have been in every gaol in England, to my knowledge—­haven’t you, Ben?”