The fate of the first lieutenant was justly deplored by all of us; though I cannot deny my Christian-like acquiescence in the will of Providence in this, as well as on a former occasion, when the witnesses of my weakness had been removed for ever out of my way.  As I saw it was impossible to regain his good opinion, I thought it was quite as well that we should part company.  That he had a strong presentiment of his death was proved; and though I had often heard these instances asserted, I never before had it so clearly brought home to my senses.

The prize was called L’Aimable Julie, laden with coffee, cotton, and indigo; mounted fourteen guns; had, at the commencement of the action, forty-seven men, of whom eight were killed, and sixteen wounded.  The period of our return into port, according to our orders, happened to coincide with this piece of good fortune, and we came up to Spithead, where our captain met with a hearty welcome from the admiral.

Having delivered his “butcher’s bill,” i.e. the list of killed and wounded, together with an account of our defects, they were sent up to the Admiralty; and, by return of post, we were ordered to fit foreign:  and although no one on board, not even the captain, was supposed to know our destination, the girls on the Point assured us it was the Mediterranean; and this turned out to be the fact.

A few days only were spent in hurried preparation, during which I continued to write to my father and mother.  In return I received all I required, which was a remittance in cash.  This I duly acknowledged by a few lines as the ship was unmooring.  We sailed, and soon after arrived without accident at Gibraltar, where we found general orders for any ship that might arrive from England to proceed and join the admiral at Malta.  In a few hours our provisions and water were complete; but we were not in so much haste to arrive at Malta as we were to quit Gibraltar—­hugging the Spanish coast, in hopes of picking up something to insure us as hearty a welcome at Valette as we found on our last return to Portsmouth.

Early on the second morning of our departure we made Cape de Gaete.  As the day dawned we discovered four sail in the wind’s eye, and close in shore.  The wind was light, and all sail was made in chase.  We gained very little on them for many hours, and towards evening it fell calm.  The boats were then ordered to pursue them, and we set off, diverging a little from each other’s course, or, as the French would say, deployee, to give a better chance of falling in with them.  I was in the gig with the master, and, that being the best running boat, we soon came up with one of the feluccas.  We fired musketry at her:  but having a light breeze, she would not bring-to.  We then took good aim at the helmsman, and hit him.  The man only shifted the helm from his right hand to his left, and kept on his course.  We still kept firing at this intrepid fellow, and I felt it was like wilful murder, since he made no resistance, but steadily endeavoured to escape.