broadside, which quite astonished the English privateer, who imagined that we were an unarmed merchantman.  The action now became very warm; we standing on, and every now and then rounding to and raking the cutter, while the French privateer engaged her broadside to broadside.  The French captain was abaft, giving his orders with the greatest coolness and ability, when a shot from the cutter came in on deck, and a large splinter which it tore off knocked him down on his back.  Bramble and I both ran to him and helped him up—­we could not help it, although he was an enemy.  He was not hurt, and as soon as he was on his legs he laughed, and thanked us in French.  The cutter still continued the fight until we were within three miles of the coast, when, all her spars and sails being cut to pieces, she hauled to the wind and stood out to the offing.

“Well, Tom, there’s all our hopes ended,” said Bramble; “so now I’ll light my pipe.  Well, I say it’s been a good fight on both sides.”

Here the captain came up to us and said, “Bien oblige—­tank you.”

The cutter did not, however, stand out for more than a few minutes, when she hove to and repaired damages, evidently intending to renew the action.  I pointed this out to Bramble.  “I see, I see,” replied he; “she intends to try and cut us off from Morlaix, which is to windward, and oblige us to fight or run for St. Malo’s, which is a long way to leeward.  In either case she will be able to attack us again, as she out-sails us.  Perhaps the fight is not over yet.”

But the Frenchman also understood what he was about, and he now steered a course.  When we were about two miles from the land, and about the same distance from the cutter, the latter kept away so as to oblige the ship to come to action again before she reached Morlaix; but, before she closed with us, we discovered that we were entering a small French port, which had not been visible to us, called (I think) Lanion, situated between Isle Bichat and Morlaix.  When within half a mile of the land, French over English was hoisted at our peak, and a French pennant over an English pennant at our main.

“I told you so,” said Bramble; “they have made a man-of-war out of us, and now there’ll be no end to the lies that they will tell; for though these French fellows do not fight quite so well as we do, at lying they’ll beat us hollow, any day of the week.  Never mind, Tom, we must keep a sharp lookout, and there’s no saying—­keep your eyes open as we go into the harbor—­I never was here before, but I suspect it’s nothing better than a poor fishing town.”

In a quarter of an hour the ship and privateer were both made fast to an old stone pier which ran out from the town; but there were no other vessels in the harbor except two small coasting chasses marees, and about a dozen fishing-boats.