I was not among those who were told off for this duty, but the fever of adventure had got such a hold upon me that I was hungry to take a share in what was toward.  So I contrived to slip into the boat at the last moment, at some peril of a ducking, and mounted the Frenchman’s deck with the rest.  Then I wished that I had not been so impetuous, for the sight that met my eye was more terrible than anything I had ever imagined, and explained the surrender.  Scores of wounded and dying men were strewn over the decks; their groans and piteous looks turned my heart sick.  But such sights were no new thing to the rest of the crew.  They set to work with amazing coolness to clear the decks, and get the vessel into trim, our captain having ordered the mate to rig jury masts, under which he hoped to sail the prize to England.

This seemed to me, I own, an enterprise of much danger, for we were near the French coast, and might easily fall in with a French frigate, or even a squadron of the enemy’s vessels.  But the prize was exceedingly valuable, and Captain Cawson was no more unwilling than any other English seaman to run a certain risk.  Accordingly the soldiers and passengers on board the Frenchman were sent below and battened under hatches, and the crew was made to assist our men in cutting away the rigging and splicing and setting up the weather shrouds.  The lighter sails were stripped off the foremast, the mate thinking to bring her into port under mizzen and main sail, together with all the fore and aft canvas that could be safely set.

’Twas the work of several hours to get things shipshape, the Dolphin meanwhile lying by to give us countenance and protection.  When all was trim and taut we set a course for our own shores, following the Dolphin about three cables’ lengths astern.

’Twas drawing towards sunset when she signalled to us that a sail was in sight.  This news caused much commotion among us, still more when our own lookout cried that the vessel bearing towards us under press of sail out of the west was beyond doubt a frigate, and in all likelihood a Frenchman.  I knew our case would be parlous if indeed it was so, for neither the privateer nor the merchant barque we had captured was armed in any wise to match a line-of-battle ship.  Moreover ’twas unlikely that in our partly crippled condition we could out-sail the vessel:  and when the mate, taking a look at the stranger through his perspective glass, declared that she was certainly French, our only hope was that darkness might shroud us before she came within striking distance—­a slender chance at the best, for, though ’twas drawing towards dusk, the sky was wonderfully clear.

We held on our course, there being nothing else for us to do.  The frigate loomed ever larger, and my heartbeats quickened as I wondered what the event would be.  I did not dream that we should strike our flag as the Frenchman had done, and thought that we, having two vessels against one, would at least make a fight of it.  But I was struck with mingled indignation and dismay when I saw the Dolphin crowd on all sail and bear away northwards, leaving us to our fate.  I thought it a scurvy action on the part of Captain Cawson, and Dilly could not persuade me that he could have done us no good by remaining.