their rammers and their
sponges beside them. All the next day the chase goes on. At last,
slowly but surely, the American frigate gains on her pursuers. At
four o'clock in the afternoon, the Shannon is four miles astern.

Two hours later, a squall gave Hull a chance to play a trick on his
pursuers. Sail was shortened the moment the squall struck. The
British captain, seeing the apparent confusion on board the Yankee
frigate, also shortened sail. The moment his vessel was hidden by
{176} the rain, Hull quickly made sail again. When the weather
cleared, his nearest pursuer was far astern.

At daylight the next morning, the British fleet was almost out of
sight, and, after a chase of three nights and two days, gave up the
contest.

Six days later, the good people of Boston went wild with delight, as
their favorite frigate ran the blockade and came to anchor in the
harbor.

Captain Hull was not the man to be shut up in Boston harbor if he
could help it. In less than two weeks he ran the blockade and sailed
out upon the broad ocean. A powerful British fleet was off the coast.
Hull knew it, but out he sailed with his single ship to battle for
his country.

Now the British had a fine frigate named the Guerriere. This vessel
was one of the fleet that had given the Constitution such a hot chase
a few days before. Captain Dacres, her commander, and Captain Hull
were personal friends, and had wagered a hat on the result of a
possible battle between their frigates. The British captain had just
written a challenge to the commander of our fleet, saying that he
should like to meet any frigate of the United States, to have a few
minutes _tete-a-tete_.

On the afternoon of August 19, about seven hundred miles northeast of
Boston, these two finest frigates in the world, the Guerriere and the
Constitution, met for the "interview" that Dacres so much wanted.

All is hurry and bustle on "Old Ironsides."

{177} "Clear for action!" shrilly sounds the boatswain's whistle.

The fife and drum call to quarters. Everybody hurries to his place.

The British frigate, as if in defiance, flings out a flag from each
topmast. Her big guns flash, but the balls fall short.

"Don't fire until I give the word," orders Captain Hull.

Now the Guerriere, drawing nearer and nearer, pours in a broadside.

"Shall we not fire, sir?" asks Lieutenant Morris.

"Not yet," is Hull's reply.

Another broadside tears through the rigging, wounding sever