at, and then rounded-to, to hoist it up.
The sea was heavy, and she was delayed a minute or two, although, to do
them justice, they were very smart on board of her. As soon as the boat
was up she made all sail, and came foaming after us, as if she were in
as great a rage as the captain and those on board of her. Every now and
then she yawed to throw a shot at us from her bow-chasers; but that we
didn't mind, as the yawing checked her way, and it's not very easy to
hit a low vessel like a lugger in a toppling sea. Well, very soon we
were not four miles from the French coast, so we hauled down our English
colors and hoisted French. The frigate gained on us very fast, but we
continued to steer on, and she in pursuit, until we were within gun-shot
of the batteries, What the Frenchmen thought we did not know, at all
events they did not fire, and we steered right on as if we were chased,
and the frigate followed after us, until we were within a mile and a
half of the batteries, when the frigate thought proper to haul her wind.
Then the battery opened upon her, and we could see that she was hulled
more than once, and, as she kept her wind along the shore, the other
batteries opened upon her, and she got a good mauling. We saw her shift
her foretopsail yard as soon as she went about again, and we afterward
heard that she had several men hurt, which was a pity."

"And did not the batteries fire upon _you?_"

"No, for we kept the French colors up, and hove to within a mile of the
coast. It was a lee shore, and there was too much surf and sea for them
to send off a boat and ascertain whether we were a French privateer or
not; so there we lay till dusk, and then made sail again, and, being so
close into the French shore, we picked up a good prize that very night.
When the cruise was over, I was satisfied. I got my prize-money, and
then, as I knew our own coast well, I passed for pilot, and have served
as one ever since. How's her head, Tom?"

"S.W. almost."

"S.W. _almost_ won't do, Tom. It's not quite S.W., quarter-south; so you
must say S.W. southerly. D'ye understand?"

When Bessy knocked at my door the next morning, she cried out, laughing,
"How's her head, Tom?" and those words made me jump up like lightning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

In which Bramble points out to me that singing is part of the
Profession of a Pilot.

In about a fortnight from the time that Bramble commenced his tuition I
was quite perf