st puff; and, while it
did not amount to a gale until the afternoon of the next day, it blew
heavily, in squalls, after the first hour.

When the day dawned, the three ships were out of sight of each other.
The Proserpine, which we shall accompany, as our old acquaintance, and
an actor in what is to succeed, was under double-reefed topsails, with
her head up as high as west-southwest, laboring along through the
troughs of the seas left by the late Tramontana. The weather was thick,
rain and drizzle coming in the squalls, and there were moments when the
water could not be seen a cable's-length from the ship; at no time was
the usual horizon fairly visible. In this manner the frigate struggled
ahead, Cuffe unwilling to abandon all hopes of success, and yet seeing
little prospect of its accomplishment. The lookouts were aloft, as
usual, but it was as much for form as for any great use they were likely
to be, since it was seldom a man could see further from the cross-trees
than he could from the deck.

The officers, as well as the men, had breakfasted. A species of sullen
discontent pervaded the ship, and the recent kind feelings toward Raoul
Yvard had nearly vanished in disappointment. Some began to grumble about
the chances of the other ships falling in with the lugger, while others
swore "that it mattered not who _saw_ her; _catch_ her none could, who
had not an illicit understanding with the Father of Lies. She was well
named the Jack-o'-Lantern; for Jack-o'-Lantern she was, and
Jack-o'-Lantern would she ever prove to be. As well might a false fire
be followed in a meadow, as such a craft at sea. They might think
themselves fortunate if the officers and-people sent against her in the
boats ever got back to their own wholesome ship again."

In the midst of such prognostics and complaints; the captain of the
foretop shouted the words "Sail ho!" The usual inquiry and answer
followed, and the officers got a glimpse of the object. The stranger was
distant half a league, and he was seen very indistinctly on account of
the haze; but seen he _was_.

"'Tis a xebec," growled the master, who was one of the grumblers of the
day--"a fellow with his hold crammed with a wine that would cover the
handsomest woman's face in Lunnun with wrinkles."

"By Jupiter Ammon!" Cuffe exclaimed, "'tis le Feu-Folly, or I do not
know an old acquaintance. Quartermaster, hand me the glass--not that,
the shorter glass is the best."

"Long or shor