ads!" and up again went the _Unity's_ great
lug-sail in a jiffy. The Frenchmen, like their sails, were all aback;
and before they could fire a gun the _Unity_ was pinching up to
windward of them, with Cap'n Dick at the helm, and all the rest of the
crew flat on their stomachs. Off she went under a rattling shower from
the enemy's bow-chasers and musketry, and was out of range without
a man hurt, and with no more damage than a hole or two in the
mizzen-lug. The Frenchmen were a good ten minutes trimming sails and
bracing their yards for the chase; and by that time Cap'n Dick had
slanted up well on their weather bow. Before breakfast-time he was
shaking his sides at the sight of seven hundred-odd Johnnies vainly
spreading and trimming more canvas to catch up their lee-way (for at
first the lazy dogs had barely unreefed courses after the gale, and
still had their topgallant masts housed). Likely enough they had work
on hand more important than chasing a small lugger all day; for at
seven o'clock they gave up and stood away to the south-east, and left
the _Unity_ free to head back homeward on her old course.

'Twas a surprising feat, to slip out of grasp in this way, and past
two broadsides, any gun of which could have sent him to the bottom;
and Cap'n Dick wasn't one to miss boasting over it. Even during the
chase he couldn't help carrying on in his usual loud and cheeky way,
waving good-bye to the Mossoos, offering them a tow-rope, and the
like; but now the deck wasn't big enough to hold his swagger, and in
their joy of escaping a French prison, the men encouraged him, so that
to hear them talk you'd have thought he was Admiral Nelson and Sir
Sidney Smith rolled into one.

By nine o'clock they made out the Eddystone on their starboard bow;
and a little after---the morning being bright and clear, with a nice
steady breeze--they saw a sail right ahead of them, making in for
Plymouth Sound. And who should it be but the old _Bean Pheasant_, deep
as a log! Cap'n Dick cracked along after her, and a picture she was as
he drew up close! Six of her guns had gone; her men were baling in two
gangs, and still she was down a bit by the head, and her stern yawing
like a terrier's tail when his head's in a rabbit-hole. And there at
the tiller stood Cap'n Jacka, his bald head shining like a statue of
fun, and his one eye twinkling with blessed satisfaction as he cocked
it every now and then for a glance over his right shoulder.

"Hull