e shall have a squeak for it
at best!" observed Tony, eyeing the Frenchman with no loving glance.
All sail was made, but nothing but a miracle could have saved us. The
men showed their opinion of what was to happen by slipping down one by
one below, and putting on their best clothes, as sailors always do when
they expect to fall into any enemy's hands. I have known some to do so
when they expect to be wrecked, with but little prospect of saving their
lives. Now they had good reason for what they did, for the Frenchman,
should they take our ship, were sure not to leave us more than we had on
our backs, even if so much. All we could do to escape, we did, but in
vain. Before long, we found ourselves under the guns of a French
seventy-four, the _Droits-de-l'Homme_, one of the squadron, with troops
on board, intended for the invasion of Ireland. With sad hearts, Tony
Fenwick, Paul Bott, and most of our crew found ourselves conveyed on
board our captor, which soon afterwards made sail for France. It was
the winter season; the nights were long, the weather tempestuous. When
near the coast, two sail were seen--large ships, supposed to be British;
we devoutly hoped that they might prove so. The _Droits-de-l'Homme_
made sail to escape them. Shortly afterwards two other ships were seen
steering so as to cut her off from the land. They were undoubtedly
enemies. Though surrounded, as they supposed, by foes, the Frenchmen
made every attempt to escape, but fortune was against them. "We caught
a Tartar t'other day--the Mounseers have caught half-a-dozen!" observed
Tony, as we watched what was going on through one of the main-deck
ports. A heavy squall, as he spoke, carried away the fore and
main-top-masts. It was no easy matter for us to refrain from cheering
at the accident, but the probability of getting a clout on our heads,
and being sent below for our patriotism, kept us silent. "There's no
fear now, that before many hours are over we shall be under our own flag
again," whispered Tony to me. "The same mishap which has occurred to
the Frenchman may befall our friends," I answered. "There are but two
frigates in sight, but I hope that they are more than a match for a
French seventy-four."

The Frenchmen were so busy with clearing away the wreck of the masts to
be ready for their foes, that no one thought of us and the other English
prisoners they had on board. The gale increased; the sea ran high; the
English frig