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The young Frenchy was plucky as ginger. “What! Take her into Plymouth, and be made prisoner. I’ll sink first!” says he.

But you see, his crew weren’t navy men to listen to him; and they had wives and families, and knew that Cap’n Jacka’s was their only chance. In five minutes, for all the officer’s stamping and morblewing they had the Bean Pheasant about and were running for the English coast.

Now I must go back and tell you what was happening to the Unity in all this while. About four in the afternoon Cap’n Dick, not liking the look of the weather at all, and knowing that, so long as it lasted, he might whistle for prizes, changed his mind and determined to run back to Polperro, so as to re-ship Cap’n Jacka and the prize crew almost as soon as they arrived. By five o’clock he was well on his way, the Unity skipping along quite as if she enjoyed it; and ran before the gale all that night.

Towards three in the morning the wind moderated, and by half-past four the gale had blown itself out. Just about then the look-out came to Cap’n Dick, who had turned in for a spell, and reported two ships’ lights, one on each side of them. The chances against their being Frenchmen, out here in this part of the Channel, were about five to two; so Cap’n Dick cracked on; and at daybreak–about a quarter after five–found himself right slap between the very two frigates that had called Jacka to halt the evening before.

One was fetching along on the port tack, and the other on the weather side of him, just making ready to put about. They both ran up the white ensign at sight of him; but this meant nothing. And in a few minutes the frigate to starboard fired a shot across his bows and hoisted her French flag.

Cap’n Dick feigned to take the hint. He shortened sail and rounded at a nice distance under the lee of the enemy–both frigates now lying-to quite contentedly with their sails aback, and lowering their boats. But the first boat had hardly dropped a foot from the davits when he sung out, “Wurroo, lads!” 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.