the phantom Frenchman, as Tom Fairlie called her; but so
quickly had she come into view that the sight was startling in the
extreme. She was not crossing the moon's wake this time, however, but
bearing down upon the _Tonneraire_, as if about to attack her.

The man at the mast-head had seen her at the same time, and his
stentorian shout of, "Enemy on the starboard quarter!" awoke the
sleeping ship to instant life as effectually as if a fifty-pounder had
fired.

All hands to quarters.

R--r--r--r--r--r--r--r rattled the drum. It rattled once; the heaviest
sleeper started and rubbed his eyes. It rattled twice; every man was on
his legs and dressing. Thrice; and three minutes thereafter every man
stood by his gun, and the cockpit hatches were put down. The ship was
ready for action.

Would she come on? would the Frenchman fight? Alas! no. Already she
began to assume larger proportions as she showed broadside on. Above the
wind, that now blew more gently from the north, the very flapping of her
sails and loosening of her sheets could be heard as she came round, and
in less than an hour she had almost disappeared in the uncertain light.

CHAPTER XII.

A BATTLE BY NIGHT.

"What art thou, fascinating War,
Thou trophied, painted pest,
That thus men seek and yet abhor,
Pursue and yet detest?"--DIBDIN.

Day after day Jack's fleet held on its course, and the weather
continued unbroken and fine. Day after day the phantom Frenchman hovered
somewhere about, afraid perhaps to try conclusions with that rakish,
spiteful-looking British frigate, or perhaps but biding her chance.

Twice or thrice Jack put about, sailed back and challenged her, with a
shot, to fight if she dared. There never came the slightest response
from Johnny Crapaud--she seemed indeed a phantom.

And at night those on board the _Tonneraire_ could not help thinking the
phantom was ever near them, even when it was too dark to see her. I do
not think, however, that it kept many of the officers awake at night,
although it must be confessed Jack was ill at ease. If it were possible
for the enemy to steal near enough in the pitchy dark portion of the
night, the first intimation of her presence might be a raking broadside
that would sweep the decks fore and aft; then farewell the _Tonneraire_.

There are few things more difficult to bear than what Scotch people so
expressively term "tig-tire," or excessive tantalization. There c