tand-up fight--that's my opinion."

Mr Johnson was right, as subsequent events proved. The fog was so
dense that we could not see a single sail, close as we were to them, and
we expected every instant to run into one, or to be hailed and probably
discovered. The men were sent without noise to their quarters, for of
course it was resolved that we should fight our way out from the midst
of our enemies.

On we glided. The dim form of a ship was seen on our starboard bow.
Our course was slightly altered, but it was only to get nearer another.
A Frenchman hailed. Captain Collyer answered; what he said I do not
know. It seemed to satisfy the stranger. No shot was fired, and we
stood on. Still there was something peculiarly solemn and awful in the
feeling that any moment we might be engaged in an encounter against the
most overwhelming odds.

Again the upper sails of another ship appeared. From their height she
was evidently a ship which might have sunk us with a broadside. By
seeing this second ship, Captain Collyer was able to ascertain in what
direction the enemy's fleet was standing. As soon as he had done this,
our helm was put up, and away we noiselessly glided to the westward.
The bells were soon no longer heard--the boom of the guns became fainter
and fainter every minute, and at length we had the satisfaction of
feeling that we were well clear of them.

"Depend on it, you have never been nearer inside a French prison or a
watery grave than you have been this morning," observed Mr Johnson to
me.

"I don't know that. When I was aboard the lugger, and floating about in
the channel, I was rather nearer both one and the other," I answered.

"You thought you were, but, as the event proved, you were not," said the
boatswain. "Depend on it, I am right, Mr Merry. If the captain had
not been a good French scholar our fate would have been sealed long
before this. We never know on what apparently trivial circumstances our
safety depends."

Mr Johnson, it may have been remarked, was never at a loss for an
argument or a remark of some sort. His pertinacity in that respect puts
me in mind of a certain kind-hearted Royal Duke with whom I once had the
honour of dining--a number of naval and military officers being present.

"Captain R---," said he, addressing one of them, "how is your father?"

"Your Royal Highness, he is dead," was the answer.

"Oh! is he? poor fellow! Then, how is your mother?"

"Your Ro