harbour, toward which, wet to the skin, and half-dead with the cold
of the piercing bitter wind, we made the best of our way. Just inside
the harbour entrance, and about mid-channel, we fell in with the
skipper's two boats, which had arrived a few minutes earlier, and were
lying upon their oars, waiting for us. Thus reunited, the skipper and I
briefly exchanged details of the result of our respective efforts, after
which we gave way in line abreast for the spot where we expected to find
the barque. We pulled for a quarter of an hour but failed to discover
her, although the skipper and I were equally confident that we must be
close to the spot where we had seen her at anchor. Then, after a brief
consultation, it was agreed that the boats should separate and search
for her, a pistol-shot from the lucky boat being the signal arranged to
notify that the search had been successful. This plan, or rather the
first part of it, was at once put into execution, each boat pulling away
in a different direction from the others; but although we diligently
searched in every likely direction, frequently encountering one or
another of the other boats, the barque was nowhere to be found, and, not
to needlessly spin out this adventure, it may suffice to say that we
fruitlessly hunted all over the harbour until daylight, when it became
evident that in some mysterious manner the vessel had contrived to give
us the slip and make good her escape. It had probably occurred during
the time that the skipper and I had been busy with the batteries; but
the most curious part of it all was that Comben, our second mate, left
in charge of the schooner, declared that, although he had never relaxed
his vigilance for an instant, from the time of our leaving until our
return on board, neither he nor any of the men who shared his watch with
him had seen anything whatever of the craft. We thus had an arduous,
dangerous, and most trying night's work for nothing; for with the escape
of the barque our work upon the batteries became absolutely useless to
us. So, in no very good-humour, we all shifted into dry clothing,
weighed our anchor, shaping a course to the northward and westward, and
then went to breakfast.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

WE FALL IN WITH A CONVOY.

The next three days were spent in dodging about the chops of the
Channel, during which we saw nothing except a few homeward-bound British
merchantmen--all of them armed and quite capable of taking