known that the
French were on the point of evacuating Italy, and these ships had been
detached from Lord Keith's fleet, to watch that part of the coast, and
to intercept, as far as possible, all communication between the ports
of Italy and France. The squadron consisted of four vessels, under the
orders of the present admiral of the fleet, Sir George Cockburn, then
Captain Cockburn, whose pendant was flying in the _Minerve_ frigate.
Whilst some of the vessels kept pretty close in, so as to cut off all
communications alongshore, others kept a look-out more to seaward, for
any vessels that might attempt to make a straight run across the bay.
One afternoon, four sails were discovered to seaward running towards
the coast of France. The signal to chase was immediately made, and
each of the British cruisers started off in pursuit of one of the
strangers. Our concern is with the _Vincejo_, a brig of eighteen guns,
commanded by Captain Long, which happened, from her position, to be
the most advanced in the chase. She was standing off-shore on the
larboard tack, with her head to the south-west, when the chase was
discovered somewhat to leeward, standing nearly due west, with the
wind on her starboard-quarter. The latter was a smart-looking ship of
600 or 700 tons, displaying no colours; though from the course she was
steering, and her evident intention to avoid being overhauled, no
doubt was entertained that she was an enemy.

Both vessels sailed well; and as the stranger gradually edged away,
the _Vincejo_ got more and more into her wake. A stern chase is
proverbially a long chase; and though it was apparent from the first
that the British, though much smaller, was the faster vessel, it was
many hours before she was enabled to get within range. About dusk,
however, this was effected, and the first shot from the _Vincejo_
produced an instantaneous effect on the chase: her head was thrown
into the wind, and she appeared at once resigned to her fate. Great,
of course, was the anxiety of the captors to learn her character, and
comparatively keen the mortification which followed, when, in reply to
their hail, the words 'the _Hercules_ of Boston, in the United
States,' were twanged across the water in unmistakable Yankee tones.
Here was 'a lame and impotent conclusion.' England was at peace with
the United States; and if the character of the stranger corresponded
with her hail, she would prove after all no prize. The captors,
howeve