e on the
stranger, that he might note immediately any change in her course. She
was standing across the Channel and drawing nearer.

"I trust that she is one of the frigates of which we are in search, Mr
Brine," said the Captain. "We'll soon learn. Make sail on the ship."

"Ay, ay, sir," said the first lieutenant with alacrity. "All hands make
sail!"

"All hands make sail!" shouted the boatswain, putting his silver call to
his mouth, and sounding a shrill whistle. "All hands make sail!--rouse
up there, rouse up!--an enemy in sight, boys!"

The men sprang from their hammocks, and, shaking themselves rapidly into
their clothes, were in another instant on deck. Every inch of canvas
the frigate could carry was soon got on her, and she bore up in chase.

Another order quickly followed. It was, "Clear ship for action!"

Never was an order obeyed with more alacrity. The stranger appeared
also to be standing under a press of sail, and steering to the southward
of east.

"She wishes to escape us altogether, or is not quite ready for action,"
observed the Captain to Mr Brine.

"She seems to be putting her best foot foremost, at all events,"
answered the first lieutenant, taking a look at the stranger through his
glass, for she could now be seen clearly from the deck. "She looks like
a frigate of much about our size; and I have little doubt, by the cut of
her sails, she is French."

"I have great hopes that she is, and more, that she is one of the very
frigates we have been on the lookout for," said the Captain. "What do
you think, master?" he added, turning to that officer, Mr Handlead, who
stood near.

"A Johnny Crapaud, sir," he answered quickly. "There's no doubt about
it; and to my mind the villain is making all sail to be off, because he
doesn't like the look of us."

"I trust that we shall overtake her, and take her, too, master," said
Captain Garland. "I think that we are already gaining on her. The
frigate slips well through the water."

The crew on the forecastle were carrying on a conversation much in the
same style. "Bless her heart, she is walking along at a good rate,"
observed Abel Bush as he looked over the bows. "The old girl's got as
pretty a pair of heels of her own as you'd wish to see."

"The faster she goes, the better," answered Peter Ogle. "I never does
feel comfortable like when one of those Monsieurs is in sight, till I
gets up alongside him and overhauls him one way or the