Under the Meteor Flag: Log of a Midshipman during the French Revolutionary War
the conviction that the craft was fresh out of the dockyard from an extensive overhaul, or that she was a new vessel. The beautiful and graceful model of her hull, and the smart appearance of her spars and rigging, induced him to incline very strongly to the latter supposition.

It soon became evident that this beautiful craft was going nearly two feet to our one, but she was steered so shamefully that she had not materially decreased the distance between us at the end of the first hour; our hopes, therefore, which had sunk to zero with the imminent prospect of a French prison before our eyes, began once more to soar skyward as mile after mile slipped away beneath our flying keel, and every minute increased the probability of our falling in with one of our own cruisers. The skipper was dreadfully put out at being obliged to run away, but though the French frigate was very nearly dead astern she yawed about sufficiently to enable us to count sixteen ports of a side, and even Mr Sennitt—who was accounted the greatest fire-eater on board—was fain to acknowledge that this was just a gun or two too many for us.

By four bells every trace of the fog had cleared away, the sun shone brilliantly in a cloudless sky, the air had a decided feeling of warmth in it, the westerly breeze blew freshly, and the waves curled crisply and broke into foam at their crests under its enlivening influence; altogether it was a thoroughly delightful day, such as is occasionally to be met with toward the end of March—a day when winter and summer have fairly met to fight for the mastery, and summer is getting it all her own way. As time sped on, and still no friendly sail appeared, while the frigate astern drew more and more perceptibly up to us, anxiety once more resumed its sway, and frequent were the admonitions to the lookout aloft to “keep his weather eye lifting.”

At length the Frenchmen decided to try the range of their guns, and opened fire upon us from their lee bow-chaser. The shot flew wide, but it went far enough beyond us to show that we were fairly within range. Another and another followed, and still we were unscathed. An interval of about a quarter of an hour elapsed before they again fired, and when they did the shot was somewhat better aimed, passing through the main and fore-topsails and falling into the sea a considerable distance ahead.

“I think we are now near enough to venture upon a return of the compliment, Mr Sennitt,” said the skipper. “Let Tompion see what he can do with the stern-chaser, in the way of knocking away some of the fellow’s spars. It seems a pity to 
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