And now, with sails declined,
  The wandering vessel drove before the wind;
  Toss’d and retoss’d aloft, and then alow;
  Nor port they seek, nor certain course they know,
  But every moment wait the coming blow. 
  DRYDEN.

Three days after the Aspasia had taken a fresh departure from the Western Isles, a thick fog came on, the continuance of which prevented them from ascertaining their situation by the chronometer.  The wind, which blew favourably from the south-east, had, by their dead reckoning, driven them as far north as the latitude of Ushant, without their once having had an opportunity of finding out the precise situation of the frigate.  The wind now shifted more to the eastward, and increasing to a gale, Captain M –­ determined upon making Cape Clear, on the southern coast of Ireland; but having obtained sights for the chronometers it was discovered that they were far to the westward of the reckoning, and had no chance of making the point of land which they had intended.  For many days they had to contend against strong easterly gales, with a heavy sea, and had sought shelter under the western coast of Ireland.

The weather moderating, and the wind veering again to the southward, the frigate’s head was put towards the shore, that they might take a fresh departure; but scarcely had they time to congratulate themselves upon the prospect of soon gaining a port, when there was every appearance of another gale coming on from the south-west.  As this was from a quarter which, in all probability, would scarcely allow the frigate to weather Mizen-head, she was hauled off on the larboard tack, and all sail put on her which prudence would permit in the heavy cross sea, which had not yet subsided.

“We shall have it all back again, I am afraid, sir,” observed the master, looking to windward at the horizon, which, black as pitch, served as a background to relieve the white curling tops of the seas.  “Shall we have the trysails up, and bend them?”

“The boatswain is down after them now, Pearce,” said the first-lieutenant.

“The weather is indeed threatening,” replied the captain, as he turned from the weather gangway, where he had been standing, and wiped the spray from his face, with which the atmosphere was charged; “and I perceive that the glass is very low.  Send the small sails down out of the tops; as soon as the staysail is on her, lower the gaff, and furl the spanker; the watch will do.  When we go to quarters, we’ll double-breech the guns.  Let the carpenter have his tarpaulins ready for battening down ­send for the boatswain, and let the boats on the booms be well secured.  Is that eight bells striking?  Then pipe to supper first; and, Mr Hardy,” added Captain M –­, as he descended the companion-ladder, “they may as well hook the rolling-tackles again.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied Hardy, as the captain disappeared.  “I say, master, the skipper don’t like it ­I’ll swear that by his look as he turned from the gangway.  He was as stern as the figure-head of the Mars.”

“That’s just his way; if even the elements threaten him, he returns the look of defiance.”

“He does so,” replied the master, who appeared to be unusually grave (as if in sad presentiment of evil).  “I’ve watched him often. ­But it’s no use ­they mind but one.”

“Very true ­neither can you conciliate them by smiling; the only way to look is to look sharp out.  Eh, master?” said the first-lieutenant, slapping him familiarly on the back.

“Come, no skylarking, Hardy ­it’s easy to tell the skipper isn’t on deck.  I expect as much sleep to-night as a dog vane ­these south-westers generally last their three days.”

“I am glad to hear that,” said Merrick, a youngster, with an oval laughing face, who, being a favourite with both the officers, had ventured to the weather-side of the quarter-deck in the absence of the captain.

“And why, Mr Merrick?” inquired the master.

“Oh! it’s my morning watch to-morrow.  We shall be all snug; no sails to trim, no sails to set, and no holystoning the deck ­nothing to do but to keep myself warm under the weather bulwarks.”

“Ah, you idle scamp,” said the first-lieutenant, smiling.

“So, young man, you wish us to be on deck all night, that you may have nothing to do in the morning.  The day will come when you will know what responsibility is,” retorted Pearce.

“If you’re up all night, sir,” replied the boy, laughing, “you’ll want a cup of coffee in the morning watch.  I shall come in for my share of that, you know.”

“Ah, well, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” observed Pearce, “but you are young to be selfish.”

“Indeed I am not selfish, sir,” replied the boy, hurt at the rebuke from one who had been kind to him, and to whom he was attached.  “I was only joking.  I only meant,” continued he, feeling deeply, but not at the moment able to describe his feelings ­“I only said ­oh!  Damn the coffee.”

“And now you are only swearing, I suppose,” replied the master.

“Well, it’s enough to make a saint swear to be accused of being selfish, and by you too.”

“Well, well, youngster, there’s enough of it ­you spoke without thinking.  Go down to your tea now, and you shall have your share of the coffee to-morrow, if there is any.”

After supper the watch was called, and the directions given by the captain to the first-lieutenant were punctually obeyed.  The drum then beat to quarters earlier than usual; the guns were doubly secured; the dead-lights shipped abaft; the number of inches of water in the well made known by the carpenter; the sobriety of the men ascertained by the officers stationed at their respective guns; and everything that was ordered to be executed, or to be held in readiness, in the several departments, reported to the captain.

“Now, Mr Hardy, we’ll make her all snug for the night.  Furl the fore and mizen-topsail, and close-reef the main ­that, with the foresail, fore-staysail, and trysail, will be enough for her.”

“Had we not better reef the foresail, sir?” said Pearce.  “I suspect we shall have to do it before twelve o’clock, if we do not now.”

“Very right, Mr Pearce ­we will do so.  Is the main-trysail bent?”

“All bent, sir, and the sheet aft.”

“Then beat a retreat, and turn the hands up ­shorten sail.”

This duty was performed, and the hammocks piped down as the last glimmering of daylight disappeared.

The gale increased rapidly during the first watch.  Large drops of rain mingled with the spray, distant thunder rolled to windward, and occasional gleams of lightning pierced through the intense darkness of the night.  The officers and men of the watches below, with sealed eyes and thoughtless hearts, were in their hammocks, trusting to those on deck for security.  But the night was terrific, and the captain, first-lieutenant, and master, from the responsibility of their situations, continued on deck, as did many of the officers termed idlers, such as the surgeon and purser, who, although their presence was not required, felt no inclination to sleep.  By four o’clock in the morning the gale was at its height.  The lightning darted through the sky in every direction, and the thunder-claps for the time overpowered the noise of the wind as it roared through the shrouds.  The sea, striking on the fore-channels, was thrown aft with violence over the quarter-deck and waist of the ship, as she laboured through the agitated sea.

“If this lasts much longer we must take the foresail off of her, and give her the main-staysail,” said Hardy to the master.

“We must, indeed,” replied the captain, who was standing by them; “but the day is breaking.  Let us wait a little ­ease her, quarter-master.”

“Ease her it is, sir.”

At daylight, the gale having rather increased than shown any symptoms of abating, the captain was giving directions for the foresail to be taken off, when the seaman who was stationed to look out on the lee-gangway, cried out, “A sail on the lee-beam!”

“A sail on the lee-beam, sir!” reported the officer of the watch to the captain, as he held on by a rope with one hand, and touched his hat with the other.

“Here, youngster, tell the sentry at the cabin door to give you my deck glass,” said Captain M –­ to Merrick, who was one of the midshipmen of the morning watch.

“She’s a large ship, sir ­main and mizen masts both gone,” reported Hardy, who had mounted up three or four ratlines of the main-rigging.

The midshipman brought up the glass; and the captain, first passing his arm round the fore-brace, to secure himself from falling to leeward with the lurching of the ship, as soon as he could bring the strange vessel into the field of the glass exclaimed, “A line-of-battle ship, by Heavens! and if I am any judge of a hull, or the painting of a ship, she is no Englishman.”  Other glasses were now produced, and the opinion of the captain was corroborated by that of the officers on deck.

“Keep fast the foresail, Mr Hardy.  We’ll edge down to her.  Quarter-master, see the signal halyards all clear.”

The captain went down to his cabin, while the frigate was kept away as he directed, the master standing at the conn.  He soon came up again:  “Hoist Number 3 at the fore, and Number 8 at the main.  We’ll see if she can answer the private signal.”

It was done, and the frigate, rolling heavily in the trough of the sea, and impelled by the furious elements, rapidly closed with the stranger.  In less than an hour they were within half a mile of her; but the private signal remained unanswered.

“Now then, bring her to the wind, Mr Pearce,” said Captain M –­, who had his glass upon the vessel.

The frigate was luffed handsomely to the wind, not however without shipping a heavy sea.  The gale, which, during the time that she was kept away before the wind, had the appearance, which it always has, of having decreased in force, now that she presented her broadside to it, roared again in all its fury.

“Call the gunner ­clear away the long gun forward ­try with the rammer whether the shot has started from the cartridge, and then fire across the bows of that vessel.”

The men cast loose the gun, and the gunner taking out the bed and coin, to obtain the greatest elevation to counteract the heel of the frigate, watched the lurch, and pitched the shot close to the forefoot of the disabled vessel, who immediately showed French colours over her weather-quarter.

“French colours, sir!” cried two or three at a breath.

“Beat to quarters, Mr Hardy,” said Captain M –.

“Shall we cast loose the main-deck guns?”

“No, no ­that will be useless; we shall not be able to fire them, and we may have them through the sides.  We’ll try her with the carronades.”

It was easy to perceive, without the assistance of a glass, that the men on board the French line-of-battle ship were attempting, in no very scientific manner, to get a jury-mast up abaft, that, by putting after-sail on her, they might keep their vessel to the wind.  The foresail they dared not take off, as, without any sail to keep her steady, the remaining mast would in all probability have rolled over the side; but without after-sail, the ship would not keep to the wind, and the consequence was, that she was two points off the wind, forging fast through the water, notwithstanding that the helm was hard a-lee.

“Where are we now, Mr Pearce?” interrogated the captain ­“about eight or nine leagues from the land?”

“Say seven leagues, sir, if you please,” replied the master, “until I can give you an exact answer,” and he descended the companion ladder to work up his reckoning.

“She’s leaving us, Mr Hardy ­keep more away, and run abreast of her.  Now, my lads, watch the weather roll, ­round and grape ­don’t throw a shot away ­aim at the quarter-deck ports.  If we can prevent her from getting up her jury-masts, she is done for.”

“As for the matter of that,” said the quarter-master, who was captain of one of the quarter-deck guns, “we might save our shot.  They haven’t nous enough to get them up if left all to themselves ­however, here’s a slap at her.”

The frigate had now closed within three cables’ length of the line-of-battle ship, and considering the extreme difficulty of hitting any mark under such disadvantages, a well-directed fire was thrown in by her disciplined seamen.  The enemy attempted to return the fire from the weather main-deck guns, but it was a service of such difficulty and danger, that he more than once abandoned it.  Two or three guns disappearing from the ports, proved that they had either rolled to leeward, or had been precipitated down the hatchways.  This was indeed the case, and the French sailors were so much alarmed from the serious disasters that had already ensued, that they either quitted their quarters, or, afraid to stand behind the guns when they were fired, no aim was taken, and the shots were thrown away.  Had the two ships been equally manned, the disadvantage, under all the misfortunes of the Frenchman, would have been on the side of the frigate; but the gale itself was more than sufficient employment for the undisciplined crew of the line-of-battle ship.

The fire from the frigate was kept up with vigour, although the vessel lurched so heavily as often to throw the men who were stationed at the guns into the lee scuppers, rolling one over the other in the water with which the decks were floated; but this was only a subject of merriment, and they resumed their task with the careless spirit of British seamen.  The fire, difficult as it was to take any precise aim, had the effect intended, that of preventing the French vessel from rigging anything like a jury-mast.  Occasionally the line-of-battle ship kept more away, to avoid the grape, by increasing her distance; but the frigate’s course was regulated by that of her opponent, and she continued her galling pursuit.