We peered through the mist and darkness of the night, but nothing could be distinguished. Sea met mist in an undefined blur at less than twenty yards from us. Half an hour passed in breathless suspense, then the noise broke out again, this time close ahead and far away on both quarters as well. "’Tis no use to go about now," said I to my companion. "We are sailing right across the van of a great fleet." The master was of the same mind, for in a few minutes he put the shallop’s head more before the wind, so that she lay in the supposed direction of the invisible squadron. Now we could hear the rush of the water from the vessels’ cutwaters, the straining of the ropes and the creaking of the blocks, while the ships were continually hailing one another so as to keep in touch. In what language they were talking we could not make out, but it did not sound like an English hail. Anxiety was stamped on all our faces, for we had to run the risk not only of collision with a vessel ten times our size, but of being taken by a French or Dutch man-of-war. By this time the moon had risen, dispelling the darkness, though the fog hung around as thick as ever; but withal there was enough light to see the length of our craft. Suddenly, with a swirl of beaten water, a huge vessel loomed out of the mist, her flying jibboom seeming to project right over our stern. Our master and one of the seamen flung themselves on the tiller and put it hard down. The shallop ran up into the wind and lost way, and as she did so the man-of-war thrashed by us so near that we could see the gunports of her lofty tumble-home sides, though her spars and sails were lost in the mist. We were seen by those on board. Shouts followed the discovery, and every moment we expected to find some heavy weight crashing down upon us, or a discharge from some of her lower-deck guns; but beyond the shouting we were not molested. We rubbed sides with the hulking ship as she shot past, and when clear of her quarter we read the name _Jeanne d’ Arc_ emblazoned on her stern gallery, with an elaborate embellishment of gilded eagles and fleurs-de-lis. "Oh for a barrel of powder and a slow match lashed to her rudder pintle!" exclaimed Drake. "But stand by, here comes another!" Such was the case, and before the _Jeanne d’ Arc_ was lost in the mist the bows of another vessel loomed up. By this time the shallop was wearing and gathering way, so the master ordered both sails to be lowered, a manoeuvre that was smartly executed, and as the second Frenchman passed us our craft was lying motionless on the water. This time fortune did not smile on us, for as the shallop was on the Frenchman’s lee a spurt of flame burst from the man-of-war, immediately followed by a deafening roar, and with it our mizzen mast went by the board with a terrific crash.