There they were now sailing as closely together as possible, because night would soon fall, and they could only be distinguished by their lights. A cruise of this sort was seldom, if ever, free from adventure, and it entailed much anxious care and forethought on the part of the captain of the war-vessel convoying them. A good thing this for Jack Mackenzie. No cure for sorrow in this world except honest work. He was really, too, in a manner of speaking, a probationer. To do his duty strictly, wisely, and well on this voyage would certainly entitle him to no step, not even perhaps to praise; but to neglect it, or even to be unfortunate, would cause him to incur the displeasure of the Admiralty and hinder his advancement. But a whole week went on, and though no Frenchman appeared on the scene, Jack and his fleet had encountered a gale of wind that had driven them considerably out of their course; and when one morning, about eight bells, a cry of "Land" was raised, he knew he must be in the neighbourhood of the Azores or Western Islands. He was not altogether sorry for this; it would give him a chance of taking in fresh water and of adding to the store of fresh provisions now almost exhausted. For ships in those days were vilely found, and the men called contractors were held in general detestation by every ship in the service. [Illustration: "_Sailing across the moon's bright wake was a French man-o'-war._" Page 93.] The merchantmen under Jack numbered fourteen in all, and were of different classes--brigs, barques, and full-rigged ships; but long before sundown they were all securely anchored in front of San Miguel, and Captain Mackenzie, in full uniform, accompanied by Commander Fairlie, had gone on shore to pay his respects to the Portuguese governor. San Miguel was not so densely populated as it is now, but very quaint as to its town, and very romantic and beautiful as to its scenery all around. The governor dwelt in a villa on a garden-terraced hill in the outskirts. He was very pleased to see the officers, but deferred business till next day. It was, however, while smoking in the veranda after dinner, and gazing dreamily away across the moonlit ocean, that Jack suddenly sprang up, and, clutching Tom's arm, pointed seawards. Slowly sailing across the moon's bright wake was a French man-o'-war. CHAPTER XI. THE PHANTOM FRENCHMAN. "If to engage we get the word, To quarters we'll repair, While splintered masts go by the board, And shots sing through the air." DIBDIN. Beautiful island of San Miguel! on whose shores, wherever they slope in sheets of sand towards the sea, the white waves play and sing; whose gigantic rocks, frowning black and beetling above the water, are fondly licked by mother ocean's tongue as dog salutes a master's hand.