A few evenings after, they sighted several ships, and as two of them looked like Russian men-of-war, the Stinger got up steam, and was soon in full chase after them. The sun was sinking upon the horizon, and the ships plainly visible, when suddenly one of them vanished from their sight. Puffeigh and his officers were puzzled,--there was one of the vessels, but the other had disappeared. "It's the flying Dutchman," observed an old quartermaster. "Beat to quarters and clear for action," shouted the captain. The engineers drove the Stinger at the top of her speed, but night soon hid the pursued ship; and after running far past the place, the commander determined to lay to until daylight. About four bells in the middle watch a man on the look-out reported "ship right ahead," and a large vessel sailed past them, looming in the fog very much like a frigate. Puffeigh was turned out, and, hurrying on deck, gave directions to bout ship and beat to quarters. In a few minutes the ship's course was altered, and the men at their guns ready to pour a broadside into the enemy. There was a thick mist falling, and every thing on deck was wet and sloppy; yet, in spite of that, the men were stripped to their waists, and as eager for the fray as a lot of tigers. Puffeigh was on the bridge, speaking-trumpet in hand, and gave orders to fire if the ship did not reply to his hail the third time. "Ship ahoy! What ship's that?" No reply. "Ship ahoy! What ship is that?" Again no response. "Ship ahoy! Of what nation are you?" Before any reply could be heard one of the captains of a forward gun pulled his trigger line, and immediately the others discharged their guns. A howl of execration broke from the enemy, upon which the Stingers let drive another volley. "Cease firing! let us wait for reply," roared the commander. Now loud upon the breeze came the words, "Dod rot ye! What do you mean by firing into us in that fashion?" "Are you an enemy?" blurted Puffeigh through his speaking-trumpet. "If I had a few barkers I'd darn soon show you who I was, you cussed fool. I'm Amos Pelton, of the Minnehaha, of Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts, United States of America." "This is Her Britannic Majesty's ship Stinger. Are you damaged?" At this moment the man at the wheel put his helm aport, and the ships collided. After striking the whaler just abaft the foremast, the Stinger swung round, and dropped alongside, causing the boats of both vessels to double up like hat-boxes,--yards locked, iron gear got entangled, rigging carried away, and general confusion prevailed, and for a short time the vessels hugged, ground, and rasped each other, like savage leviathans. Upon order being restored, the crews vied with each other in their efforts to free their respective ships; and when at last their exertions were successful, each quickly cleared away the wreck, and proceeded to ascertain the amount of damage it had sustained, and to repair the same to the best of their ability.