The events of that extraordinary cruise are matter of history, and I need not dwell on them at length in this hurried autobiography. We soon parted company with our consorts, and were forced to seek them at the rendezvous; but, during the whole voyage, our plans were continually frustrated by occurrences of this character, sometimes accidental, and sometimes, I believe, designed, especially on the part of Captain Landais. After taking three or four prizes, we bore up for the north of Scotland, when having been at sea about a month, we made the Cheviot Hills, vast blue landmarks, lying, like a thunder-cloud, along the western horizon. Learning that two or three armed cutters, together with a twenty gun ship, were lying off Leith, the commodore planned a descent on that place; but in consequence of the absence of the Alliance, was forced to delay his project for several days. At length we beat into the Frith of Forth; and when just out of gun-shot of the town, the boats were ordered out and manned. But at this critical moment a squall struck our squadron, and we soon had enough on our hands, for the puff settling down into a regular North Sea gale, we had to fill away, and bear up under a press of canvass for an offing. The storm lasted so long that we were forced to give over our attempt, as the country had now become alarmed, and beacon lights, to rouse the yeomanry, were burning on every headland. We bore away, therefore, for the south. We had kept on this course for several days, until one calm evening, off Flamborough head, when, the sea being nearly as smooth as a lake, and a light southwardly wind dallying playfully with our sails, we discerned the headmost vessels of a fleet of merchant ships, stretching out on a bowline from behind the promontory. Every man of us was instantly on the _qui vive_. The commodore’s eye kindled, and he shouted, “Signal the squadron for a general chase.” “Aye! aye!” answered the signal officer, and the next moment the order was passed through our fleet. It had scarcely been done, however, before the merchant ships hurriedly tacked, fired alarm-guns, let fly their top-gallant sheets, and, huddling together like a flock of frightened partridges, went off to leeward. “There’s a frigate in yonder, convoying, with a smaller man-of-war,” hailed the look-out, as the hostile ships shewed their head-sails around the promontory. “They haul up, sir, and are coming out.” “Let them come,” said the commodore enthusiastically, “and we’ll have them for our own before midnight. Shew the signal to form a line—cross royal-yards—keep boldly on.” “There goes the Alliance,” said the first lieutenant, at my side, “see how gallantly she passes the Pallas—but in God’s name what does she mean? Surely she is not flying.”