Jack looked a little blue. It was difficult to estimate distances in the haze, but the stranger could scarcely be more than a mile away. Every now and again a gust of wind lifted the fog, and if Jack attempted to put about the movement would almost certainly be seen. Even if he could outsail the approaching vessel before the wind, which was at least doubtful, her bow-chasers would badly cripple him before he could run out of range. "What chance have we of escaping, if she is French?" he said to Babbage, who was standing by his side. "Not a brass farden’s worth, sir. She carries thirty guns at the least; and if there is a man aboard that can shoot, she can hull us easy as winking without changing her course." "That’s bad, then." "And worse to foller, sir, as brother Sol used to say." Jack mentally anathematized brother Sol, who must have been a very Job’s comforter. The outlook was black enough. Visions of a French prison again rose before him—if indeed prison should be his lot, for the French, if they captured him, might deal summarily with him in revenge for the men they had lost. Babbage sat down on the deck and began to sharpen his cutlass. "A nice little bit of arm-work coming, sir," he said cheerfully. "In course we’ll fight ’em?" Jack shook his head. "That’s the last thing I should think of doing—at present." "Well, sir, she’s coming on at a spanking rate, and if we’re going to run, the sooner the better—meaning no offense, sir." "We must either keep her closer to the wind, and hope to pass without notice, or put the helm up and run for it. We’d have a bare chance of outsailing her then." "Yes, sir, and she’d give us her broadside fust and foller it up with her stern-chasers. She’d blow us out of the water, as sure as eggs is eggs, when they bean’t pickles." Jack stood for a few moments, gloomily pondering this desperate case. All at once his face brightened. "I say, Babbage, we’ll fight her." "And God save the king, sir," replied the veteran, lifting his hat, and then vigorously whetting his blade. The course which had suggested itself to Jack was one that he would scarcely have imagined in cold blood; but in the present crisis it seemed to him preferable to either of the two he had before mentioned. He had seventy men on board, thirty more than the cutter would have carried in the ordinary way. Most of them were well armed; and, well as British seamen always fought, they could be trusted in the present circumstances to outdo themselves, for defeat meant utter destruction. Could he lull the Frenchmen’s suspicions for a few minutes? If he could!—well, the chance of success was small, but the smallest was better than none at all. "Yes, by George! I’ll do it!" he said to himself.