Selecting his crew, Capt. Doten took charge of the brig and waited for things to come around to his liking. What he wanted was a smart northeast gale, which is a fair wind out of Provincetown, though of course a pretty rough affair to contend with in the open bay, and against which he would have to work his vessel out past the Cape after getting clear of the harbor. No abler or more daring seaman ever trod a deck, and, whatever the chances, Capt. Doten was ready to take them, so when one night the weather shut in “nasty” with indications of the wished for gale the next day, he made his preparations. A mooring line was run out aft to keep the brig’s head toward the harbor mouth, so that her square sails should immediately fill before the wind when hoisted. On the yards the gaskets keeping the furled sails in place were nearly cut off, so that while they still preserved the shape, they would part and allow the topsails to be hoisted without having to send men aloft to loose them as usual when getting under way, much depending on gaining a few minutes over the cutter at the start. Vessels of those days had hemp cables, and Capt. Doten meant to “cut and run” when the decisive moment came. With the morning the gale was piping smartly, and it never occurring to the captain of the revenue cutter that a vessel would attempt to go to sea in such a blow, he took his gig with her crew and went ashore. The ebb tide left the boat on the beach while Capt. Nicolson and his men were up town, and meanwhile the sympathetic Provincetowners, ready to help the Hope, stole the thole pins and an oar or two. This was the favorable moment, while the cutter was disabled for want of her commander and several men, for whose return on board she would have to wait, so Capt. Doten cut his cable and stern mooring line, quickly hoisted and sheeted home his fore topsail, and was moving down the harbor before the lieutenant in charge of the cutter realized the situation. Seizing a musket he fired at Capt. Doten, who was at the Hope’s helm, but made a bad shot. Then he let go a big gun at the brig, which also was poorly aimed, and did no harm. It served, however, as a signal for Capt. Nicolson to come on board, if he needed more than the evidence of his eyes. The town was immediately alive with excitement, for the seafaring men took in the whole plan and shouted with delight over its boldness and sheer sailor-like daring. Men hindered more than they helped while pretending to assist in getting the boat down to the water, but at last, with her captain on board again, the cutter got into full chase, firing her bow guns at the brig in hope of crippling her spars if doing nothing more damaging. Provincetown has rarely seen anything more exciting than that running fight, and the story is told there even to this day, as the writer can vouch, having himself heard it from an old sea dog over there within a few years.