"We had been out a fortnight, keeping well on the French coast, and had picked up two good prizes, when one morning, as the fog was cleared up with a sharp northerly wind, we found ourselves right under the lee of an English frigate, not a mile from us. There was a bubble of a sea, for the wind had been against the tide previous to its changing, and we were then about six or seven miles from the French coast, just between Boulogne and Cape Grisnez, lying to for the fog to clear away. As soon as we saw the frigate we knew that she would board us, and we were all in a terrible fright." Here Bramble shifted the skewer and said, "How's her head, Tom?" I replied, and he proceeded:-- "The frigate hoisted her colours, and of course we did the same. She then fired a gun as a signal for us to remain, hove to, and we perceived her boats lowering down. `Now, my lads,' said our captain, `if you don't mind a shot or two, I think I will save you from impressment this time.' We all declared that we would stand a hundred, rather than be taken on board of a man-of-war. `Very well,' says he, `starboard a little, and keep her a little away, so as to let her go through the water; but keep the fore-sheet to windward, so that we may appear only to have fallen off.' By this plan we gradually increased our distance from the frigate, and got more on her bow. All this while the boat was pulling towards us, rising and tossing on the sea, but still nearing us fast. As she came nearer to us we let the lugger come up in the wind again for a short time, that we might not appear to be dodging away, and then, when the bowman was almost ready to lay in his oar, away we let her go through the water, so that she was left astern again. They could not well perceive this on board of the frigate, although the officer in the boat was very savage, for at one time he had his bow oar in and his boat-hook out. At last the frigate, perceiving that we were apparently slipping away, put her helm up, and fired a shot across our bows. `Now's your time, my boys,' said the captain; `let draw the sheets, the breeze is strong. She must wait to pick up her boat, and that will give us a mile at least.' Up went the helm, and we made all sail right for the French coast. How's her head, Tom?" I replied, and Bramble resumed:--