We went down again, and found the privateer's-men getting very jolly; but they did not offer us anything to drink, so we laid on some spare sails outside the cabin, and tried to go to sleep, but I could not, for I was very unhappy. I could see no chance of our escape, as nothing but a man-of-war would be likely to interfere and re-capture us. I thought of Virginia and Lady O'Connor, and then I thought of poor Bessy, and having left her in such an unfriendly way, perhaps to remain in a French prison for years. Bramble and I were fully aware that the promises of the prizemaster were only to cajole us, and that once in a French port, had we claimed the fulfilment of them, a kick would have been all which we should, in all probability, receive for our pains. About one o'clock in the morning I rose and went on deck. The watch had been relieved, the weather also looked brighter, as if it were going to clear up, and I became still more depressed. Bramble soon followed me. "It's clearing up," said I, "but I don't think it will last." "Never a bit," replied Bramble; "in half an hour it will be thicker than ever, so now I'll go and call the officer, and tell him he had better get under weigh: that will make him have less suspicion of us." Bramble did so. The officer came on deck, the men were turned out, and the windlass was manned; for, although so large a vessel, she had no capstan. The men hove in the cable in silence, and were short stay apeak, when, as we had foreseen, it came on thicker than ever. Bramble pointed it out to the officer, who was perfectly satisfied that nothing could be done; the cable was veered out again, and the men sent below. "We hope you'll think of your promise to us, sir," said Bramble to the officer, as he was going down. "Yes, I will, I swear," replied he, slapping Bramble on the back.