That she was in full chase, there could not be a doubt. Captain Parson had little hope of escaping; but he put the _Dover_ on her best sailing point and scudded away before the wind with every stitch of canvas they could carry. "Oh, golly! I hope dey won't mistake--dey won't mistake dis chile for a Britisher!" groaned Job the cook, who was trembling from head to foot, and whose black skin was almost pale. The five deserters were pale but calm. They seemed to read their fate and bore it like men. A flogging was the very least they could expect; but the chances were that every one would hang. The frigate was the swifter sailor and overhauled them so rapidly, that, in two hours and a half, she was within a mile of the brig. Suddenly a wreath of white smoke curled up from the forecastle, and a moment later a ball came skipping over the water under their larboard deck, while the boom of a cannon sounded over the sea. As the fine spray clipped from the crested waves by the shot, flew over the deck, Mr. Brown said: "Captain, it's no use, she will be near enough to sink us in ten minutes." "Heave to, Brown. Oh! I wish I had arms and a crew!" "Captain," interposed the tall, handsome gunner, "I--I know their skill and metal. If you had a gun--a single gun of proper calibre, I could sink her. I am called the best shot in the English navy." "We have only a six pounder," answered the captain, ruefully, pointing to their only gun. It was but an inferior piece, and when the gunner examined it, he turned to his four anxious companions and said: "It would be suicide." Then the five sailors stood near the main gangway with arms folded, heads erect, and resigned like brave men to their fate. The frigate came bearing down upon them like a great mountain, and soon lay alongside. The captain and a score of marines all armed with muskets, came aboard. "So ho!" cried the captain, "you have my live runaways snug enough. Seize them and carry them aboard, lieutenant." A young officer with ten men now seized the five deserters, handcuffed them and led them to their ship which lay alongside. As they went over the rail, the brutal captain said something about swinging at the yard arm. Turning to Parson, he said: "Captain, muster your crew and have them pass before me." Much as the captain disliked to do so, he was in the power of the brutal Englishman and forced to do his bidding. As the sailors passed slowly before him, the Briton eyed each carefully. Suddenly he pointed to a stout young sailor named Tom, and cried: "Stop sir, you are an Englishman!" "I am not, capen, ye's mistaken, I was born at Plymouth, Massachusetts." "Don't dispute my word, sir. I know you, seize him!"