"Now, every man hark!" said Captain Avery to his crew, when, a little later, he had gathered them amidships. "We've a close race to run. If this wind holds, we shall be in the Straits of Dover at about daylight to-morrow morning. We are goin' to risk it and cut our way through. Three cheers for home!" Vigorous, indeed, were the hurrahs that answered him, and on sped the schooner. Her sails that were torn by the shot of the _Arran_ were being replaced by new ones, and skilful sail tailors were busy with the rents of the old. The damage to her bulwarks was of no importance and not a shot had penetrated her sides. The American sailors were in fine spirits, but not so were Lieutenant Tracy and the crew of the _Arran_. Hardly two hours went by before his hoped-for succor came, but he wished it had been a merchantman rather than a man-of-war. The sound of the cannonading had been borne by the wind to the line-of-battle ship. She had sailed toward it, as a matter of course, and here, now, was one of the boats at the _Arran's_ side. On her deck was the seventy-four's first lieutenant, so hot with wrath that he could hardly listen to poor Tracy's report, while he himself rapidly inspected the damages done by Up-na-tan's well-sent iron. "Help yourself?" he exclaimed. "Why, they made a log of your brig! What's the world coming to? They're prime gunners, my boy. We must make out to sink that rascal. I don't know exactly what to do with your craft." He did know, nevertheless. Temporary steering-gear was fitting on her as rapidly as might be, and the pumps were going, for the _Arran_ was leaking badly at the stern. "Tracy, my boy," said the lieutenant, "get her into any port the wind'll help you to. We're away after that saucy privateer." So surely and so powerfully would the fugitive be followed, not to speak of any perils which might be hovering around the pathway before her. The commander of the line-of-battle ship knew something concerning at least a part of these. He listened to the report of his first officer, on his return, angrily yet coolly, and he replied:-- "All right, Hobson. Tracy isn't to be blamed, I see. As for the pirate, we'll chase her, but she's a lost dog already. The whole Channel fleet is under orders to gather at Dover Straits. She is running right in among 'em. She'll be overhauled before eight bells to-morrow." "Those Yankees are slippery chaps, sir," said the lieutenant, shaking his head. The hours went swiftly by, and Captain Avery remained on deck, pacing thoughtfully to and fro. Midnight went by and still the wind held good. It was a strong, northerly breeze, upon which he could have asked for no improvement.