The midshipman proceeded on board the prize, taking with him, as his mate, Bill Saunders. There were four killed on board the schooner besides the Captain, and nine wounded, including the mate, a man apparently of a brutal and fierce disposition; for though carefully attended and taken to the Babet—he could walk notwithstanding his wound—he cursed and vowed vengeance the whole time. The vessel was very little damaged in her spars or sails, her rigging had principally suffered; but a few hours would set all that to rights. Captain O’Loughlin, as the weather was thick, arranged a mode of signals should the fog continue, and he also agreed to fire a gun if he tacked. So, shaking hands, the friends parted, and in a few minutes, so dense was the fog, they lost sight of each other. Young Thornton naturally felt very proud of his command; and though he limped a little from the thrust of a boarding-pike in the leg, and smarting at times from the blow on the head, he walked the deck of the prize with amazing satisfaction, wishing for Charles Pole as a companion, now that he had lost the kind-hearted, cheerful O’Loughlin. The schooner, after parting from the Babet, kept close hauled, sailing about six knots; the water was tolerably smooth, but the rain fell in thick drizzling showers. Bill Saunders was taking a turn at the helm, when our hero paused in his walk beside him. “I wish it would clear, Bill,” he observed, in a thoughtful tone; “for though I am steering the course agreed upon, I am not at all satisfied that we shall clear the French coast on this tack. Can you lie no higher?” “No, sir; her topsail shivers now. It is very thick, and for nearly four days we have not had a glimpse of the land. Where do you say we are, sir?” “Captain O’Loughlin thought we were somewhere off Isle Dieu, about two or three leagues distant, but I fear we are much nearer. Now if that is the case, and the wind stands as it is, we shall never be able to weather the West Penmarks.” “Suppose as how, sir,” said Bill, “if the weather keeps thick like this—and it is thick enough for soup—suppose as how, sir, we makes a long leg seaward.” “I shall certainly do so, Bill, if it keeps on this way. The swell is also very rapidly increasing from the nor’-west, an ugly customer where we are, to say nothing of the chances of meeting privateers and cruisers from Brest. I wonder where that lugger is now? not far off, I dare say. She is a very beautiful craft, certainly the handsomest lugger rigged vessel I ever saw.” “We should have had her also, sir, only for this here fog—darn it.” Towards sunset, instead of looking up, the schooner fell off, the wind heading them, and freshening considerably. On sounding several times, our hero found he had forty or fifty fathoms; this he knew to be about the soundings close in with Belleisle, a couple of leagues off. He ought to have about sixty.