Day dawned and found us within a couple of miles to leeward of the squadron, with Christchurch Head about four miles to larboard. We were soon perceived, for a frigate altered her course and fired a gun for us to bring to, whereupon the master, seeing flight out of the question, ordered the _Happy Adventure_ to shorten sail, at the same time sending us down below. In the cramped, close cabin we were unable to see what was taking place, though we heard the hails from the frigate and our master's replies. "Luff up under my stem and let's have a look at you," shouted an authoritative voice. "Where are you from, and where are you bound?" "From Poole to Cowes," answered the master. "And the cargo?" "Clay." "Lay-to while I send a boat," shouted the officer, and we distinctly heard the scurrying of bare feet and the creaking of the tackle as the seamen prepared to lower one of the quarter-boats. "They'll have us right enough," whispered the ensign, as he prepared to rush on deck to throw his despatches, already weighted with lead, into the sea; but even as his foot was on the ladder we heard the voice continue, "Carry on with you." The bos'un's whistle sounded, and we heard the blocks creak as the frigate's yards were swung round. Our vessel also resumed her course, and after some time had elapsed the cornet insisted on leaving the cabin. "Who told you to come on deck?" bawled the master, his speech accompanied by a string of nautical oaths. "You jack-booted, brainless weathercock your tin figurehead has undone us!" His words, though unceremonious, were quite true, for the frigate was keeping a sharp eye on us, and perceiving the cornet's steel cap emerge from the hatchway, the rebels concluded that they had made a mistake in not searching us. Her yards were trimmed once more, and she started in pursuit. A spurt of flame followed by a cloud of smoke burst from one of her bow ports, and a shot struck the water fifty yards from our quarter, rebounding twice ere it sank. Making sure that every stitch of canvas was drawing, the master kept the _Happy Adventure_ on her course, casting anxious glances over his shoulder at the pursuing frigate, which was barely two miles astern. "We gain a little," he remarked after a while, as the shots fell farther and farther astern; but ahead was a belt of flat calm, and unless the breeze held our capture seemed inevitable. The rest of the squadron had borne away more to the south'ard, heading towards the Needles Channel. Astern the frigate was crowding on sail, ahead were the guns of Hurst Castle, and we knew that we were fairly entrapped. [Illustration: _The darting rays fell on my face, and with a stifled cry of terror the soldier turned to flee._] The cornet suggested running the vessel ashore, but to this proposal the master gave a stern refusal. "We have a chance, a bare chance," he said. "And as long as my craft floats I'll take it."