"Good-by!" said Catherine, stretching out her hand. "We may never meet again. May God bless you, for all your kindness to us! Take care and don't expose yourself, to unnecessary danger."--Tom took her proffered hand; and, as he looked upon her mild, beautiful eyes, suffused with tears, he vowed that the last drop of his blood should be spilt before harm should come upon that lovely creature. When Tom again came upon deck, the Frenchman was within half a mile's distance. She appeared to be a long, black brig; and her guns were pointing onward on each side, shewing, as the sailors term it, two beautiful rows of teeth. The seamen of the _Tweed_, as they stood looking at her, counted seven guns on each side; and, from their size, they appeared twelve-pounders. "If we can only keep her off," said Bill to his son Tom, "we shall do capitally; but, if she once gets alongside of us, it's all up." "Hadn't we better, sir," said Bill Mossman, coming aft, "cut away the boat from the davits? The vessel is too much by the stern already." "That's a good idea," said old Bill; and the order was executed accordingly. "Now, my lads," shouted the old tar, "be ready with your ports; and, when I give you the word, burst them open, and fire away; but keep out of sight, in the meantime, except one or two of you." The deck of the Frenchman was now plainly visible to those an board the _Tweed_--a dense mass of men were seen--but they seemed clustered thickest near the fore-chains; from which place old Bill thought they intended to board. "I'll cut you out of that, anyhow," exclaimed he, with glee. "I'll show you that a smack can be fought as well as a cursed French privateer, any day." So saying, he gave orders to ease off the sheets; and, keeping the vessel _away_, he made it appear to the Frenchman as if he had discovered him for the first time to be an enemy, and was endeavouring to escape. The Frenchman took the bait, and, making more sail, pursued him, under a press of canvass; and, as old Bill expected, came rapidly up with him, and was now within pistol-shot, when Bill suddenly shifted his helm, and hauled his wind right across the privateer's bows.