There were certainly English luggers; but all
the traditions of the profession had taught me to regard a vessel of
that particular rig as a Frenchman. I had heard of privateers from
Dunkirk, Boulogne, and various other ports in France, running over to
the English coast in the night, and making prizes, just as this fellow
seemed disposed to serve us. Luckily, our head was toward the land,
and we were looking about a point and a half to windward of the light
on Dungeness, being also favoured with a flood-tide, so far as we
could judge by the rapid drift of the vessel to windward.
My decision was made in a minute. I knew nothing of batteries, or
where to seek protection; but there was the land, and I determined to
make for it as fast as I could. By keeping the brig a good full, and
making all the sail she could carry, I thought we might run ashore
before the lugger could get alongside us. As for her firing, I did not
believe she would dare to attempt that, as it might bring some English
cruiser on her heels, and France was some hours' sail distant. The
fore and mizen top-gallant-sails were set as fast as possible, the
weather-braces pulled upon a little, the bowlines eased, and the brig
kept a rap-full. The Amanda was no flyer, certainly; but she seemed
frightened as much as we were ourselves, that night.
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