the French coast, so we hauled down our English colors and hoisted French.  The frigate gained on us very fast, but we continued to steer on, and she in pursuit, until we were within gun-shot of the batteries, What the Frenchmen thought we did not know, at all events they did not fire, and we steered right on as if we were chased, and the frigate followed after us, until we were within a mile and a half of the batteries, when the frigate thought proper to haul her wind.  Then the battery opened upon her, and we could see that she was hulled more than once, and, as she kept her wind along the shore, the other batteries opened upon her, and she got a good mauling.  We saw her shift her foretopsail yard as soon as she went about again, and we afterward heard that she had several men hurt, which was a pity.”

“And did not the batteries fire upon you?”

“No, for we kept the French colors up, and hove to within a mile of the coast.  It was a lee shore, and there was too much surf and sea for them to send off a boat and ascertain whether we were a French privateer or not; so there we lay till dusk, and then made sail again, and, being so close into the French shore, we picked up a good prize that very night.  When the cruise was over, I was satisfied.  I got my prize-money, and then, as I knew our own coast well, I passed for pilot, and have served as one ever since.  How’s her head, Tom?”

“S.W. almost.”

“S.W. almost won’t do, Tom.  It’s not quite S.W., quarter-south; so you must say S.W. southerly.  D’ye understand?”

When Bessy knocked at my door the next morning, she cried out, laughing, “How’s her head, Tom?” and those words made me jump up like lightning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

     In which Bramble points out to me that singing is part of the
     Profession of a Pilot.

In about a fortnight from the time that Bramble commenced his tuition I was quite perfect with the compass; his method certainly was very good, for by such reiterated catechising what you had to learn was graven on your memory.  All day long the same system was pursued.  Even if dinner was on the table, the compass was on a chair close by, and as I was putting my fork to my mouth, much to Bessy’s amusement, out would come the question, “How’s her head, Tom?” Bramble soon gained his point; I could answer like lightning.  But whether I was by the fire indoors, or on the shingle beach, his system was ever the same.  Every time that Bramble opened his lips I gained some information; he was never wearying, and often very amusing.