AN ENGLISH PILOT. 13 
This man, who had grown grey in his employ- 
ment, and was perfectly acquainted with these 
waters, advised our immediate return to Ports- 
mouth, and that every effort should be made 
to reach it before sunset. I therefore had the 
ship put about, and setting as much sail as the 
violence of the wind would allow, we fled towards 
our place of refuge, the storm continually in- 
creasing. Although we ran pretty quick, we had 
scarcely got half-way back, before it became so 
foggy and dark, that the land, which had hither- 
to been our guide, was no longer discernible. 
We could not see three hundred fathoms from 
the ship. The change in our pilot’s counte- 
nance showed that our situation had become 
critical. The little, stout, and hitherto phleg- 
matic fellow became suddenly animated by a 
new spirit. His black eyes lightened; he ut- 
tered several times the well-known English 
oath which Figaro declares to be ‘le fond de 
la langue,” rubbed his hands violently toge- 
ther, and at length exclaimed, ‘‘ Captain! I 
should like a glass of grog—Devil take me if I 
don’t bring you safe into Portsmouth yet !” 
His wish was of course instantly complied with. 
