"Ay, ay, I see her--the glass, quick, Mr Delamere," answered the skipper.  I jumped for the telescope, drew the tube, and handed it over to the impatient hand outstretched to receive it.  By a piece of good fortune the atmosphere inshore of us just then thinned away still more for a few minutes, enabling us to get a tolerably distinct view of the stranger.  Captain Vavassour, glass in hand, sprang up the poop-ladder, and, with feet planted wide apart to give himself a good grip of the heaving deck, applied the telescope to his eye.  I followed him, that I might be at hand if required.  For a long two minutes he stood intently studying the stranger, and speaking to himself the while.  "A 50-gun ship," I heard him mutter, "and a Frenchman at that--steering a parallel course to ourselves; yes, very likely making for Brest.  Rather a stiff customer to tackle, perhaps, but I'll not let that stop me."