In the summer of 1797, Pitt, in spite of his former check, tried once again to conclude the peace with the French, which seemed to him more imperative than ever. England's maritime supremacy was menaced on all sides. True, the naval victory of Cape St. Vincent somewhat minimized the danger, but the general optimism which had been raised by it was more than counteracted by the mutiny which broke out first at Spithead and soon spread to the Nore.

By the end of May, the entire fleet was in a state of insubordination and on the twenty-third of the month the red flag was hoisted on board Admiral Buckner's flagship, to which every man-of-war sent delegates. These delegates held meetings, went on shore and paraded the streets of Portsmouth with banners and music. Panic was now in the air. The public felt that the country's security was being menaced by a worse enemy than the French. It was also felt that news of the mutiny would filtrate through across the Channel and encourage General Bonaparte to spring a surprise attach upon the country.

The Government was apparently too weak to take any decisive step that would put an end to this disastrous state of affairs. And it was stated positively in official circles that, at best, it would take several months to reorganize the navy into an efficient engine of war. Ever since the meeting with Nelson, Blakeney's thoughts had turned towards the sea and he had often wondered whether he could use both his wealth and his peculiar talents in that direction. True, he had never seriously contemplated seeking adventure on the ocean up to the present, he had merely toyed with the idea. But the mutiny in the fleet, with its disastrous results upon English maritime supremacy, gave his thoughts that impetus which ultimately drove him to adopt the sea as the scene of further activities.

As soon as the news of the mutiny reached the ears of the French there began a series of raids on unprotected English merchant shipping, and later on, forays against isolated costal townships. This menace continued for many months, and while it lasted, caused severe damage to shipping. Naturally, this new peril added to the general apprehensiveness. It was with the idea to combat this danger that Blakeney conceived the notion of transforming his yacht, the Daydream, into a ship of war.

With this end in view he left London and took up residence at the "Nest," which, it may be remembered, was situated conveniently near Dover. The minute harbor which adjoined the property was, from then on, a scene of violent activity. Workmen swarmed over the beach: mechanical appliances lay strewn on the sands; the sky was lit up with the glow of fires. The Daydream was hauled out of the water and now rested on a cradle, like some fabulous monster brooding on its nest. There she was, her ribs bare to the elements, whilst expert constructors refashioned her hull. The tall, massive figure of Sir Percy could be seen at all hours of the day, striding up and down, giving words of command, supervising the work, helping to haul timber and metal with the best of them. This feverish activity continued throughout the summer and autumn.

Gradually, the intended transformation took place; the elegant slim lines of the fast sailing yacht were replaced by heavily protected flanks: the tall, tapering masts gave way to businesslike ones, capable of putting up a good fight against storms and rough seas. Instead of the sumptuous cabins which had been her owner's delight, lockers, powder magazines and gun carriages filled her structure. Ugly nosed cannon pushed their muzzles through the portholes which no longer gave on elegant dinging-room or sumptuous sleeping-berths, but rather on workmanlike cabins. And when the preparations were completed, no one would have recognized in the war-like corvette which now rode the waves, the luxurious yacht which had been the admiration of all experts, when she lay gracefully balanced in the Dover Roads.

But Blakeney, as was his wont, kept these activities secret. Not even to Marguerite had he revealed his intentions with regard to the Daydream, and all his friends were kept in ignorance of the cause of his frequent absences from London and Richmond.

Now that preparations on the ship were completed, there came the question of the crew. Blakeney had never ceased to keep in touch with the original skipper and men of the Daydream. He had dismissed and pensioned them off with his usual liberality as soon as circumstances put an end to the activities of the Scarlet Pimpernel. But naturally at this juncture his thoughts turned at once to those faithful and loyal seamen. He sent a summons to every one of them to attend him on a given day at the old "Fisherman's Rest" at Dover, and there, over mugs of home-brewed ale he promised them work and adventure more exciting and more perilous than the mere piloting of a gentleman's yacht across the Channel. The proposal so appealed to them that the lot there and then agreed to enlist in his service again. Here, too, he took on some extra hands, for his projects were now maturing, and he knew that he would require more men both for boarding and to fill casualties.

But Blakeney was not satisfied with the arrangements as they stood. A new turn of ideas had taken hold of his imaginative brain. At the outset he had only intended to use the newly conditioned Daydream as a defensive vessel against the French raiders. But, as the work progressed, he conceived the notion of using her as a warship and to retaliate against the enemy by undertaking similar raids on the French coast. This new idea required skilled co-operators for he was not himself an expert sailor, and he deemed the hazards too complicated for a mere sportsman.

True, there was the skipper, Arthur Greaves, a skilled seaman who had sailed round the world before the mast and had gained a high reputation in the merchant service as a reliable navigator, but, owing to the prospective adventures, Blakeney felt that he needed a man who had some experience of naval warfare, a man capable of taking command when facing an enemy ship at sea. With this end in view, he turned to his former companions, Sir Edward Mackenzie and Sir Philip Glynde, both of whom had been among the original members of the League, and therefore men whom he knew well and could trust implicitly.

Sir Edward Mackenzie's father had been a famous sea-captain whose ancestors had sailed the Spanish Main with Drake and Raleigh, and whose family had been, from time immemorial, connected with the sea. Naturally enough, the father had intended that Edward should adopt the navy as a career, and, indeed, the young man had already served a useful apprenticeship during the Seven Years' War, but the sudden death of old Sir Anthony had caused Edward's premature retirement from the navy when only a lieutenant and he had been leading a useless and idle life until the formation of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

During the League's activities, Blakeney had soon discovered that Mackenzie was one of those thoroughly reliable and steady men who are invaluable in the face of any crisis. His brain worked slowly, it was true, but this was because it weighted every odd most carefully, and never took unnecessary risks, but once the man's mind was made up, he went straight and fearlessly for his goal.

As a contrast to Mackenzie, and as it were his compliment, Sir Philip Glynde was the ideal lieutenant for Blakeney's needs. Glynde could claim an equal length of service and tradition in the navy as Sir Edward, but he had attained a higher rank owing to his exceptional talent for seamanship which was almost in the nature of an instinct with him, so innate was it. Here was a man after Blakeney's own heart, a man who could seize chance by the forelock without weighing the consequences; a man who acted on impulse rather than on calculation, who did not wait for orders or count the probabilities. These two men, Blakeney thought, would counterbalance each other and compose the perfect duet on board the Daydream.

"My dear Edward," Blakeney writes to Mackenzie on June 12th, 1797, "would you care to join me in another little venture? I am afraid that this time there is no question of another League or of such joyous adventures as those in the past, but I think that we might scrape some fun out of the idea. I have reconditioned the Daydream so that she is now as good a fighting vessel as money can make her and I have been lucky enough to engage our brave old friend Greaves and most of the original crew. But I am helpless without your skilled co-operation since I am no sailor and Greaves is no warrior.

"It is obviously impossible to outline my plan in a letter, but I am inviting Glynde to join us. Should this appeal to you, come and stay at the 'Nest' next Monday, to-day week, when we can discuss details and also inspect the Daydream. Bring with you any advice which you may deem necessary. Your old friend, Blakeney."

A similar letter was dispatched to Sir Philip Glynde with the result that both men accepted the invitation and duly arrived at the "Nest" on the appointed day. Not only Blakeney himself, but his wife was also there to receive them. When first she heard of Sir Percy's projects she was utterly dumbfounded. Already she had guessed from his mysterious activities that something was afoot, but she was the last woman in the world to let her husband know of any anxiety which she felt. That in those activities and in the invitation sent to Mackenzie and Glynde to meet Percy at the "Nest," she foresaw not only anxiety but sorrow, is evidenced by a letter which she wrote on the following day after the arrival of the visitors.

"My dear Suzanne," she wrote to Lady Ffoulkes on the twenty-fourth of June of that year, "My heart is heavy within me. Percy has engaged himself on some new and mad adventure, the nature of which has been kept secret from me. He has invited Mackenzie and Glynde, former members of the League, to assist him. All I can guess at is that his new enterprise is connected with the sea, as the Daydream has been refitted and it appears that he is contemplating raiding the French coast in her.

"I, of course, have no say in the matter. I cannot prevent it nor can I participate in it. The early days of the League will be recalled to my mind, with all their attendant horrors and suspences. And once again I must contrive to smile and to joke whilst Percy is risking his life."

Truly, she must have been a remarkable woman, this wife of Sir Percy Blakeney, for she was always ready to endure sorrow and to bear tribulation, and did it with supreme courage. And, like all wise and loving women, she never attempted to turn her husband from his avowed purpose, nor did she question his motives. She had learnt her bitter lesson in the past and was now too wise to prejudice the future with recriminations. In this instance also, as soon as she learned his project she welcomed the news with a brave smile, and did her best to encourage him and his friends, and to assist them with counsel and advice.

Glynde and Mackenzie went into raptures over the new Daydream. Those two severe critics could find no flaw in the construction and agreed that the equipment was the finest possible, rivaling the government contracts in the high standard of workmanship and materials.

But, just as everything seemed ready for immediate action, a hitch occurred which delayed sailing for thirty-six hours.

It was Glynde who brought the problem up. What was to be their position? Should Blakeney take out "Letters of Marque" from the Government, thus legalizing their position, or should they just sail away as the fancy took them? The former procedure, whilst giving official approbation to their enterprise, would place them on approximately the same footing as an ordinary warship, and in case of capture, they would be treated as legitimate prisoners of war.

Blakeney was averse to this scheme. And this for three reasons. Firstly, because of the inevitable notoriety and publicity which it would entail and which he cordially detested. Secondly, he felt that it would restrict the field of their activities since, in a great measure, he and his lieutenants would no longer be free agents. They would be subject to the whims of a higher command which might not see quite eye to eye with them nor view their possible exploits from a favourable angle. And thirdly ­ a thirdly which counted most in Blakeney's imagination ­ it would be too tame, too commonplace, minimizing that very attractive spice of risk and danger which was so dear to his heart.

On the other hand, should they act on their own initiative, the Daydream could be looked upon as a pirate. They could not claim the protection of their Government and technically could be fired upon by their own countrymen. But, as Blakeney pointed out, those naval men who did take out Letters of Marque did not seem to have obtained any very important results, nor were they any the better off, since to his certain knowledge, one such ship, if not more, had been abandoned to her fate by the home Government. Percy argued that the difference was only one on paper, that in reality the French did not distinguish between a pirate and a man-of-war: and as their enterprise would only be directed against French warships, they would have no need to fear a counter attack from their own countrymen.

Discussions between the three men lasted all night, and the early morning sun threw diagonal streaks of light across the carpet before a decision was arrived at. At length, Blakeney's point of view prevailed, and it was decided that the adventurers would act on their own initiative and rely upon their own cunning and powers to escape capture.

It was now too late to catch the tide that same morning, so they postponed sailing until the following evening. This allowed thirty-six clear hours for the provisioning of the corvette. In the meanwhile, Sir Philip Glynde reviewed the men and put them through gun-drill, cutlass and pike practice, at which exercises the men seemed quite proficient, and Glynde was able to express himself eminently satisfied with their capabilities.

At sunset, on July 5th, 1797, the Daydream glided gracefully out of the miniature harbor, curtseying to the wind, whilst a solitary figure from the shore waved a handkerchief in farewell.

Blakeney's objective, fully approved by his lieutenants, was, on this first adventure, to patrol the coast of France as far as Brest in the hope of espying a French frigate on the prowl or making for the English coast, to intercept her and to engage her with the determination to capture or scuttle her. But as their ideals were the same as those that actuated the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel in the past, the Daydream would put out her boats and land the survivors somewhere on their native coast.

But man proposes, and God disposes!

For five hours the Daydream ran before the wind, but no sign of an enemy was sighted. Blakeney waxed impatient; he hated being thwarted though the other two tried to convince him that it was as difficult a matter to discover a French ship on the Narrow Seas as to rescue an aristo from a revolutionary prison. But night followed day and day, night, and still their thirst for adventure remained unappeased. They were now off the Contintent and Blakeney presently decided to heave to off Cherbourg in the hope of catching a small Frenchman. However, as some of the elder sailors thought that dirty weather was brewing, they ran into one of the small well-hidden coves which are a feature of the coast to the westward of Cherbourg.

Fortunately, there was ample water for secure anchorage and, as soon as the shades of evening began to draw in, Blakeney, not content to wait patiently on board, insisted upon making a landing in order to reconnoitre the coast. In spite of the protests of his companions and their arguments against the foolhardiness of such an undertaking, he ordered a boat to be hoisted out and had her oars muffled. He left instructions that he would use the old sea-mew call thrice repeated as a signal of his presence in the vicinity but that the Daydream was on no account to leave before daybreak. Should they not hear the call by then they were to sail, and keep out of sight until evening when they were to return and again await the signal. He then bade them all a cheery farewell, slipped over the side into the boat, took the oars and was soon swallowed up by the darkness.  

Blakeney, so he subsequently told his friends, rowed to the shore, and left the boat under an over hanging cliff. Creeping cautiously over the rocks, he succeeded in reaching a path which wound upwards to the top of the cliffs. After a stiff climb he emerged on a small plateau whence he could command a view of the surrounding country. On his left, about a mile away, he perceived a village and the tower of a church. Far away on his right a narrow stream meandered through the valley and was lost in the sea down below. At the mouth of the stream his eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, made out a cluster of cottages and a miniature port, in which a couple of vessels lay moored to a wharf. The cottages, the port and the vessels fascinated him, and he set out at a brisk pace for the valley, hoping, if nothing more, to glean some information which might lead to an adventure.

From the top of the cliff, the lights of the small harbor had appeared to be distant only a couple of kilometers or so down the coast to the South.  But the distance in the uncertain light proved elusive. It turned out to be more like five kilometers than two, over sandy soil which was dry and gave under the foot, making progress both slow and wearisome. Eventually after about an hour, he reached a road which lead directly to a hamlet. The little harbor was so well screened from view owing to the configuration of the shore that the Daydream must actually have sailed fairly close to it during the day without spotting it.

Now that he was within measurable distance of his objective Blakeney had not the vaguest idea as to what he intended to do or what he had hoped to find. The desire to land and to pry round had been irresistible and he had obeyed it trusting to chance to provide him with an opportunity for something exciting or adventurous. And the opportunity lay close at hand.

For a few minutes Blakeney stood silently surveying the scene. The darkness around him, the silence and above all his passion for adventure prompted him to draw nearer. Stealthily he reached the edge of the water. The tide was coming in with gentle murmurings, the sky was overcast, the wharf tantalizingly near. In a moment Blakeney had stripped to the skin and after wading for a few yards, he plunged noiselessly into the sea. Swimming with powerful strokes, he reached the ship that lay moored to the wharf and, sighting a rope's end which hung over the nettings, he clamored aboard.

As he had suspected from the first, the decks were deserted save for the sentry on the forecastle. Creeping on hands and knees, as soundlessly as a cat on the prowl, Blakeney approached the man and suddenly sprang on him, taking him wholly unawares, and together the two men rolled over and over on the deck. A blow between the eyes from Blakeney's powerful fist caused the man to lose consciousness.

Leaving him to lie there for a moment, Blakeney now made his way down the ladder to the lower deck. Here were two men, sitting at a table playing cards in the light of a feebly guttering candle. Their consternation when confronted by the apparition of a gigantic naked man who suddenly rose before them like an incarnation of the devil, must have been very great indeed for, according to Sir Percy's narrative, they uttered no cry, but merely gaped at him in fright and horror. Two punches straight on the jaw before they had recovered their scattered wits, sent the men rolling on the planks, senseless. A coil of rope lay close at hand. Rapidly and dexterously Blakeney gagged and bound the two Frenchmen together, and, heaving this inert bundle over his powerful shoulders, he carried them up the ladder and across the upper deck, and down to the wharf, and thence over to the beach.

Back he went to get the still unconscious sentry, and this man he also carried down to the beach to join his two pinioned mates. Satisfied that all three men were powerless for the moment and would be so for a good many minutes yet, he went back to the ships. They were lying alongside one another: both completely deserted now; indeed Blakeney made sure of that, by clambering over to the other vessel and exploring her from end to end. In one of the cabins below he saw on a table a scrap of dirty paper and beside it an ink bottle and a pen. The temptation was irresistible. Though he knew that every minute, every second was precious, he took up the pen and on the scrap of paper he wrote: "Le rêve du jour est le cauchemar de la nuit." ("The daydream is the nightmare.")

With a grim chuckle of delight and holding the paper tightly in his hand he made his way back to the first ship, went aft to the powder magazine, laid a trail of powder, set it alight and clambered back to the wharf, by the way he had come.

With a few giant strides he was down on the beach. Here the two pinioned men were struggling desperately to free themselves from their bonds, while the third still lay unconscious. With another happy chuckle Blakeney thrust his scribbled message inside the shirt of one of the men; he then ran to rescue his cast-off clothes, and was in the act of picking them up when a loud explosion quickly followed by another, and another, proclaimed the destruction of the French frigates. At once the night became alive with shouts and people running from the village in the direction of the harbor.

Blakeney found the secluded corner under the cliffs where he had left the boat. Here he dressed himself, and from here the cry of the sea-mew thrice repeated echoed through the night. Within the next half-hour all traces of the Daydream's visit to the French coast had disappeared, save for the fact that a couple of French frigates lay on the bottom of the little harbor of Carteret.

The only report of the destruction of those ships which reached England came via the Government spies, who had heard the news in Paris some two weeks after the event. Rumour had it that the presence of the two French frigates at Cateret formed part of a plan for a raid on the Irish coast, there being ships of the same class hidden in other well-screened coves along that part of the French coast. The ships were to have set sail simultaneously, the troops that were to sail in them having been billeted in the villages close by. There seems to be no doubt that Blakeney's action did run athwart the French plans, for the Directoire Government appeared to have come to the conclusion that news had somehow or other leaked out and prudently decided to abandon them.

Blakeney himself confirms this point of view in his journal. He seems at one time to have paid a return visit to that particular portion of the French coast in the hopes of repeating his adventure, with other French vessels, but was bitterly disappointed to find that the birds had already flown.

"July 20th. We searched every possible nook, but not a trace of a ship did we find. I ventured on shore, in disguise, and mingled with some sailors drinking at an inn. I led the conversation round to the topic of the sunken ships and was told that those frigates formed part of a fleet, the object of which was to make a concentrated attack on the English coast or else to carry troops to Ireland. It all depended upon circumstances and the weather."

It was also said that the epigram found inside the shirt of one of the unfortunate sailors had caused a sensation among the staff officers and that the French Government had suppressed the news of the disaster. Rumours of a more or less sinister character flew from hamlet to hamlet and from village to village and created a feeling akin to panic. The crews of the frigates and their officers were all under arrest awaiting court martial. They were accused of dereliction of duty in that they had been careless of the safety of their ships. The men's defense was that they were attacked by a superhuman being of unnatural size, who hurled thunderbolts at them in the manner of Jupiter and rendered them senseless by the mere raising of his hand.

"The Daydream has indeed turned into a nightmare, methinks," Sir Percy further commented on the incident, "and it damn well serves the enemy right for raiding unfortified English townships. I hope that my feeble endeavours will teach them better manners. With good luck we might attempt further exploits, which would tend to aggravate the position and lead French sailors to emulate our fellows in engineering a general mutiny in their fleet. By this means we might obtain peace at last."

The full details of this adventure were brought to the notice of the English Government through an ex-petty officer in the navy, who had joined the secret service. This man, by the way, managed to convey the impression among his superiors that he himself had been the hero of the remarkable exploit.

England was agog with the news and the public demanded full details and the name or names of the gallant men who were the heroes of the wonderful adventure. In its eagerness it asked the King to honour these men in some signal way. But, officially, nothing appeared to be known and even the Admiralty feigned complete ignorance, so that people began to make enquiries on their own account. However, as reliable information was entirely lacking, it was generally agreed that the exploit had been carried out by a pirate, whereupon speculation became rife as to whom must credit for the daring feat be ascribed. Oddly enough, the only guess which approached the truth came from an unexpected quarter. Many months later, when His Majesty was on board the Royal Charlotte, Sir Percy Blakeney, who was a guest in the Royal yacht, when in conversation with the King, showed such a knowledge of seamanship that His Majesty was quite astounded and remarked casually:

"Sir Percy, I remember that you own a yacht yourself. The Daydream is she not called? I  hope that you are not overcome by nightmares when on board?"

Blakeney gave his infectious laugh. "Begad, Sire, that's demmed amusing. Your Majesty was ever pleased to joke at my expense."

The subject was pursued no farther at the time, and Blakeney, much relieved, hoped that Royal interest in his affairs would end with this embarrassing conversation.

Blakeney and his two companions were delighted with the success of their first adventure and were eager to be off again in quest of more. But circumstances forced a delay. Their stock of provisions had run low. So they ran into Deal, and Blakeney was able to spend a few days with Marguerite at the "Nest."

On landing, however, a surprise awaited him for he found that his old friends of the League had guessed the connection between Daydream and Nightmare, and had come posting down to Dover, eager to be associated with him once again in the pursuit of adventure.  It appeared that most of them had read the reports of the sinking of the French frigates and had put two and two together. They had assembled and discussed the ownership of the Nightmare and had come to the conclusion that Blakeney was at the bottom of the business.  Without knowing the full facts of the case, they raced down to Dover in the hopes that a new League was in formation under Blakeney's leadership and that he would enroll them once more under his banner, even if their duties should only be those of cabin boy or ship's cook.

Blakeney, however, was forced to disappoint them. He told them that there was no question of an organization similar to that of the old League; that the Daydream could accommodate only enough men for their purpose; and that, though he knew them to be daring and fearless, he had this time only need of men who were familiar with the sea and with naval matters.

Ffoulkes tells us that they all pleaded with him, but in vain.

"We were bitterly disappointed that Percy would not allow any of us to accompany him in the Daydream, though most of us realized that his arguments against our pleading were justified. I suppose most of us, ever since the disbanding of the League, had nurtured hopes of further adventures under Percy's leadership and clung to the idea that one day he would devise another scheme as exciting, as soul stirring as were those happy days in France. However, it is not to be and we must remain content with the memories of those wonderful unforgettable adventures."

Having reprovisioned the Daydream, Blakeney and his band weighed anchor on September 3rd and sailed before the wind towards an unknown destiny.

For two days, according to the corvette's log, the wind was favourable. It blew them down the Channel and out into the Atlantic Ocean. On the fourth day out they hauled to the wind and made the French coast opposite Bordeaux. 

There was no question this time of forcing a way into a port for the purpose of spying. The adventure was to fall principally to the credit of the sailors, as it was hoped to meet a French frigate on the open sea and to engage her. But, if the adventurers expected to sight any portion of the enemy fleet near Bordeaux, they were certainly disappointed, for there was no sign of a sail anywhere on the horizon.  After hanging about for a couple of days, they hauled off and headed south towards the South of Spain, keeping well off the coast. It almost seemed as if the "Pimpernel" luck had deserted them, for many more days went by and not a single enemy vessel hove in sight: as their provisions were running dangerously low they were reluctantly forced to put about and returned to home waters without encountering anything more exciting than a shoal of dolphins.

After rounding the Ushant, however, a sail was sighted to starboard heading up Channel. Both Glynde and Mackenzie pronounced her to be a French frigate. This sudden change in their luck cheered the spirits of all on board the Daydream, and their troubles were forgotten in the excitement of the chase. Every minute the Daydream gained on her enemy, and the next hour brought her within measurable distance of the French ship.

The frigate, preferring to fight nearer her own coast, went about and stood to the southward. The Daydream, having the heels of her enemy, closed rapidly and approached her from astern. As soon as the vessels were within range Glynde ordered all guns which would bear to be fired at their greatest elevation in the hope of bringing a mast down, or at any rate, damaging the enemy's rigging. The frigate at first was able to rise her stern chaser, and, though a shot struck the deck of the Daydream, nobody was hit.

Soon the Daydream was too close for the stern chaser to be able to hit her full and her swaying mast made but a pore target for the frigate. Glynde now ordered every gun to be double shotted and every man to prepare to board.  Yawing first to larboard and then to starboard, every gun in the ship was fired upward into the frigate's stern at a range of but twenty-five yards. The double shot coming up through the poop spread death among the afterguard and smashed the wheel, causing the ship to broach and the mizzen topmast, which had been partly shot through earlier, fell on the quarter-deck.

Seizing the opportunity offered by the confusion thus engineered, the Daydream's crew sprang up the side, and in a few moments were masters of the poop. Training the stern chaser forward and loading it with langrage, of which there were several lying by the gun, Blakeney called on the crew to surrender. Flabbergasted by the daring of these cochons d'Anglais, the few surviving French officers tendered their swords and Le Rousseau was in the hands of Blakeney and his band. 

The question now arose as to what they should do with their prize.  Blakeney, who was the actual commander of the Daydream, proposed that the ship be scuttled and her officers and crew be landed at the nearest French port. But the crew, delirious with success, were reluctant to adopt this plan, and were all for towing the prize into Portsmouth and handing the crew over to the competent authorities.

"I expect that they wished to be received with a salvo of hurrahs and a salute from the guns," as Blakeney wrote to Sir Andrew Topham a few days later, "as if we were celebrating the Prince's birthday. But I could not find it in my heart to blame the poor devils and it really was the deuce to forgo the fruits of victory, or rather, the thunders of victory!

"However, I was obliged to agree to this course in the end, but on two conditions. Firstly, I insisted that one of the French crew should be landed under cover of darkness at a French port so that he could convey the glad news to Paris, and that on reaching Portsmouth the strictest anonymity should be maintained. I have commanded Glynde to invent any plausible story so that my part in the affair shall remain a strict secret."

That evening, therefore, after an hour's sailing, the coast of France was neared, Blakeney ordered a boat to be hoisted out and a couple of seamen rowed one of the French sailors ashore. To this latter he gave a written message to be delivered to the Ministry of Marine in Paris. It read:

"Le Rousseau a recontré Le Cauchemar." ("The Rousseau has met the Nightmare.")

After that Blakeney took no further part in the proceedings, leaving the command of the ship in the capable hands of Glynde.

That this act, which was really one of piracy, had no unpleasant consequences for the owner and crew of the Daydream may be gathered from the official records of the incident which merely state that "a privately owned yacht, having espied a French vessel in distress, went to her assistance and towed her into Portsmouth harbor where her entire crew were forthwith made prisoners of war."  No mention of the Daydream or of Sir Percy Blakeney in those records, though it subsequently transpired that the authorities were extremely suspicious, and it required the entire stock of Glynde's tact and diplomacy to keep Sir Percy's name out of the whole affair.

Soon after the little party's return to Dover, violent storms kept the Daydream locked in harbor, but for once Blakeney did not chafe against the vagaries of the weather which held him a prisoner in England, being well content to abide for a few weeks at Richmond, since another important event in the annals of the Blakeney family was daily expected.

But Blakeney was not content to be idle long, and soon he was aching to be off once more on adventure bound, his heart, as always, thirsting for excitement. Wherefore, he wrote to his two friends to join him again if they felt so inclined and he warned the crew of the Daydream to be ready for duty at a moment's notice. Within a few days, he had left London for the "Nest."

On October 14th he once more set sail in the Daydream. The weather was stormy; the Daydream, close reefed and buffeted unmercifully by the gale, made little progress in the raging seas.  In consequence, the adventurers were forced to keep away from the shore and were not able to make much headway towards the field of adventure, which they had hoped lay in wait for them out in the Channel. 

After a few hours Glynde grew anxious and advised putting into harbor until the storm abated.  This in fact they did, and Sir Percy, as soon as Portsmouth had been safely reached, posted in all haste back in Richmond in order to allay his wife's fears lest the bad weather had caused her anxiety.

Strangely enough, Marguerite had been extremely anxious for her husband's safety. Her intuition, rendered doubly sensitive by her motherhood, had given her a strange presentiment of danger which would befall Percy on this voyage if he persisted in it. During the few days he stayed by her side, she tried to persuade him to abandon the project. Almost he was turned from his purpose and would have given in to her insistence had not a special messenger arrived that evening from Glynde, informing him that weather conditions were now favourable and the Daydream ready to make a fresh start.

As before, they sailed south heading for the coast of France.  Blakeney's plan, favoured by Glynde, was to fall on enemy ships as they left harbor for raiding expeditions. They espied various French ships upon the horizon, but they did not attempt to intercept these as their intention was to surprise the enemy near his own home waters nor were they molested by them.

Thus they proceeded on their way until they reached the shores of Brittany where the coast line is serrated, and forms a hundred coves in which a ship could easily lie concealed secure from waters from the sea.  In one of these the Daydream cast anchor.

It was now an hour after sunset and darkness was rapidly gathering in. As soon as the night was sufficiently dark for his purpose, Blakeney ordered a boat to be hoisted out and started with muffled oars in order to spy out the vicinity. Hardly had he rowed a few strokes when suddenly a flare from the top of a nearby cliff illuminated the entire scene. Obviously the Daydream had been caught in a trap. The ship which they had sighted on their way out had been sent to watch their movements and had carefully avoided combat while enticing the Daydream into the pitfall which they had laid for her. And sure enough after the first flare which revealed her presence to other look-out posts, points of light began to gleam at intervals all along the coast line, whilst random shots, fired from the top of the cliffs, fell about them with dull splashes into the water: some of them unpleasantly close to the little boat in which Blakeney sat.

"For a few seconds," Blakeney wrote to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, describing his adventure, "I thought that we were condemned to a watery grave. My first feeling was the indignity of being sent to drown in foreign waters, French waters to boot, without the chance of a nice little fight.  Then it was that my wits came to my rescue. I rowed round to the port-side of the Daydream so that the dinghy was screened from view of our enemies on shore. I managed to scramble on board without being hit. After a brief consultation with Glynde and Mackenzie, we decided that there was only one thing to do, and that was to run for it.  We weighed anchor. The wind was blowing off shore and we decided to beat off and on thus lure the French ships out into the open. There were two frigates close by which we thought might pursue us, but we hoped that we would prove the faster vessel."

The Daydream turned and fled to seaward. Under the circumstances, it was the only possible course to pursue.  It was evident that the enemy's intention was to attach Le Cauchemar, and if possible, to capture her.

The Daydream kept on a steady course. Now and then a boom, followed by a dull splash astern, proclaimed that the French were still in active pursuit. It was then about eleven o'clock at night. Some three hundred yards astern the two frigates could be discerned, their sails straining in a vain effort to lessen the distance between themselves and the Daydream.  At Glynde's suggestion they now started to work windward, making long reaches. The heavier French ships could not follow these tactics so swiftly and at each track they lost ground and presently their firing ceased.

An hour later, still pursuing the same tactics, the Daydream seemed well out of danger. At that moment three British ships were seen approaching from a northerly direction. They had evidently heard the firing. Also it was evident that they had espied the French ships for they were heading for the enemy.

The Daydream went about once more for Blakeney naturally wished to avoid meeting the British men-of-war!  Within a few minutes the sound of a furious cannonade proclaimed that the English ships had met and engaged the French frigates.  The Daydream was safe, and what was more important to her crew, forgotten. She made haste towards England which was reached at three o'clock in the morning.

The end of this adventure dumbfounded Blakeney and his lieutenants.  For them, it was an adventure spoiled and a humiliation.  But the French apparently took a different view of their exploit.  The Moniteur was furious at the news of this third disaster to isolated units of the fleet. Its leading article fulminated against the Ministry of the Marine and demanded a court martial for those who had so signally failed to bring the Cauchemar to book.

But what infuriated the French Government more than anything else was the tactics of the English, who apparently made use of a pirate to help them in contriving an ambush.  In official circles it was thought that the Cauchmar had purposely led the French ships across the path of the British men-of-war.

"Begad, I was astounded when I heard this tid-bit of news," Blakeney wrote in the same letter to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. "If only the French had known the real truth! But I am vastly flattered that they should deem us so clever and I think that it will enhance our prestige. The Daydream is beginning to become a greater nightmare than I ever dared to hope.

"Do call on Marguerite whenever you get the chance. She would dearly love to see you and your wife at Richmond. Besides, you must become acquainted with Violet Yvonne. I was delighted that you acted as godfather to the infant and I am sure she will live to thank you for the honour . . .!"

In England the reports were vague.  The three men-of-war, the Royal Princess, The Intrepid, and the Devonport, which had so opportunely appeared upon the scene, had captured both the French frigates.  Apparently their commanders had not sighted the Daydream, because in their reports they made no mention of the yacht, but as they must have heard the firing, it may be supposed that only so much of their reports were published as was expedient at the time. Anyway, nothing was made public that could possibly connect the episode with a privately owned yacht; and Blakeney was free from the tittle-tattle of gossip-mongers for which, no doubt, he was heartily thankful.

But, now that winter was fast approaching, Blakeney felt that the enterprise was becoming too foolhardy to be continued. He and his lieutenants had seen in this last adventure that the Daydream, in spite of her efficiency, could not withstand the mountainous seas which were to be expected during the winter months. She was also in need of a general overhaul and a few minor repairs, and for this purpose was taken to Southampton, Blakeney himself returning to London and to Marguerite.