With the approach of spring, the old longing for adventure returned with increased intensity. Marguerite had tried to keep Percy content at home, but it was no use; the spirit of adventure was already stirring in him. All of a sudden he would leave London for a few days and return with that far-away look in his eyes which told her as no words could, what was going on in his mind. The Daydream, after her overhaul, was back once more in the Dover roads, and during those excursions Blakeney would spend his days on board, dreaming, planning and longing to be up and doing once again.

Then one day, as he sat staring out across the Channel over towards the French coast, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Without looking up at the intruder, he knew that the call had come and that he was powerless to resist it. With a quaint sigh he rose and clasped the hand. The die was cast. Turning round he faced Glynde and Mackenzie. It appeared that they, too, were bored with life in London and were as eager as Blakeney himself to be up and doing. They had posted down to Dover with the hope that they would find him at the "Nest." They had sauntered down to the harbor to have a look at the sea, and thus the chance meeting came about. Within a few minutes the harbor was the scene of furious activity. The crew of the Daydream were summoned from their homes and the preparations for an early departure were straightway begun.

Whilst Glynde supervised the embarkation and Mackenzie collected the necessary provisions, Blakeney wrote a hurried note to Marguerite.

"I beg to be excused, my dear. 'Tis, I know, the most shameful conduct and well-nigh unforgivable. But what would you with a husband who can never stay still? How many times have I promised, I wonder, never to go off a-wandering again? This time it will be the last time I assure you. I feel somehow that these words are prophetic and that it is to be our last adventure. Goodbye."

Lady Blakeney's diary bears testimony to this expedition and her entry has the great merit of assigning a date to this adventure.

"April 4th, 1798. A courier has just brought Percy's letter from Dover. How I had hoped these last few delightful months had eased that need for excitement and had subdued that restless heart. He swears that 'twill be the last time. How often have I heard those words before! How often have my fallen hopes been revived only to be dashed down once more into the cruel torture of suspense. And I must be brave, suffering the terrible anxiety without a word of protest. It is in my heart that Percy shall fail, so that he may return to me in all haste. But my prayers are never answered."

But, as events turned out, her words were prophetic.

The preparations were completed by the next day, the fifth of April. On the morning of the sixth, towards ten o'clock, orders to weigh anchor were given and the Daydream set sail on a perfect sea. There was just enough off-shore breeze to carry her along at five knots and the sun shone brilliantly over them. It must have seemed a propitious start to the adventurers. They crossed directly over to the Straits. So peacefully did the seascape appear that it seemed hardly possible that bloody war should be ravaging the fair land and that they themselves, instead of on pleasure bent, were searching out means for adding to the horrible destruction. Lying just outside the harbor, fishing smacks leisurely floated on the waves whilst the men hauled the nets. No one appeared to pay the slightest attention to the intruders: for all the attention which the Daydream aroused, she might have been some friendly yacht out for a morning's cruise.

Glynde turned and, keeping a league's distance from the shore, slowly beat down the coast. After another five hours had passed by it was decided, since the sea seemed empty of the enemy, that it would be impossible to expect a meeting and that it would be more advantageous to steer for the open ocean and sail South in the hope of sighting either a French or Spanish frigate attempting to leave the harbor.

Nothing untoward occurred for many hours. It was close on midnight when two strange shapes loomed out of the darkness. These turned out to be small French frigates. The sudden boom of cannon followed by harsh snappy shouts from the captain caught those who were below unawares. When they reached the upper deck their eyes met the sight of a desperate situation indeed. The Daydream was being attacked from both sides. her only advantage lay in her handiness and her speed.

Two French men-of-war were closing on each other and thus bearing down on the Daydream at an acute angle. Desperate situations require desperate remedies. The alternatives which faced the commander of the Daydream were unpleasant. To bear up and try to escape was one of these, but such an action was out of the question: not one of them on board would have permitted it. To fight seemed equally hopeless, the odds being too heavily weighted against them.

Blakeney suggested that, if they stood on, they would pass between the enemy ships which, being now but a little more than a cable's length from each other, would scarcely risk firing on the Daydream as she passed between them for fear of hitting their friends. This maneuver was carried out and, as soon as the Daydream was between the French ships, Glynde ordered the helm to be put up so as to pass close under the stern of the ship on his starboard hand. As he did so, he fired a broadside aimed at her rudder which, owing to the Daydream's low free-board, was almost at the level of the guns. The Frenchman's rudder head was shot away and she broached to as Glynde hauled to the wind and put about. Some musketry from the Frenchman answered them and there were three casualties on board the Daydream. But the other French ship now seized the opportunity when the Daydream was clear of her sister, and opened with her larboard broadside, the English vessel replying as fast as her guns could be loaded. The rudderless frigate was now in irons and drifting to leeward out of the action. The other hauled to the wind thus bringing her starboard broadside to bear. Though the shooting was somewhat wild at the fairly long range, several shots struck the Daydream and some more casualties occurred. Unfortunately two shots hit the hull between wind and water, about a couple feet from each other. These smashed the timbers and stove the side in for a distance of nearly four feet and the hull was badly shaken and sprung several other leaks. Fortunately, the Frenchman, unaware of this, had borne up and run down to the help of his comrade and the Daydream, by going about, was able to keep the hole in her side higher above water and make some attempt to repair the damage. It was soon realized, however, that this was a waste of time for vigorous pumping failed to keep the water under. By partially stopping the worst of the leak, it was hoped to keep her afloat until the English coast was reached, but, nevertheless, whips were rigged and the undamaged boats got ready for hoisting out in case the end should come earlier.

The wind was slowly backing and, though this allowed the Daydream to close the English coast more rapidly, for Glynde dared not put her on the starboard tack, it was a threat of bad weather, and, if they had to take to the boats, this might make their situation precarious.

The enemy ships being now far to leeward, there was no further danger of being attacked, and another pump which had been damaged in the action was repaired and manned by the gun's crews. It seemed that it might be possible to keep the water under, but the men were tiring, for work at the pumps is heavy. Sir Percy, with his customary optimism, suggested that they should heave to and, after making such repairs as were possible, should run down towards the enemy and try to inflict further damage on them.

Both Glynde and Mackenzie vehemently asserted that it would be rank madness to attempt any further fighting now that such a respite had been granted to them, and they both insisted that an endeavour should be made to reach safety. A rapid calculation showed them that they were making good progress towards the English coast, and that there was a distinct hope, ere the Daydream sank, of getting within reasonable distance of shore.

After three hours, an uneasy swell, forerunner of a storm, began to work up from the westward, causing the ship to roll. The labouring opened the seams of the weakened hull and the end of the Daydream was in sight. Water had reached the gun-deck, she was practically water-logged and no further progress could be made. Reluctantly the boats were hoisted out and she was left to her watery grave. A few minutes later, in a swirl, the Daydream disappeared below the surface of the sea.

The first rays of dawn lit up an expanse of leaden sea. Stepping their masts and making sail, side by side, the four boats of the Daydream forged steadily ahead. They were alone; no sail was in sight: no faint haze proclaimed the vicinity of land. In each boat there were enough provisions to last them twelve hours or so. The only real danger which faced the men was that of a sudden storm of heavy sea.

The best description of the experiences of the adventurers is to be found in a letter written by Blakeney to his friend, Lord St. Denys, some few weeks after the events.

"After a few hours' sailing," he writes, "the tempest which we feared was gathering in the west and it was approaching us rapidly. The sky ahead of us darkened, great clouds began to gather and the wind came in gusts. A few heavy drops of rain splashed down and as quickly ceased. The storm seemed to withdraw as if to husband its strength for a more furious outburst. An unearthly hush brooded over sky and sea which both took on a leaden hue. We close-reefed our sail and soon the wind burst on us in fury, driving spume into the air. This and the murkiness due to the heavy clouds made it difficult for the boats to keep together, for we could seldom see each other at a cable's length.

"The boats were now fast being separated from each other and I lost sight of Mackenzie's; Glynde was about twenty yards in front of me. Perhaps it was lucky for me that I am not a sailor born as I remained impervious to the general tension, until heavy rumbles in the distance and sudden flashes of lightening proclaimed that the storm was growing in violence and approaching us rapidly. At the same time the sea started to stir and troubled waves got up first with a slow roll, as of unaccustomed passengers upon a ship's deck ­ then faster rolling billows as the wind increased its strength. These beat against the boat, throwing white spume over the men and drenching us all in sprays of ice-cold water. The wind tugged at our clothing, flinging our laces and shirts into our faces so that we were nearly blinded.

"The sky darkened still more. The sea heaved, responding to the wrath of the storm, demanding vengeance upon us humans who thus dared to defy the elements.

"Any steady progress was now well-nigh impossible. The men were impotent to keep the helm and to bail out the water at the same time, water which struck our frail barks and almost swamped them. Within a few minutes we were drifting helplessly at the mercy of the wind and waves. My boat was by now half-filled with water and in the intervals of keeping the level down by bailing the boat, we tried to keep ourselves cheerful by telling silly stories!

"By now I had lost sight of the other boats. It seemed as if we were entirely alone on this surging sea and I was sure that my last moment had come . . .!"

When the end seemed inevitable and all hope of being rescued was given up, their luck held. Through a murk of the storm a ship hove into sight, bearing down upon them through the deep troughs of the wind-tossed waves. A British frigate, which had been driven off her course earlier in the day, had seen the plight of those helpless sailors and had made all haste to their rescue.

Most of the men were too weak and exhausted to realize that their lives had been saved. Even Blakeney's magnificent physique had crumpled up under the terrific strain. It also happened that their rescue was marred by the loss of the boat in which was Mackenzie. Though search was made for her for many hours, they were never found and it is supposed that she must have been swamped earlier on in the day.

As soon as Blakeney was sufficiently recovered from the ordeal to answer questions, he was greeted by none other than Nelson himself. The Admiral, as soon as he knew the identity of the man he had saved, refused to remain content with the lame story of a pleasure cruise and an accident, since he had intercepted a battered French frigate towing a rudderless ship. The firing had been reported to him and the exploits of the Cauchemar were common knowledge.

It appears evident that Nelson entertained no doubts as to the identity of his guest, for he is reported to have told a friend that he rescued the Scarlet Pimpernel from a watery grave, but, on being asked for further details, refused to reveal any names. Sir Percy was grateful for the preservation of his secret and he had the honour of presenting the little Admiral with a beautiful tie-pin, composed of rubies and diamonds in the shape of the famous device.

It had indeed been the final adventure. The after consequences of it kept Blakeney helpless for many a weary week, owing to an attack of pneumonia caused by long immersion in the water coupled with exposure for hours to cold, biting winds.

He was now brought face to face with the realities of life; he realized how near he had been to depriving his son of a father; he found that time had flown on swift wings and that he was not so young as he was. He was forced reluctantly to give up his many activities and concentrate on more sedate pleasures. And he turned his mind to family affairs which had become terribly involved during his many absences. The bailiff was not satisfactory; the stables had been neglected and his personal affairs had got into a hopeless mess. Therefore, with all that work on his hands, he had no time to think: the regrets which he felt were allayed by the activities of family life and he found his pleasures in his home and the company of his wife and children.

The quietude of this new life after the tempestuous days of the past filled his heart with that sense of peace and contentment, which is so often the privilege of intrepid souls and which no amount of glory or excitement can give. The love of adventure and daily risks which had possessed him to the exclusion of all other emotions had gradually yielded to a richer and deeper love. The passionate interludes of a few years back, so intense and yet so brief, merged in the riper, fuller affection of later years. He still laughed uproariously; he still dressed in the height of fashion. Richmond in the summer and Bath in the winter found the Blakeneys always leading the fashion, gracing society balls with their presence.

And so the years passed and with their passing so did the memory of former delights slowly fade away. His outlook on life he left to posterity in a long letter which he wrote to his erstwhile companion and lifelong friend, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, on the occasion of the birth of the latter's son:

"Dear Andrew,

"My heartiest congratulations to Suzanne and yourself on the arrival of the hoped-for heir. I am truly delighted at the news. He will be George's fag at Harrow. I wonder whether they will prove such a pair of lazy rapscallions as we were. Heigh-ho! How long ago that time seems now. Egad, at all events, we can truthfully say that we have lived. What price the old 'Chat-Gris' again, you dog, and those marvelous rides through the dark country road with women and children clinging to us for dear life. Well, remember to visit the Cabaret de la Liberté when your regiment captures Paris.

"Looking back, I often wonder myself whether the Scarlet Pimpernel was not a myth, dreamt about after the third bottle of port. Nay, my dear Andrew, I am not a sentimentalist, but, all the same, as I ride round Richmond with young George, those days do verily seem but a romantic illusion: the scar, that magic 'M' on my forearm, is the only concrete reminder that, once upon a time, we really and truly indulged in that kingliest of all sports.

"Should another chance come, you ask, would I repeat? 'Tis an unanswerable question, my friend. I hardly know and I should hate to commit myself. There are others now to consider. Would you leave your Suzanne and young Anthony (that is his future name, is it not?) in order to follow the will-o'-the-wisp of anonymous adventure? I doubt it. Yet the heart would urge and the spirit tug. Methinks that the flesh would be too demmed weak!

"Frankly, I cannot deny the lure of the old life. This all seems paradoxical and contradictory it is true, but I thrill now to the joy of seeing young George develop. I love to teach him the tricks of boxing and fencing; I enjoy training his muscles and inculcating in him the ideals of an English gentleman.

"Begad, its demmed amusing when I really think about it and realize the vast abyss which now separates the Scarlet Pimpernel of yore from the Sir Percy Blakeney of to-day.

"Do you ever have twinges of regret?

"Tony has become uxorious in the extreme. Nevertheless, both you and he owe somewhat of a debt to those charming people who nearly cut off the heads of your adorable wives! As for me, I must own to an eternal debt of gratitude which I owe our one-time engaging friend, Monsieur Chambertin, who must, even now, be writhing in a very hot furnace down below!

"Well, dear old comrade, I have talked enough nonsense for one letter. All that remains to us in the future is in the hands of our two bits of flesh whom we call our sons.

"London seems pretty much the same, though the war fever is still at its height. H.R.H. is very furious that he cannot command a regiment that was only yesterday evening cursing the luck which allowed you to be away on campaign whilst he was forced to stick at home. We form the same merry old whirligig as of yore, though I deem we are more sedate and one hates the grey hairs which appear on one's head!

"And on that remark, which will doubtless shock you more than any other in this long rigmarole, I will bid you farewell."