Chapter Forty Six.
These are not foes
With whom it would be safe to strive in honour.
They will repay your magnanimity,
Assassin-like, with secret stabs.
Anon.
The strength of the monsoon had blown over, and Captain M—, in pursuance of his orders, beat across the Bay of Bengal, for the Straits of Sumatra, where he expected to fall in with some of the enemy’s privateers, who obtained their supplies of water in that direction. After cruising for six weeks without success, they fell in with an armed English vessel, who informed them that she had been chased by a large pirate proa, and had narrowly escaped—acquainting Captain M— with the islet from which she had sallied out in pursuit of them, and to which she had in all probability returned.
Captain M—, naturally anxious to scour the seas of these cruel marauders, who showed no quarter to those who had the misfortune to fall into their hands, determined to proceed in quest of this vessel, and after a week’s unsuccessful reconnoitre of the various islets which cover the seas in that quarter, one morning discovered her from the mast-head, on his weather beam, sailing and rowing down towards the frigate, to ascertain whether she was a vessel that she might venture to attack.
The Aspasia was disguised as much as possible, and the pirates were induced to approach within a distance of two miles, when, perceiving their mistake, they lowered their sails, and turning the head of their vessel in the opposite direction, pulled away from the frigate, right in the wind’s eye. The breeze freshened, and all possible sail was crowded on the Aspasia, to overtake them, and although, at the close of the day, they had not neared her much, the bright moon enabled them to keep the vessel in view during the night. Early in the morning (the crew being probably exhausted from their incessant labour), she kept away for some islets broad upon the Aspasia’s weather bow, and came to an anchor in a small cove between the rocks, which sheltered her from the guns of the frigate.
Captain M— considered it his duty at all risks to destroy the proa; and, hoisting out the boats, he gave the command to his first-lieutenant, with strict injunctions how to deal with such treacherous and ferocious enemies. The launch was under repair at the time, and could not be employed; but the barge, pinnace, and two cutters were considered fully adequate to the service. Courtenay was second in command, in the pinnace; Seymour had charge of one cutter; and at his own particular request, Prose was entrusted with the other.
“I do declare, I think that I should like to go,” observed Prose, when he first heard that the vessel was to be cut out.
“Why, you ought, Prose,” replied Seymour; “you have never been on service yet.”
“No—and you and I are the only two passed midshipmen in the ship.” (Seymour and Prose had both passed their examination, when the Aspasia was at Bombay.) “I think that I have a right to one of the boats.”
So thought the first-lieutenant, when he made his application, and he obtained the command accordingly.
The boats shoved off as soon as the men had swallowed their breakfasts, and in less than an hour were but a short distance from the proa, which proved to be one of the largest size. A discharge of langrage from one of the two long brass guns, mounted on her prow, flew amongst the boats, without taking effect. A second discharge was more destructive, three of the men in the boat which Prose commanded being struck down bleeding under the thwarts—the oars, which they had not relinquished their hold of when they fell, being thrown high up in air.
“Halloa! I say—All catching crabs together!” cried Prose.
“Caught something worse than a crab, sir,” replied the coxswain—“Wilson, are you much hurt?”
“The rascals have let daylight in, I’m afraid,” answered the man, faintly.
“Well, I do declare I’d no idea the poor fellows were wounded. Coxswain, take one of the oars, and I’ll steer the boat, or we shall never get alongside. I say, Mr Jolly, can’t you pull?”
“Yes, sir, upon a pinch,” answered the marine whom he addressed, laying his musket on the stern-sheets, and taking one of the unmanned oars.
“Well, there now, give way.”
But the delay occasioned by this mishap had left the cutter far astern of the other boats, who, paying no attention to her, had pulled alongside, and boarded the vessel. The conflict was short, from the superior numbers of the English, and the little difficulty in getting on board of a vessel with so low a gunwale. By the time that Prose came alongside in the cutter, the pirates were either killed or had been driven below. Prose jumped on the gunwale, flourishing his cutlass—from the gunwale he sprung on the deck, which was not composed of planks, as in vessels in general, but of long bamboos, running fore and aft, and lashed together with rattans; and as Prose descended upon the rounded surface, which happened where he alighted to be slippery with blood, his feet were thrown up, and he came down on the deck in a sitting posture.
“Capital jump, Mr Prose,” cried Courtenay; “but you have arrived too late to shed your blood in your country’s cause—very annoying, an’t it?”
“O Lord!—O Lord!—I do declare—oh—oh—oh!” roared Prose, attempting to recover his feet, and then falling down again.
“Good heavens, what’s the matter, Prose?” cried Seymour running to his assistance.
“O Lord!—O Lord!—another—oh!”—again cried Prose making a half spring from the deck, from which he was now raised by Seymour, who again inquired what was the matter; Prose could not speak—he pointed his hand behind him, and his head fell upon Seymour’s shoulder.
“He’s wounded, sir,” observed one of the men who had joined Seymour, pointing to the blood, which ran from the trousers of Prose in a little rivulet. “Be quick, Mr Seymour, and get on the gunwale, or they’ll have you too.” The fact was, that the deck being composed of bamboos, as already described, one of the pirates below had passed his creese through the spaces between them into Prose’s body, when he came down on deck in a sitting posture, and had repeated the blow when he failed to recover his feet after the first wound.
One of the seamen who had not provided himself with shoes now received a severe wound; and after Prose had been handed into one of the boats, a consultation was held as to the most eligible method of proceeding.
It was soon decided that it would be the extreme of folly to attack such desperate people below, where they would have a great advantage with their creeses over the cutlasses of the seamen; and as there appeared no chance of inducing them to come up, it was determined to cut the cables, and tow the vessel alongside of the frigate, who could sink her with a broadside.
The cables were cut, and a few men being left on board to guard the hatchways, the boats commenced towing out; but scarcely had they got way on her when, to their astonishment, a thick smoke was followed by the flames bursting out in every direction, consuming all on board with a rapidity that seemed incredible. From the deck, the fire mounted to the rigging; thence to the masts and sails; and before the boats could be backed astern to take them out, those who had been left were forced to leap into the sea to save themselves from the devouring element. The pirates had themselves set fire to the vessel. Most of them remained below, submitting to suffocation with sullen indifference. Some few, in the agony of combustion; were perceived, through the smoke, to leap overboard, and seek in preference a less painful death. The boats laid upon their oars, and witnessed the scene in silence and astonishment.
“Desperate and determined to the last,” observed the first-lieutenant.
In a very few minutes the proa, whose fabric was of the slightest materials, filled, and went down. The last column of smoke, divided from her by the water, ascended in the air as she sank down below, and nought remained but a few burnt fragments of bamboo, which lay floating on the wave. A few seconds after the vessel had disappeared, one of the pirates rose to the surface.
“There is a man alive yet,” observed Courtenay. “Let us save him if we can.”
The boat, by his directions, pulled a few strokes of the oars, and having rather too much way, shot ahead, so as to bring the man close to the counter of the boat. Courtenay leaned over the gunwale to haul him in; the malignant wretch grasped him by the collar with his left hand, and with his right darted his creese into Courtenay’s breast; then, as if satisfied, with an air of mingled defiance and derision, immediately sank under the bottom of the pinnace, and was seen no more.
“Ungrateful viper!” murmured Courtenay, as he fell into the arms of his men.
The boats hastened back to the frigate; they had but few men hurt, except those mentioned in our narrative; but the wounds of Courtenay and of Prose were dangerous. The creeses of the pirates had been steeped in the juice of the pine-apple, which, when fresh applied, is considered as a deadly poison. The Aspasia soon afterwards anchored in Madras Roads, and a removal to a more invigorating clime was pronounced essential to the recovery of the two officers. Courtenay and Prose were invalided, and sent home in an East India-man, but it was many months before they were in a state of convalescence. Captain M— gave an acting order as lieutenant to Seymour, and when he joined the admiral, expressed himself so warmly in his behalf that it was not superseded; and our hero now walked the quarter-deck as third-lieutenant of H.M. ship Aspasia.
If the reader is not by this time tired of India, I am. To narrate all that occurred would far exceed the limits of this work. I shall therefore confine myself to stating that, after three years, Captain M— quitted the country, having during his stay gained much in reputation, but lost more in constitution. When we return to the frigate, she will be well advanced on her passage home.