Chapter Eight.
We fall in with a convoy.
The next three days were spent in dodging about the chops of the Channel, during which we saw nothing except a few homeward-bound British merchantmen—all of them armed and quite capable of taking care of themselves—and a British line-of-battle ship, by which we were chased for six hours, but which we had little difficulty in escaping by jamming the schooner close upon a wind. The unsophisticated reader may perhaps be inclined to wonder why we should have been chased by one of our own men-o’-war; and why, being chased, we should have taken any trouble to escape from her. The fact, however, was that the Dolphin was altogether too rakish-looking a craft to be mistaken for a plodding merchantman, her long, low, beamy hull, taunt, tapering spars, and broad spread of superbly-cut canvas proclaimed her a sea-rover as far as the eye could distinguish her; and, as the ensign carried was at that time but an indifferent guarantee of a vessel’s nationality, it was the imperative duty of our men-o’-war, when falling in with such a craft, to make sure, if possible, that she was not an enemy and a danger to our commerce. Our friend the two-decker was therefore quite justified in her endeavour to get alongside us and obtain a sight of our papers; and had we possessed any assurance that her delicate attentions would have ended there, her people would have been quite welcome to come aboard us, and overhaul the schooner and her papers to their heart’s content. But, unfortunately, we had no such assurance. There was, at the time of which I am now writing, a very great difficulty in procuring men enough to adequately man our ships of war, and there was therefore no alternative left to the government but to resort to the process of impressment, a process which naval officers were too often apt to adopt with scant discrimination. In their anxiety to secure a full complement for their ships they deemed themselves justified not only in pressing men ashore, but even in boarding the merchantmen of their own nation upon the high seas and impressing so many men out of them that instances were by no means rare of traders being subsequently lost through being thus made so short-handed that their crews were insufficient in number and strength to successfully battle against bad weather. The crews of vessels furnished with letters of marque were nominally protected from impressment; but we were fully aware that the protection was only nominal, and altogether insufficient; hence it came about that a British privateer was always very much more anxious to escape from a man-o’-war flying the colours of her own country than she was to avoid a ship flying those of the enemy.
And now, to return to my story. On the fourth day after our abortive adventure in Abervrach harbour the wind hauled round from the eastward, and, heartily tired of and disgusted with our ill-luck, we gladly squared away before it to seek a better fortune on the bosom of the broad Atlantic. For a fortnight we stretched away to the southward and westward, when we sighted and passed the lofty heights and precipitous cliffs of Flores and Corvo, in the neighbourhood of which Captain Winter determined to cruise for a week, it being customary for homeward-bound ships from the southward to endeavour to make these islands and so check their reckoning. The wind, meanwhile, had gone round, and was now blowing a very moderate breeze from the southward, with a clear sky, bright sunshine, and a pleasantly mild temperature.
We cruised for eight days off the Azores, sighting only three vessels during the whole of that time; and as they were all British they were of course of no use to us. Then, intensely disappointed at our continued ill-luck, we hauled our wind and, with a freshening breeze from the south-west, stretched away to the westward on the larboard tack, Captain Winter having determined to look for better fortune in the West Indian waters.
For the first two days after quitting the neighbourhood of the Azores we made excellent progress; and then a steadily falling barometer, accompanied by a lowering sky and a rapid increase in the strength of the wind, warned us to prepare for bad weather. Up to this time we had been carrying our topgallant-sail, flying-jib, and small gaff-topsail; but with the steady freshening of the wind, the approach of night, and the threatening aspect of the sky, the skipper deemed it prudent to stow our light canvas and to take down a reef in the mainsail and topsail. It was well that this precaution was taken; for during the night the wind increased to the strength of a gale, with a very heavy, dangerous sea; and when morning came it found us snugged down to the jib—with the bonnet off,—reefed foresail, and close-reefed mainsail. It was at this time looking very black and wild to windward; the sky all along the south-western horizon being of a deep slaty, indigo hue, swept by swift-flying streamers of dirty, whitish-grey cloud; while the leaden-grey sea, scourged into a waste of steep, foam-capped ridges and deep, seething, wind-furrowed valleys, had already risen to such a height as to completely becalm our low canvas every time that the schooner settled down into the trough. The time was evidently at hand when it would be necessary for us to heave-to; the schooner was therefore got round upon the starboard tack, with her head to the southward; and, as the barometer was still falling, the hands were set to work to send down the yards and house the topmasts while it was still possible to do so. The task was a dangerous one; but we had plenty of strength, and, the men working with a will, it was accomplished within an hour; and the schooner was then ready, as we hoped, to face the worst that could happen. By noon it was blowing so furiously, and the sea had increased to such an extent, that the skipper determined not to risk the vessel any longer by further attempting to sail her, and she was accordingly hove-to under a close-reefed foresail, when everybody but the officer in charge of the deck, and the man at the wheel, went below.
As the day wore on the weather grew worse, and by nightfall it was blowing a perfect hurricane, the force of the wind being so great that, even under the small rag of a close-reefed foresail, the schooner was bowed down to her water-ways, and her lee scuppers were all afloat. Yet the little craft was making splendid weather of it, riding the mountainous seas as light and dry as a gull, looking well up into the wind, and fore-reaching at the rate of fully three knots in the hour. But it was a dreary and uncomfortable time for us all, the air being so full of scud-water that it was like being exposed to a continuous torrent of driving rain; despite our oil-skins and sou’-westers half an hour on deck was sufficient to secure one a drenching to the skin, while the spray, driven into one’s face by the furious sweep of the hurricane, cut and stung like the lash of a whip. The schooner, being but a small craft, too, was extraordinarily lively; leaping and plunging, rolling and pitching to such an extent and with so quick a motion that it was quite impossible to keep one’s footing without holding on to something; while to secure a meal demanded a series of feats of dexterity that would have turned a professional acrobat green with envy. And all this discomfort was emphasised, as it were, by the yelling and hooting and shrieking of the wind aloft, the roar of the angry sea, and the heavy, perpetual swish of spray upon the deck.
It was about three bells in the first watch that night, when—I being in charge of the deck, and the skipper keeping me company—a light was made out upon our lee bow, quickly followed by another, and another, and still another, until the whole of the horizon ahead was lighted up like a town, there being probably over two hundred lights in sight. It was evident that we were approaching a large concourse of ships; and in about an hour’s time we found ourselves driving into the very heart of the fleet. The night was altogether too dark for us to be enabled to make out who and what they were; but the skipper was of opinion that we had encountered a large convoy, and as it was impossible to tell whether they were friends or foes, he determined to wear the schooner round, as soon as we could find room, and heave her to with her head to the westward, like the rest of the fleet, when the morning would enable us to ascertain the nationality of our neighbours and decide whether anything was likely to be gained by keeping them company. At eight bells, therefore, by which time we had passed right through the fleet, we got the schooner round and waited impatiently until morning. There was a good deal of firing of blank cartridge, throughout the night, as also of signalling with coloured lanterns; but we could, of course, make nothing of it, and took it simply to mean that the men-o’-war in charge of the convoy were doing their best to keep the fleet from becoming scattered during the continuance of the gale.
When morning dawned, and the light came struggling feebly through the thick pall of murky, storm-torn vapour that overspread the sky, it became apparent that the skipper’s surmise as to the character of the fleet had been correct: the Dolphin being in the midst of some two hundred and fifty sail of vessels of different rigs, from the stately ship to the saucy schooner, in charge of two seventy-fours, a fifty-gun ship, a frigate, and four eighteen-gun-brigs. The men-o’-war were all snugged comfortably down, royal and topgallant yards on deck, topgallant-masts struck, and not an ounce of unnecessary top-hamper aloft; but most of the merchantmen had kept everything standing, even to their royal-yards. There were a few, however—mostly the larger craft,—who had sent down their top-hamper; and there were others—notably a very fine, frigate-built ship—that had lost one or more of their spars during the gale, and were now in great difficulties, with the wreck thrashing about aloft and not only threatening the remaining spars, but also the lives of the crew, who could be seen endeavouring to cut the raffle adrift. That the convoy was British became apparent as soon as the light grew strong enough to enable us to distinctly make out our nearest neighbours.
It struck me that the men-o’-war’s people were not keeping their eyes quite so wide open as they might have done; for there were only four other schooners beside ourselves in the whole fleet, and one would have supposed that the presence of a fifth would instantly have been noticed—especially when that fifth wore so very roguish an appearance as the Dolphin,—yet throughout the whole of that day no effort was made to ascertain our nationality, where we came from, whither we were bound, or anything about us! Of course, under ordinary circumstances, having ascertained that the convoy was British, and, therefore, of no especial interest to us, we should have parted company by getting the schooner round with her head to the southward. There was, however, one circumstance that decided the skipper to keep company with the convoy a little longer, and it was this: As has already been mentioned, there was a very fine, frigate-built merchantman in the fleet, which, when morning dawned, was seen to be in a situation of considerable difficulty, her fore and mizzen-topmast and main-topgallant-mast being over the side, having apparently been carried away during the night by the tremendous rolling and pitching of the ship. And near her was an exceedingly smart-looking brigantine, with main-topmast and fore topgallant-mast housed. This vessel joined the convoy about daybreak and was now hove-to under a close-reefed main trysail, and fore-topmast-staysail, which ought to have enabled her to easily forge ahead and eat out to windward of the disabled ship. And, as a matter of fact, she did so; yet somehow she always seemed to drop back again into her old place, just to leeward of the ship; and after observing her motions for some time, I became impressed with the idea that this was the result of deliberate design, rather than of accident. For something seemed to be constantly going wrong with her trysail sheet, necessitating a temporary taking in of the sail, during which she would pay off and go wallowing away to leeward for a distance of three or four miles, when the sail would be reset, and she would come creeping stealthily and imperceptibly up into somewhere near her old berth again. And this was done so naturally that, had it not occurred more than once, I do not know that I should have taken any notice of it. To me, however, the circumstance wore a rather suspicious appearance; and when I had mentioned it to the skipper he seemed somewhat disposed to take my view that the craft, although apparently British built, was in reality an enemy’s privateer, with designs upon the disabled ship as soon as a favourable opportunity should occur for carrying them out. At all events there appeared to be enough probability in the hypothesis to induce Captain Winter to remain in company of the convoy, to watch the progress of events, instead of wearing round and resuming our course to the southward.
The gale continued to blow all day with unabated fury, and the convoy, of course, remained hove-to. But, as the hours wore on, the several craft gradually became more scattered, the less weatherly vessels steadily settling away to leeward, until, by the time that the dark, gloomy day drew toward its close, the fleet was spread out over a surface of ocean measuring, as nearly as one could judge, nearly or quite twelve miles in every direction: those craft that had sustained damage aloft naturally for the most part settling to leeward at a greater rate than the rest, since they were unable to dispose their canvas so advantageously as the others for the purpose of lying-to. The frigate and gun-brigs were kept busy all day watching these stragglers, urging them by signal, and the occasional firing of guns, to close with the main body of the fleet, and generally playing the part of sheep-dogs; while the crews of the lame ducks could be seen clearing away the wreck of their broken spars, unbending their split sails and bending others in place, and, in fact, doing their utmost to comply with the orders of the men-o’-war. But, after all, their utmost was but little; the merchantmen being altogether too lightly manned to be able to do really effective work in the face of such a gale as was then blowing. The brigantine that had excited our suspicions had come in for a share of the attention of one of the gun-brigs, and it was noticeable that, after the man-o’-war had run down and hailed her, no further accidents appeared to have happened aboard her, so that the disabled ship had gradually settled away some five miles astern and to leeward of her. Just as the darkness was closing down upon us, however, she took in her trysail and fore-topmast-staysail, and set a main-staysail instead; but they were so long about it that, when at length the change had been effected, the ship had drawn up to within about half a mile of the brigantine’s lee quarter. I directed Captain Winter’s attention to this, and he agreed with me that the manoeuvre had an exceedingly suspicious appearance.
“The ship, however, is quite safe for the present,” he remarked; “for, even assuming the brigantine to be a Frenchman and a privateer, her people can do nothing so long as it continues to blow so heavily as at present. But directly that the wind shows signs of dropping we may look out; and if we observe any further suspicious manoeuvres we may safely conclude that she is French, and, if the men-o’-war do not forestall us, we will have a slap at her; for she appears to be a wonderfully fast and weatherly craft and is certainly a most magnificent sea-boat.”
I determined that I would keep a sharp eye upon the movements of that brigantine—for I could not rid my mind of a very strong suspicion that her people meant mischief,—and I accordingly watched her until she had displayed her light, which I then pointed out to a man whom I told off for the especial purpose of keeping his eye on it; it being my intention to persuade the skipper, if possible, to run down a little closer to her when it had become sufficiently dark to conceal our movements from observation. Captain Winter offered no objection to my proposal; and accordingly, at eight bells of the second dog-watch, when the deck was relieved, our helm was put up and we edged away down toward the light which was stated to be that of the brigantine. But when at length, by careful manoeuvring, we had contrived to approach within biscuit-toss of the vessel displaying it, it was discovered, to my chagrin, that she was not the brigantine, but a large barque, the skipper of which appeared to be greatly frightened at our sudden appearance near him; for he hailed us, in execrable French, that he was armed, and that if we did not sheer off forthwith he would fire into us. I replied, in English, that he need not be afraid of us, as we were British, like himself, and then inquired whether he had seen a large brigantine in his neighbourhood. I got a reply to my question, it is true, but it was utterly incomprehensible; and I doubt very much whether the man understood what I had said to him; for the wind rendered it almost impossible for the most powerful voice to make itself heard, unless at a very short distance and dead to windward, as was the barque when her skipper hailed us. We made several attempts to find the brigantine that night, but somehow failed to stumble across either her or the disabled ship upon which we suspected her of entertaining designs.