Chapter Four.
The first Capture.
After this we rapidly overhauled the chase, and by the time that her crew had got the wreck cleared out of the way, were once more alongside.
The French crew had ceased firing their stern-chasers upon the fall of their main-topmast, and it was the opinion of many that they had struck, their flag coming down with their topmast, and not being re-hoisted; we therefore ceased firing also, but before we were fairly alongside they had rigged a small staff out over their taffrail, and had run their flag up again.
We were approaching the Frenchman upon his starboard quarter, with the intention of pouring in our larboard broadside directly the two ships were fairly abreast, when our antagonist suddenly ported his helm, and threw himself right athwart our hawse, the evolution being performed exactly at the instant which rendered a collision unavoidable. Our helm was immediately put hard-a-starboard, with the intention of passing under his stern if possible, but there was not sufficient room, and we struck him just abaft his main chains, the shock bringing down his mainmast, which had previously been badly wounded; while at the same moment his starboard broadside came crashing in through our bows with most destructive effect; one of our guns being dismounted, the foremast struck in two places within a foot of each other, and the wheel smashed to pieces. Singularly enough the helmsman escaped without a scratch, but one poor fellow fell forward upon his gun, disembowelled.
The wind being light, the shock of the collision was very gentle, and did no damage to the hull of either vessel. The two brigs dropped alongside each other, head and stern, and would soon have scraped clear again, but the French threw their grapnels into our rigging the instant that we dropped alongside, and immediately boarded.
The whole thing was so sudden that Captain Brisac was for a single instant confused; he rallied the next, however, and shouting “Boarders, repel boarders!” put himself at the head of our men.
The French captain led on his boarding party with magnificent dash and resolution, and for the first minute our men were driven irresistibly back. Then came the turn of the tide, the English, maddened at the disgrace of being forced to yield their ground to their hated enemies, recovered themselves, and in their turn pressed the French back again, every inch of the deck being fiercely contested. Captain Brisac and the French captain soon singled each other out, and after a few unavailing efforts succeeded in reaching each other and crossing swords. Our skipper was a slight man of middle height and no very great personal strength, while the Frenchman was a perfect giant; the fight between them therefore was a very unequal one, especially as Captain Brisac possessed but little skill with the sword. A few passes were made without any effect on either side, and then the Frenchman made a downward cut at his antagonist’s head, with such tremendous force that the skipper’s guard was fairly beaten down, and had not his adversary’s cutlass turned its edge he would, in all probability, have been cloven to the chin; as it was, he received a heavy blow on the head with the back of the weapon which partially stunned him, and placed him completely at the French captain’s mercy.
The cutlass was instantly raised to repeat the stroke, when, in an agony of apprehension at the imminent danger which threatened the man who had shown me so much kindness, I drew a pistol from my belt, and, thrusting its muzzle into the Frenchman’s face, pulled the trigger. The man flung up his arms and fell backwards dead, his distorted features, all blood-bespattered, presenting a hideous sight which haunted me for many a day afterwards. The sight of blood is said to madden some animals, and I am sure it maddened me, for, furious with excitement, I forthwith dashed headlong into the thickest of the mêlée, quite regardless of consequences, using with such savage freedom a cutlass which I snatched out of the hand of a wounded man, that the French recoiled on every side with looks of dismay, while our own men, pressing forward with renewed vigour, at length drove the enemy back to their own ship.
“Hurrah, lads! after them!” I exclaimed, far too excited to give a thought to the singularity of a newly-made midshipman presuming to assume the leadership in the presence of his superiors. Our men caught my enthusiasm, responding with a ringing cheer; and after them we went, helter-skelter, so rapidly that English and French tumbled over the bulwarks together. There was a momentary effort on the part of the French to make a stand on reaching their own deck; but they were, as a crew, now thoroughly demoralised, and our lads, their blood at last completely roused, gave them no time to rally, but cut down every man who offered the slightest opposition. Seeing that their case was hopeless, the French crew flung down their arms and cried for quarter, and in less than two minutes from the instant of boarding, we found ourselves masters of the “Sans-Culotte” privateer, mounting eight long 8-pounders and four 12-pound carronades, and with a crew originally of eighty-one men, of whom nine were killed and twenty wounded; our own loss being one man killed and one wounded. The action lasted three hours, and proved to be the first engagement of the war, much to the gratification of Mr Sennitt, who was intensely anxious for the distinction of sending in the first prize.
The first duty was of course to secure possession, after which, the weather appearing likely to continue fine, the hands were piped to dinner—such dinner, that is, as could be procured on the spur of the moment, the galley fire having been extinguished at the time of clearing for action. Captain Brisac allowed an hour for this meal and a little repose, at the expiration of which all hands were set to work to clear away the wreck and repair damages, a task which kept us busy until considerably after sunset. By eight p.m., however, our preparations were complete, a prize crew was placed on board the “Sans-Culotte,” and a nice little breeze having in the meantime sprung up from the westward, we made sail in company, shaping a course for Plymouth, off which we arrived about noon the next day.
The prize, now being safe from all chance of recapture, was sent in, while the “Scourge,” hauling her wind upon the starboard tack, reached off the land on her way back to her appointed cruising-ground.
On the following day, about an hour before the time for serving dinner in the cabin, Patterson, the captain’s steward, popped his head in at the door of the midshipmen’s berth and announced,—
“Captain’s compliments, and he will be glad to have the pleasure of Mr Chester’s company at dinner.”
“Tell Captain Brisac with my compliments that I am much obliged for his courteous invitation, which I accept with very great pleasure,” I responded, looking up from the “Day’s Work” upon which I was busy with my slate and pencil.
“You’re a lucky dog, Chester!” exclaimed young Harvey; “you seem to have dropped plump into the skipper’s good books all at once. It is not often that we mids are honoured with an invitation to the cabin-table, I can tell you.”
“Oh! come now, Harvey, I protest against your imposing upon the unfortunate Chester in that manner,” interposed little Markham (nicknamed “Goliath” because he measured exactly three feet, six inches in his stockings). “You know as well as I do that he is invited into the cabin to-night, in order that the skipper may give him a good wigging for that boarding business yesterday. I hope he won’t be very hard upon you, old chap,” he added, in a tone of deep sympathy, turning to me, “for somehow I have taken quite a liking to you, and if I had been at your elbow yesterday, instead of that over-grown lout, Harvey, I would have kept you out of the serape. You must be very quiet and submissive when he pitches into you, and plead ignorance—say you will be a good boy and not do it again, you know.”
“But have I really done anything very dreadful?” I inquired, more than half taken in by the young monkey’s serious manner.
“Oh, Lord! hold me, somebody, while I faint!” he exclaimed, turning up the whites of his eyes like a dying duck in a thunder-storm, and flinging himself so suddenly backwards into the arms of Harvey that the latter went down stern foremost, landing on the deck with one hand in the beef-kid and the other in the blacking-box, while Markham rolled on the top of him, kicking spasmodically, and simulating the feeble struggles of an expiring person.
Luckily for “Goliath,” it was the ludicrous side of this episode which presented itself most strongly to his victim, or a sound thrashing would, in all probability, have been his portion; as it was, the pair scrambled to their feet again with a hearty laugh, as good friends as ever.
“I declare, Chester, you’ll be the death of me some day, if you go on like this,” resumed my would-be tormentor; “your touching innocence would move a brass monkey to tears. Why,” he continued, looking round and addressing in low, measured tones, intended to express overwhelming astonishment, the fragment of glass which still clung to one corner of its frame, and, hanging suspended against the bulkhead, did duty as a mirror—“he asks if he has really done anything very dreadful!! Is it actually possible, my gentle infant, that you are ignorant of the fact that you yesterday took the command out of your superior officers’ hands, and that the punishment for such a crime—when it happens to be a first offence—is keelhauling, while a repetition thereof is visited with the extreme penalty of the law?”
“And pray what is keelhauling?” I inquired, beginning to perceive that my mercurial friend was merely indulging in a joke at my expense.
“Keelhauling, sir,” he replied, “is a form of punishment which consists in being lashed to a stout rope which is passed under the ship’s bottom, and whereby the unhappy criminal is dragged along the keel from forward, aft; he being required, during the journey, to gather a sufficiency of barnacles off the ship’s bottom to furnish a satisfying breakfast for the captain next morning. If the unfortunate wretch fails, the process is to be repeated, with this addition, that on the second occasion the quantity of barnacles provided is to be sufficient for both the captain and the first lieutenant.”
“Good gracious, how horrible!” I exclaimed, assuming as well as I could an expression of serious concern. “I had no idea I was exposing myself to the risk of such a fearful punishment. What would you advise me to do?”
“Well, that is by no means an easy question to answer,” he replied. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, though. I should like to help you out of the scrape if I can, and I’ll take an opportunity of speaking to the skipper before he goes down to dinner, and asking him not to pass sentence of punishment upon you for the present. Then, if you’ll keep my watch for me to-night, I’ll get another interview with him on the quiet while you are doing so. I have some little influence with him—my modesty forbids me to say how I got it—and if I ask him for my sake to forgive you, he may very possibly do so. I expect he’ll make some reference to the affair while at dinner though, and if he does, your only chance will be to keep him in a good-humour, which you can easily do if you only know how.”
“But unfortunately I don’t know how!” I exclaimed, infusing as much anxiety as I could into my tone and manner.
“No?” returned he. “Well, I’ll tell you, if you solemnly engage never, under any circumstances, to divulge the source of your information.”
I thought this extremely good, with Harvey sitting by, demurely listening to the conversation, but, instead of saying so, I gravely entered into the required engagement.
“That’s all right,” he remarked. “Now listen attentively to me. The skipper has one overpowering weakness, and that is a fondness for a comic song. Let him be ever so exasperated, a comic song—a good comic song, mind you—never fails to soothe him. Therefore, if he should happen to-night, by any chance, to refer to your unfortunate lapse of duty yesterday, listen patiently and respectfully to all that he has to say, and when he has finished, even if what he says strikes you as being of a laudatory character—he is a very curious fellow in that respect, often beginning by praising a man, when he means to end by blowing him up sky-high—just bow to him and say, ‘With your permission, sir, I will now change the subject by singing a comic song,’ and strike up boldly at once. I may safely venture to say you will be supremely astonished at the effect you will produce, and if—”
“Mr Clewline wishes to see you on deck at once, please, Mr Markham,” said a marine, popping his head in at the door.
“Oh! all right,” returned Markham. “I’ll be up in a minute or two. It’s a great nuisance, but I assure you, my dear Chester, that poor, old Clewline is positively at sea, unless he has me constantly at his right hand to—”
“Mr Clewline said, if you didn’t come at once, Mr Markham, I was to just fetch ye,” said the marine, introducing his head once more.
“Very well, lead on, fellow, I follow,” ejaculated he of Gath in a voice expressive of deep disgust, and he forthwith disappeared up the steep ladder, followed by a hearty peal of laughter from us, his late audience.
“What a fellow it is!” exclaimed Harvey presently. “I am very glad to see that you understand him, Chester. Otherwise, I am afraid he would have got you into no end of scrapes. Not that he means any harm, far from it. He is one of the best-natured fellows alive, but he is so wedded to practical joking that I believe nothing will ever break him of it. He keeps the whole ship alive, as you will have seen by this time; but he is always in disgrace, and during the last cruise may be said to have taken up his permanent abode at the mast-head: I daresay he is there now.”
It was even so, for when I went aft to the cabin, in compliance with the captain’s invitation, a glance aloft revealed him comfortably perched on the crosstrees, from which commanding position he reminded me pantomimically of the potent charm to be found in a comic song.
The dinner-party, that evening, consisted of Captain Brisac, Mr Sennitt, old Bolus the doctor, and myself. The table was liberally furnished, the wine good, and the party in excellent spirits, as was natural after securing a prize so speedily. Moreover, Captain Brisac was a thorough gentleman, and knew exactly how to make his guests feel at ease, which is not always the case where the superior is also the host. The conversation turned pretty frequently, as might be expected, on technical matters, but there were frequent divergences in the shape of laughter-provoking anecdotes, in which the doctor shone forth conspicuously.
It was not, however, until after the cloth had been removed that the skipper made any reference to the occurrences of the previous day. Then, addressing himself to me, he said, “Let me take this opportunity, Mr Chester, of thanking you for saving my life yesterday. But for your timely interposition, I must infallibly have been killed; and I thank you very sincerely for the promptitude with which you acted. Sailors are not in the habit of making overmuch of such services; we perform them for each other, and think very little about it; but the fact remains, all the same, and I shall not forget it. I have also to thank you for the conspicuous gallantry you displayed in boarding the prize, gallantry which evidently had a strong effect upon the men, and contributed in no inconsiderable degree to our success. So pleased am I with your conduct that I have felt justified in making special mention of you in the despatch which I sent in with the prize, and I think I may venture to promise you that what I have said will be found to exercise a favourable influence on your future prospects. Go on as you have begun, and you will do well. Above all things, study hard; you will find it uphill work at first, no doubt, but every step you take will make those which succeed it easier, until you will at length find that you can acquire naturally and without effort all the knowledge that is required to make you proficient in your profession. Of course I do not mean that you should give your whole time to study, a little recreation now and then is not only allowable, but beneficial; but do not give your whole thoughts to play, as I am sadly afraid your messmate Markham does.”
This mention of my mercurial friend brought back so vividly to my mind the recent scene in our berth that I was—as the newspaper reporters say—“risibly affected,” a circumstance which did not fail to attract general attention.
Captain Brisac looked both disconcerted and annoyed. “What is it, Mr Chester? What have I said to afford you so much amusement?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” I replied. “I was not laughing at anything you said, but your mention of Mr Markham reminded me of something ridiculous which he said. I hope you will be pleased to excuse me, sir. I should be extremely sorry to do anything having the appearance of rudeness or disrespect.”
“I feel quite sure you would,” returned the skipper, his brow clearing once more, and an amused look coming into his eyes.
“But let us hear what that jocular young gentleman has been saying; it is not a state secret, I suppose, is it?”
“Oh dear no, sir; at the same time I know he would never have said it, had he had the least idea it would ever reach your ears; it was only a little bit of fun on his part—an attempt, in fact, to impose upon me.”
“Out with it, Mr Chester,” exclaimed the doctor, his eyes fairly dancing with fun; “I’ll be sworn he has been in some way taking your name in vain, sir,” he continued, turning to the captain.
“I think it more than likely, but it is quite impossible to feel offended with the lad, he is always so utterly devoid of anything like evil intention.”
Seeing that my narrative would not be likely to do any harm, I thereupon proceeded to tell my story, which proved productive of a great deal of laughter. At its conclusion the skipper said, “Pour yourself out another glass of wine, Mr Chester, and then, I suppose, I must excuse you. Mr Sennitt will not easily forgive me, if I prevent you from keeping your proper watch.”
On reaching the deck I found that the wind had hauled round to about W.N.W., bringing with it a raw and dismal fog, which speedily saturated with moisture everything with which it came in contact. As the night wore on, it became more and more dense, and by midnight it had become so thick that it was impossible to see from one end of the ship to the other, and Captain Brisac gave orders for the “Scourge” to be hove-to. The vessel was accordingly brought to the wind on the starboard tack, with her head pointing in the direction of the French coast, and the watch, with the exception of half-a-dozen of the smartest hands, who were placed on the lookout, were allowed to dispose themselves about the deck in the most sheltered spots they could find.
The fog lasted all through the first watch, and when I went on deck at midnight to take my turn of duty, it was thicker than ever. The vapour came sweeping down upon the ship in great opaque masses, some of which were so dense that it was barely possible to distinguish objects on the opposite side of the deck, while the lower yards were only visible from the deck at very rare periods. The few men moving about loomed more like gigantic shadows than human beings, and the binnacle lamps (the only lights visible) emitted a feeble and ghostly glimmer which hardly sufficed to render visible the features of the man who stood by the wheel. No lights of any kind were exhibited on board the “Scourge,” Captain Brisac preferring to trust to a good lookout, and the precautions adopted by other vessels, for our safety from collision, rather than run the risk of betraying our presence to an enemy by the exhibition of lights. For the same reason he had given orders that the ship’s bell should on no account whatever be struck during the continuance of the thick weather.
Somehow I could not help thinking that the skipper’s precautions exposed us to a great deal of danger. Supposing, for example, that some other ship, practising the same “precautions,” happened to be in our immediate neighbourhood and approaching us on the opposite tack, what would be the result? Why, in all probability the two craft would fall on board each other, inflicting serious mutual damage, amounting perhaps to the complete destruction of one or both. The idea made me very uneasy, so much so, indeed, that, my imagination at length becoming excited, I was on the point of giving an alarm at least a dozen times, thinking every now and then that I could discern the dim outline of a strange ship sweeping silently down upon us like a gigantic ghost. So strong, indeed, did the illusion at length become, that I could have sworn I caught a momentary glimpse of a light to windward, and, after hesitating a few minutes, I became so convinced that I had seen a light, that I went up to Mr Sennitt and reported it.
“A light, Mr Chester. Where away?” said he rather anxiously.
“Here, sir,” I replied; “broad on our starboard quarter.”
He gazed steadfastly in the direction I had indicated for two or three minutes, and then turned away, saying,—
“You did quite right, my lad, to speak to me, but I really think you must have been mistaken. Why, if it had really been so, the stranger must have been close aboard of us; it would be impossible to see an ordinary light at a much greater distance than a hundred fathoms in such a fog as this; why, it is thick enough to cut with a knife, the old barkie can scarcely force her way through it.”
As he finished speaking I seemed to catch another glimpse of the light, just for a single instant, and I breathlessly exclaimed, “There it is again, sir!”
“I can see nothing,” he returned somewhat impatiently, after taking another long look. “Here, let us go round and examine the lookout men.”
Every man was found broad awake and keenly watchful, yet none of them had seen anything resembling a light, or indeed anything at all of a nature to lead them to suppose that there was another ship in close proximity to ourselves. I could not believe that my imagination had been playing me a trick, yet it required no very great penetration on my part to see that my superior thought but little of my assertion in comparison with the reports of the lookout men. We both returned to the spot from which we had started, and stood intently gazing to windward, until, for my part, I was almost ready to declare upon oath that the atmosphere was full of faint twinkling lights. The impression was beginning to force itself upon me that I had been making a fool of myself, and I was about to say so, when a faint and almost imperceptible sound seemed to float down to us out of the thick folds of impenetrable mist to windward.
“There, sir!” I exclaimed; “did you hear nothing then?”
“Why, to tell you the truth, Mr Chester, I half thought I did,” replied Sennitt; “but after all I believe it is only fancy; your imagination has infected my own, and if we stand here much longer we shall fancy a whole French fleet there to windward. Luckily it is eight bells,” he continued, consulting his watch by the light of the binnacle, “so we will turn the ship over to the care of a fresh set of eyes and ears. Let the watch be called as quietly as possible.”
This was done, and so completely had I already acquired that confidence which is conveyed in the expression “Let those look out who have the watch,” that, notwithstanding all my previous apprehensions, in another ten minutes I was fast asleep.