Chapter Nine.
Into a Trap and out again.
The “Boston” was still in company at breakfast-time the following morning, but we had by that time contrived to leave her a good two miles astern, a feat which in view of that frigate’s reputation occasioned general exultation to the “Junos,” for, as little Summers sagely remarked at the breakfast-table, “what was the use of going to sea in a ship whose sailing powers were unequal to the task of taking her crew alongside an enemy?”
“Well, the old tub has not done badly, so far,” observed young Smellie. “She turns out a good deal better than I had been led to expect. I met a mid who had formerly belonged to her, on the day that I came down to join, and he said that the fastest he had ever known her to go was six knots, and that it took her the length of a dog-watch to go about.”
“Well, if she will stay at all, we shall not be so badly off as I was in the old ‘Ajax,’” ejaculated Summers. “We were always obliged to wear her, and if we could get her round upon the other tack without running more than three miles to leeward we considered we had done pretty well.”
“Is it your habit to exaggerate, or do you only indulge in it occasionally, young ’un?” quietly inquired Percival, the master’s-mate, looking up from a book he was devouring with his breakfast.
“Exaggerate? How do you mean?” returned Summers, flushing up very red in the face. “I thought it would be understood that I was only joking.”
“And I have no doubt it was so understood,” remarked Percival, “but if you are not above taking a bit of friendly advice, let me recommend you not to deviate a single hair’s-breadth from the truth, even in joke; it is a dangerous practice, and as easy an introduction to deliberate, systematic lying as any with which I am acquainted. Now don’t look so hurt, my boy, of course you meant no harm—you had no intention to deceive us, it was merely a thoughtless speech, but be advised by me and avoid that particular species of thoughtlessness as you would the plague, nothing is much easier to acquire than a reputation for untruthfulness, and certainly nothing is more difficult to get rid of.”
Poor little Summers hung down his head for a few moments, dreadfully abashed at this unexpected rebuke, then looking up, with the flush still on his face, he said, “Thank you, Mr Percival. You hit me rather hard, but I believe you are right, I am afraid I have yielded rather too much to the bad habit of which you speak, but I don’t think I shall be likely to do it again. And now, to change the subject, does anybody know exactly where we are bound?”
“There was a vague rumour floating about Portsmouth, a few days ago, that Lord Hood—by the way, I wonder if he is in any way related to our skipper?—is to take a fleet to Toulon, though for what purpose nobody seemed to know; I hope we shall not be ordered to join,” said Smellie.
“I hope not!” remarked Percival. “I also heard the rumour to which you refer, and I fancy there must be some truth in it, for it went so far even as to specify by name several ships as having been selected to form part of the fleet, and I know that there has been a pretty general overhaul and refit going on with many of them. There is a large French fleet at this moment lying in Toulon harbour, and I am of opinion that the expedition—if such there is to be—is for the purpose of getting hold of a few of them. It is said that there are no less than thirty-four ships, many of them of large size, lying there ready for sea, while they have one seventy-four, and two forties—all very fine vessels—on the stocks and about ready for launching. If Lord Hood can take the pick of such a fleet as that, we should be able to lay up in ordinary the old ‘Juno’ and a few more like her. But I do not think we need distress ourselves much respecting the Toulon fleet. If Lord Hood wants any frigates, he will take them out with him. Our mission, I expect, will be to cruise up and down the Mediterranean, doing the best we can for ourselves; our skipper has, no doubt, influence enough to ensure that he shall not be hampered by being attached to blockading fleets, or anything of that kind, where you get a great deal of work and very little prize-money.”
Percival’s assumption turned out to be correct. We called at Gibraltar, and remained a couple of days, giving some of us, of whom I happened to be one—an opportunity of exploring this extraordinary fortress, from whence we went on to Malta, remained there a week, and were then ordered out to cruise. We were told that the French had seventeen ships-of-war cruising in the Mediterranean, but we seemed to be altogether out of luck’s way, for we never had the good fortune even to sight one, and, beyond picking up some half-a-dozen insignificant French traders, we did positively nothing for six entire months.
At length, about the middle of December, the ship requiring a slight refit, we bore up for Malta, arriving there on the 23rd of the month—just in time for the Christmas festivities. We of the cockpit contrived to get our full share of leave, and enjoyed ourselves immensely, but as nothing occurred particularly worthy of note, I shall not enter into details as to the pranks we played, and our several modes of seeking enjoyment.
On the 4th of January, 1794, we received orders to take on board 150 supernumeraries for the garrison at Toulon, the rumour of the proposed fleet under Lord Hood having in the meantime become an accomplished fact, and that gallant officer having accepted the surrender of the port from the Toulonese, in trust for Louis XVII. We received these supernumeraries on board early next morning, and sailed immediately after the completion of the embarkation.
It took us a week to make the passage, the wind being fair but light, and the weather beautiful during the whole time. On the fourth day out, poor old Rawlings, the master, complained of severe shooting pains in the head, accompanied by giddiness and nausea, and the next day found him confined to his berth in a high fever.
We arrived off the port at about 10 p.m. It was a beautiful night, the moon, just entering her second quarter, beamed softly down upon us from the cloudless, star-spangled sky, and a light air of wind from the southward just filled our sails and fanned us along at a rate of about four knots. When about five miles off, we hoisted lights for a pilot, the skipper being anxious to get in that night, so as to discharge the supernumeraries the first thing in the morning, the vessel being somewhat crowded. Three-quarters of an hour elapsed, during which we looked in vain for a boat coming off to us, when, having approached within a couple of miles of the entrance to the harbour, Captain Hood gave orders for the ship to be hove-to.
Another half-hour passed away, and still no sign of a pilot.
“If poor Rawlings had not been in the sick-bay—aw—we should have been snugly at anchor by this time,” said the skipper to Mr Annesley. “I’ll be bound to say that the—aw—old fellow has been in and out of the place a dozen times at least, and he would have taken us in like a—ah—like a shot.”
“Quite likely, sir,” returned Mr Annesley, with his telescope to his eye; “I think it would be difficult to name a port which he has not been into. It is unfortunate that he should be laid up just at this juncture. They must be very early birds in Toulon, or surely somebody would have made out our lights before this. And,”—he lowered his telescope—“it is very queer, but I cannot make out the British fleet in there, surely we ought to see them from where we now are?”
“Not if they are in the inner harbour, which I—aw—suspect they are. The Italian bwig which came in on the day we sailed was from Marseilles, and her master weported a succession of stwong easterly winds hereabouts, which would natuwally send the Bwitish fleet farther in; we shall find them there all wight; where else could they be?” remarked the skipper.
“Very true, sir,” observed the first lieutenant. “Shall we fill on her and heave about? I see no sign of a boat coming off.”
“Yes, if you please,” was the answer. “By-the-bye, I wonder if young Percival has ever been inside there; if he has, pewhaps he could take us in.”
“I scarcely expect he has ever seen the inside of the harbour, sir,” said Mr Annesley; “still, we can ask him. Shall I pass the word for him?”
“Yes, do,” said the skipper. “I should like to get in to-night, if possible.”
“Pass the word for—oh! here he is,” said the first luff, as Percival strolled aft from the forecastle, whence he had been taking a good look at the harbour. “Mr Percival, Captain Hood wishes to know if you have ever been into Toulon?”
“No, sir, I never have,” replied Percival, addressing himself to the skipper direct; “but I have just been having a look at the place, and I feel sure I could take the ship in. Mr Rawlings, on the first day that he was taken ill, brought out his chart, and showed me the way in, with all the marks and bearings of the fairway, and I have been able to make out every one of them quite distinctly. It is a fine, clear night, with little wind and no sea, so that if we did happen to touch anywhere we should do no harm, but I think I could safely promise to take her in without scouring her copper.”
“Vewy well, then, Mr Percival, I’ll wisk it. Take charge, sir, and do the best you can for us,” said the skipper.
The main-topsail was filled, and as soon as the ship had way enough on her, we hove about, and bore away for the harbour, with a hand in the fore-chains on each side, taking frequent casts of the lead, and Percival on the poop, conning the ship. As we drew in towards the harbour, sail was shortened, and we crept in under topsails and jib only.
At length we safely entered the inner harbour, Percival’s skill having proved fully equal to the occasion, and there, as had been expected, we found a number of ships lying snugly at anchor.
“Ah!” said the skipper, “here is the admiral, just as I expected. Do you see that bwig, Mr Percival?”
“Yes, sir,” returned Percival, “I wanted to weather her, but we shall not do it, the wind is too light, and the tide too strong; we must tack under his stern, as there is shoal water not far to leeward of where he is.”
“Then, in that case, we’ll give her a little more muslin,” said Mr Annesley. “Haul out the driver, and down with the fore tack and sheet; look sharp, my lads! Now, Mr Percival, we are all ready.”
We were now drawing up on the brig’s starboard quarter, and almost within hailing distance. Captain Hood was preparing to hail the vessel, when a figure was seen on the taffrail of the stranger, and the next moment some indistinct words were hoarsely bellowed at us.
“What does he say?” said the skipper, turning to the group of officers standing near.
“Couldn’t exactly make out,” said one. “Didn’t hear very distinctly,” said another. “I thought it sounded like French,” said Percival.
“Oh!” said the skipper, “he is of course asking who we are. His Bwitannic Majesty’s fwigate ‘Juno,’ from Malta, with supahnumewawies for the garrison,” he added, roaring back between his hands at the motionless figure on board the brig.
“Viva!” was the reply, accompanied by the wave of a navy cap.
“He’s Fwench,” said the skipper; “one of the fellows who has suwendered to our fleet. Can any of you gentlemen speak Fwench well enough to ask him which is the Bwitish admiral’s ship?”
There was no one, it appeared, with quite sufficient confidence in his knowledge of the French language to undertake this duty, so I stepped forward and, with becoming modesty, offered to obtain whatever information was required. Permission being given, I approached the side, and squeaked out, in the most manly tones at my command, the proposed inquiry.
The figure gesticulated violently, then stooped down to commune with three or four more, whose heads could now be seen just above the taffrail; finally he raised himself to an upright position, and shouted back, “Yesh, yesh!”
“I’m afraid he did not understand you, Mr Chester,” said Mr Annesley. “Try him again.”
I did so, with even more confusing results than before.
“Ask him which is the Bwitish fleet,” suggested the skipper.
I put this question also, and the confusion appeared to become worse confounded; some half-a-dozen replies coming back to us all jumbled up together, English and French words being so hopelessly intermixed, that it was utterly impossible to make head or tail of what they were saying.
We were by this time passing close under the brig’s stern, and Percival was remarking to the first lieutenant that it was quite time to heave about, as he was sure we must be close upon the shoal, when the voice, which had hailed us first, shouted out for us to “Luff!”
“Hard down with your helm!” exclaimed Annesley; “over with it, my man: tacks and sheets! Ah! we have cut it too fine,” as with a gentle surge the frigate was brought up all standing on the shoal. “Away aloft, men; clew up and haul down; furl everything!”
The topsail and jib halliards were let run, the canvas was clewed up, and in a minute or two more all was snugly stowed. The men were just in the act of laying in off the yards, when a little puff of wind coming down the harbour caught the frigate’s bow, and to our great gratification paid her head round until her fore-foot scraped off the bank. The order was at once given to let go the anchor; the cable smoked out through the hawse-pipe, and the ship swung round, head to wind. We found, however, that her heel was still fast on the shoal, and the rudder immovable; it was therefore determined, as the tide was on the turn, to hoist out the launch at once, and run away a kedge, in order to haul the ship off while the operation was still possible. Tackles were accordingly got up on the fore and main-yardarms, and in less than five minutes the launch was in the water alongside.
“Where is Mr Chester?” said the first lieutenant, looking round. “Here, sir!” I replied, emerging from the shadow of the bulwarks, where I had been taking a peep at things in general through an open port, from which I had observed, among other things, a six-oared gig pull from the brig, and make towards the town; but foolishly I failed to report the circumstance, not at that moment attaching the slightest importance to it. “Jump into the launch, Mr Chester, and take charge,” said Mr Annesley. “I want the kedge run away here, about two points on our port bow. You must not go farther to windward than that, or the tide will take our quarter, when we float, and drive us down on the brig. Now off you go, and be as smart as you can.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” I replied, touching my cap, and away I scrambled down into the launch, where I found the kedge already stowed, with hawsers coiled down on top of it until the boat’s stern was barely a couple of inches out of water.
“Shove off and give way, men!” I exclaimed, as my foot touched the thwart; the bowman shoved the boat’s head off, the oars dropped into the phosphorescent water with a luminous splash, and we pulled down the harbour in the direction indicated by Mr Annesley. We pulled steadily on until all the hawser in the boat had been paid out, when we let go the kedge, and hailing the frigate to “heave in,” paddled back alongside.
While running out the kedge, I had observed a boat pulling toward the “Juno,” and when we reached the frigate, we found this craft alongside. In the meantime the frigate had been hove off the bank without much difficulty, and the tide acting strongly on her hull the moment that she floated, she had drifted down to her kedge, which had been lifted, and the anchor having been tripped as she drifted over it was once more let go, just as we got alongside. The launch, not being required any farther at the moment, was passed astern, the crew being first ordered out of her. In order to regain the frigate’s deck, it was necessary for us to pass over the boat alongside, which was lying in the wake of the gangway, and as we did so, I noticed that the eight men composing her crew were unmistakably French, and that, strange to say, they were fully armed. This struck me as so singular a circumstance, that I resolved to have a good look at the other individuals who had come off to us, and who were doubtless on deck in confabulation with the skipper. I found them, as I expected, on the quarter-deck, talking to the captain and the first lieutenant. There were two of them, apparently French officers; but the one who was talking spoke excellent English, and was, at the moment when I drew near the group, explaining to Captain Hood that, in compliance with a regulation of the port, and the commanding officer’s orders, it would be necessary for the ship at once to proceed higher up the harbour to the quarantine ground, there to perform ten days’ quarantine, and that he, the speaker, was deputed to pilot the ship then and there to her new berth.
“Phew!” ejaculated the skipper. “Quarantine, eh? with all these people on board; this is a pretty business, truly. I can’t understand it at all; there is no sickness at present at Malta, and we carry a perfectly clean bill of health. Surely there must be a mistake somewhere. Before taking up a berth in this quarantine ground, I should like to communicate with Lord Hood. Can you point me out his ship, monsieur?”
“You cannot see her from here, Monsieur le Capitaine,” replied the Frenchman. “Besides, an interview with the British Admiral will avail you nothing; he is doubtless retired by this time, and, even if he were not, he could not interfere; he has no authority whatever in the present matter.”
I thought I detected a covert smile of derision passing over the speaker’s face as he said this, and I turned to see whether I could detect anything of the kind on that of his companion, but I found he had withdrawn to the gangway, apparently to call his people up out of the boat, for they were just coming up over the side, as I looked. In another moment he sauntered back, and rejoined the group from which he had so quietly slipped away.
“Do you say that we cannot see the British flag-ship from here, sir?” inquired Mr Annesley. “Then pray where is she? It seems to me that every ship in the harbour is within view from here; yet, now I come to look, I cannot see a single British ship among them all. Does it not strike you, sir, that there is something rather peculiar about this business?” turning to the skipper.
I was sure I saw the two French officers start and glance quickly at each other at this remark; and then, for the first time, I noticed that they wore tri-coloured cockades in their hats.
“Why, those gentlemen have national cockades in their hats!” I exclaimed involuntarily.
“By Jove! you are right, young gentleman, they have!” ejaculated the skipper. “What is the meaning of all this, monsieur? Are you a Nationalist, or are you a Royalist in disguise? And I beg that you will at once tell me the whereabouts of Lord Hood and his fleet. Unless I receive a distinct answer, I shall be forced to believe that treachery is meditated, and shall take the necessary precautionary steps forthwith.”
The Frenchmen looked in each other’s faces for an instant, and then the one who had called his boat’s crew on deck turned to the skipper and said, in French,—
“Calm yourself, monsieur, I have the honour to inform you that you and your ship’s company are prisoners. But the English are a good people, and we will treat you all with the utmost kindness. The English admiral went away some time ago, and Toulon is now in the hands of the Nationalists.”
The expression of mingled horror and disgust which slowly overspread the features of the skipper and the first luff, like a summer cloud sailing slowly across the disc of the full moon, would have been irresistibly laughable under other circumstances, but as matters stood nobody felt the slightest inclination to laugh.
“Prisoners!!” ejaculated Mr Annesley. He was apparently too full for further utterance, but he had already said quite enough. “We are prisoners!” flew from mouth to mouth, like wildfire, and in less than two minutes every man in the ship had become acquainted with our position. Every officer came crowding aft, to ascertain the truth of the startling rumour, and a more disgusted and dejected-looking group of mortals than we appeared, it would have been difficult to find.
The disagreeable announcement once made, the French officers hastened to place matters upon a more agreeable basis, exerting themselves to the utmost to get up a lively general conversation, and explaining how it was that we had so easily run into the trap. A very few words sufficed for this, the matter was so excessively simple.
It appeared, from the French officers’ statement, that Lord Hood, after sustaining a long and harassing siege of nearly four months, had, on the night of the 18th of the previous December, been at length compelled to evacuate Toulon, he finding it utterly impossible to hold it any longer with the small force at his command—barely 17,000 men—against the overwhelming numbers of the besiegers, who mustered close upon 50,000.
But though unable to prevent the Republicans from obtaining possession of this important place, the British admiral resolved that it should pass into their hands, comparatively speaking, valueless. Immediately, therefore, that it was finally decided to retire from the place, he set on foot preparations to destroy the arsenal, magazines, etcetera, and such of the French ships as it was deemed inexpedient to take away with him; and though he was unable to carry out in their entirety the whole of his arrangements, it was pretty evident, from our informants’ account, that the destruction actually effected was something enormous; the dockyard, with its various storehouses, the magazines, two powder-ships, and two 74-gun ships of war—the “Héros,” and “Thémistocle”—being burnt.
It must have been a magnificent and awe-inspiring sight to witness these destructive operations, effected as they were during the darkness of the night. The conflagration of the stores, warehouses, and ships, the explosion of powder magazines and powder vessels - the latter being set on fire by our lubberly allies, the Spaniards, instead of being scuttled, as had been arranged—and the incessant flash of the cannon and musketry—a hot conflict raging all the while between the British and the Republican forces—could not fail of being an awfully impressive sight; and such it had evidently proved to our informants, who described the various scenes which they had witnessed on that memorable night with a very considerable amount of graphic power.
So interested were we all, for the moment, in this narration, that every one appeared to have completely forgotten our excessively unpleasant position, until it was recalled to our minds by an exclamation from our third lieutenant, the Honourable Edward Plantagenet Mortimer.
“Aw—excuse my intewupting this extwemely intewesting er—ah—conversation,” said he, in his usual dandified style, “but I should like to diwect your attention, Captain Hood, to the—ah—important fact that—ah—the wind has changed, and, if I may be allowed to expwess an opinion, I would say that if we could get the canvas upon the ship, I believe we could fetch out of the harbour again.”
The effect was electrical. The remark suggested such readiness of resource, such consummate seamanship, and such dashing courage on the part of the speaker, that, had it been uttered by Mr Annesley even, we should probably have been somewhat surprised; but emanating from the source it did, our astonishment simply beggars description. There was a dead silence for a moment, while we were ruminating upon and digesting the possibilities involved in the suggestion, and then, as it became apparent that a bold dash for freedom was still in our power, a ringing cheer burst out, fore and aft.
In an instant the skipper was himself again. “Silence, fore and aft!” he exclaimed; “every sound you utter now may cost a man’s life. To your stations, men, and let every order be executed with the rapidity and—ah—silence of thought. Mr Annesley, make sail, if you please. Gentlemen,”—to the Frenchmen—“you will wegwet to learn that you have made a slight—ah—mistake. Instead of our being your prisoners, you are ours. And—er—as your countwymen, with their chawactewistic politeness, may possibly salute us as we pass the battewies, and as they may, in their anxiety to do so, omit to dwaw the shot from their guns, allow me to suggest that you wetire below. Mr Carnegie—our lieutenant of mawines—has, I see, been thoughtful enough to pwovide an escort for you, and in his hands I have much pleasure in leaving you; you will find him a twuly delightful companion. Good evening, gentlemen, for the present.”
At first the Frenchmen appeared unable to believe their own ears. Then, as they began to realise that we were actually about to attempt our escape, they rapidly threw themselves together, back to back, and began to handle their sabres menacingly. Carnegie, however, who upon hearing the Honourable Mortimer’s remark had grasped the situation in an instant, had at once slipped off, returning in a very few minutes with some five-and-twenty fully-armed marines, and with these he promptly surrounded the chagrined Frenchmen, who found the way in which the “jollies” handled their half-pikes so little to their taste that they at length came to the conclusion that discretion was, in their case, the better part of valour, and sullenly suffered themselves to be conducted below.
In the meantime our lads had been anything but idle. With the activity of so many cats they had scuttled away aloft, laying out upon the yards, and casting off the gaskets in a style which must have done Mr Annesley’s heart good, and which, to a moral certainty, considerably astonished the Frenchmen on board the surrounding ships and in the batteries. There was no confusion whatever; everything was done with as much method and precision as if we had been merely exercising the crew; but, on the other hand, not one second of precious time was wasted, and it really was a pretty sight to see all the canvas falling simultaneously from the yards, the topsail sheets instantly going home into their places, and the three topsail-yards directly afterwards soaring away up to the mast-heads. Then home came the topgallant sheets, and up went the yards, the royals following, and being set literally before the topgallant halliards were belayed. The fore-and-aft canvas was at the same time set, and the moment that the royals were at the mast-heads the yards were braced for casting the ship. The carpenter and one of his mates were stationed at the hawse-pipe, armed with their keenest axes, and stood ready to strike directly the word was given. In three minutes from the time that the order had been given to make sail, Mr Annesley turned to the skipper and said, with the utmost composure, “All ready, sir.”
“Where is Mr Percival?” inquired Captain Hood.
“Here, sir!” replied Percival, stepping forward and touching his cap.
“Take charge, sir, if you please,” said the skipper. “And do not forget that the safety of the frigate, and our chances of escape from a long captivity are absolutely in your hands. If we touch the ground and hang for five minutes, we shall be simply blown out of the water.”
“I will do my best, sir,” quietly replied Percival taking up a convenient position for conning the ship.
“I feel sure you will, sir,” returned the skipper. “Say when we shall cut.”
“At once, sir, if you please,” was the reply.
“Cut, and cut with a will!” said Mr Annesley. Three or four quick strokes were heard, the frigate’s head paid slowly off until her sails filled, when the head-yards were swung, the fore-and-main-tacks were boarded, the sheets hauled aft, and every sail trimmed as if for a sailing-match.
The fact that our movements were closely watched became apparent the moment that the hands appeared in the rigging to loose the sails, a very perceptible stir taking place on board the brig, while lights rapidly made their appearance in the several batteries.
“We are about to have a warm quarter of an hour,” remarked the skipper, who had been keenly noting these sinister indications, while the first luff was getting the ship under weigh. “Let the crew go to quarters at once, if you please, Mr Annesley.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” was the reply. “If we only had a little more wind—and there it comes—blow, good breezes, blow! I believe we shall scrape clear, after all. Beat to quarters!”
A sharp roll of the drum immediately broke in upon the quietude of the night; there was a momentary bustle—but only momentary the men having already gone to quarters, as a matter of course—and then all was profound silence once more on board, save for a gentle rippling sound beneath the bows and along the sides, and the occasional creak of a block aloft.
“Say when you wish to tack, Mr Percival,” said the first luff, stationing himself alongside the master’s-mate.
“Not yet, sir,” said Percival; “the wind is favouring us a little just now—there it freshens a trifle, and she looks up better than ever. Keep her a good clean full, quarter-master, and let her go through the water. I wish there was not quite so much tide, though it is in our favour; it is setting us bodily down towards the shoal water. Keep the lead going, there, in the fore-chains. We should do none the worse, sir, if the Frenchmen’s boat were cut adrift.”
“Cut it adwift at once,” said the skipper, who was standing close by; “cut it adwift at once, and the launch as well; we cannot afford to have so much as a rope’s end dragging alongside just now. Ah! I have been expecting that,” as the brig before referred to, having got a spring upon her cable, and brought her broadside to bear, opened fire upon us. “Never mind,” continued the skipper, “we shall soon be out of harm’s way, as far as she is concerned; it is the fire of the battewies I dwead most; they, no doubt, mount heavy metal, and if the guns are well served a single bwoadside will unwig us. This is an ugly looking fellow here, on our starboard bow; they evidently mean mischief there, by the number of lights they show. Let the starboard bwoadside guns be twained for the thwee ports where we see the most light, Mr Annesley, and let each gun be fired, as it is bwought to bear.”
At this juncture another broadside from the brig whistled overhead, making a few eyelet-holes in our canvas and cutting one or two unimportant ropes; and immediately afterwards a shot, quickly followed by another, and yet another, came plunging at us from the fort.
The guns were evidently pointed with the intention of bringing down our spars, but luckily we again escaped without any damage worth speaking of. Matters were beginning to assume a very lively aspect for us; for as we glided down the harbour we could see the lights glancing in battery after battery, on each side of us, until every one of them was lighted up.
Still, on swept the frigate, silent as a ghostly ship, and without a light of any kind visible on board her, the battle-lanterns being every one carefully masked, the men standing silent and motionless as statues at their guns; even the remarks interchanged between the officers were expressed in low murmurs only loud enough to reach the ear for which they were intended, the oppressive silence being intensified rather than broken by an occasional “Luff! luff, you may, quarter-master,” from Percival.
Presently, crash came a simultaneous discharge of five heavy guns from the battery on our starboard hand, and four from another battery on the opposite shore; the shot hissed overhead, there was a dull crushing thud or two aloft, and a little rattling shower on deck as ropes and splinters came clattering down. Some of our spars had evidently been badly wounded, and the carpenter and his mates were sent aloft to ascertain the extent of the damage. While they were ascending the rigging, bang went our foremost gun on the starboard side, followed by the remainder of the broadside; and the moon happening to shine full upon the stone walls of the fort which had just opened upon us, we saw, as the smoke drove astern, a little cloud of dust rise about one of the embrasures, a ragged patch of chipped and broken stone appeared to start out upon the wall, and faintly borne down to us on the heavy night-wind came the sound of shrieks and yells of agony. It was perfectly evident that our shot had told with severe effect.
As though the discharge of our broadside had been the preconcerted signal for a general cannonade, every battery within range on each side of the harbour now opened fire upon us, some of them, however, fortunately for us, being unable to bring more than a single gun to bear. Had the guns on shore been served with only ordinary skill, we should undoubtedly have been destroyed; as it was, though the shot flew over and over us thick as hail, lashing the sea into foam all round us, shredding our sails to ribbons, cutting up very badly our standing and running rigging, bringing down our main-topgallant-mast, and severely wounding several of our other spars, we still glided safely on, our hull uninjured, and not a man hurt. Orders were now sent down for the guns on the main-deck to play upon every battery upon which they could be brought to bear, and for each gun to be laid with the greatest possible accuracy, precision rather than rapidity of fire being the skipper’s object. An irregular fire from both broadsides accordingly now commenced; and that it was not altogether without effect was demonstrated by the speedy silencing of two or three out of the many guns now playing upon us; but, as our object was to escape with the least possible delay, Captain Hood would not allow the frigate’s course to be altered by so much as one single hair’s-breadth in order to bring our guns more directly to bear upon either of the batteries.
“We shall have to make a short board presently, sir,” said Percival to the skipper, as we drew down to within half a mile of the harbour entrance; “there is shoal water directly ahead of us now, and we have broken off a couple of points within the last ten minutes. Shall we heave about at once, or go on as far as we can? If we stand on much farther, we shall be exposed to the fire of yonder battery, which seems to be preparing a warm reception for us.”
“Go about at once, sir, by all means,” replied the skipper. “We have got off wonderfully well so far; we will certainly not run any unnecessary risks now. Ready about, Mr Annesley.”
“Ay, ay, sir. Ready about!” repeated the first lieutenant. The men went to their several stations, the coiled-up braces, etcetera, were thrown off the belaying-pins, and all was ready for the execution of the proposed manoeuvre.
“Down with your helm, quarter-master,” was the next order. The tiller-ropes creaked as the wheel was rapidly spun round by the brawny and dexterous arms of the quarter-master, and the ship slowly luffed to the wind.
“Hold on of all!” suddenly exclaimed Percival. Then, turning to the skipper, he continued. “The wind is favouring us again, sir; she is still clean full; and if the breeze keeps as it is for ten minutes more, we shall fetch out clear of everything.”
“So much the better,” remarked the skipper. “Our present course, however, will take us unpleasantly close to that battery; so,”—looking round until his eye lighted on me—“be so good as to step down to the main-deck, Mr Chester, and request Mr Flinn to treble-shot his larboard broadside and pour it into that battery as we pass. Perhaps we may be a second or so beforehand with them; and if so, a well-directed broadside on our part may stop their fire altogether.”
I soon found Mr Flinn; and, having delivered my message, returned at once to the quarter-deck, anxious to see how we should fare with this last battery, which, to judge by appearances, was the most formidable of them all. As I emerged through the hatchway. Percival gave the word to the helmsman to keep away a couple of points, the frigate having just shaved past the most prominent part of the shoal. This brought the battery directly abreast of us, and less than a quarter of a mile distant; and I was waiting for the concussion of our broadside, which I momentarily expected would be poured into it, when the whole face of the fort blazed out into a line of fire; there was a deafening roar, a loud whirring sound in the air, a crashing among our spars aloft, two distinct and heavy thuds, telling that some of the shot had struck our hull; and then, as the mizen-topmast fell over the side, the fore-topgallant-mast following—the topmast-head being shot away—our whole broadside rang out at once, and we distinctly heard the crushing sound of the shot as it struck the masonry.
The breeze had in the meantime freshened somewhat, and notwithstanding our crippled condition, we were slipping through the water at the rate of about five knots. We had by this time run the gauntlet of all the batteries on each side of the haven, and we considered that we had had the worst that we were to have; our spirits accordingly began to rise, as the prospect of escape became more hopeful. The skipper expected that we should have to sustain a couple more broadsides from the battery with which we had just exchanged compliments, after which, if we escaped further serious damage, we might consider ourselves safe. Every eye—excepting perhaps Percival’s and the helmsman’s—was accordingly directed anxiously to the dark frowning mass which stood out indistinctly from the dark background of land, and which every moment grew more and more vague and undefined, expecting to see the lurid line of fire blaze out from the darkness once more. But minute after minute passed by, the frigate drawing out from the land all the while, and the breeze freshening with every fathom of additional distance, until nothing could be discerned, even with the aid of our night-glasses, but the feeble glimmer of the lanterns showing through the port-holes; and presently these abruptly disappeared: the battery was shut in by a projecting point of land and we had escaped.
The moment that this agreeable fact became known the crew with one accord gave three hearty cheers, the skipper himself for the nonce laying aside his usual sang-froid and leading off. The guns were secured, a liberal allowance of grog served out, and then, late as it was—about half an hour after midnight—all hands turned-to to repair damages.