Chapter Twenty Two.
“In the Bay of Biscay, ho!”
My instructions were to see the admiral without the delay of a single moment, should we happen to arrive at any hour when the worthy chief might be reasonably supposed to be out of his bed; I accordingly had the boat lowered, and proceeded to the shore the instant that our anchor was let go.
When I reached the admiral’s house, I found him busy at the entertainment of a party of “sodger officers” from the garrison.
I was shown into his private room; and in a few minutes the gallant old veteran stumped in on his wooden leg, and saluted me with,—
“Well, youngster, whose cat is dead now? Are you aware that I very strongly object to be troubled after business hours, unless the matter happens to be one of very great importance?”
“I must apologise for intruding upon you at so late an hour, sir,” I replied; “but my instructions are that I should not lose a moment in placing in your hands the despatches from Lord Hood of which I have the honour to be the bearer.”
“You have the honour! Despatches from Lord Hood? The d—?” he exclaimed. “Do you mean to say that you have charge of the despatch-boat signalled this evening?”
“I do sir, certainly,” I rather resentfully replied. The somewhat contemptuous emphasis he laid on the word you slightly nettled me.
“What, in the name of—um! um! What’s your name, pray, young gentleman?” said he.
“Ralph Chester, midshipman, of the frigate ‘Juno,’ at your service, sir,” I replied.
“Ralph Chester, eh? Of the ‘Juno.’ Ah! um! Let me see. Um! Your name seems familiar to me. Where did I hear it before? Must have heard it before, somewhere; never make mistakes about names; never. Where did I hear it before, eh, youngster?”
“It is quite impossible for me to say, sir,” I replied. “The only way in which an officer in your high position is likely to become acquainted with the name of an obscure midshipman is, it seems to me, through the Gazette.”
“Gazette? Gazette? Oh, ay; to be sure. Yes, yes; certainly; that was it. ‘Juno’—Captain Hood—of course. And are you the lad who distinguished himself so conspicuously at the storming of the Convention Redoubt?”
“I was named in the despatches in connection with that affair, sir,” I modestly replied.
“Then I congratulate you most heartily, my boy,” said he, shaking hands with me vigorously, and changing his hitherto gruff and somewhat churlish demeanour for one of almost paternal cordiality. “Ha! ha! you made the whole service your debtor that night, by helping your skipper to get into the breach before the red-coat. The rascals! They like to ‘top the officer’ over us, and claim to be the more useful arm of the service; but you gave us the pull on them that night, my boy, and no mistake. Poor Dundas! How awfully disgusted he must have felt. But—sit down, and let me see your despatches—we can talk afterwards.”
I produced my box, and handed to him the letter from Lord Hood which was addressed to himself.
He hastily tore open the envelope, and soon ran over the few lines which formed the contents of the letter.
“Can’t do it,” he exclaimed, testily, crumpling up the letter in his hand. “Haven’t a single frigate at my disposal; not even a corvette nor a despatch-boat—nothing, in fact, but my own barge. Sheer impossibility; so there’s an end of it. Why, in the name of all that’s ridiculous, could he not send one of his own frigates, so that these confounded despatches might have gone straight on? Much more sensible than to send them here in a little hooker which is not fit to cross the Bay of Biscay. Why is she not fit, eh? What’s the matter with her?”
“There is nothing the matter with her, sir; nothing whatever,” I replied. “It is only an idea of Lord Hood’s that she is unfit to cross the Bay. She, no doubt, appears to him a mere boat, compared with the ‘Victory,’ but I should have no hesitation whatever about taking her across the Bay, or across the Atlantic itself, for that matter.”
“Ah! Is that the case?” he quickly returned. “Um! um! That is a possible way out of the difficulty. Look here. I’ve a few red-coats in the other room, spending the evening with me; I shall be very glad to have the pleasure of your company for the remainder of the evening, if you will join us, young gentleman. I can give you a bed here; and to-morrow I will go on board this little hooker of yours with you, and see for myself whether or no she seems fit to make the trip to England.”
We accordingly adjourned to the dining-room, where we found some dozen or so of military men seated round the table, discussing their wine and cigars, chatting over the events of the war, and bewailing their own ill-luck in being shut up in Gibraltar instead of sharing in the miseries and glories (?) of the field.
I was introduced by the admiral to his guests as one fresh from the seat of the operations in Corsica, and was welcomed cordially and freely plied with questions of all kinds, to some of which, by-the-bye, I found it rather difficult to reply without exciting a feeling of jealousy in the breasts of the red-coats.
Fortunately, however, the evening passed without the occurrence of any incident of a disagreeable character; and at a late, or, more strictly speaking, at an early, hour next morning I turned in, so thoroughly tired that I felt scarcely able to remain awake until I had undressed.
About 7:30 a knock sounded at my door, and a voice announced—in tones which struck me as being somewhat tremulous with suppressed laughter—“Your shaving-water, sir.” Now, I may as well confess that at this particular period of my life the one subject upon which, above all others, I was most sensitive was shaving. I shaved with the most scrupulous regularity every morning; but it was done furtively, so far, at least as my elders were concerned. In the presence of my fellow-mids, the act was performed openly and with all due ceremony and solemnity—all the mids on board the “Juno” shaved—but I had noticed, upon more than one occasion, that any reference in the hearing of my elders to the punctuality with which I performed this duty was invariably received by them with a silence more eloquent than words, and with an expression of ironical incredulity which could only be adequately atoned for by the shedding of their heart’s blood. Therefore I had ceased to refer to a subject the mention of which was invariably followed by much annoyance, and hence the preternatural sensitiveness which caused me to suspect, rather than to absolutely detect, a quiver of suppressed laughter in the voice of the man who on this morning awoke me with the announcement of “Your shaving-water, sir.”
The temporary irritation arising out of this painful and humiliating suspicion had one good result, however; it effectually awoke me and enabled me to promptly turn out; while, but for it, the late hours of the previous night might otherwise have caused me to doze off again, and so become guilty of the quite unpardonable offence of keeping an admiral waiting.
As it was, I was dressed and down in the breakfast-room so promptly that the admiral rather kept me waiting; which was quite a different matter. By eleven o’clock however, we were on board the “Vigilant;” and after going carefully through and over the craft—accompanied by myself, Tom Hardy, and the carpenter’s mate—the old boy came to the conclusion that she was strong enough to go round the world if required, and that he therefore need have no hesitation whatever about ordering us to proceed to England forthwith.
He would, however, he said, take it upon himself to detain us until evening; by which time he would have ready some despatches of his own, which he wished to forward.
We utilised the time by filling up provisions and water; a task which was left to the superintendence of Tom Hardy, while Smellie and I had a scramble through the gun-galleries and to the telegraph-station at the summit of the Rock; and just as the sunset-gun boomed out on the evening air we weighed and stood out of the bay, with a light north-easterly breeze, passing Tarifa Point shortly before midnight.
By breakfast-time on the morning but one following, we were abreast of Cape Saint Vincent. Eighteen hours later, we made the Rock of Lisbon; and, on the fifth day out from Gibraltar, finding ourselves in the latitude of Cape Finisterre, we hauled up to the northward and eastward for Ushant; and entered the Bay of Biscay.
So far, all had gone well. We had been favoured with fine weather, and winds which, while somewhat inclined to be light and variable, had still allowed us to lay our course, and we had really made a very fair passage up to this point.
But we had scarcely entered the notorious Bay of Biscay when the aspect of affairs began to change.
The first omen of evil revealed itself in a steadily and rather rapidly falling barometer. The wind for the previous twenty-four hours had been moderate, and steady at about east, but toward evening it became fitful, now dying away until the roll of the ship caused the canvas to flap heavily against the masts, and anon freshening up again for a few minutes, quite to a seven-knot breeze. Then it would drop once more; and nothing would be heard but the heavy flap of the canvas, the creak of the spars, the swish of the water as it lapped in over our bulwarks—the craft rolling gunwale-under—and a low weird moaning of pent-up wind, which teemed to be imprisoned in a heavy cloud-bank rapidly piling itself up on the north-western horizon. The sky, which had been clear all day, became overspread with a canopy of dirty lead-coloured vapour, between which and ourselves soon appeared small ragged patches of fast-flying scud. The moaning sound became louder and more weird and dismal in tone; while the sea—its surface curiously agitated by waves which leaped up and subsided without any apparent cause—grew black as ink.
Fortunately, we had ample and unmistakable notice of the impending change; and we fully availed ourselves of it by making every possible preparation for the expected gale, and adopting every possible precaution for the safety of our craft.
Our first act was to take in and secure our lofty lateen-canvas by getting the yards down on deck and firmly lashing them there; we then set a storm-jib and a leg-of-mutton mizzen, just to steady the craft and place her under command when the breeze should come. This done, we divided our crew into two parties, one of which, under the gunner’s mate, secured the guns with extra breechings, while the other, under Hardy, battened down everything, and put extra lashings upon the booms and boats.
We were ready in excellent time; all our preparations being complete a good half-hour before the breeze came.
At length, about the time of sunset, a sudden break appeared in the mass of cloud piled up to the north-westward, revealing a long narrow strip of fiery copper-coloured sky; and at the same instant the wind, which had hitherto blown in fitful gusts, died completely away.
“Here it comes!” was the exclamation which issued simultaneously from a dozen throats, as the eyes of the more watchful caught the glare of the tawny streak of sky away on our port beam; and even as we spoke the roar of the wind became apparent; and far away on the verge of the horizon we caught a glimpse of the whitening water, as it was lashed into foam by the first mad fury of the approaching squall.
“Port your helm! Hard over with it!” I exclaimed; “and stand by to brail up the mizzen if she fails to pay off.”
We had at the wheel one of the best helmsmen on board, a cool, smart, active topman; and, almost before the words were out of my mouth, he sent the wheel spinning hard over with a single jerk of his muscular arm, while Hardy mustered some three or four hands at the mizzen-brails.
The squall, however, furious as it was at its commencement, had spent its greatest strength before it reached us; and when it struck the “Vigilant” it came with merely sufficient force to lay her down to her bearings for a moment, when she gathered way, and, answering her helm at once, paid off before it, and began to surge away to leeward at the rate of about six knots.
The squall proved to be merely the precursor of a strong but steady gale from the north-west: and as soon as this became sufficiently apparent we hauled our wind once more and hove the craft to on the larboard tack under her jib and mizzen. This arrangement, while it promised to be the best that could be made for the safety of the ship and our own comfort, also enabled us to drift along at the rate of about three knots an hour on our proper course.
We found that under her short canvas the little “Vigilant,” with her flat and beamy build, sharp lines, and flaring bow, laid-to admirably, riding as lightly and almost as dry as a seagull over the mountainous sea which rapidly got up under the influence of the gale.
I remained on deck long enough to thoroughly satisfy myself upon this point, and then, leaving the deck in charge of Hardy (who had the watch), with one man to tend the wheel, and two others on the lookout, I sent the remainder of the hands below to get a good meal with plenty of strong hot coffee; while little Smellie and I sat down to our own almost equally humble spread in the small but cosy cabin.
The change from the cold wet sloppy deck, with its accompaniments of darkness, driving spray, and frequent rain-squalls, to the dry warm comfort of the cabin, lighted up with the brilliant rays of its single handsome swinging-lamp, its carpeted floor and well-cushioned lockers, was agreeable in the extreme; and the sound of the gale, as it roared overhead and shrieked through the rigging, the patter and drip of the rain on the deck, and the occasional heavy “swish” of the drenching spray-showers, served but to increase the feeling of comfort which we enjoyed. We spent some time, after the table was cleared, in consulting the chart, interspersed with frequent references to the book of sailing directions, and when we tired of these a book apiece served to wile away the time until midnight, when Smellie had to turn out once more and take charge of the deck. As the eight strokes upon the bell proclaimed the expiration of the first watch, we donned our oilskins and repaired to the deck in company.
The wind had been steadily increasing from the commencement of the gale, and was now blowing so heavily that every time the “Vigilant” rose upon the crest of a sea she careened almost gunwale-to, even with the scanty shred of canvas under which she was hove-to. The sea, moreover, had increased with as great rapidity as the wind, and was now running tremendously high, breaking from time to time in a manner which made me somewhat uneasy. Still, the little craft was behaving beautifully and making excellent weather of it; not a drop of anything heavier than spray having come on board her so far. The night was as dark as a wolf’s mouth, there being no moon, and the sky remaining obscured by an impenetrable canopy of heavy black cloud-vapour which was darkest about the horizon, against which the phosphorescent wave-crests reared themselves portentously in startling relief. The intense darkness was my greatest source of anxiety, for we were directly in the track of outward-bound ships, and the wind was blowing from a quarter which, while not exactly fair, was sufficiently free to enable them to keep going, and that too at a speed which would send a ship of any size right over us almost without her crew knowing anything about it. We had, of course, our lights in their places, and brightly burning; but we were so frequently hidden in the trough of the sea that a very bright lookout would be needed to discover us in time to avoid a collision, which was then, as it is now, the thing I most dread at sea—excepting fire. It seems needless to say that a bright lookout was kept on board the “Vigilant” that night; a man on each cat-head, two in the waist—one on the weather and one on the lee side—and our two selves aft were kept constantly on the alert; and with these precautions I was obliged to rest satisfied. As it happened, our elaborate precautions proved unnecessary, for not a single sail passed us during the night; and at four o’clock next morning, when the watch was relieved, I went below and turned in, as the sky appeared to be lightening up a trifle, and I knew that it would be daylight in a short time.
When I went on deck again at seven bells (7:30 a.m.) things looked pretty much as I had left them, excepting that the sea had continued to get up and was now running higher than I had ever seen it before. Our little craft was tossed about on its angry surface lightly as a withered leaf; now rising up as though about to take flight into the midst of the rushing storm-wrack overhead, and anon plunging down the steep sides of the watery hills as though intent on reaching the very ocean’s bed itself. It was very exciting, as well, it must be confessed, as somewhat trying to the nerves, to stand on the deck and watch the approach of the mountainous seas, rushing with threatening upreared crest upon the little craft, as though determined to engulf her. But, by watchful attention to the helm, her bows always met them at a safe angle, and away they would sweep past us, harmless, but hissing and seething in impotent fury.
According to custom, Tom Hardy had charge of the deck while Smellie and I were below at breakfast. On our returning to the deck at the conclusion of the meal, he joined us to remark that he was under the impression he had once or twice heard the sound of firing to windward.
“Surely not,” said little Smellie; “you must be mistaken, Mr Hardy,” (we always Mistered Tom, to his intense gratification, now that he had charge of a watch). “What ships could possibly fight in this weather?”
“Depends on the course they happen to be steering, sir,” responded Tom. “It’s poorish weather for a fight, I’ll allow; but if one ship happens to be chasing t’other, and they’m both running before it, both bow and stern-chasers might be worked, heavy as the sea is. Besides, it looks a deal worse to us, afloat here in this cock-boat, than ’twould if we was aboard the old ‘Juno,’ for instance; and a’ter all—hark! didn’t you hear anything just then, gentlemen?”
The boom of a gun, muffled by the roar of the gale, but still heard with sufficient distinctness to render the sound unmistakable, at that moment broke upon the ear.
I pulled out my watch and noted the time. “Now listen for the next report!” I exclaimed; “perhaps it is a ship in distress.”
But it was immediately evident that it could be nothing of that sort, for even as I spoke, another report came floating down upon the wings of the gale, and then two others in quick succession.
Tom Hardy sprang into the main-rigging, and, going aloft as far as our short masts would permit, stood for nearly a minute, swaying about with the roll and pitch of the vessel, his eyes shaded by one hand, gazing eagerly to windward.
“Here they comes!” he hailed; “one a’ter t’other. Two frigates, seemin’ly; and one on ’em’s a Frenchman all over—the chap that’s leadin’; t’other’s of course one of our ships.”
“How are they steering?” I hailed.
“Straight for us as ever they can come, sir,” replied Tom, as he nimbly descended the rigging again, and swung himself off the low rail to the deck.
Ten minutes afterwards the upper spars of the leading ship were in sight from the deck, when we rose upon the crest of a sea, and in another five minutes both craft were visible. The firing continued briskly on both sides, the rapidly-increasing distinctness of the reports testifying to the speed with which the chase was hurrying along.
From the moment that the frigates became visible from the deck, our telescopes remained glued to our eyes, so to speak, and it was not long before we were able to distinguish that both were flying their colours, the leading ship showing the tricolour, and the other the white ensign.
“I say, Chester!” exclaimed little Smellie; “what a lark! Can’t we have a flying shot at Johnnie as he goes past. Who knows? Perhaps we might knock away one of his spars and so help our own craft to get alongside. My eye! ain’t they carrying on, too; topgallant-s’ls and stunsails on both sides. What a strain upon their spars and rigging! Cut away a brace or a backstay, now, aboard that Frenchman, and away would go a whole heap of his canvas. What a splendid craft she is! It is a true saying, if ever there was one, that ‘The French know how to build ships, and the English how to sail them!’ What do you say, Chester; shall we have a shot at him as he goes by?”
“And have his whole broadside poured into us by way of saying thankee,” dryly remarked Hardy.
“I doubt whether he has his broadside guns cleared away, yet,” I remarked; “and even if he has we are a very small target to fire at. I feel half inclined to take a shot at him if we get a good chance. At all events, you may clear away the long nine and load it; we can then be governed by circumstances.”
No sooner said than done. The men set to work with all the glee of a parcel of school-boys intent upon some piece of mischief, and in a very short time the long nine-pounder mounted amidships was ready for service and loaded.
In the meantime pursuer and pursued continued their rapid flight down before the wind; both ships staggering along under a press of canvas which clearly indicated the alarm of the one and the determination of the other. As we stood watching them in breathless interest, the weather cleared somewhat; the dense canopy of cloud which had obscured the heavens for many hours broke up into rifts which permitted an occasional watery gleam of sunshine to penetrate through and light up the scene, glancing in streaks and patches here and there upon the mountain-surges, and changing their dull leaden hue into a dirty green, and shimmering for a moment upon the snowy canvas and bright copper of one or other of the frigates, only to fade away next instant and leave the picture, as it was before, a dull lifeless grey.
By the time that the French ship had approached to within a mile of us, it became evident that if we both continued on our respective courses, without any alteration in our speeds, we should pass within perilous proximity of each other; the “Vigilant’s” fore-sheet was therefore let draw and the helm righted, so that we might forge ahead and cross the flying craft at a safe distance.
She was yawing about most frightfully, sheering first to port and then to starboard in a manner which seemed every moment to threaten that she would broach-to. Should such an accident occur in the then condition of the weather the total dismasting of the ship would be the least calamity which could reasonably be expected to follow; while it was far more probable that she would either capsize or founder stern foremost. The steering of the English ship was in marked contrast to this, though she also sheered about to a certain extent; still, it was so trifling in comparison with that of the Frenchman, that it appeared to us as though the Englishman was gaining upon the chase more by superior helmsmanship than by the possession of any advantage over him in point of actual speed.
As the French frigate continued to sweep down towards us I became exceedingly anxious; for it now seemed as though we had delayed a trifle too long the act of filling away upon the “Vigilant,” and that, at our low rate of speed, we should be unable to draw out of her immediate path. The ship, now distant not more than half a mile, came surging on, with her broad expanse of canvas fully distended by the following gale, and straining at the stout spars and tough hemp rigging as though it would tear the very masts themselves out of the hull and come flying down to leeward like cobwebs before a summer breeze; or as though, when the ship rose upon the ridge of a sea, lifting her fore-foot and some forty feet of her keel clear out of the water, she would take flight, and, leaving the sea altogether, soar away upon her canvas pinions like a startled sea-fowl. She was rolling heavily, so much so indeed that we more than once saw her dip her stunsail-boom-ends alternately on the port and starboard sides into the water.
At length, as we rose to the crest of one mountainous sea, which had completely hidden the French ship from us, up to her very royal-mast-heads, we saw her surging madly forward upon the breast of the one which followed it, the hissing foam-crest which pursued her rearing itself high and threateningly above her taffrail, while the ship herself, with her port gunwale deep buried in the water, was taking a desperate and uncontrollable sheer to starboard which we saw in a moment would hurl her crashing into the little “Vigilant” somewhere about the mainmast.
A cry, something between a yell and a shriek of horror and dismay, burst simultaneously from the lips of our crew as this awful danger burst upon us; and, in a momentary panic, a general rush was made by all hands to that part of the vessel which appeared likely to receive the annihilating blow, with the intention of making a spring for life at the frigate’s bowsprit and headgear. Even the helmsman was so infected by the sight that, abandoning the wheel, he too joined in the rush.
There was no time for remonstrance. Smellie and I were standing near the companion at the moment, watching the approach of the Frenchman; and as the rush took place I seized him by the arm, and, shouting in his ear, “Cut the mizzen-sheet!” sprang to the wheel, and with frantic energy whirled it hard up. By the greatest good luck the helmsman had already put the wheel a spoke or two over as the crest of the sea swept under us, so that we were actually paying-off at the moment that I took the wheel. This fact, combined with the additional amount of helm which I gave her, and the lightning-like rapidity with which little Smellie whipped out his keen pocket-knife and drew it across the straining strands of the mizzen-sheet, saved the “Vigilant.” The mizzen flogged itself to ribbons in a moment, while the foresail paid our bows broad off, and, filling powerfully at the same time, dragged us clear by the bare skin of our teeth. The frigate rushed foaming past our stern, so closely that the surge from her port bow dashed in over our taffrail, and the leach of her lower stunsail, catching the head of our mizzen-mast, buckled the spar until the port shrouds parted, when, luckily for us, crack went her stunsail-boom and her lower and fore-topmast stunsail began to thrash about so wildly, that they promised to give her crew their hands full to get in the sails without injury to any of the men.
Passing each other in such disagreeably close proximity, we had of course a perfect view of the French frigate, and a most superb craft she certainly was. A bran-new ship, to all appearance: she seemed to have been at sea scarcely long enough to wash the varnish off her teak and mahogany deck-fittings. The planks of her deck were almost snow-white, and some little taste and trouble appeared to have been expended in a successful effort to impart a graceful effect to the decorations about the front of her spacious poop, beneath the over-hanging pent-house of which appeared her handsome steering-wheel, with four men hard—a great deal too hard, it seemed to me—at work at it. She showed eighteen ports of a side, all closed, and carried her due proportion of carronades on her forecastle and quarter-deck. Her masts, magnificent sticks, and her short stout yards were bending like fishing-rods under the tremendous strain of her new canvas, which appeared as though it had not yet fully stretched into its proper shape; and every rope was coiled down in its proper place with the most scrupulous neatness. But, oh! the confusion and jabber and excitement of her crew. As she shaved past us, every man on deck jumped upon the hammock-rail and had his separate say to us—whether it were a word of caution, of congratulation at our escape from being run down, or of objurgation, it was quite impossible to tell; but, from the threatening character of their actions, I judged it to be the latter. There was only one calm individual among the whole, and he was the first lieutenant. He stood by the mizzen-rigging on the port side, clinging to a belaying-pin, and he vouchsafed us not so much as a passing glance, his whole attention being given to his spars and rigging, on which he kept his eyes anxiously fixed. The skipper, on the other hand, seemed to be more excited than any one else. When my eye lighted upon him he was grasping the poop-rail with his right hand and shaking his left fist at us. Just then our eyes met, when, to my surprise and disgust, he turned to a marine near him and pointed at me, at the same time apparently giving the man an order. The fellow raised his piece and fired, and the next instant I felt a violent blow accompanied by a sharp burning pain in my left arm, which dropped helplessly at my side, broken between the elbow and the shoulder.
All this passed in a single moment of time; the next instant we were vividly recalled to a sense of our own danger. As we rose upon the next wave our port quarter was exposed to its advancing crest, and there was only time to shout to all hands to “Hold on for your lives!” before it came hissing up, and, arching over us quite six feet above our low bulwarks, tumbled on board, a regular comber, filling us to the gunwale, bursting in the companion-doors, flooding the cabin, smashing one of our boats to atoms, and washing away everything that was not securely lashed. By something approaching a miracle, none of the men were swept overboard; and as soon as I had ascertained this by a hasty glance round the deck, directly I got my head above water, I gave the order for the fore-lug to be loosed and set. The men wanted no second bidding; they knew that if we got pooped a second time it would be all over with us; and in an incredibly short space of time we had the sail set, and were bowling away to leeward after the Frenchman.
Our position was now very much the reverse of an enviable one; as, being compelled for safety’s sake to run dead before it, we were exactly in the line of fire between the two ships, which continued to bang away at each other from time to time, quite regardless of the possible consequences to us; and their shot came hissing past us and over us so closely that it was manifestly imperative upon us to shift our berth without loss of time. Giving orders, therefore, that the spare mizzen should be bent and set, and the craft brought to once more—but on the starboard tack this time, so as to afford us an opportunity to knot the shrouds on the larboard side, carried away by the French frigate—I left little Smellie and Tom Hardy on deck to see to its execution; and, summoning the assistant-surgeon to my aid, retired below to have my wounded arm coopered up.
My friend Sawbones had just arrived at that stage of his operations which required him to torture me almost beyond my powers of endurance by grinding the two broken bone-ends together to get them in proper position, when we felt a violent concussion, accompanied by a loud explosion on deck, speedily followed by vociferous cheering; and the next moment down trundled that young scamp Smellie, his face beaming all over with a broad grin, as he exclaimed,—
“Hurrah, Chester, I’ve done it! Did it myself, Hardy will tell you so.”
“Did what, for goodness’ sake?” groaned I, as the medico, under the influence of a terrific roll, gave my arm a most awful wrench. “What did you fire for?”
“Fired at the Frenchman, of course,” replied he, somewhat disconcerted. “I understood that you agreed we should have a shot at him, so we gave him one from long Tom. I pointed the gun myself; and—only fancy!—knocked away his mizzen-topmast, which brought down his main-topgallant-mast with it; and there he is now in a pretty mess. My eye! that was a close one,” he added, as a twelve-pound shot sung close over our heads, without hitting anything however.
“It sounds remarkably as though he were anxious to return the compliment, if he can,” said I. “You had better go on deck again and hurry the men up with that mizzen; and round-to as soon as you possibly can. If one of those shot happen to plump on board us we shall probably have cause to remember the circumstance.”
The lad darted up the companion-way again, three stairs at a time; and very shortly afterwards I heard him shout down to me,—
“I say, Chester, the mizzen is bent and all ready for setting; shall we hoist away?”
“Watch for a good opportunity,” I shouted back, “and as soon as it comes, down with your helm, and sway up the sail at the same time.”
“Ay, ay; we will do so,” was the response.
A few minutes elapsed; and then I felt the little craft rising up, up, up, until it seemed as though she were about to turn a summersault with us; there was a thud at her stern, and a heavy swish of water on her deck as the crest of the sea struck her and broke over the taffrail, and then Tom Hardy’s voice exclaimed,—
“Now—now’s your time, sir! Jam your helm hard-a-port, you Dick! hard over with it, man; that’s your sort. Now, sway away upon these here mizzen halliards; down with your fore-lug; ease up the fore-sheet there, for’ard; up with the mizzen, lads; bowse it well up; that’s well; belay. Haul your fore-sheet over to wind’ard, and make fast. There! that’s capital. Now let’s see what we can do to these here shrouds.”
From all of which, and the altered character of the little craft’s motion, I learned that the ticklish manoeuvre of rounding-to had been safely executed.
A quarter of an hour afterwards the medico finished me off, and I was able, with Hardy’s assistance, to go on deck again and take a look round before turning into my hammock to nurse my wounded arm.
We were now hove-to upon the starboard tack, with our head to the southward; the English frigate had passed us, and was by this time some two miles to leeward, on our port quarter, the Frenchman still leading, though he had lost ground considerably, and he seemed yet to be in the thick of his trouble with the wreck of his spars. The bow and stern-chasers of the two ships were still playing merrily away, but without any very marked result, as far as we could see; and shortly afterwards we lost sight of both ships in the thick weather to leeward, and saw no more of them.
We were not long in getting our larboard mizzen shrouds knotted and set up afresh; and as soon as this was done we watched our chance and wore round once more, with our head to the northward—I remaining on deck to watch the operation—after which I was glad to get into my hammock and seek relief to my wounded fin.