CHAPTER II.
For some weeks the Hornet sought in vain for a cruiser of the enemy. Some valuable captures were made, and the vessels destroyed, and it was determined to shift the cruising ground to the South Atlantic.
As they approached the equator, the atmosphere became humid and oppressive, and they were deluged with frequent rain, compared to which the heaviest showers of our own more favored clime, are as the dew-drop to the overflowing cistern. Often at night the sea would be brilliantly phosphorescent, and the water as dashed aside by the advancing prow, fell over in curls of flame, while, gamboling around in very wantonness, myriads of porpoises, the dolphins of antiquity, sportively chased each other, and darting to and fro, without design or order, checkered with lines of light the dark, unruffled sea.
The day on which they crossed the line was preceded by a night of surpassing loveliness. Undisturbed and quiet as a sleeping infant, the calm and placid ocean lay in beautiful repose, its very heavings, as if moved by the modulation of sweet sounds, so gentle, as not to impair the reflections of its mirror-like surface.
Toward morning, a mist arose, which, becoming dense, settled down and banked around the horizon. As the night waned, faint streaks of light tinged the dark cloud; gradually the hues became brighter and more expanded, the violet became purple, the purple reddened into crimson, and suddenly, as from a bed of flame, the sun looked forth upon the quiet scene. The serene sky, the placid ocean, the soft breath of the morning, and the gorgeous sun, were all in keeping with the attributes of their Maker; while the tiny ship, a mere speck upon the waters, girdled with iron and prepared for strife, was a fit emblem of the frailty and insignificance of man.
The inconsiderate and the thoughtless were disappointed that the usual ceremony of receiving Neptune was dispensed with on crossing the line; but the Hornet was too well disciplined for such a disorderly exhibition, and her commander wisely considered the custom of roughly shaving the uninitiated as one more honored in the breach than the observance.
After crossing the equator, the atmosphere improved and became balmy and pleasant, and so rarified that the stars became visible at the very verge of the horizon. The pole star, the lamp hung out in heaven to guide the wanderer on the northern deep, although steadfast as faith it maintained its post, gradually disappeared, and others, more brilliant but less endeared by association, rose upon the view. High up in the heavens, two luminous bodies, like fragments of the milky way, became visible, while lower down toward the pole, another of darker hue was seen. They were the wonderful Magellan clouds which, from their position and immovability, are supposed by Humboldt to be the reflections of the Cordilleras.
The messmates of Talbot had soon perceived a marked change in his demeanor: His hilarity was gone, and, avoiding his former associates, he paced the deck or sat apart, wrapped in the visionary aspirations of a lover. They all suspected the cause, but had too much regard for him to wound his sensitive feelings by ill-timed jests and allusions. Indeed their respect for him insensibly increased, for they perceived with surprise that although completely absorbed in revery when he had no duty to perform, yet he had become the most vigilant among them, and in particular paid the most minute attention to the exercise of his division at the guns and in the use of small arms. At such times, his eyes sparkled with more than their wonted enthusiasm, and his very air breathed some exalted purpose.
“Take care, gentlemen,” said the captain one day to a party of officers near him, “take care! Talbot is wooing glory that he may win a bride, and if opportunity offers he may bear away the palm.”
“Let him if he can,” was the reply, “we will not begrudge what must be dearly earned.”
Nearly in a line with the extreme southern limits of two continents, at the confluence of two mighty oceans, lies Tristan d’Acuna, a high, rocky and uninhabited island, its summit wrapped in clouds, and, except in one place, the surf loud and continuous broke upon its shore. The wind was fresh, and the tumultuous waves ran high, when through the mist the Hornet gained a sight of the land. While the captain hesitated whether to venture in, or lie-to and await more favorable weather, the cry “sail ho!” was heard from aloft.
“Where away?” was quickly asked by the officer of the deck.
“Broad off the weather beam, sir,” was the reply, and the Hornet wore round and stood toward the stranger. None but those who have experienced it can form an idea of the thrill of delight with which each man on board of a cruiser, in time of war, hears the cry “sail ho!” which ensures the excitement of a chase, and the probability of an engagement.
Long before the hull of the stranger was visible from the deck, her spars and sails, enveloped in the mist, in their shadowy outline seemed of gigantic size. Like a shapeless cloud rather than a thing of art, she came down before the breeze, now and then the mist, in fantastic wreaths, half concealing, half betraying her form and character. The American hoisted her colors as an invitation to the stranger to declare her nationality. Shortly after, the report of a gun came booming over the water, and there was a shout of exultation among the crew of the Hornet, as through the vapor they descried the ensign of St. George. The commander of each vessel, however, was too good a seaman not to be aware that the wind was too high, and the sea too rough, for a fair encounter. Each one, brave himself, doubted not the valor of his adversary. With a tacit understanding that they would meet when the gale abated, the ships hove-to, in each other’s near vicinity. They rode out the night in safety, each one carrying a light, to denote her position to the other.
The next day it moderated, and at 1 P. M. the Hornet hoisted her jack at the fore, as an intimation that she was ready for the encounter. The signal was promptly answered, and the vessels filling away on opposite tacks, exchanged broadsides as they passed. Immediately after, like two knights engaged à l’outrance, each again wore round and stood directly for the other, while from forward, aft, successively as they bore, the guns were fired with singular precision. As they neared each other, the scene became more and more exciting: Beside the boom of the cannon, the pealing of the musketry soon became incessant, and the hurtling of iron and lead was terrific. The atmosphere was soon thick and stifling, and the crews were working their guns with the energy of desperation, when a severe concussion, followed by a harsh and grating sound, told that the ships were afoul.
“Away! boarders away!” was the instant cry on board of the Englishman, and a host of men, cutlas and pistol in hand, gathered on his forecastle.
“Stand by to repel boarders,” was the prompt response of the American, and a forest of bristling pikes was arrayed against the assailants. Talk of serried ranks and wedged battalions; of the compact square, and even of the deep moat and frowning parapet! who would not charge upon either, rather than breast that fretted line of steel, held by those stern-visaged men! The enemy paused and faltered.
By word and example, Talbot had encouraged his men to their utmost exertion, and at the first call, had hurried with them to repel the enemy; but, when that enemy hesitated, although but for an instant, he shouted, “On them, men! on! on!” and rushed forward as he spoke, to board them in turn.
“Hold, men! hold! Back, Mr. Talbot, back, I command you,” shouted the captain. “My God! he’s gone!” he added, as the two ships, lifted high by a passing wave, fell apart, and the fore-mast of the enemy came down with a frightful crash. The instant before, Talbot had sprung upon her bowsprit, and the next, just escaping the mast as it fell, he was upon her deck.
Captain Biddle, although he had been firm as a veteran throughout the fight, no sooner beheld the peril of his officer, than, trembling like an aspen, he sprung into the rigging, and in a voice shrill and distinct amid the uproar, called out, “Hurt but a hair of his head and I’ll sink you where you lie.”
In the meantime, Talbot had not been idle. Striking right and left, parrying where he could, but not stopping to return a blow, he pressed on, and in less time than it has taken to narrate this incident, had gained the quarter-deck, cut the halliards and hauled the ensign down.
Immediately on separating from the enemy, the Hornet ranged ahead, and was prepared to throw in a broadside, but seeing the colors down, hailed to know if they had surrendered. The reply was in the affirmative.
The prize was immediately taken possession of, and Talbot was found almost insensible, endeavoring to staunch the blood from an ugly wound with the flag he had hauled down.
So destructive had been the fire of the American that the prize was completely riddled: She was therefore scuttled; and in a very short time the Hornet was again prepared for action.
The wound of poor Talbot was so severe as to leave no hope of his being able to perform duty the remainder of the cruise. A merchant vessel that was fallen in with was chartered as a cartel, and all the prisoners, with a few of the wounded, including Talbot, were put on board of her, to be taken to the United States.
Under the judicious treatment of the medical officer who accompanied them, he was fast recovering when they passed the island, where we first introduced him to the reader. At his urgent request he was landed, the cartel, after a few hours delay, proceeding on her course.
Like the anguish of the parting, the glorious ecstasy of the meeting of the lovers may be imagined, but cannot be described.
“Dear Edward,” said the maiden, as soon as they were alone, “Dr. Holmes has told me all, and you have more than realized my wildest and most extravagant hopes.”
“Say not so, Mary! indeed you should rather take credit to yourself, for if I have been swayed by any other motive than love of country, it has been to prove myself worthy of your rare affection.”
“It was ever so with you, Edward—you first excite our admiration, and then ascribe to others the fruits of your own good deeds.”
“Nay, sweet girl, you wrong yourself and me. Tell me, what is the body without the soul?”
“An inanimate lump of clay—but why the question?”
“Because to me you are what the soul is to the body—the life which animates and the spirit which directs it—you are at once my inspiration and my hope—the burthen of my thoughts, the aim and object of all my aspirations.”
“Hush, Edward, this cannot, nay, I would not have it to be true; let us change the theme.” She laid her hand upon his mouth as she spoke—but what maiden was ever yet displeased with the devotion of a favored lover?
In the course of their conversation, Talbot learned that Mr. Gillespie had completed his arrangements, and was on the look out for a vessel to convey himself and family to the United States. The former was of course anxious to accompany them, and in the midst of happiness was, perhaps, the most impatient of them all, for Mr. Gillespie would not consent to his daughter’s marriage before she had seen her relatives at home: Perhaps, too, he wished to inquire more particularly than he had yet been enabled to do, into the character and circumstances of the man he was about to receive as his son-in-law. He knew him to be brave and intelligent, and of frank and winning manners, but he knew nothing more—the captain of the ship, when he dined with him, having answered his questions in general terms of commendation.
They waited for a long time in vain. So ruinous had the war become to American commerce, that for months not a vessel from the United States had visited the island.
Late one evening a schooner, named the Humming-bird, formerly an American letter-of-marque, arrived, bringing intelligence of peace between England and the United States. The owners of the schooner had without delay applied for a commission to the Colombian minister, and she was now equipped as a privateer under that flag. The commander of her, having been drawn from his course by a vessel to which he had given chase and captured two days previous, purposed proceeding immediately to Nassau, New Providence. As from thence a speedy conveyance to the United States could certainly be procured, and no Spanish cruisers were supposed to be at sea, Mr. Gillespie offered such inducements to the captain that he consented to take them as passengers, and gave up his cabin for their accommodation.
In less than sixty hours they sailed, with a light but favorable wind. About 4 P. M. the second day, when they were nearly through the Mona passage, it fell calm. Within the passage, from shore to shore, there was not a ripple upon the water, and the light and buoyant little vessel, without advancing a foot, rose and fell with the mysterious undulation. A few miles ahead, without the passage, stretching from the east toward the west, the dark and ruffled surface was relieved by the white caps of the waves, whose tops were curling and breaking into sparkling foam. It was the trade wind sweeping, unobstructed by the land, toward the Great Bahama Bank. Several vessels were in sight, among them a large one, coming down before the wind, but which, less than any, excited their attention—for she seemed too burthensome for a Spanish trader to the colonies.
“Captain,” said Talbot, half an hour after, “unless I am very much mistaken, that large stranger to windward is a man-of-war.”
“Probably an Englishman.” replied the captain.
“Scarcely, the canvas is not sufficiently dark, and the upper sails roach too much; it is evidently a frigate, and now I think of it, can hardly be a Frenchman, for they rarely cruise in this direction. Are you sure that there are no Spanish cruisers among the islands?”
“None so large as this,” answered the captain, “for the Isabella went to leeward upward of a month ago.”
“May it not have been a ruse?” asked Talbot.
“Give me the glass,” said the captain, and he looked long and earnestly; “I cannot make her out,” he said at length, “but do not like her looks. Get out the sweeps, Mr. Long,” he added, addressing his lieutenant, “we must have the Humming-bird out of this mill-pond, or her wings will be useless.”
The order was promptly obeyed, and the little vessel was soon moving at the rate of three or four knots through the water; but the larger vessel was in the mean time coming down at treble velocity. As soon as the schooner began to feel the influence of the wind, the sweeps were laid in, and all sail made to the northward, in the hope that the stranger would pass without observing them. In this, however, they were disappointed, for, as the latter was brought to bear abeam, they observed with anxiety, that she edged away toward them.
“I fear that we have been deceived in our intelligence,” said the captain, in reply to a look from Talbot, as they noticed the suspicious movement of the stranger.
“For Heaven’s sake, conceal your misgivings from Mr. Gillespie and his family while there is a hope,” asked Talbot; to which the captain nodded assent, and proceeded quietly to make his arrangements to elude, if possible, the grasp of his pursuer; for he now felt convinced that he saw the Isabella. The best sailing of the schooner was by the wind; instead, therefore, of keeping away before it, she was hauled close to it, and steered N. N. E. bringing the frigate to bear forward of the weather beam.
[To be continued.