We made all sail in chase, blazing away to little purpose; we had no chance on a bowline, and when our ‘Amigo’ had satisfied himself of his superiority by one or two short tacks, he deliberately took a reef in his mainsail, hauled down his flying jib and gaff-topsail, triced up the bunt of his foresail, and fired his long thirty-two at us. The shot came in our third aftermost port on the starboard side, and dismounted the carronade, smashing the slide and wounding three men. The second missed, and as it was madness to remain to be peppered, probably winged, whilst every one of ours fell short, we reluctantly kept away on our course, having the gratification of hearing a clear well blown bugle on board the schooner play up “Yankee Doodle.” As the brig fell off, our long gun was run out to have a parting crack at her, when the third and last shot from the schooner struck the sill of the midship port, and made the white splinters fly from the solid oak like bright silver sparks in the moonlight. A sharp, piercing cry rose in the air—my soul identified that death-shriek with the voice that I had heard, and I saw the man who was standing with the lanyard of the lock in his hand drop heavily across the breech, and discharge the gun in his fall. Thereupon a blood-red glare shot up in the cold blue sky, as if a volcano had burst forth from beneath the mighty deep, followed by a roar, and a scattering crash, and a mingling of unearthly cries and groans, and a concussion of the air and the water as if our whole broadside had been fired at once.—Then a solitary splash here, and a dip there, and short sharp yells, and low choking bubbling moans, as the hissing fragments of the noble vessel we had seen, fell into the sea, and the last of her gallant crew vanished forever beneath that pale broad moon. We were alone; and once more all was dark, wild and stormy. Fearfully had that ball sped fired by a dead man’s hand. But what is it that clings, black and doubled, across the fatal cannon, dripping and heavy, and choking the scuppers with clotting gore, and swaying to and fro with the motion of the vessel, like a bloody fleece? “Who is it that was hit at the gun there?” “Mr. Nipper, the boatswain, sir, the last shot has cut him in two.”
LOSS OF THE NAUTILUS, SLOOP OF WAR,
ON A ROCK IN THE ARCHIPELAGO.
A misunderstanding having originated between the Court of Great Britain, and the Ottoman Porte, a powerful squadron was ordered to proceed to Constantinople, for the purpose of enforcing compliance with rational propositions. The object, however, proved abortive; and the expedition terminated in a way which did not enhance the reputation of these islands in the eyes of the Turks.
Sir Thomas Louis, commander of the squadron sent to the Dardanelles, having charged Captain Palmer with dispatches of the utmost importance for England, the Nautilus got under weigh at daylight on the third of January 1807. A fresh breeze from N. E. carried her rapidly out of the Hellespont, passing the celebrated castles in the Dardanelles, which so severely galled the British. Soon afterwards she passed the island of Tenedos, off the north end of which, two vessels of war were seen at anchor; they hoisted Turkish colours, and in return the Nautilus showed those of Britain.—In the course of this day, many of the other islands abounding in the Greek Archipelago came in sight, and in the evening the ship approached the island of Negropont, lying in 38 30 north latitude, and 24 8 east longitude; but now the navigation became more intricate, from the increasing number of islands, and from the narrow entrance between Negropont and the island of Andros.
The wind still continued to blow fresh, and as night was approaching, with the appearance of being dark and squally, the pilot, who was a Greek, wished to lie to until morning, which was done accordingly; and at daylight the vessel again proceeded. His course was shaped for the island of Falconera, in a track which has been so elegantly described by Falconer, in a poem as far surpassing the uncouth productions of modern times, as the Ionian temples surpassed those flimsy structures contributing to render the fame of the originals eternal. This island, and that of Anti Milo, were made in the evening, the latter distant fourteen or sixteen miles from the more extensive island of Milo, which could not then be seen, from the thickness and haziness of the weather.
The pilot never having been beyond the present position of the Nautilus, and declaring his ignorance of the further bearings, now relinquished his charge, which was resumed by the captain. All possible attention was paid to the navigation, and Captain Palmer, after seeing Falconera so plainly, and anxious to fulfil his mission with the greatest expedition, resolved to stand on during the night. He was confident of clearing the Archipelago by morning, and himself pricked the course from the chart which was to be steered by the vessel. This he pointed out to his coxswain, George Smith, of whose ability he entertained a high opinion. Then he ordered his bed to be prepared, not having had his clothes off for the three preceding nights, and having scarce had any sleep from the time of leaving the Dardanelles.
A night of extreme darkness followed, with vivid lightning constantly flashing in the horizon; but this circumstance served to inspire the captain with a greater degree of confidence; for being enabled by it to see so much further at intervals, he thought, that should the ship approach any land, the danger would be discovered in sufficient time to be avoided.