The “Antelope” Packet was commanded by Captain Kempthorne, a member of an old Cornish family which for many generations gave the navy some of its best officers. Captain Kempthorne, by some accident which he regretted during the short remainder of his life, had remained at home, and given over the command of his ship to Mr. Edward Curtis, the master, an officer of courage and discretion.
Under the charge of her acting commander, the “Antelope” was off Cumberland Harbour, in Jamaica, homeward bound, when she fell in with two schooners which at once gave chase. This was on the 1st December. Mr. Curtis put the ship to her best point of sailing, and she behaved so well that throughout the day the Cornishmen felt no doubt of being able to shake off their enemies. On the following morning one of the schooners was out of sight, but the other held on, and about four P.M. opened fire with her bow chasers. The “Antelope” replied smartly with all the guns she could bring to bear; and the Privateer, finding there was to be no bloodless victory, dropped astern, with the evident design of waiting for daylight before she commenced the action. Fearing a surprise, Mr. Curtis kept his men at their quarters throughout the night. The hours of waiting must have been trying to the nerve of the Falmouth men; but all was quiet until five A.M. At that hour the Privateer (her name was the “Atalanta”) suddenly ran down, aided by her sweeps, for the wind had dropped, and, laying herself alongside the “Antelope” to starboard, she poured in a broadside, which was promptly returned, and immediately a furious discharge of cannon and small arms set in on both sides. Under cover of the smoke the “Atalanta” cast out grappling irons and locked herself to the Packet, and at the same moment, by a shrill signal, her boarders were called to their stations.
Mr. Curtis was perfectly alive to the danger of his position. Some of his hands having been disabled by fever, he had but twenty-two men fit for service, counting the surgeon as a combatant; and a single glance was sufficient to show that the French were in much greater numbers. There was no chance of avoiding the assault, now that the grappling irons were securely fixed: yet, if the Privateersmen made good their footing on the deck of the Packet, the Cornishmen were tolerably certain to be overwhelmed by numbers.
At the moment when Mr. Curtis was watching the boarders congregating on the quarter, it was reported to him that a second party was forming at the bow. The Packetsmen were all too few to resist a single attack, and the design of the enemy clearly was to keep the whole force occupied at the stern, while a second party clambered over the bow nettings unresisted, and took the Cornishmen in the rear. Mr. Curtis hurried forward. There was not an instant to lose. The boarders were already mounting the bulwarks of their own ship. Some fifteen in number, they crowded together in a dense body, and in another instant would have leapt at the “Antelope,” when Mr. Curtis brought his two bow guns to bear upon them, double-shotted with round and grape. At that short range the discharge of these guns created terrible havoc, and killed or disabled the whole of the opposing party.
One peril had been successfully overcome, and the pressing danger was now on the starboard quarter, against which the attack had been delivered before Mr. Curtis could regain his quarter-deck. There was no gun which could be brought to bear, and the boarders consequently met with no obstacle in climbing up the side. Here, however, in the breezy language of the boatswain, John Pasco, “they were deceived by our boarding nettings and handspikes,” and after a desperate scuffle half of them were shot or thrust into the sea, while the remainder were glad enough to regain their own ship.
So far, fortune had favoured the Cornishmen; but success had been bought at a heavy price. Mr. Curtis lay dead on the deck—shot while encouraging his men without regard for his personal danger. The steward and a passenger were also killed; while the mate was so severely wounded as to be incapable of taking command of the ship, or indeed of giving any orders at all. The command thus devolved upon Pasco, the boatswain, an illiterate fellow, who could not write his name, but who in this emergency displayed the qualities of a brave sailor, and a born leader of men. He assumed the responsibility thus suddenly thrust on him without hesitation, and gave orders for a continuous fire of musketry to be maintained upon anything which showed itself on the French vessel’s decks. The “Antelope” was considerably higher than her antagonist, and the Cornish marksmen were thus under cover, while the decks of the “Atalanta” were swept by their bullets. At the same time a sharp cannonade was maintained, and by an unfortunate shot one of the “Antelope’s” guns was dismounted, whereupon Henry Bond, a seaman, believed to be one of the strongest men in England, coolly took up the gun in his arms, remounted it under a heavy fire, and returned to his post unharmed.
The effect of the musketry fire maintained by the Cornishmen was now beginning to show. The French were growing restless under it; and their officers, seeing that they were losing heavily, ordered the boarders forward once more. Pasco and his little crew were ready for them when they came, pleased to return to the occupation of “deceiving” the French with a handspike; and the end of it was that the boarders were driven back with great loss, but once more at a heavy cost, for three of the brave Packetsmen were disabled in the fight.
By this time the spirit of the French was daunted. They had lost all hope of capturing the “Antelope,” and, casting loose the grapplings, endeavoured to sheer off. Now was the time for Pasco to bear in mind the new official maxim, that commanders of Packets were not expected to resist an enemy of equal force. He had suffered heavy losses, he had but a handful of men fit for service, he had earned distinction by his brave defence, and if he let the French vessel go, he had nothing but credit to expect. But the man’s blood was up, and he meant to carry the affair through. The moment he saw the vessels separating, he sprang into the rigging, ran up aloft, and lashed the “Atalanta’s” squaresail yard to the “Antelope’s” fore shrouds.
“Thereupon,” to quote his own words once more, “we found the fire slacken, which greatly encouraged us. We kept up a constant fire for half an hour more, when we had the pleasure of hearing them cry for mercy. But to all appearance they deserved none, nor expected any, as some of them jumped overboard and drowned themselves, for their bloody flag was nailed to the masthead. They were ordered to tear it down, and we took possession, which it was lucky was so soon; for our mainsail, nettings, quarter cloths, and hammocks were on fire, which in the midst of the fire and smoke was not seen. To save the ship we were obliged to cut all away.”
Thus ended this gallant action. When Pasco and his men had leisure to examine their prize, they found that out of her crew of sixty-five men only sixteen remained unhurt, while no less than thirty-two lay dead upon the deck. Of the “Antelope’s” crew only two were slain, namely, Mr. Curtis and the steward; though Mr. Walpole, the surgeon, afterwards died, exhausted, as would appear, by the fatigue of attending on so many wounded men.