We both followed; but before we were on deck, three or four more shots passed between the masts. “If you please, sir,” said the master’s mate in charge of the deck, whose name was O’Farrel, “the battery has opened upon us.”
“Thank you very much for your information, Mr O’Farrel,” replied O’Brien; “but the French have reported it before you. May I ask if you’ve any particular fancy to be made a target of, or if you think that His Majesty’s brig Rattlesnake was sent here to be riddled for nothing at all? Starboard the helm, quarter-master.”
The helm was put up, and the brig was soon run out of the fire; not, however, until a few more shot were pitched close to us; and one carried away the fore-topmast backstay.
“No, Mr O’Farrel,” replied O’Brien, “I only wish to point out to you, that I trust neither I nor any one in this ship cares a fig about the whizzing of a shot or two about our ears, when there is anything to be gained for it, either for ourselves or for our country; but I do care a great deal about losing even the leg, or the arm, much more the life of any of my men, when there’s no occasion for it; so in future, recollect it’s no disgrace to keep out of the way of a battery, when all the advantage is on their side I’ve always observed that chance shots pick out the best men. Lower down the mainsail and send the sailmaker aft to repair it.”
When O’Brien returned to the cabin, I remained on deck, for it was my afternoon watch; and although O’Farrel had permission to look out for me, I did not choose to go down again. The bay of Fort Royal was now opened, and the view was extremely beautiful. Swinburne was still on the carronade, and as I knew he had been there before, I applied to him for information as to the locale. He told me the names of the batteries above the town, pointed out Fort Edward, and Negro Point, and particularly Pigeon Island, the battery at the top of which wore the appearance of a mural crown.
“It’s well I remember that place, Mr Simple,” said he. “It was in ’94 when I was last here. The sodgers had ’sieged it for a whole month, and were about to give it up, ’cause they couldn’t get a gun up on that ’ere hill you sees there. So poor Captain Faulkner says, ‘There’s many a clear head under a tarpaulin hat, and I’ll give any chap five doubloons that will hitch up a twenty-four pounder to the top of that hill.’ Not quite so easy a matter, as you may perceive from here, Mr Simple.”
“It certainly appears to me to have been almost impossible, Swinburne,” replied I.
“And so it did to most of us, Mr Simple; but there was one Dick Smith, mate of a transport, who had come on shore, and he steps out, saying, ‘I’ve been looking at your men handling that gun, and my opinion is, that if you gets a butt, crams in a carronade, well woulded up, and fill it with old junk and rope yarns, you might parbuckle it up to the very top.’ So Captain Faulkner pulls out five doubloons, and gives them to him, saying, ‘You deserve the money for the hint, even if it don’t succeed.’ But it did succeed, Mr Simple; and the next day, to their surprise, we opened fire on the French beggars, and soon brought their boasting down. One of the French officers, after he was taken prisoner, axed me how we had managed to get the gun up there but I wasn’t going to blow the gaff, so I told him as a great secret, that we got it up with a kite; upon which he opened all his eyes, and crying ‘Sacre bleu!’ walked away, believing all I said was true; but a’n’t that a sail we have opened with the point, Mr Simple?”
It was so, and I reported it to O’Brien, who came up, and gave chase. In half-an-hour we were alongside of her, when she hoisted American colours, and proved to be a brigantine laden up to her gunwale, which was not above a foot out of the water. Her cargo consisted of what the Americans called notions; that is, in English, an assorted cargo. Halfway up her masts, down to the deck, were hung up baskets containing apples, potatoes, onions, and nuts of various kinds. Her deck was crowded with cattle, sheep, pigs, and donkeys. Below was full of shingle lumber, and a variety of different articles too numerous to mention. I boarded her, and asked the master whither he was bound.
“Why,” replied he, “I’m bound for a market—nowise particular; and I guess you won’t stop me.”