In a minute the cutters were down and full of men. I took possession of the schooner, while the brig again tacked, and crowding all sail stood after the captured vessels. The schooner, which was the largest of the three, was called the Jean d’Arc, mounting sixteen guns, and had fifty-three men on board, the remainder being away in the prizes. The captain was wounded very badly, and one officer killed. Out of her ship’s company, she had but eight killed and five wounded. They informed me that they had sailed three months ago from St. Pierre’s, Martinique, and had fallen in with the two other privateers, and cruised in company, having taken nine West Indiamen since they had come out.
“Pray,” said I, to the officer who gave the information, “were you ever attacked by boats when you laid at St. Pierre’s?”
He replied, “Yes; and that they had beaten them off.”
“Did you purchase these masts of an American?”
He replied in the affirmative; so that we had captured the very vessel, in attempting to cut out which we had lost so many men.
We were all very glad of this, and Swinburne said, “Well, hang me, if I didn’t think that I had seen that port-hole before; there it was that I wrenched a pike out of one of the rascal’s hands, who tried to stab me, and into that port-hole I fired at least a dozen muskets. Well, I’m damned glad we’ve got hold of the beggar at last.”
We secured the prisoners below, and commenced putting the schooner in order. In half-an-hour, we had completed our knotting and splicing, and having two of the carpenters with us, in an hour we had got up a small jury-mast forward, sufficient for the present. We lowered the mainsail, put try-sails on her, and stood after the brig, which was now close to the prizes: but they separated, and it was not till dark that she had possession of two. The third was then hull down on the other tack, with the brig in chase. We followed the brig, as did the two recaptured vessels, and even with our jury up, we found that we could sail as fast as they. The next morning we saw the brig hove-to and about three miles a-head, with the three vessels in her possession. We closed, and I went on board. Webster was put in charge of the privateer; and, after lying-to for that day to send our prize-masters and men on board to remove the prisoners, we got up a proper jury-mast, and all made sail together for Barbadoes. On my return on board, I found that we had but one man and one boy killed and six wounded, which I was not aware of. I forgot to say that the names of the other two privateers were L’Etoille and La Madeleine.
In a fortnight we arrived with all our prizes safe in Carlisle Bay, where we found the admiral, who had anchored but two days before. I hardly need say that O’Brien was well received, and gained a great deal of credit for the action. I found several letters from my sister, the contents of which gave me much pain. My father had been some months in Ireland, and had returned without gaining any information. My sister said that he was very unhappy, paid no attention to his clerical duties, and would sit for days without speaking. That he was very much altered in his appearance, and had grown thin and care-worn. “In short,” said she, “my dear Peter, I am afraid that he is fretting himself to death. Of course I am very lonely and melancholy. I cannot help reflecting upon what will be my situation if any accident should happen to my father. Accept my uncle’s protection I will not; yet how am I to live, for my father has saved nothing? I have been very busy lately, trying to qualify myself for a governess, and practise the harp and piano for several hours every day. I shall be very very glad when you come home again.” I showed the letters to O’Brien who read them with much attention. I perceived the colour mount into his cheeks, when he read those parts of her letters in which she mentioned his name, and expressed her gratitude for his kindness towards me.
“Never mind, Peter,” said O’Brien, returning me the letters; “to whom is it that I am indebted for my promotion, and this brig, but to you—and for all the prize-money which I have made, and which, by the head of St. Patrick, comes to a very dacant sum, but to you? Make yourself quite easy about your dear little sister. We’ll club your prize-money and mine together, and she shall marry a duke, if there is one in England deserving her; and it’s the French that shall furnish her dowry, as sure as the Rattlesnake carries a tail.”