Captain Hawkins came on board, sealed up the books, and sent them to the captain of the Acasta, who redirected them to me, on His Majesty’s service, and returned them by the same boat. The public may therefore thank the captain of the Acasta for the memoirs which they are now reading.
From my messmates I gained the following intelligence of what had passed after I had quitted the brig. The fire of the praam had cut them up severely, and Captain Hawkins had been struck in the arm with a piece of the hammock rail, which had been shot away shortly after I left. Although the skin only was razed, he thought proper to consider himself badly wounded; and giving up the command to Mr Webster, the second lieutenant, had retreated below, where he remained until the action was over. When Mr Webster reported the return of the boats, with the capture of the gun-boat, and my supposed death, he was delighted, that he quite forgot his wound, and ran on deck, rubbing his hands as he walked up and down. At last he recollected himself, went down into his cabin, and came up again with his arm in a sling.
During the short time that we remained in port, I took care that Riga balsam should not be allowed to come alongside, and the men were all sober. We received orders from the captain of the Acasta to join the admiral, who was off the Texel, in pursuance of directions he had received from the Admiralty to despatch one of the squadron, and we were selected from the dislike which he had taken to Captain Hawkins.
Chapter Sixty.
An old friend in a new case—Heart of oak in Swedish fir—A man’s a man, all the world over, and something more in many parts of it—Peter gets reprimanded for being dilatory, but proves a title to a defence-allowed.
When we were about forty miles off the harbour, a frigate hove in sight. We made the private signal: she hoisted Swedish colours, and kept away a couple of points to close with us.
We were within two miles of her when she up courses and took in her topgallant sails. As we closed to within two cable’s lengths, she hove-to. We did the same; and the captain desired me to lower down the boat, and board her, ask her name, by whom she was commanded, and offer any assistance if the captain required it. This was the usual custom of the service, and I went on board in obedience to my orders. When I arrived on the quarter-deck, I asked in French, whether there were any one who spoke it. The first lieutenant came forward, and took off his hat: I stated, that I was requested to ask the name of the vessel and the commanding officer, to insert it in our log, and to offer any services that we could command. He replied, that the captain was on deck, and turned round, but the captain had gone down below. “I will inform him of your message—I had no idea that he had quitted the deck;” and the first lieutenant left me. I exchanged a few compliments, and a little news with the officers on deck, who appeared to be very gentlemanlike fellows, when the first lieutenant requested my presence in the cabin. I descended—the door was opened—I was announced by the first lieutenant, and he quitted the cabin. I looked at the captain, who was sitting at the table: he was a fine, stout man, with two or three ribands at his button-hole, and a large pair of mustachios. I thought that I had seen him before, but I could not recollect when: his face was certainly familiar to me, but, as I had been informed by the officers on deck, that the captain was a Count Shucksen, a person I had never heard of, I thought that I must be mistaken. I therefore addressed him in French, paying him a long compliment, with all the necessary et ceteras.
The captain turned round to me, took his hand away from his forehead, which it had shaded, and looking me full in the face, replied, “Mr Simple, I don’t understand but very little French. Spin your yarn in plain English.”