Meanwhile, will it be believed, the fort opened fire on their own brig.
Tom caused every light at once to be extinguished. Then sail was set, and though the brig was struck over and over with round shot, again they managed to cut her out. As she got fairly under way, our fellows returned a cheer of defiance to the fort, and just one gun was fired by way of farewell.
The capture had not been without mishap. Two of our men were killed outright, and about ten, including Murray, were wounded.
At first it was thought the sprightly young officer was dead, but soon after being carried on board his own ship, he opened his eyes, stared wildly around him for a few moments, then sank again into insensibility. He had been merely stunned.
This made the third time Murray had come to grief in action.
“It was always the same,” he said, “even when I was a little fellow; I never could fight without getting a bad black eye. Just my luck.”
The brig was manned by a prize crew, half the Froggies, as our Jacks carelessly called them, being taken on board the man-o’-war. These were started for England a day or two afterwards, in a gun-brig of ours which was fallen in with homeward bound.
The Ferdinand was sent home, a midshipman being in charge as captain, and a happy lad was he. But long before he reached England this same gun-brig was recaptured by the French, and this same middy, prize crew and all, made prisoners. He was not so happy then! only this is the fortune of war.
Jack Mackenzie used to boast that the Tonneraire carried the smartest lot of midshipmen that the service could boast of. They were indeed a fine lot, not midshipmites but midshipmen; for some indeed had been, for acts of valour, promoted from gunners or boatswains.
It needed all their strength and courage to fight the battle I shall now briefly describe.