We had but one adventure, if indeed it could be called such, on our passage across the Atlantic, and that occurred on our eighth day out from Sierra Leone. Up to then we had sighted nothing, and had had a very fine passage, the trade wind blowing fresh enough all the time to enable us to maintain an average speed of nine knots throughout the passage. But on the day of which I am now speaking, about six bells in the afternoon watch, we sighted a large sail ahead, and, some ten minutes later, another, following in the wake of the first. Both were, of course, hull-down when we first sighted them, and broad on our port bow, standing to the northward close-hauled on the starboard tack, but as they were carrying on heavily, and we were travelling fast, we rapidly rose each other, and it then became evident that the second craft, a very fine and handsome brig, was in pursuit of the other, which was a full-rigged ship, apparently a British West Indiaman. This surmise of ours as to the nationality of the leading ship was soon confirmed, for as we rushed rapidly down toward the two we hoisted our colours, in response to which she immediately displayed the British ensign, following it up by hoisting a series of signals to her mizzen royal-mast-head which, when completed, read:
“Stranger astern suspected pirate.”
Here was a pretty business indeed, and a very nice question for me to decide on the spur of the moment. What was my duty, under the circumstances? On the one hand, here was a British merchantman, doubtless carrying a very valuable cargo, in imminent danger of being captured and plundered, and, possibly, her crew massacred, for the brig was overhauling the Indiaman hand over hand; while on the other were the explicit and emphatic instructions of the commodore to pause for nothing. It was certain that unless I interfered the Indiaman would be captured, and every instinct within me rose up in protest against the idea of leaving her to her fate, while the words of the commodore were: “If you should happen to be attacked, fight, but not otherwise”. I reflected for a moment or two, and then decided upon my course of action. If we went on as we were going we should pass very close to the Indiaman, but if we shifted our helm about a point to the southward we should pass quite close to the brig. I therefore determined to make that very slight deviation from my course, and see what would happen. I could not hope to divert the brig from her chase of so valuable a prize as the ship, but it was just possible that I might, by opening fire on the pursuer, be lucky enough to bring down a spar or otherwise damage her sufficiently to afford the Indiaman a chance to escape. I therefore ordered the helm to be shifted, and gave instructions for the crew to go to quarters, to double-shot the broadside batteries and to open fire on the brig with our long eighteen the moment that we should come within range. That moment was not long deferred, and presently Thompson, the gunner, shouted:
“I think we can about reach him now, sir.”
“Then fire as soon as you are ready,” replied I. “And aim at his spars. It is far more important to shoot away a topmast than to hull the fellow.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” answered Thompson, and I saw him stoop behind the gun, directing the gun’s crew with his hands as he squinted along the sights of the weapon. Another second or two, as the schooner rose over the back of a swell, he fired. The aim was a splendid one, but the elevation was scarcely sufficient, for the shot struck the craft’s weather bulwarks fair between the masts, making the splinters fly.
“Excellent!” I exclaimed. “Admirable! Don’t alter your elevation, Thompson, for we are nearing him fast. Try again, as quick as you like.”
The gun was reloaded, and again fired; but this time, whether due to over-eagerness or some other cause, the gunner made a bad shot, the ball striking the water astern of, and some distance beyond, the brig. Then, while the men were reloading, nine jets of flame and smoke leapt simultaneously from the brig’s side, and nine round shot tore up the water unpleasantly close under our bows.
“How would it do to train the guns of the port broadside forward, and return his compliment?” asked Keene, who was standing close beside me.
“No, Jack, on no account,” said I. “I am saving up those two broadsides for a possible emergency, and if we were to fire now there would be no time to reload before we are down upon him. But go you, my hearty, and see that the guns of the starboard broadside are so trained as to concentrate their fire on a point at about fifty yards’ distance.”