The Log of a Privateersman

by Harry Collingwood

The weather had been clearing all day, and when, about six bells that afternoon, we made the high land of Portland, the sky was without a cloud, the atmosphere clear and bright, and the sun was shining as brilliantly as though it had been midsummer, quite taking the keen edge off the frosty air. There was not a vessel in sight in any direction, which was rather a relief to us; for, situated as we were then, it would have been difficult to say whether the sight of a friend or of an enemy would have excited the most uneasiness in our breasts. A friend would almost certainly have been a man-o’-war; and although our papers were nominally a protection of our crew against impressment, we were fully aware that, as a matter of fact, they were nothing of the sort, the captains of our men-o’-war impressing almost as freely from a privateer as from an ordinary merchantman. Now, our men were, so far as we had had an opportunity of proving them, first-rate fellows, with scarcely a single exception, we were therefore most anxious not to lose any of them; and were consequently the reverse of desirous to meet with one of our own ships of war. On the other hand, we were by this time so close in with the English coast that, if we happened to encounter an enemy, it would certainly be a prowling privateer—like ourselves—heavily enough armed and manned to admit of their venturing, without much risk, over to our side of the Channel, on the look-out for homeward-bound British ships. To encounter such a customer as this would mean plenty of hard knocks, without very much profit, and with just the chance of losing one or the other of our prizes. We were, therefore, heartily thankful to find a clear horizon all round us when the fog cleared away. We were destined, however, to have another bout with a Frenchman before long, as will presently appear.

We had made the high land of Portland about half an hour when the sounds of distant firing were faintly borne to our ears; and shortly afterwards two craft, a cutter and a brig—the latter evidently in chase of the former—hove into view, broad on our weather-bow. The firing was not very heavy, it is true, but it was briskly maintained; and as they came sweeping rapidly down toward us it became apparent that the two craft were exchanging shots from their bow and stern-chasers respectively. The cutter was flying the British ensign, while the brig sported the tricolour; and, the two vessels being dead before the wind, the brig carrying studding-sails on both sides, the Frenchman seemed to be getting rather the best of it, overhauling the cutter slowly but surely. As soon as this was seen, the Dolphin hove-to and put ten more men on board the Belle Jeannette, with orders to me to close with the Indiaman, and to clear for action, both which orders I obeyed without loss of time. And, while doing so, the Dolphin and ourselves hoisted British colours, as a hint to the brig that if she dared to meddle with us we were quite ready for her. The cutter and the brig happened to be steering a course that would bring them close aboard of our little squadron, and when the Frenchman saw the colour of our bunting he began at once to shorten sail by taking in his studding-sails, preparatory, as we supposed, to hauling his wind out of so perilous a neighbourhood.

But in supposing thus we were mistaken; the fellow evidently at once hit off our respective characters to a T; he saw that the lugger—under jury-masts and bearing other unmistakable signs of having been very recently in action—was a prize; no doubt judged the Indiaman to be a recapture; and—perhaps believing that, with these two prizes, the schooner would be very short-handed—quickly made up his mind that either of the three would be more valuable than the cutter to him. At all events he shortened sail in a most determined and workmanlike manner, threw open all his ports, and, slightly shifting his helm, made as though he would slip in between the Dolphin and the Indiaman. Captain Winter, however, would not have it so; as the Frenchman luffed, the Dolphin edged away, until both vessels were heading well in for the West Bay, athwart the Indiaman’s hawse, and running upon lines so rapidly converging that, within ten minutes of the declaration of the Frenchman’s intentions, the brig and the schooner were within biscuit-toss of each other. The brig mounted six guns of a side against the Dolphin’s five; but this disparity was altogether too trifling a matter for our skipper to take any notice of, and accordingly, when the two vessels had neared each other to within about twenty fathoms, the Frenchmen showing signs of an intention to run the schooner on board, Captain Winter poured in his starboard broadside, and at the same time edged away just sufficiently to keep a few fathoms of water between himself and the brig. The broadside was promptly returned, and in another minute the two vessels were at it, hammer and tongs, yard-arm to yard-arm, and running almost dead away before the wind.

Meanwhile, having sent a hand aloft to take a look round, and having thus ascertained that there was nothing else in sight to interfere with us, I came to the conclusion that the Indiaman might very well take care of herself for half an hour or so; and, accordingly, we in the lugger at once bore up to support the schooner. Up to the time of encountering the Frenchman we had been sailing about a quarter of a mile to leeward of the Indiaman, while the Dolphin had been jogging along about the same distance to windward of the big ship; our positions, therefore, were such that we in the lugger had only to put up our helm a couple of spokes or so to enable us to converge upon the two combatants, which we did. By the time of our arrival upon the scene the fight was raging so hotly, and both craft were so completely enveloped in smoke that neither party was aware of our presence; I therefore steered so as to just shave clear of the Dolphin’s stern; and, having done so, our men deliberately fired each of the four long sixes in our larboard broadside slap into the stern of the brig, raking her fore-and-aft. Then, passing out clear of her, we tacked the instant that we had room, and, passing close under her stern again, gave her in like fashion the contents of our starboard broadside. This time the Frenchmen were ready for us, and returned our fire with their two stern-chasers, both shot passing through our mainsail without doing any further damage. Again we tacked; and this time I gave orders to put in a charge of grape on top of each round shot, which we rattled into the stern of the Frenchman at a distance of not more than three or four fathoms. Our shot must have wrought terrible execution; for after each discharge we could hear the shrieks and groans of the wounded even through the crash of the two other vessels’ broadsides. This time they only gave us one gun in exchange for our four, the shot passing in through our port bulwarks and out through the starboard, killing a man on its way. Our shot, however, had killed the brig’s helmsman, and almost immediately afterwards the vessel broached-to, her foremast going over the bows as she did so. This was enough for them; they received another broadside from the Dolphin, and then, just as we were in stays, preparatory to passing athwart their stern and raking them again, a man ran aft and hauled down their flag, at the same time crying out that they surrendered.

The firing on both sides at once ceased, the smoke drifted away to leeward, and we were able to see around us once more, as well as to note the condition of the combatants after our brief but spirited engagement. The cutter had seized the opportunity to make good her escape, and was now more than two miles to leeward, running before the wind to the westward on her original course. The brig—which proved to be the Étoile du Nord, of Dunkirk—had, as already stated, lost her foremast, her bulwarks were riddled with shot-holes, and her rigging badly cut up. The Dolphin also had suffered severely from the fire of her antagonist, her starboard bulwarks being almost destroyed, her rigging showing a good many loose ropes’-ends floating in the wind, and her main-boom so severely wounded that it parted in two when her helm was put down to bring her to the wind and heave her to. As for us, the damage that we had received from the brig’s fire was so trifling as to be not worth mentioning.

I knew, of course, that after so determined a fight the services of our surgeon would be in urgent request on board both the principal combatants; so, as he was aboard the lugger, I ran down close under the Dolphin’s lee and, having hove-to, lowered a boat and put the medico on board the schooner, going with him myself to see whether I could be of any service. The deck of the schooner bore eloquent testimony to the sharpness of the recent conflict, several dead and wounded men lying about the guns in little pools of blood, while the torn and splintered woodwork that met one’s view on every side was grimly suggestive of the pandemonium that had raged there a few minutes previously. Captain Winter was one of the wounded, a splinter having torn a large piece of skin from his forehead, laying bare the skull over his right eye; but the gallant old fellow had replaced the skin as well as he could, lashed up the wound with his silk neckerchief, using his pocket handkerchief under it as a pad, and was attending to his duty as coolly as though he had escaped untouched. He instructed me to go on board the brig with ten men, to take possession, leaving the carpenter in charge of the lugger, and at the same time signalled the Indiaman—which had hove-to some two miles to windward—to close.

The new prize was, as may be supposed, terribly knocked about; out of a crew of eighty-six men and boys she had no less than nineteen killed—the captain among them—and forty-three wounded; while, in addition to the damage which had been noticeable before going on board her, I found that two of her guns had been dismounted, most probably by the lugger’s raking broadsides. Fortunately, her hull was quite uninjured, the whole of the damage done being to the upper works. Our first task was to clear away the wreck of the foremast, the skipper hailing me soon after I had boarded to say that he intended the Indiaman to take us in tow. The wreck was soon cut away, and just as it was falling dark we got our tow-line aboard the Indiaman, and proceeded, the uninjured Frenchmen having meanwhile requested permission to attend to their wounded fellow-prisoners and make them comfortable below.

More or less disabled as we all were, with the exception of the Indiaman, it took us until past midnight to reach Weymouth roadstead, where we anchored for the night, without communicating with the shore; no one in the town, therefore, was aware of our quick return to port, and our brilliant success, until the following morning; and as for Mr Peter White, our owner, the first intimation that he had of the affair was while he was dressing; when his servant knocked at his door to say that Captain Winter had returned with three prizes, and was waiting below to see him. The old gentleman, I was afterwards told, was so excited at the good news that he would not wait to dress, but descended to the parlour, where the skipper awaited him, in his dressing-gown. The old boy was almost overwhelmed at the news of his good fortune; insisted that Captain Winter should stay to breakfast with him; and afterwards, despite the cold weather, came off to the roadstead and visited each of the prizes in turn. It was as well, perhaps, that he did so, as there was a considerable amount of business to be transacted in connection with the recapture of the Hoogly, the captain of which was anxious to resume his voyage up channel as soon as possible. This important matter was arranged by noon; and about two o’clock, the wind having hauled round from the southward, the Indiaman weighed and proceeded, the passengers on board having meanwhile subscribed a purse of two hundred and thirty guineas for the officers and crew of the Dolphin, in recognition of what they were complimentary enough to term our “gallantry” in the recapture of the ship. This nice little sum was, however, only the first instalment of what was to come; there was the salvage of the ship to follow: and over and above that I may mention that the underwriters voted a sum of five hundred guineas to us; while the Patriotic Fund Committee awarded the skipper a sword of the value of one hundred guineas, and to me a sword of half that value, for our fight with and capture of the two privateers, poor Lovell being left out in the cold in consequence of his having been prize-master of the Hoogly, and having therefore taken no part in either of the engagements. He got his reward, however, in another way; for the Étoile du Nord turned out to be such a very fine vessel, quite new and wonderfully fast, that Mr White purchased her on his own account, rechristening her the North Star, and put Lovell in command. He was fairly successful in her, I afterwards heard, but not nearly to such an extent as he ought to have been with so fine a vessel under him. He declared that luck was always against him. As for me, Mr White was so pleased with the report of my conduct which Captain Winter had given him that, as soon as ever the purchase of the Étoile du Nord had been effected, and Lovell provided for, he offered me the berth of chief mate of the Dolphin, which berth I promptly and thankfully accepted. As for the Belle Jeannette, she, too, was sold, fetching a very good price, and before we left port again we had divided our prize-money, my share of which amounted to the very respectable sum of two thousand six hundred and odd pounds.

The Dolphin had received so severe a mauling in her fight with the French privateer brig that, although the utmost despatch was used in repairing and refitting her, it was not until the 24th of December that she was again ready for sea, by which time news had reached us of the declaration of war by Spain against Great Britain. This last circumstance, of course, threw all hands of us into a fever of impatience to get to sea again, in order that we might have an early opportunity of picking up a rich Spanish prize; but when Christmas-eve arrived, finding us still in harbour, our owner was generous enough to say that we might, if we pleased, defer our sailing until the day after Christmas-day, in order that the crew might have the opportunity to spend Christmas at home, which opportunity we thankfully made the most of. But all hands were on board by noon of the 26th, when we cast off and stood out of the harbour once more before a fresh south-westerly breeze, the day being, for a wonder—with the wind in a wet quarter—brilliantly fine, and as mild as a day in early autumn; a circumstance which most of our lads were willing to accept as the omen of a prosperous cruise.

Captain Winter’s object was to reach the French coast as soon as possible, and then to work along it to the westward, right round to the Spanish coast, and thence as far as Gibraltar, and perhaps into the Mediterranean, hoping that somewhere on the way we might pick up something worth having, or at least obtain information relating to a homeward or outward-bound convoy; upon clearing Portland, therefore, we stood across the Channel, on a taut bowline, on the starboard tack, making Cape de la Hague, well on our lee bow, next morning at daybreak. We then shortened sail to our fore-and-aft canvas only, and, taking in our gaff-topsail, held on as we were going, with the French coast close aboard, to leeward, until we reached Granville, when, having seen nothing worthy of our attention, we tacked to the westward, and eventually found ourselves off Cape Frehel, the easternmost extremity of Saint Brieuc Bay. This was our third day out; we had seen nothing, and the men, who appeared to think, from our past experience, that we ought to take at least one prize every day, were beginning to grumble at our ill-luck. Great, therefore, was their enthusiasm when, on the following day,—the breeze being fresh at about north-north-west, and the time about five bells in the forenoon watch,—a large ship was seen to emerge from behind Chien Point, then about eight miles distant, a couple of points on our lee bow. She was coming along under larboard studding-sails. It was my watch on deck, and upon the ship being reported to me I took the glass, and at once went up to the fore-cross-trees to get a better look at her. So far as I could make out she was full-rigged; she floated very deep in the water; and the exceeding whiteness of her sails caused me to suspect that she was homeward-bound from a long voyage. She had somewhat the look of a Dutchman, to my eye, and if so she would probably afford very respectable pickings to a crew of hard-working privateersmen like ourselves. When first seen she was steering a course that would lead her about mid-way between the islands of Jersey and Guernsey; but before I returned to the deck it seemed to me that she had hauled up a point or two, and had braced her yards correspondingly further forward. Our game, of course, was to get between her and the land, if possible, before declaring ourselves, so that, if she happened to be what I suspected, she might be prevented from running in and taking shelter under the guns of one of the numerous batteries which the French had thrown up all along the coast, to cut her out from which might involve us in a heavy loss of men. I therefore gave no order to make sail, or to alter our course, but at once went down below to the skipper, who was lying down, his wounded head still troubling him a good deal, and reported the stranger to him. He immediately followed me on deck at the news, and took a good long look at the ship through the telescope; and while he was doing so she took in her studding-sails and hauled her wind.