We were now hove-to upon the starboard tack, with our head to the southward; the English frigate had passed us, and was by this time some two miles to leeward, on our port quarter, the Frenchman still leading, though he had lost ground considerably, and he seemed yet to be in the thick of his trouble with the wreck of his spars. The bow and stern-chasers of the two ships were still playing merrily away, but without any very marked result, as far as we could see; and shortly afterwards we lost sight of both ships in the thick weather to leeward, and saw no more of them.
We were not long in getting our larboard mizzen shrouds knotted and set up afresh; and as soon as this was done we watched our chance and wore round once more, with our head to the northward—I remaining on deck to watch the operation—after which I was glad to get into my hammock and seek relief to my wounded fin.
Chapter Twenty Three.
The French Frigate.
The gale lasted through the night and all next day, moderating about sun-down, however, sufficiently to allow of our setting our fore and main-lugs close-reefed, and keeping away upon our course. The wind continued to drop after that all through the night, the sea also going down rapidly; and next day we were able to shift our canvas, setting the lateens in place of the lugs; after which we bowled gaily along without further adventure, passing Ushant on the evening of the fourth day after the gale had blown itself out, and arriving at Spithead somewhat within the next forty-eight hours.
The anchor let go, Smellie and I jumped into the gig, and, taking the despatch-box with us, pulled ashore, landing at the Sally-port. From thence we proceeded, first to the admiral’s office, and afterwards to the “George” in High Street, where I ordered a post-chaise; and then the pair of us sat down to a hastily-prepared dinner while the carriage was in process of fitting-out.
In consequence of my representations to the admiral, he had ordered the “Vigilant” into harbour immediately, to refit and make good the slight damage inflicted on us during the gale in the Bay of Biscay, and, when the post-chaise was announced, Smellie only remained long enough to see me fairly under way, when he returned on board to take the little hooker into harbour, and superintend the operation of refitting.
It was not quite six p.m. when we shoved off from before the door of the “George,” and dashed away up the High Street, and soon afterwards the chaise was bowling along at a spanking pace over the dry, white, dusty road in the open country—the landscape flooded in the lovely golden haze of a fine summer evening, and the air heavy with the perfume of flowers and the sweet, health-giving smell of rich pasture-lands, long chestnut-avenues, and thick pine plantations. The mingled odours of the country—so different from the strong smell of the sea-breeze—the sight of the slanting sunbeams glancing through the boles and branches of the venerable trees dotted here and there in clumps along the roadside; of the verdant hedges with their rich clusters of delicate dog-roses and trailing honeysuckle or wild convolvulus; of the groups of sleek cattle feeding in the fields, contemplatively chewing the cud under the shade of some over-hanging tree, or browsing along the roadside; of the knots of rosy, sun-tanned children playing about the village-roads or on the green, and turning to stand open-mouthed and stare at the chaise as we dashed past; of the pretty cottages nestling in a bower of greenery, each with its tiny flower-garden in front, and a thin wreath of blue smoke curling up from its chimney into the still evening air; of the picturesque villages, with their ancient church-spires pointing heavenward; and of the stately country-seats of the gentry, surrounded by noble trees, the growth of centuries, the deer clustered beneath their umbrageous branches, with their spacious flower-terraces and long avenues of limes, arching chestnuts, or venerable oaks, reaching from the house to the distant road, and terminating in snug little ivy-covered lodges and heavy ornamental iron gates with massive stone piers, moss-grown, and surmounted by time-worn and weather-stained stone sculptures of the arms of the family; the drowsy chime of the church-clocks; the barking of dogs; the lowing of cattle; the voices of herdsmen or field-labourers singing as they wended their weary way homeward after the labour and heat of the day—the sound softened and mellowed by distance; all combined to render that journey one of the most pleasant and enjoyable I had ever undertaken, notwithstanding the pain and discomfort which I experienced from my wounded arm.