It soon became evident that this beautiful craft was going nearly two feet to our one, but she was steered so shamefully that she had not materially decreased the distance between us at the end of the first hour; our hopes, therefore, which had sunk to zero with the imminent prospect of a French prison before our eyes, began once more to soar skyward as mile after mile slipped away beneath our flying keel, and every minute increased the probability of our falling in with one of our own cruisers. The skipper was dreadfully put out at being obliged to run away, but though the French frigate was very nearly dead astern she yawed about sufficiently to enable us to count sixteen ports of a side, and even Mr Sennitt—who was accounted the greatest fire-eater on board—was fain to acknowledge that this was just a gun or two too many for us.
By four bells every trace of the fog had cleared away, the sun shone brilliantly in a cloudless sky, the air had a decided feeling of warmth in it, the westerly breeze blew freshly, and the waves curled crisply and broke into foam at their crests under its enlivening influence; altogether it was a thoroughly delightful day, such as is occasionally to be met with toward the end of March—a day when winter and summer have fairly met to fight for the mastery, and summer is getting it all her own way. As time sped on, and still no friendly sail appeared, while the frigate astern drew more and more perceptibly up to us, anxiety once more resumed its sway, and frequent were the admonitions to the lookout aloft to “keep his weather eye lifting.”
At length the Frenchmen decided to try the range of their guns, and opened fire upon us from their lee bow-chaser. The shot flew wide, but it went far enough beyond us to show that we were fairly within range. Another and another followed, and still we were unscathed. An interval of about a quarter of an hour elapsed before they again fired, and when they did the shot was somewhat better aimed, passing through the main and fore-topsails and falling into the sea a considerable distance ahead.
“I think we are now near enough to venture upon a return of the compliment, Mr Sennitt,” said the skipper. “Let Tompion see what he can do with the stern-chaser, in the way of knocking away some of the fellow’s spars. It seems a pity to spoil so pretty a picture, but better that than for us to experience the delights of a French prison.”
Tompion was accordingly summoned and bid do his best to “wing” the Frenchman, a task to which he devoted himself with great gravity and a considerable assumption of importance. The gun, after being carefully loaded, was trained with the most scrupulous nicety, and then Tompion, trigger-line in hand, stood squinting along the sights until a favourable moment arrived, when—there was a concussion; the smoke cleared away, and a shot-hole was seen in the frigate’s foresail, very nearly in a line with the mast.
“Very prettily shot, Tompion,” said the skipper; “try again. A few inches nearer, and you would have buried that shot in his foremast. Wound the spars if you can; the breeze seems inclined to freshen; and if you can gouge a good substantial piece out of some of his lighter spars, the wind will do the rest for us by sending them handsomely over his bows.”
In a few minutes more away sped a second of the worthy Tompion’s messengers; it, too, passed through the foresail, close to the yard, but apparently without doing any further damage. In the meantime the Frenchmen were by no means idle with their guns, and our running-gear began to be somewhat cut up; luckily, however, the damage was of an unimportant character, and such as could be put right in a few minutes, with the aid of a marline-spike and a grease-shoe. The firing now became more rapid on both sides; but though the spars on each side had several narrow escapes, none had, so far, fallen, and the damage done seemed in each case to be but of the most trifling description.
At length Mr Sennitt walked aft and said, “Let me try my hand, Tompion; I used to be considered rather a crack shot on board the old ‘Dido.’”
Tompion, of course, resigned his place to his superior officer, though it was evident from the expression of his phiz that he had no great faith in the first luff’s shooting powers. But our worthy “first” speedily justified his boast; for his shot struck the boom-iron at the Frenchman’s larboard fore-yard-arm, snapping it off, unshipping the boom, and creating a very pretty state of confusion with the topmast and lower stunsails and their gear.
A ringing cheer was raised on board the “Scourge” at this success, and Sennitt was about to try his hand a second time, when the frigate was seen to yaw broad off her course; a thin streak of flame flashed along her side, a veil of white fleecy smoke started into view, and was wafted aside by the wind, and sixteen twelve-pound shot—the entire contents of her starboard broadside—came whistling about our ears. I was standing aft, close to the taffrail, on the port side, at the moment, and one of the shot came crashing in at the stern-port nearest me, striking the stanchion heavily, and making the splinters fly in all directions, one of them striking me on the left temple, ripping up the skin and baring my poor unfortunate skull for a length of some four inches. The blow stunned me just for a moment, and I fell to the deck; but before any one had time to pick me up, I had recovered and staggered to my feet again, feeling a trifle confused, and somewhat sick—if the truth may be told—at the sight of my own blood, which streamed down over my face copiously, rendering me, I have no doubt, a truly ghastly spectacle; but otherwise I felt not much the worse.