Now there was a large black-board, something like a great-gun target—only it was square—which during the professor’s lectures was placed upright on the gun-deck, supported behind by three boarding-pikes. And here he would chalk out diagrams of great fleet engagements; making marks, like the soles of shoes, for the ships, and drawing a dog-vane in one corner to denote the assumed direction of the wind. This done, with a cutlass he would point out every spot of interest.
“Now, young gentlemen, the board before you exhibits the disposition of the British West Indian squadron under Rodney, when, early on the morning of the 9th of April, in the year of our blessed Lord 1782, he discovered part of the French fleet, commanded by the Count de Grasse, lying under the north end of the Island of Dominica. It was at this juncture that the Admiral gave the signal for the British line to prepare for battle, and stand on. D’ye understand, young gentlemen? Well, the British van having nearly fetched up with the centre of the enemy—who, be it remembered, were then on the starboard tack—and Rodney’s centre and rear being yet becalmed under the lee of the land—the question I ask you is, What should Rodney now do?”
“Blaze away, by all means!” responded a rather confident reefer, who had zealously been observing the diagram.
“But, sir, his centre and rear are still becalmed, and his van has not yet closed with the enemy.”
“Wait till he does come in range, and then blaze away,” said the reefer.
“Permit me to remark, Mr. Pert, that ‘blaze away’ is not a strictly technical term; and also permit me to hint, Mr. Pert, that you should consider the subject rather more deeply before you hurry forward your opinion.”
This rebuke not only abashed Mr. Pert, but for a time intimidated the rest; and the professor was obliged to proceed, and extricate the British fleet by himself. He concluded by awarding Admiral Rodney the victory, which must have been exceedingly gratifying to the family pride of the surviving relatives and connections of that distinguished hero.
“Shall I clean the board, sir?” now asked Mr. Pert, brightening up.
“No, sir; not till you have saved that crippled French ship in the corner. That ship, young gentlemen, is the Glorieuse: you perceive she is cut off from her consorts, and the whole British fleet is giving chase to her. Her bowsprit is gone; her rudder is torn away; she has one hundred round shot in her hull, and two thirds of her men are dead or dying. What’s to be done? the wind being at northeast by north?”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dash, a chivalric young gentleman from Virginia, “I wouldn’t strike yet; I’d nail my colours to the main-royal-mast! I would, by Jove!”