"How, sir! have you not yet learned to bring a boat alongside properly? I shall not forget this, and, when time serves, I will give you a lesson that you will remember."
Admiral de Langara looked in amazement from the angry Admiral to the trembling midshipman.
"No wonder," he remarked to Admiral Digby, "that the English rule the seas, when the son of the sovereign is made to submit to discipline as any other midshipman in the ship."
Admiral Digby then escorted the Spanish Admiral to his cabin. There was work for everybody to do, and Archy soon found himself pressed into service again. Powder was precious, and it was necessary to save what had already been hoisted on deck, and to get the fuses and cartridges and everything else in place.
The wind increasing in violence prevented the transfer of the prisoners, and it was with great difficulty that a prize-crew was thrown aboard of the Phœnix. And then, in spite of the vast concussion of hundreds of guns, which usually deadens the wind, it became a hurricane. For two days and nights the Royal George battled for her life, and every time the Phœnix disappeared from view it was thought she had gone to the bottom. If they made sail, everything was blown from the bolt-ropes, while if they stripped the ship of her canvas she would seem to be rushing headlong to destruction. But at last they succeeded in bending sails that stood the terrific strain. The officers and crew nobly maintained the name of British seamen. Cool, courageous, skilful, never losing heart, they struggled on, in mortal danger every moment, and from the Admiral down to poor Billy the Prince every officer did his whole duty, as did every man. It was two days before they were in deep water again; but on the third day the morning broke in splendor, a golden sun shining down upon a sapphire sea. And the same afternoon the British fleet, with six great Spanish ships on which the Union Jack was hoisted over the Spanish colors, sailed past Europa Point, and the Rock of the Lion, from all its hundred guns, thundered out a welcome worthy of such mighty guests.
CHAPTER IX
On the 21st of June, 1779, had begun the fourteenth and last siege of Gibraltar. On the 12th of September the gates had been closed, and from that on never, in all the annals of war by land and sea, had there been such a struggle for the possession of a single spot of ground as for that mighty Rock. General Sir George Eliot, with a few more than five thousand men, had resisted for five months the assaults of an army three times as numerous, and a strong fleet, which proposed, by fighting and starving the British garrison, to reduce it. Already there had been three months of scarcity before September, and five months of famine since; but the spirit of the garrison was still unbroken, and when, on that brilliant morning, Rodney's fleet was discerned rounding Cabrita Point, the gaunt crowds of soldiers, officers, ladies, servants, Jews, and Genoese poured out upon the face of the Rock, wept and laughed and prayed and went wild with joy, as sufferers do when relief is in sight. For seven days they had alternated the agonies of despair with the transports of hope. They had heard that Admiral Rodney, with a convoy, was coming to their relief; but a little English brig which had made its way in brought news of Admiral de Langara's squadron, and the besieged people knew nothing of the numbers of the ships or the result of the battle that must follow. As day succeeded day, with no news of the fleet, they began to fear that it had been defeated—and that meant submission or starvation, and they had starved since September. Every hour of the night there were half-despairing creatures watching and waiting on Europa Point for the longed-for succor; and every morning had brought them nearer to despair, until, at last—at last—the fleet was coming, their white sails shining in the morning light, and bringing with them life itself to the brave men and dauntless women on the Rock.