Never, in all his life, did Archy Baskerville forget that day when he first set foot on Gibraltar. The Royal George, her masts and spars braced and refitted, and her shot-holes plugged, could still leg it faster than most of the ships in the fleet, and led the second division. Her decks had been cleaned up and her injuries repaired as far as possible, and although she showed marks of her warfare with the Spaniards and the storm, yet was she ready at that moment to go into action if necessary. Next her came the Phœnix, larger than the Royal George, and clumsier, but a noble trophy; and beyond them were other great ships of the line, smart frigates, captured Spanish ships, and a fine convoy loaded with provisions for the famishing garrison.
As they neared Europa Point they heard the shouts of joy from the people who swarmed to meet them. From the old convent on the hill, which was the Governor's residence, General Eliot, the commandant, was issuing with his staff. A band was playing "God Save the King," which was taken up by the ships in the fleet. Admiral Digby was on the bridge, waving his hat at General Eliot, who, with his hat in his hand, bent his gray, uncovered head as if returning thanks, while he walked towards the mole, where a shouting crowd of soldiers, civilians, women, and children were gathering.
Nearly every one of the wounded officers was on deck, and so was Langton, who had not been wounded at all, but who was weak and ill beyond any of them. He had not fully recovered from his injuries in the shipwreck, before the battle off Cape St. Vincent, and after doing his duty like a hero he had completely collapsed. Nevertheless, with Archy's aid, he had crawled up on deck, and both of them watched, with shining eyes, the stirring and inspiring scene as the ships came to anchor. The Royal George stood quite close in, and almost before the anchor kissed the ground the Admiral's barge put off and joined the crowd of boats containing officers that were making for the landings. They saw the people crowding around the officers, shaking hands, and even embracing them, while General Eliot stood silent and apparently overcome with emotion, as admirals, captains, and lieutenants grasped his hand and wrung it. Pretty soon a boat with provisions put off from the Royal George, for the necessities of the people were so great that they had to be supplied before the cargoes of the storeships could be broken. Archy, who always had to be in the thick of everything, basely deserted Langton as soon as the boats began putting off, and, going up to Captain Fulke, asked permission to go ashore. The young prisoner's conduct on board ship had made him to be highly popular, and Captain Fulke at once agreed.
"Good-bye!" cried Archy to Langton. "Somebody will take care of you, I dare say," and skipped over the side.
As the boat drew alongside the Rock the scene was thrilling. Before them towered the mighty Rock, with its grim batteries ready for defence, while just across the neck of land connecting it with the mainland, no more than a mile from the barrier gate, the Spaniards had erected two mighty lines of fortifications, from the Punta Mala on the bay of Gibraltar, across to the Sierra de Carbonera, or Queen of Spain's Chair. Two great forts were at either end of this line of fortifications—San Felipe, on the bay of Gibraltar, and Santa Barbara, on the eastern beach. San Felipe was faced by a frowning fort, almost as strong as the Spanish fort at the end of the Old Mole, while three strong batteries and the powerful defences of the Land Port defied the Spanish line of attack. In the golden afternoon light these grim and warlike features were singularly clear, the Spanish colors were in plain view, while the distant roll of the Spanish drums and the silver notes of the bugles were perfectly audible.
On the mole the people seemed beside themselves with excitement—the rapture of relief, the anxiety for news from home, the story of sufferings half told, the pain, the joy, the pale mothers with the paler children, the officers and soldiers with uniforms hanging loose upon their famished bodies, the Jews and Genoese chattering and gesticulating wildly, and a few Moors and Arabs standing silent and stoical amid the tumult. One of these men—an Arab—Archy noticed the instant he stepped ashore, close to a group made up of General Sir George Eliot, Admiral Rodney, Admiral Digby, and some other officers of high rank. This man was of a bronze color, tall and well formed, with the full black eyes of the Arab tribesmen, and wore his white burnouse and his snowy turban with an imperial air. General Eliot, a soldierly but austere-looking man, spoke to him.
"Come here, Musa."
Musa advanced with perfect dignity, and bowed to the officers; each returned the salutation by lifting his hat.
"This man, gentlemen, has been our only mode of communicating with the outside world for five months past. Through him we have communicated with our consuls on the African side, and they have returned us, by him, the only news we have had of anything outside this Rock in all that time. The Spaniards have found out that Musa is clever enough to elude their smartest cruisers, and have repeatedly offered him money to betray us, but he has steadily refused."
"This shall be known in England, Musa," said Sir George Rodney.