“I heard somethin’ about Gibraltar, but don’t know that he said we was goin’ there. It’s clear, hows’ever, that we must go somewhere to refit before we can be of any use.”
“Ay; how poor Captain Ward would have chafed under this delay!” said Bill Bowls sadly. “He would have been like a caged tiger. That’s the worst of war; it cuts off good and bad men alike. There’s not a captain in the fleet like the one we have lost, Nelson alone excepted.”
“Well, I don’t know as to that,” said Ben Bolter; “but there’s no doubt that Admiral Nelson is the man to lick the French, and I only hope that he may find their fleet, and that I may be there to lend a hand.”
“Ditto,” said Bill Bowls.
“Do,” added Tom Riggles.
Having thus expressed their sentiments, the three friends separated. Not long afterwards the Waterwitch sailed with her prizes into Gibraltar.
Here was found a portion of the fleet which had been forwarded by Earl St. Vincent to reinforce Nelson. It was about to set sail, and as there was every probability that the Waterwitch would require a considerable time to refit, some of her men were drafted into other ships. Among others, our friends Bill Bowls, Ben Bolter, and Tom Riggles, were sent on board the Majestic, a seventy-four gun ship of the line, commanded by Captain Westcott, one of England’s most noted captains.
This vessel, with ten line-of-battle ships, set sail to join Nelson, and assist him in the difficult duty of watching the French fleet.