“Where away?” (what direction?) responded the officer of the deck. The man having replied, the officer again asked, “What does she look like?”
“She looks small; I cannot tell, sir.”
In a few minutes the officer hailed again, by shouting, “Mast-head, there! what does she look like?”
“She looks like a small sail-boat, sir.”
This was rather a novel announcement; for what could a small sail-boat do out on the wide ocean? But a few minutes convinced us that it was even so; for, from the deck, we could see a small boat, with only a man and a boy on board. They proved to be two French prisoners of war, who had escaped from an English prison, and, having stolen a small boat, were endeavoring to make this perilous voyage to their native home. Poor fellows! they looked sadly disappointed at finding themselves once more in British hands. They had already been in prison for some time; they were now doomed to go with us, in sight of their own sunny France, and then be torn away again, carried to England, and imprisoned until the close of the war. No wonder they looked sorrowful, when, after having hazarded life for home and liberty, they found both snatched from them in a moment, by their unlucky rencontre with our frigate. I am sure we should all have been glad to have missed them. But this is only one of the consequences of war.
Having joined the blockading fleet again, we led the same sort of life as before: now at anchor, then giving chase; now standing in shore, and anon standing out to sea; firing, and being fired at, without once coming into action.
Determined to accomplish some exploit or other, our captain ordered an attempt to be made at cutting out some of the French small craft that lay in shore. We were accustomed to send out our barges almost every night, in search of whatever prey they might capture. But on this occasion the preparations were more formidable than usual. The oars were muffled; the boat’s crew increased, and every man was armed to the teeth. The cots were got ready on board, in case any of the adventurers should return wounded. Cots are used to sleep in by ward-room officers and captains; midshipmen and sailors using hammocks. But a number of cots are always kept in a vessel of war, for the benefit of wounded men; they differ from a hammock, in being square at the bottom, and consequently more easy. The service on which the barge was sent being extremely dangerous, the cots were got ready to receive the wounded, should there be any; but notwithstanding these expressive preparations, the brave fellows went off in as fine spirits as if they had been going on shore for a drunken spree. Such is the contempt of danger that prevails among sailors.
We had no tidings of this adventure until morning, when I was startled by hearing three cheers from the watch on deck; these were answered by three more from a party that seemed approaching us. I ran on deck just as our men came alongside with their bloodless prize—a lugger, laden with French brandy, wine and Castile soap. They had made this capture without difficulty; for the crew of the lugger made their escape in a boat, on the first intimation of danger. As this was our first prize, we christened her the Young Macedonian. She was sent to the admiral; but what became of her, I never heard.
Before sending her away, however, the officers, having a peculiar itching for some of the brandy, took the liberty of replenishing their empty bottles from the hold. This, with true aristocratic liberality, they kept to themselves, without offering the smallest portion to the crew. Some of them showed, by their conduct afterwards, that this brandy possessed considerable strength. We had no further opportunity to signalize either ourselves or our frigate by our heroism at Brest; for we were soon after ordered back to Plymouth, where, for a short time, we lay at our old anchorage ground.