“An English frigate, sir!” replied the look-out.
She might be, or she might be an enemy’s cruiser, for I was aware that they had already some large ships fitted out. We were, as far as I knew to the contrary, still at peace with France and Spain. Weak as I was from the fever, (though I had got over it far more rapidly than I could have expected), I was so anxious to ascertain, as soon as possible, the character of the ship in sight, that I went aloft myself to watch her with my glass. As we drew near each other, Captain Bligh ordered the drum to beat to quarters, and the ship to be got ready for action. The nearer we got, the more convinced was I that the look-out was right, and that the stranger was an English frigate. In a short time she hoisted English colours, and soon afterwards made the private signal, by which we knew that she was his Majesty’s frigate Minerva. On getting within hail we hove-to and exchanged civilities, which, as they cost nothing, are very current coin. We found that she had been out on a cruise for some time, but, like us, had not made any captures. Her captain was deploring his ill-luck.
“Better than being taken oneself,” remarked Captain Bligh.
“No fear of that,” was the answer; “I shall take very good care that no one—Frenchman, Spaniard or rebel—captures me. As for the two first, I don’t suppose they will ever go to war again with us.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Captain Bligh. “A pleasant cruise to you, however, and a more fortunate one than we have had. We are bound back to Jamaica. I hope we shall make a quick passage there.”
Such, as far as I can recollect them, were the parting words of the two captains. Scarcely had we lost sight of the Minerva than we fell in with a fleet of merchantmen from Saint Domingo. We agreed that, if there was but a war, what rich prizes they would prove, and we should, without difficulty, have been able to take the greater number of them. They sailed on their way, and we continued on our course for Jamaica. We reached Port Royal without any further adventure on the 28th of August. Scarcely had we dropped anchor than a boat from his Majesty’s ship Niger boarded us.
“Grand news—glorious news!” cried a midshipman who came in her. We all asked him what he meant. “Why, there’s war with France, and a rattling war it will be, too, from all accounts. All the ships here are getting ready for sea, and we shall pick up no end of prizes.”
Captain Bligh stamped with his foot and turned round when he heard this. And well he might, when he recollected the rich prizes we had let slip through our fingers. A vessel came in directly after us, which brought the unwelcome intelligence that the Minerva had been taken by the French frigate Concord only nine hours after we had spoken her. Had we, therefore, only come up a little later, the tables might have been reversed, and we might have brought in the Concord as our prize. The Minerva was, as may be supposed, taken by surprise, her captain not believing that a war had broken out with France, or I am very sure that she would not have so easily become the prize of the enemy.
The circumstances I have mentioned were of course vexatious, but such is the fortune of war, and I believe the knowledge that we had now a foreign nation to contend with, instead of those whom we could not but look upon as countrymen, afforded unmitigated satisfaction throughout every ship in the British Navy.