“It’s all right then, sir? I thought as how perhaps I ought to have knocked the Spanish gentleman over; but you see, sir, I didn’t like to take the life of a man who hadn’t even a cutlash to fight with.”
Captain Packenham assured him that he had done perfectly right, and that he would look after his interests. He spoke to the commodore about him that very afternoon, and it was agreed to give him a boatswain’s warrant; but Tom at once declined the offer, saying that he had only done his duty, and did not want any reward.
After Captain Packenham’s return from the commodore’s ship, he told me that he was going home at once with despatches, and that I was to be removed from the Porcupine into the Charon in order that I might with some of her crew take charge of the Saint Domingo, one of the galleons we had just captured. I had placed under me a mate, three midshipmen, and thirty-six of the best seamen of the Charon, including my two followers, for whom I got leave to accompany me. I had now a new follower, the dog I had captured in the burning town. I gave him the name of Omoa, to which he soon answered and became greatly attached to me. I at once set to work to get the prize ready for sea; but she had much to be done to her, and it was not till the 8th of November that, having scaled guns and bent sails a few days before, I warped out of the harbour, and made sail in company with the other ships of the squadron, leaving the Porcupine and the captured dhow for the defence of the fort.
I must remark that a short time afterwards, the place being attacked by a thousand regular troops, the men we had left there in garrison were compelled to make their escape on board those two vessels. And now commenced one of the most unpleasant and anxious voyages I ever made in my life. I did not think it was to be so at the time, though. On the contrary, I was highly delighted at obtaining the command, when I got on board, and discovered that the galleon was the richest-laden vessel we had captured, and that several thousand pounds would come to my share alone if I succeeded in carrying her safely into port. Not, I must say, that I thought about the money for itself. I never was mercenary. I should have been considered wiser had I been so, but my thoughts instantly flew to Madeline Carlyon. I pictured to myself peace restored between the revolted provinces of America and England, and I, with wealth at my disposal, able to go over and claim with a good grace the hand of the only girl for whom I had ever felt that deep affection which would induce me to marry. She was always in my thoughts, and now that I felt that, with the required wealth within my grasp, there was a possibility of our being united, I began in my imagination to realise the happiness I anticipated. Whatever dangers or difficulties I was in, I always thought of her. She, though far away, spurred me on to exertion. She—in the tempest, on the lee-shore in unknown seas, in darkness and surrounded with rocks and shoals—was ever present, and I believe that, had it not been for her, I should more than once in despair have given up the struggle with the adverse circumstances which well-nigh overwhelmed me.
It was soon seen that the bulky old galleon would not keep way with the men-of-war, so the Lowestoffe took us in tow, not much to the satisfaction of those on board. Thick squally weather with rain came on, and away we went plunging after her. For two days this continued, and during the time I could scarcely ever leave the deck. At last I went below on the night of the 10th, but hardly had I turned in and got my eyes well closed when I was aroused up again by a terrific uproar, and, rushing on deck and hurrying for’ard, I found that the Lowestoffe was taken aback and was making a stern-board right down upon us. Fortunately an axe was at hand. With a couple of strokes I cut the hawser, and, putting up the helm, we were just able to run to leeward out of her way. Soon after this the commodore made the signal to tack, and the wind then shifting and a heavy gale coming on, I lost sight of the squadron. Directly after this I made out the land on the lee bow bearing east-south-east, three or four miles off. Whether I could weather it was the question; but I made all the sail I could venture to carry. I stood as close-hauled as I could, watching with no little anxiety the unwelcome coast. The vessel looked up to the gale in gallant style, and at length I was able to bring-to under my foresail.
Thus I remained all night. At six in the morning made sail under the courses to the north-east, and at eight wore and saw the land bearing south by south, distant five or six leagues. At noon was again obliged to bring-to under the foresail, it blowing hard with a thick fog and squalls.
On the 11th, the wind continuing to blow as hard as before, I saw the island of Rattan. At 5 p.m. I fired six guns as signals for a pilot, but night coming on with the accustomed bad weather, I wore and stood out to sea. The next morning I bore away for Truxillo, on the Spanish main. At 10 a.m., being close in-shore, the wind shifted, and blew a heavy gale with very thick weather, which obliged me to stand to the eastward. At noon, though we lost sight of the land, I found that we were in very shoal water, and as may be supposed I became very anxious when I found that there was no one on board who had ever been there before, or was at all acquainted with the coast. All we knew was that it was considered a very dangerous and difficult one. Since we left Omoa, from not having even seen the sun, I had been unable to take an observation, nor had I any chart of the Gulf of Honduras in the ship. My officers, as were all on board, were as well aware as I was myself of the danger the ship was in, and a bright look-out was kept for the land. At 2 p.m. we made out an island under our lee. I soon saw by the way the ship was setting that we should be unable to weather it. My only resource therefore was to attempt to run between it and the main. I kept the helm up, and stood for the channel. I was under the impression, as were my officers, that it was the island of Bonacca, between which and the main a book of sailing directions we had on board told us there was a passage; but as we neared it the characteristic features which we discovered convinced us that we were mistaken, and that it was the Hogsties. Now we had been assured at Omoa that between it and the main there was no passage. We did not make this discovery, however, before we had stood on too far to return. Our eyes, however, could not deceive us; a passage there certainly was, but whether a shallow or intricate one we could not tell. I kept the lead going and a bright look-out in all directions; still it was work to try any man’s nerves. There was a nasty broken sea running, and I felt sure that if the ship struck on any of the numberless rocks under her bottom, not many minutes would elapse before she must go down. I kept her on, notwithstanding this, under her foresail. We were gradually shoaling our water—sixteen fathom, twelve, ten, six, four had been announced. I drew my breath faster and faster. It was not a moment I should have liked anyone to put a trivial question to me; still I could make out a channel of clear water ahead, and I did not despair.
“By the mark three,” sang out the man in the fore-chains.
Matters were coming to a crisis. If we shoaled the water much more we could not hope to force the heavy galleon through. Not only should we lose all her rich cargo, but our lives also would be sacrificed, for the few boats we had were in so bad a condition that they would scarcely be able to carry even half the people we had on board. For my own part, I did not feel that I had many more hours, or I might say minutes, to live, for I always held to the opinion that a captain should always be the last to leave his ship, and not then till he has seen to the safety of all those entrusted to his care.
On we glided—not very fast though. I stood conning the ship; sometimes we passed so close to shoals and rocks that we could have thrown a biscuit on them, and still the lumbering old Saint Domingo floated free.