“We have gained on her considerably since you went below,” said Delisle, whose glass was fixed on the chase, watching the effect of our shot. “In another hour, if the wind holds, we shall get her well under our guns, and then she’ll have very little more to say for herself.”
“Land ahead!” shouted the look-out from aloft. I with others went to the mast-head to ascertain its distance. We judged it to be the land about Cape Cod, some fifteen miles or so away. It would take us a couple of hours to get up with it. Evening, however, was now coming on, and it would be dark before we could hope to reach it. We watched the chase more anxiously than ever; the prospect of bringing her to before she should reach the shore was every instant growing less. Those who manned her were no cowards. As we were watching her, her stern-ports opened, and a couple of shots came hissing by us. It was a desperate chance. Her object was to cripple us, and if she could do so, perhaps she hoped to haul her wind, and, favoured by the darkness, to creep away from between us and the shore. We fired our bow-chasers as often as we could in return, and more than one shot told with damaging effect. Still every injury was repaired as soon as received. The land, seen under the glow of the setting sun, was growing more and more distinct, and by the time the shades of evening came over us we were near enough to distinguish it and the chase, now in dangerous proximity to its sands.
The chase had now lasted fifteen hours—another hour would decide the point. It soon passed. It was a moment of intense interest. Every man was at his station. Hands were in the chains with the lead. We were nearer the coast than under other circumstances we would willingly have been. The chase stood on with everything set. One felt it a grievous pity that so beautiful a fabric should be doomed to destruction. Her striking would give us time to haul off. On she glided, her symmetry unimpaired. In another moment her tall masts rocked to and fro; a loud crashing and tearing, even at that distance, reached our ears.
“Down with the helm!” shouted Captain Hudson. “Haul aft the starboard sheets! Flatten in the starboard braces! Give her the starboard broadside!”
These and other orders to bring the ship on a wind followed in quick succession amid the roar of our guns, which sent the shot crashing into the unfortunate chase. As soon as the ship was put about she stood back on the other tack, pouring in a second and still more destructive broadside. Again the ship was put about; once more the starboard broadside was loaded, and as we came abreast of the stranded chase, fired into her with deadly effect.
“Boats away!” was now the order. The men, with cutlasses by their sides and pistols in their belts, sprang into them. Mr Willis led the expedition: not a moment was to be lost. The stranger must be boarded before the crew could recover from the effects of our broadsides, or people would come off from the shore to defend her. She had fallen almost broadside on to the beach, and on the other side the sea was washing over her. We pulled round, and boarded under her counter, cutlass in hand. A slight resistance only was made by her captain and officers and some of the crew. A few were cut down, and the rest retreated forward, and escaped on shore by a warp, which had previously been carried there, no one attempting to stop them. As with lanterns in our hands, we wandered over the ship, everywhere signs were visible of the cruel effect of our broadsides. In the cabin lay an officer and two men. We thought they were wounded. We threw the light on their countenances; they had been dragged there by their shipmates to be out of the way, probably, and had died as they lay. Poor fellows! they had fought their last fight—they were dead. Not a thing was found on board. A glance showed Mr Willis that it would be impossible to get the ship off, so he ordered us to set fire to her in every direction. Having done so, and left the dead bodies to be consumed in a not ignoble funeral pile, we hurried to the boats. We had been taught by a former catastrophe not to delay too long. As we pulled away, the flames, climbing up the masts and spars; to which the canvas still hung, formed a magnificent pyramid of fire, which grew and grew in height till it seemed to reach the very skies. It was a fine spectacle, but a finer was to come. She was still burning when we got back to our ship, and the boats were hoisted in. I watched the conflagration from the deck. The fire threw a ruddy glare over the sand-hills and the dark woods beyond, and by its light we could see people watching, undoubtedly with bitter hearts, the destruction of their property. Without a moment’s warning, while the conflagration was at its height, the whole mass of flame seemed to be lifted together like a huge fire-work—then it spread far and wide, forming a fiery canopy of mushroom shape, and breaking into a thousand fragments, came hissing down into the surrounding ocean, while a few burning embers alone remained to mark the spot where the tall ship had lately been—a pretty night’s work for the officers and crew of his Majesty’s ship Orpheus. I don’t know that the thought of what we had been about disturbed the rest of any of those who enjoyed the luxury of turning into their hammocks. The next morning a boat with a flag of truce was sent on shore to learn particulars of the vessel we had destroyed. A number of persons were collected in the neighbourhood of the wreck, and, as may be supposed, they did not look very affectionately at us; but flags of truce were always respected, in spite of the animosity which was daily increasing between the belligerents, and an officer stepped forward to know what we wanted.
We told him our errand. “Tell your captain,” said he, “that he has done good service to his government, and saved the capture of many a rich merchantman, if I mistake not. The ship you have destroyed was the ‘Wilks’ privateer, mounting twenty guns—six-pounders—commanded by as brave a man as ever stepped, Captain John Williams, and bound into the English channel on a six-months’ cruise. If it is any satisfaction to you, you may say that she was only off the stocks five weeks. There’s the captain; he’ll never break biscuit more, nor will several of our people who were drowned coming on shore. There’s all that remains of poor Captain Williams.”
He spoke with bitterness, and, lifting a flag, exposed the form of a man in an officer’s uniform. He had been wounded, it appeared, by one of our broadsides, and carried on shore by his crew. I was not sorry, having received the information we were ordered to obtain, to get away from the scene of the catastrophe. This was our finishing stroke in the Bay of Fundy. During our cruise there it appeared by the log-book that we had seen ninety rebel vessels of various descriptions, of which we had either taken or destroyed thirty-three sail—a highly satisfactory amount of mischief to have committed in so short a time—but it had no effect in making the Americans loyal, or increasing their love for their British brethren.