“Now, men, you’ve heard the orders I have given to the first lieutenant. I intend to have them obeyed. Other ships’ companies have refused to obey orders, and have joined the mutineers at the Nore. This example shall not be followed on board this ship. I’d sooner die than see such disgrace brought on the ship I command. You all know me. The instant I find the course I have given altered—you see the magazine and this pistol—we all go up together!”
Some of the mutineers—for Peter had taken care to summon those he most suspected—lingered below; but the boatswain’s whistle sounded shrilly along the decks, and one more glance at the determined eye of the captain sent them flying up to obey its summons. I shall never forget the appearance of that dauntless man as he sat still and alone in that dark place, prepared by a dire necessity to hurl himself and all with him to a terrible destruction. It was a subject truly worthy of the painter’s highest art. We all, indeed, did know him, and knew that, whatever the cost, he was a man to do what he had threatened. The ship was quickly got under way, and while the larger number of the ships of the squadron ran for the Nore against the wishes of their officers, we, to the surprise of all, who little knew what extraordinary influence guided our course, stood out to sea in search of the enemies of our country.
Chapter Fifteen.
Jack a Prisoner—A Privateer and a Slaver.
On leaving the Glutton, I was struck down by sickness, and lay for many long months in the hospital at Portsmouth, scarcely expecting to recover. Oh, how hideous did Death, which I had braved a hundred times in open fight, appear as silently he stalked along the wards of the hospital! I trembled as I thought of the past;—how small was the hope I had in the future! There was no one to bring me comfort—no one to afford counsel—no one to point out the right, the only way by which a sinner can be justified in the sight of a pure, just, holy God. Many good resolutions I made—as many were soon afterwards broken. I recovered; health returned to my veins—vigour to my arm. Once more I was afloat in a dashing frigate.
We were off the Frenchman’s coast. In a deep bay lay a number of the enemy’s vessels. It was necessary to ascertain their character. They were supposed to be gun-boats. Our second lieutenant, Mr Ronald—a noble specimen of a naval officer, and as active as a cat, though he had but one leg—was directed to take the gig, a fast-pulling boat, and to gain all the information he could. I was with him; so was Peter. The frigate had made sail, as if about to leave the coast; but as soon as it was dark, she stood back again. The gig was lowered, and we shoved off.
In dead silence, with muffled oars, we pulled in towards the shore. We knew that the enemy mustered strong in the neighbourhood. Thus it was necessary to be cautious. Not a word was spoken. The phosphorescent light sparkled from the blades of our oars, appearing brighter from the darkness which prevailed, but that could not be seen at any distance. The time for our expedition had been well selected. We had pitchy darkness to favour our advance; but we knew that the moon would soon rise, and enable us to make the necessary observations. We pulled slowly in, for the tide was with us, and Mr Ronald told us to reserve our strength till it would be most required. As we got close in with the shore, we could make out the masts of a number of vessels, in a confused mass; but what they were without more light, it was impossible to say without going close up to them. Mr Ronald was not a man to leave his work half done through fear of consequences, so we pulled on till our oars almost touched some of the outer vessels. Our officer made his remarks as we continued our course round the bay.
Not a sound had broken the stillness of the night except the almost inaudible dip of our oars in the water. The clouds, which had hitherto obscured the sky, floated gradually away; the stars shone forth bright and clear, their sparkling orbs reflected in the smooth water; and then, rising from behind the land, the moon shed her calm silvery gleam across the sheltered bay. We were at the time under the shadow of some high land. “Give way, my lads; it is time we should be out of this!” whispered the lieutenant. It was time indeed! Peter’s quick eye, looking seaward, observed several dark objects floating in the distance. “Boats in!” he said, pointing in that direction. The lieutenant looked there also. There could be no doubt about it. There were four large boats. He ordered us to lay on our oars, to watch in what direction they would pull. We hoped that they had not as yet observed us. The people in the boats seemed to be holding a conference. At last they parted. One pulled across the mouth of the bay in one direction; one in the other; but two advanced up the bay. There seemed no possibility of our escaping without being seen. Still it was far from Mr Ronald’s intention of giving in till he was actually laid hold of. Hitherto the shade of the cliff prevented our being seen. The gap between the boats through which we could hope to escape widened more and more. Meantime, our thoughts were occupied in the contemplation of the pleasures of a French prison, of which we had too often heard to have any wish to enjoy them. Mr Ronald watched our opportunity. “Now, my lads,” he whispered, “give way with a will!” We needed no encouragement. As a rat darts out of the corner in which it has taken shelter when the dogs stand ready on either side hoping to catch it, so we darted out from our sheltered nook towards the open sea.