“Yes,” he answered, in a perfectly satisfied tone. “I said he would die. There’s no doubt about it.” I believe he would have been vexed had he recovered to contradict him.
“We must bury him, then,” said the captain. “We’ll do it decently. He was a fine old man, and fought like a lion. Send the sailmaker here.” The surgeon did as he was bid.
“Don’t let him touch the poor girl, Jack,” he said. “She is better as she is. She would never let us remove her father’s body, if she were conscious of what was going forward.”
The sailmaker came, and received orders to get a hammock with a shot at the feet, in which to enclose the old soldier’s corpse. Among the prisoners was a French priest. The captain sent for him; and he and a few officers who had escaped assembled on deck, the captain having explained to them that he wished to pay the last respect to a brave enemy. They, as Frenchmen know how to do, expressed themselves gratified at the compliment; and all stood around while the body was brought from below. Having been shown to them, it was secured in the hammock which had been prepared for the purpose. It was then placed on a plank at an open port, with the old soldier’s hat and sword. The priest offered up some of the prayers of his Church, and all stood with hats off in reverential awe.
The prayers were finished—the captain had lifted his hand, as a signal to launch the body into the deep, when at that moment the tall, graceful figure of a lady appeared on deck. She cast one wild, hurried, inquiring glance around. Her eye fell on the shrouded corpse as it glided into the deep. With a piercing shriek, which rung far over the waters, she cried, “Father, I follow you!” and before anyone could prevent her, she sprung over the schooner’s low bulwarks into the blue sea, within the first circles formed by her parent’s form, as it vanished from our sight. In an instant all present rushed to the side; the boats were lowered rapidly; but as we looked around, no sign did there appear of the unhappy young lady. Such was the result of our night’s exploit! “It is better, perhaps, that it was so,” said the captain, dashing a tear from his eye.
I cannot say that the catastrophe made any lasting impression even on him. It did not on me. That very night we stood again up to the convoy, and were successful in picking out another of them without being discovered. Both vessels reached Guernsey in safety, and turned out valuable prizes.
I cannot pretend to give even an outline of all the adventures I met with while serving on board the privateer. From her fast-sailing qualities, and the daring and talent of her commander, she was very successful. We were constantly on the look-out for single merchantmen; and, unless they were strongly armed, they were nearly certain to become our prey. We never attacked an armed vessel if we could help it, and never fought if we could escape an enemy capable of injuring us. Now and then, when we thought that we were going to make prize of a rich merchantman, we found that we had caught a Tartar, and had to up stick and run for it. Twice we were very nearly caught; and should have been, had not night come to our aid, and enabled us to haul our wind without being seen, and thus get out of our pursuer’s way.
Once, flight was impossible, and we found ourselves brought to action in the chops of the Channel by a French sloop-of-war of eighteen guns. Captain Savage, however, gave evidence of his skill and courage by the way he handled the schooner against so superior a force. By making several rapid tacks, we got the weather-gauge of our opponent; and then, after the exchange of several broadsides, we stood across his bows, when we delivered so well-directed a raking-fire that we brought his topmast down by the run. We had not escaped without the loss of several men, besides getting an ugly wound in our mainmast; so, to avoid any further disaster, and being perfectly content with the glory of having crippled an opponent of force so superior, we hauled our wind and stood up Channel. The Frenchman was afterwards fallen in with, and captured by a corvette of her own size.
I have, I think, sufficiently described the occupation of a privateer. What I might have become, under the instruction of my old friend Peter, and the strict discipline of a man-of-war, I know not. On board the privateer, with the constant influence of bad example, I was becoming worse and worse, and more the slave of all the evil ways of the world. After serving on board the schooner for more than three years, I was paid off with my pocket full of prize-money, and, shipping on board a trader, I found my way to Liverpool.
That port then, as now, afforded every facility to a seaman to get rid of his hard-earned gains. In a few weeks I had but a few shillings left. I had not the satisfaction of feeling that I had done any good with it. How it all went I don’t know. I believe that I was robbed of a large portion. I was so disgusted with my folly, that I was ready to engage in any enterprise, of however questionable a character, where I had the prospect of gaining more, which I resolved I would spend more discreetly.