“Not much to be gained by that,” answered Devereux. “Let us fight like men and yield with dignity, if we are overmatched.”
“The right sentiment,” said Captain Walford. “There is no disgrace in being conquered by a superior force.”
“As I fear that we shall be,” muttered the master of the Guava. “Now, if I’d been left alone, I’d have knocked under at once. We’ve not the shadow of a chance.”
“Then it’s not like Captain Turtle’s own shadow,” whispered O’Grady, who could even at that moment indulge in a joke.
Matters were indeed becoming serious. The stranger was, it was soon seen, a powerful vessel, cither a large corvette or a small frigate, against which the heavily-rigged, ill-manned and slightly-armed merchant ship, had scarcely a chance. Still, such chance as there was, the English resolved to try. The order was given to fire high at the enemy’s rigging, and the rest of the crew stood prepared to make all possible sail directly any of the Frenchman’s spars were knocked away. Paul had been so accustomed to believe that whatever his captain undertook he would succeed in doing, that he had no fears on the subject. The Guava rolled on, the stranger approached, close-hauled. Captain Turtle, with a sigh, pronounced her to be a privateer, and a large frigate-built ship. She would have to pass, however, some little way astern of the Guava, if she continued steering as she was then doing. Suddenly she kept away, and fired a broadside from long guns, the shot flying among the Guava’s rigging and doing much damage. The merchantman’s guns could not reply with any effect, her shot falling short. The Frenchman saw his advantage. His shot came rattling on board the Guava, her spars and blocks falling thickly from aloft. At length the former was seen drawing near, evidently to range up alongside; and many of the crew, fancying that resistance was hopeless, ran below to secure their best clothes and valuables, while the officers, with heavy hearts, throwing their swords overboard, saw Captain Turtle haul down the colours. The Frenchmen were soon on board. They proved to be, not regular combatants, but rascally privateers; fellows who go forth to plunder their fellow-men, not for the sake of overcoming the enemies of their country and obtaining peace, but for the greed of gain, careless of the loss and suffering they inflict. These were of the worst sort. Their delight was unbounded, when they found that they had not only taken a rich prize, for sugar at that time fetched a high price in France, but had taken at one haul a post-captain and several officers, for besides the three midshipmen, there were two lieutenants, a surgeon, and master, going home for their health. The privateer’s-men began by plundering the vessel and stripping the crew of every article they possessed about them, except the clothes they stood in. They took the property of the officers, but did not, at first, take anything from their persons. Captain Walford retained his coolness and self-possession, notwithstanding the annoyances he suffered, and the insults he received. The other officers imitated him. They were all transferred to the privateer.
“To what French port are we to be carried?” he asked of his captain.
“To Brest—and it will be a long time before you see salt-water after that,” was the answer.
“Probably never—if we are not to be liberated till France conquers England,” said Captain Walford, quietly.
“Sa-a-a, you may be free, then, sooner than you expect,” cried the Frenchman.
In about five days, the privateer, with her rich prize, entered Brest harbour. The prisoners were treated on landing with very scant ceremony, and were thrust into the common prison—the officers in one small room and the men in another. In those days the amenities of warfare were little attended to. It was all rough, bloody, desperate, cruel work. In truth, it is seldom otherwise. The prisoners were not kept long at Brest, but one fine morning in spring, after a not over luxurious breakfast of black bread, salt fish, and thin coffee, were mustered outside the prison to begin their march into the interior. The midshipmen kept together and amused themselves by singing, joking, and telling stories, keeping up their spirits as well as they could. Their guards were rough, unfeeling fellows, who paid no attention to their comforts, but made them trudge on in rain or sunshine, sometimes bespattered with mud, and at others covered with dust, parched with thirst, and ready to drop from the heat. The country people, however, looked on them with compassion, and many a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, and a handful of fruits and cakes, were offered to them as they passed through the villages on their road.