Such were the feelings with which Ronald Morton prepared for the attempt to rescue the passengers and crew of the “Osterley” from the hands of the Frenchmen. Old Doull had warned him of the difficulties to be encountered. He had described the dangers of the approach to the bay, the strength of the forts, and the number of the garrison. This of course only increased the anxiety of Morton and his followers to commence the work in hand.
While Morton was still forming his plan, old Doull, hat in hand, came aft.
“Captain Morton,” he said, “my son Bob has been telling me how you have been kind to him, and stood by him ever since he came to sea, and I want to show you that my old heart, though it’s pretty well scorched and dried up with the hard life I’ve led, can still feel thankful for favours done. At first I couldn’t make Bob believe that I was his father, and no wonder, for an unnatural one I had been to him all his life; but I told him so many things about when he was a baby that he knows it now, and has taken to call me father, and that warms my heart and gives it such a pleasure I can’t describe. After having had no one to care for me for better than twenty years, except old Archy Eagleshay—and I couldn’t trust him over-much, ’specially if a cask of rum was in his way—it is a happiness to be called father—that it is, sir. I hope as how some day you will feel it. Well, sir, as I was saying, I was turning in my mind how I might serve you best. Now, I’ve been thinking that if we were to sail in with the ships, and attempt to take the forts by force, though we might and should succeed in the end, we might hurt some of the English people on shore, and that’s what you wouldn’t wish to do.”
“No, indeed,” said Ronald, shuddering. “That I would not, of course. But what do you propose?”
Ronald had discovered the uselessness of attempting to hurry the old man, so he waited patiently for his reply.
“Why, sir, I think if the ship was to run in just before dark under the French flag, the people on shore would fancy that she had been brought back for some reason or other, and very likely wouldn’t board her that night. When it is dark I will go on shore and find my way to the huts of the prisoners. I will tell them that you have arrived to bring them off, and I think that I could manage to conduct them down by a path to the shore, so that the French sentries shall not see them. In that way, sir, they may be got on board without danger.”
Morton was not satisfied with the whole of Doull’s plan.
“You forget the risk the prisoners would run of being fired on by the French sentries, if found escaping; while, before the ship could leave the bay, the forts would open fire on her, and very probably injure some of them. However, I will think over your proposal, and I thank you for your anxiety to serve me.”
Morton would rather have run in with both ships, reduced the forts, and carried off the prisoners in triumph, but caution as well as boldness, he knew well, were necessary to insure success. Captain Calder highly approved of the plan he ultimately laid before him.
All was ready on board the “Osterley.” The boats were hoisted in; and while she ran on towards the land the frigate hauled her wind and stood off again.