Chapter Sixteen.
The “Thisbe’s” Crew prepare for a Fresh Fight.
The chief anxiety of Captain Courtney when he ascertained that the approaching ship was an enemy, was to secure the escape of the prize. She would indeed have been of very little use to the “Thisbe” in repelling an attack, as the French frigate from having all her canvas would have been able to manoeuvre so as to engage each of them singly.
“There she goes, and I’ll engage Tom Calder’s heart is heavier than any one’s aboard here at having to run away!” exclaimed Captain Courtney—“Good luck go with him. We’ll try and keep the enemy engaged, and wing him, if we can. You’ll do your best, I know, my lads.”
A cheerful shout was the answer to this appeal, the last part of which was addressed to the crew.
The men were now seen fastening their handkerchiefs round their heads, tightening their waistbands, most of them having thrown off their jackets and shirts, standing at their guns with their brawny arms and shoulders bare, like pictures of Hercules prepared for battle; not a countenance that did not exhibit a cheerful alacrity for the battle.
As the captain took a walk round the decks, he felt assured that what men could do they would to maintain the honour of old England’s flag.
Many bore marks of their recent combat, and several still pale from loss of blood, had insisted on rising from their hammocks and going to their guns. Among them stood the boatswain, Rolf Morton; the captain shook his head at him.