Again a hail came from the brig, and several people shouted out, “Viva!” The captain then inquired what English ships were in the harbour, but we could not make out a word of what was said in reply; still, of course, taking her for Spanish, this did not surprise us, except that it seemed somewhat strange that an English vessel should not have been stationed at the mouth of the harbour. Just as we passed under the stern of the brig, someone again hailed from her—
“Luff! luff!”
The captain, fearing that we had shoal water aboard, ordered the helm to be put a-lee, but before the frigate got her head to the wind we were aground. The captain immediately ordered the sails to be clewed up and handed. While the people were on the yards, we caught sight of a boat pulling from the brig towards the town. Just then, before the people were off the yards, a sudden flaw of wind drove the ship’s head off the bank. Hoping now to get off, the order was given to hoist the driver and mizzen-staysail, and to keep the sheets to windward. The instant the ship lost her way, the bower-anchor was let go, on which she tended to the wind; but the after-part of her keel was still aground. The launch and cutter were now hoisted out, and I jumped into the first to carry out the kedge-anchor, with two hawsers, in order to warp the ship clear. We worked away with a will, for we did not like the thoughts of being seen on shore by the rest of the fleet at daybreak. That was all we just then thought about. At length we succeeded in getting her completely afloat, and were returning to the ship, when we saw a boat go alongside, and being hailed, she answered, “Captain Someone,” but we did not catch the name, and up the side he went with two other persons, who seemed to be officers. On reaching the deck he introduced himself as a French captain, and said that it was the regulation of the port, and according to the commands of the admiral, that vessels should go into another part of the harbour and do ten days’ quarantine.
On this, Captain Hood asked where the Victory, the admiral’s ship, lay. The French officer hesitated, and then said she was far up the harbour.
Just then Harry, who had a sharp eye, exclaimed somewhat loudly to a messmate—
“Why, the fellows have the Republican cockades in their hats!”
The captain overheard him; and, looking more earnestly at the Frenchmen’s hats, he saw by the light of the moon, to his dismay, the three Republican colours. He put another question about the admiral, when the French officer, finding that he and his companions were suspected, replied—
“Make yourselves easy; the English are good people, and we will treat them kindly; the English admiral has departed some time.”
I can just fancy how our brave captain felt.
“We are prisoners!” exclaimed one of the officers; and the word, like wildfire, ran along the deck, while several of the officers hurried up to the captain to learn the truth. We all knew what we had to expect—a French prison till the end of the war, even if we escaped being shot by the Republicans. I never felt more cast down in all my life, and I believe that was the case with everyone on board. To be caught like a rat in a trap, without a chance of escape, seemed too bad. We were all standing, not knowing what to do, some proposing one thing and some another, expecting the French boats to come alongside and take possession of our tidy little frigate, when a flaw of wind came down the harbour. Scarcely had we felt it than our third lieutenant, Mr Webley, exclaimed—