The Missing Ship: The Log of the "Ouzel" Galley

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Come up here at your peril,” cried one of them, who appeared at the head of the stair, flourishing his bludgeon and holding a pistol in his left hand.

“It’s not such orders from the like of you we’ve a mind to obey,” said Larry, who having handed over the men just taken prisoners, was, with the lieutenant and Gerald, about to ascend the steps. Gerald was struck by the voice, and as Larry threw the light of his lantern before him, he recognised, as he believed, the features of Carnegan, the second mate of the Ouzel Galley—or rather O’Harrall, as he has been better known to the reader.

“Seize the ruffian,” cried Gerald; “he is an escaped prisoner. I know him!” He sprang up the steps as he spoke, Mr Foley, Larry, and several of the men following.

“Take that for your knowledge, youngster,” cried the man, firing his pistol; and finding that it had missed Gerald’s head, though by a hair’s breadth alone, he lifted his cudgel and would have effectually put an end to his young assailant, had not Larry interposed his cutlass, and, before the man could again raise his weapon, inflicted so severe a wound that he was compelled to drop it. The lieutenant and more seamen coming up threw themselves on him, and in spite of several other people who had come out, he also was secured. The rest retreated into the room, but were pursued before they could make their escape from the windows, which they were attempting to do. One fellow was hauled back just as he had got outside, and in a short time every male inmate of the house was captured.

Rapid as the pressgang had been in their movements, the alarm had been given outside, and a mob was already collecting in the street, evidently with the intention of rescuing the prisoners. There was no time, therefore, to be lost. Mr Foley ordered his men to drag them out and hurry them along, each of the pressgang holding a pistol to the head of his prisoner. Larry had taken charge of the man whom Gerald supposed to be O’Harrall. The ruffian at first waited along quietly enough, but by the way he turned his head he was evidently on the watch for an opportunity of escaping.

“If ye attempt to do it, a bullet will go through yer head, as shure as ye’re a living man,” cried Larry, in a tone of voice which made the prisoner feel certain that he would be as good as his word. His escape would have been the signal for the rest to attempt breaking loose. Mr Foley and Gerald, with two of the men who had no prisoners to guard, brought up the rear, and had enough to do to keep the rapidly increasing mob at bay. It was mostly composed, however, of women and boys, who shrieked and shouted, and hurled abuse on the heads of the pressgang. By degrees, however, they were joined by several men carrying shillelaghs, but the strict enforcement of the law against the possession of firearms prevented the lower orders in the city from having them. Growing bolder as their numbers increased, and seeing that the pressgang was about to escape from their own especial domain, they made a furious attack on the rearguard, who could only keep them at bay by a free use of their cutlasses, with which several of the assailants were wounded. At length the lesson the mob received made them hold back, though they vented their rage in still louder execrations, howling as an Irish mob alone can howl.

“Not very pleasant work this, Tracy,” observed Mr Foley to the midshipman. “However, as we’ve got thus far, I hope that we may succeed in conveying our prisoners to the boats.”

“One of them, at all events, is likely to make further efforts to escape,” said Gerald. “He is the very man, if I mistake not, who got out of the King Tower at Waterford, and even if we carry him on board, he is likely to prove a troublesome customer.”

“We’ll soon bring the most troublesome down to their proper bearings,” answered the lieutenant. “If he is a good seaman, he’ll answer our purpose.”

“We haven’t got him safe on board yet, sir, and if these fellows gathering round us show any pluck, we shall have a hard matter to keep him and the rest of the captured men,” said Gerald, looking down the street, the few lights in which dimly showed a mass of people rushing forward, the shillelaghs of the men waving wildly above their heads.