Daylight approached, and with sorrowful reluctance the brave seamen had to draw off from the scene of destruction to avoid falling into the hands of the enemy.
The boat in which True Blue pulled the bow oar was one of the last to quit the harbour, and for many a day afterwards the shrieks of the hapless Toulonese, murdered by their countrymen, rang in his ears.
Chapter Eighteen.
The frigate was soon after this sent home with dispatches; but scarcely was she clear of the Straits of Gibraltar than the wind fell, a thick fog came on, and she lay becalmed some twenty leagues off the Spanish coast. So dense was the fog, that no object could be seen a quarter of a mile off.
At length a light breeze sprang up from the westward; but though strong enough to fill her sails and send her slowly gliding over the mirror-like surface of the water, it had not the power of blowing away the mist which hung over it.
True Blue was walking the forecastle with Paul Pringle when his quick ear caught the sound of a distant bell. He touched Paul’s arm as a sign not to speak, and stood listening; then almost simultaneously another and another sounded, and the ship’s bell directly after struck, as if responding to them. The sounds, it was evident, came down with the wind.
“Come aft and report them, in case the officer should not have heard them.”
Mr Brine was on deck and listened attentively to what True Blue had to say. “How far off were the bells?” he asked.