“They do not even boast that they took her, or that she had hauled down her flag before she blew up,” he observed. “If they had done so, we might have doubted them. I’m afraid their account is too true.”
“I am afraid so, indeed,” responded Elmore mournfully; “so many fine fellows lost. Our brave skipper Garland, he is a public loss. They do not say that a single officer was saved.”
Thus the midshipmen talked on. They almost forgot their own misfortunes and abominable ill-treatment while thinking of their friends. Some coarse bread and cheese was handed to them in a dirty basket, and water was the only liquid given them to drink; while at night no bedding nor the slightest accommodation was afforded them. In vain the officers pleaded. The men to whom they spoke only laughed and jeered at them, and poor young Elmore only came in for a greater share of abuse when by some means it was discovered that he was what they called an English aristocrat.
“Ah, milord!” exclaimed one fellow with a horrid grin; “if we had you in la belle France, your head would not remain long on your shoulders. We guillotine all such. It’s the best way to treat them. They have trampled too long on our rights, to be forgiven.”
The next morning the British seamen and officers were ordered up on deck, and, being placed near the gangway, were surrounded by a guard of marines with fixed bayonets. If they attempted to move from the spot, they soon had notice to go back again.
The prize had parted company, and they supposed had been sent into port; but the frigate herself stood away to the westward to continue her cruise. In spite of the general want of discipline, a very bright lookout was kept for any strange sail in sight. In the afternoon watch a vessel was seen to the southward, and the frigate bore up in chase. The stranger, on seeing this, made all sail to escape.
The French seamen pointed her out to the British. “Ah! ah! we shall soon have her!” they exclaimed. “See, the cowards dare not wait our coming up.”
Meantime, Paul Pringle lay in his berth, pretty well cared for, and most devotedly watched by True Blue. Billy was advised by the kind doctor to show himself as little as possible, lest he should be ordered to join the rest of the prisoners. He occasionally, however, stole out, that he might ascertain for Paul in what direction the ship was steering, and what was taking place. It was towards the evening that he came quickly back and reported that he had seen all the prisoners hurried below on a sudden, and that the wind being from the westward, all sail had been made on the frigate, and that she had been put dead before it, having abandoned the chase of the vessel of which she had been in pursuit.
“What it means I don’t quite know,” observed True Blue; “but there’s something in the wind, of that I’m pretty certain.”
The tramping of feet overhead, the hurried passing of the crew up and down, showed Paul also that such was the case. True Blue was standing at the door of the berth when the surgeon came below, and, as he passed him, whispered, “Keep quiet with your friend, boy. The crew may not be in the humour to bear the sight of you.” He did as he was advised for some time; but, peeping out, he saw the powder-boys carrying up powder and shot, and other missiles from the magazine, while the flurry and bustle increased, and he felt sure that the frigate was going into action.