Chapter Seventeen.
In sight of the foe—The enemy get clear—Return to England—I lose my letter too late—We again sail—Action with the Cleopatra—Tough work with British tars—A last effort—Death of the French captain—On board the prize—Steer a course for the Isle of Wight—Our reception—My hopes and fears—Leave or no leave?—We run into Portsmouth harbour.
We continued our course under all sail to the eastward, and next evening caught sight of two sail, which we took to be French, standing up Channel.
We made chase, but lost sight of them in the night. Next morning, however, there they were, hull down, right ahead. We continued the pursuit along the French coast, but had the disappointment of seeing them at last take refuge in Cherbourg harbour. Knowing that they were not likely to come out again, we stood across channel, the Venus running into Plymouth to land her wounded men and repair damages, while we stood on for Falmouth.
Again I was disappointed in not being able to despatch my letter, for after we knew where the Venus was bound for, no communication was held with her.
I had got the letter written and addressed, but had not closed it, as I wished to add a few more words at latest. For safety’s sake, I kept it in my bag, as it might have got wetted and soiled in my pocket. Until we were off Falmouth, I did not know that we were to stand in. I was then too much engaged in shortening sail to get out my letter. When I was at last able to go below, I hurried to my bag, intending to add a postscript, but what was my dismay to be unable to find it.
I felt again and again, and then turned out all my things, but could nowhere discover the missing epistle. I hastened to try and obtain another sheet of paper from the purser’s steward, but he was just then too much engaged to attend to me, and directly after I got it my watch was called and I had to return on deck.
The moment my watch was over, I went below and, as well as I could, began writing. It was no easy matter in the dim light and hubbub going on around me. I finished it, however, telling my dear wife all that had occurred, how miserable I was at being separated from her, and my hopes, while I remained in the Channel cruiser, of being allowed to get on shore some day, even though we might be together but for a few short hours. The letter was closed and wafered; I rushed on deck with it, but only to find that the last boat from the shore had shoved off, and the next instant the hands were turned up to make sail.