Chapter Fifteen.
Morning after the Battle—Ronald placed on Quarterdeck—Ronald sent on Board the Prize—A Suspicious Sail in Sight—Gallant Defence of the “Thisbe”—Night closes on the Fight.
As the bright cheerful light of morning broke on the world of waters, there lay the two frigates, which, when the sun went down, looked so gallant and so trim—now shorn of their beauty, shattered and blackened wrecks.
The foremast of the “Thisbe” was alone standing, while all the masts of the French frigate, with their sails, and yards, and rigging, hung in masses of wreck and confusion over her sides. The decks covered with blood and gore, and the shattered remnants of mortality, presented a horrible and disgusting scene; while the broken bulwarks, the decks ploughed up, the wheel shot away, and the ruined condition of every part of the ship, showed the desperate nature of the conflict, and told of the bravery of the gallant French crew who had endured so much before they had consented to yield.
Onboard the “Thisbe” the carpenters were busily employed in patching up some of the boats, so that the prisoners might be removed from the prize, while the rest of the crew were engaged in clearing away the wreck of the masts, and in preparing to make sail on the ship.
Ronald was in attendance on his father in his cabin. The boatswain had been more hurt than he supposed; but he did his utmost to conceal his suffering from his son.
The shout was heard: “All hands on the quarter-deck!”
The captain was about to address the crew.
Rolf Morton tried to rise, but he soon found that he could not. “Go, Ronald, and hear what the captain has to say. It will be something pleasant, I doubt not,” he said, pressing his boy’s hand. “Come and tell me when you are dismissed.”
Ronald sprang up the hatchway. The men were mustering aft. The captain and all the officers stood on the quarter-deck—not as usual, in those bright and shining uniforms, but in the dress in which they had fought, most of them still bearing about their persons the marks of the battle.
“My lads, I have called you aft to thank you for the gallant way in which you have fought this ship, and captured an enemy with more men, more guns, and of larger tonnage than ourselves,” he began. “I do from my heart thank you; and our king and countrymen will thank you, and you may well be proud of what you have done. I wish that I could reward you as you deserve; but when all have done their duty it is difficult to pick out any for especial notice. Still there is one man who much helped us in capturing the enemy. That is the boatswain. He caught, and kept him, by lashing his bowsprit to our mainmast, and by his advice we blew open the stern ports which so mainly contributed to our success. His son, too, saved my life, and afterwards saved the life of Mr Glover, and was, with him, the first on board the prize. The boatswain will, I hope, receive his reward hereafter; but as I have the means of showing my appreciation of his son’s gallantry, I gladly do so at once: I have therefore rated him as a midshipman on board this ship. I am sure that no one will think that I have done more for him than he deserves. Come aft, Mr Ronald Morton, and receive the welcome of your new messmates.”
Ronald came forward almost with a bound, though perfectly unconscious that he was moving more rapidly than usual. The wish of his heart was accomplished. His countenance beamed with satisfaction, and he frankly put out his hand towards the midshipmen and the other members of their berth. They all in turns took it and shook it warmly; but none grasped it more heartily than did young Glover.
“I must thank you for myself, Morton,” he exclaimed, in a tone which showed that he spoke from his heart. “If it had not been for you I should have been among the missing, to a certainty.”
Morton’s own heart was too full to answer. Numberless emotions were working in his bosom. He felt a proud satisfaction at having obtained the rank for which he was conscious he was fitted; he sincerely rejoiced at having been the means of saving his captain from a severe wound, if not from death; and scarcely less so at having prevented Glover from being drowned. All these feelings kept him silent: but his silence was understood; and perhaps no one felt more pleased at seeing him on the quarter-deck than did Captain Courtney himself.
“Now back to your duty, my lads,” he exclaimed; “we have plenty of work before us.”
Three hearty cheers burst unpremeditatedly from the throats of the crew—and then in high spirits they separated to their respective duties. The work was accomplished, as the captain knew it would be, all the better for this little interruption.
Ronald hurried below. He wanted to be the first to tell his father of his good fortune, as he called it.
Rolf Morton was less surprised than he expected. “I was certain it would be so some day, if your life was spared,” he observed. “And now, my boy, that your foot is on the first ratline, mount upwards by your own exertions. Be thankful to others who help you, but trust to yourself for success.”
Ronald had got his father to select a little fellow called Bobby Doull, as his boy, whom he had, when he first came on board, taken under his protection.
Bobby had been sent to sea from a workhouse. If not an orphan he was in the condition of one; for his father, who was a seaman, had deserted him, and had not, since he was an infant, been heard of. Ronald had, at first, frequently to do battle in his cause; but he at length taught the other boys to respect him, and to let Bobby alone.
Bobby did his best to repay the kindness he had received, by his constant attention to the wants of the wounded boatswain.
Ronald had now to mess with the midshipmen. One of his first duties was to visit the prize, as soon as the boats had been got ready to transfer the prisoners to the “Thisbe.”
Glover had insisted on lending him a uniform, jacket, and dirk, till he could obtain a suit of his own.
Ronald did not hesitate about accepting the offer; and, as Doull told the boatswain, he looked every inch a midshipman.
Very little had been done when Ronald returned to the prize towards getting her into order; and as he looked fore and aft along the decks, it seemed scarcely possible that she could ever be put in a condition at sea, to make sail, so as to reach a British port in safety. Some of her crew were already mustered on deck, but others were keeping below. He was accordingly directed to take a party of men round the decks to send them up. As he passed it, he looked into the midshipman’s berth, where a boy, whose life he had probably been the means of preserving at the time of boarding, still lay.
The French midshipman recognised him immediately. “Ah! come in, my friend!” he exclaimed, in broken English: “I want to recompense you for what you did for me: but—they told me that you were a ship’s boy, and now I see that you are of the same rank as myself.”
“I was a ship’s boy when I found you under the masts, but now I am a midshipman,” answered Ronald. “But tell me your name—I shall be glad to help you in any way I can.”
“My name—ah—they call me Alfonse Gerardin,” answered the French midshipman. “I am obliged to you for your kindness. A prisoner is little able to requite it. Perhaps I may some day—as I should wish to do.”
“I have done nothing to deserve even thanks,” said Ronald. “But I must not stay. I will come and see you again as soon as I can.”
Mr Strickland, the first lieutenant of the “Thisbe,” being badly wounded, Mr Calder, the second, was directed to take charge of the prize.
Robert Rawson, an old master’s mate, was ordered to go as his second in command, with Glover and Morton as midshipmen, and a master’s assistant called Twigg.
Ronald wished to have remained to look after his father; but Rolf would not hear of it.
“You’ll be better in another ship, away from me, boy,” he remarked. “The doctor and Bobby Doull will look after me. I shall return to my duty in a few days—never fear!”
The peculiar talents of the prize-master of the “Concorde,” honest Tom Calder, were now brought into full play. Head and hand were busily employed from morning till night, and neither grew weary. Where the hardest work was to be done, there Tom’s cheery voice was heard and his helping hand was to be found, and before the two, difficulties, at first deemed insurmountable, vanished like magic.
Tom had naturally a strong fellow feeling for Ronald. He remembered his own annoyances under similar circumstances, and he fancied that Ronald would have to undergo the same. He had, hitherto, scarcely spoken to Ronald, but no sooner did he take the command of the “Concorde,” than he singled him out to superintend any work requiring more than usual care and judgment.
Ronald in no way disappointed him; everybody, indeed, on board the prize, worked well, and with a will, and in a wonderfully short space of time jury-masts were rigged, and sails were ready for hoisting.
It was evening; the two frigates lay within a few hundred fathoms of each other: the “Thisbe,” from having her foremasts standing, had a far wider range of vision than her prize. “The ‘Thisbe’ is signalling us, sir,” said Morton to Mr Calder.
“Get the signal-book, and see what she is saying,” was the answer.
The meaning of the signals was soon ascertained.
“A sail in the south-west,” Morton read; “An enemy—Prepare for action.”
“That’s just like him,” exclaimed Mr Calder; “if the stranger was a seventy-four he would prepare to fight her. It is to be hoped, though, that she is only another frigate, and then, in spite of the loss of our masts, we may be able to give a good account of her.”
Ronald was ready enough to fight, but could not help thinking that they just then had had enough of it, and therefore hoped that the stranger might prove a friend.
Some time must elapse before the point could be ascertained, and during the interval every effort was made to get sail on the two ships, not for the purpose of flying, but to enable them the better to manoeuvre, should fighting be the order of the day.
At length Ronald went below to snatch a mouthful of food, and took the opportunity of paying a visit to the wounded midshipman, Alfonse Gerardin. He had been placed in the gun-room with the rest of the French officers; he lifted up his head as Ronald entered the cabin.
After returning the salutation, he remained silent, and then he exclaimed, somewhat bitterly, “Ah, how different are our lots! you have gained a victory, have come out of the battle unhurt, and have been placed on the first step of the ladder, up which you may climb to the highest—while here I lie, a prisoner badly wounded, and, alas! have just discovered that I have lost the only friend I had in the world.”
“Oh, you are mistaken; I am sure that I have many, and so would you if you proved them,” said Ronald, in a cheerful tone. “You are wounded and ill; when you recover you will be in better spirits; but tell me, who is the friend whose loss you mourn?”
“He was the second lieutenant of this ship, and he was killed early in the action with you,” answered young Gerardin, with a sigh. “He was a brave man. I loved him as a son loves his father, and for long I thought he was my father. Only just before we were going into action did he tell me that I should find all the particulars about myself in a box, in a house where we lived when we were on shore, near Brest. I thought at first that he was jesting, and asked no questions, and it was only after he was killed that I believed he spoke the truth. Poor dear Pierre Gerardin! you were always kind and good to me, and I shall never see you again.”
The young foreigner gave way to his grief with a vehemence which somewhat astonished Ronald, accustomed to the more phlegmatic temperaments of the north. He tried to comfort him, but in vain, and when the surgeon came he intimated to Ronald that he had better leave him, as talking to a stranger seemed to agitate him in an extraordinary degree.
“He seems very sorry for the loss of his guardian, but he is an odd fellow, and I don’t quite like the look of his countenance,” said Ronald to himself, as he left the cabin.
As soon as he reached the deck he looked out to ascertain what progress the stranger had made. Her courses were already seen from the deck, appearing above the horizon. The work on board the two frigates was going forward as energetically as ever. Still there was yet much to be done before they could be put in good fighting order. The “Thisbe” was by far the most advanced of the two, still the bravest on board would rather have avoided than sought a fight just then. On came the stranger.
“Well, Morton, just say what you think of her?” said Dicky Glover, handing a telescope to Ronald; “there’s a mighty Frenchified look about those topsails.”
“I have not much experience in the matter,” answered Ronald, modestly; “but she looks very like the ‘Concorde,’ as she appeared when standing out toward us.”
“That’s what Mr Calder and the rest think,” observed Glover. “Well, we are ready for the fellow whoever he may be; and for my part, I’d sooner blow our prize up into the sky than let her be taken from us; wouldn’t you, Morton?”
Ronald was not quite so sure of that, and he suspected that Dicky himself, if put to the test, might change his mind.
The stranger in a short time drew near enough to see the signals which the “Thisbe” began to make. Her answers were watched for with intense interest on board both ships. Mr Calder had his signal-book open on deck.
“There goes up the stranger’s bunting,” he exclaimed; “now we shall see what he has got to say for himself.” Again and again his glass was at his eye: at length he shut it up with a loud slap.
“I thought as much,” he added; “he’s a Frenchman; but he will find the ‘Concorde’ a tough morsel if he attempts to swallow her, after she has belonged to us.”
Captain Courtney arrived before long at the same conclusion, and ordered the prize to stand to the northward, under all the sail she could carry.
Tom Calder received the order with a very bad grace. “I thought that he would at least have let us stop to help him to fight it out,” he muttered to himself as he put his hand to his mouth to issue the necessary orders to his scanty crew.
Sail was made on the prize, while the “Thisbe” hauled up her courses, and stood slowly after her to draw the enemy more away from the land before the commencement of their expected contest.
Mr Calder felt that he had no right to question his commander’s judgment; he could not help seeing, also, that could he effect his escape, he might possibly fall in with another British cruiser, and send her to the “Thisbe’s” assistance.
Even with more intense interest than at first, the approach of the stranger was watched from the deck of the “Concorde.”
The prize had got a mile from the “Thisbe” when the French surgeon made his appearance on deck, to enjoy a mouthful of fresh air, after his fatiguing duties below. His eager glance, and the sudden lighting up of his eye, showed that he fully comprehended the state of affairs.
Among the many accomplishments Ronald had obtained at Lunnasting was a certain amount of French. He could not speak fluently, but he could understand what was said. He could not help asking the surgeon what he thought about the stranger coming up from the southward.
“That she is one of the fastest frigates belonging to our navy,” was the answer. “We were expecting her here about this time; you have no chance of escaping her. We were to have cruised together; perhaps we shall do so now.”
“Ask him what sort of a man is her captain,” said Mr Calder, who saw Ronald talking to the surgeon.
Ronald put the question.
“There are two opinions,” said the surgeon, making a face. “He would be a coward who would refuse to attack our late antagonist in the condition to which we have reduced her.”
“All right,” observed Mr Calder, when he heard the remark; “if there are two opinions about a man’s courage it is seldom that the favourable one is the right; we shall see, though.”
In accordance with his orders, though much against his inclination, Lieutenant Calder stood away from the scene of the approaching combat.
A flash and a puff of smoke was seen, and soon afterwards a low thundering noise boomed along the waters. The French frigate had fired her first shot at the “Thisbe.”
“I hope it did not hit her!” exclaimed Morton. “Oh, how I wish we were there to help her!”
The same sentiment was expressed by all on board.
It seemed probable that the first shot did hit, for the Frenchman now luffed up and fired his broadside at the “Thisbe.” She waited till he bore away again, and then returned the compliment.
For a few minutes the firing ceased. Probably neither of the combatants had committed as much damage to each other as they expected, and were not desirous of throwing away their shots.
Ronald thought all the time of his father, and the danger to which he was exposed, for considering the comparatively defenceless state of the “Thisbe” he could not help dreading the result.
The breeze increased, and the “Concorde” got further and further from the scene of contest. Again the firing commenced. All hands knocked off work to watch the progress of the fight. The officers forgot even to recall them to their duty. The French surgeon and several of the wounded prisoners crawled up on deck to watch it also.
“There they go at it! Well done, ‘Thisbe’!” exclaimed Tom Calder. “Never saw a more rapidly delivered broadside. If she had all her spars she wouldn’t be long in taking that ship, too. Not certain that she won’t do it now. Hurra! there’s one of the Frenchman’s spars shot away.”
“Hurra for the ‘Thisbe’!” shouted the crew. “She’s the girl to win the day. Hurra! hurra!”
“Not so sure of that,” muttered Rawson, an old mate, who seldom saw things in a pleasant light. No wonder, for he had seen numbers who had come to sea long after him promoted over his head, and were now commanders and post captains, while he remained almost without hope in a subordinate position. He was pretty certain to be senior of the mess in whatever ship he sailed, and that was his only consolation, as it gave him some little authority, and full licence to growl to his heart’s content.
The firing became hotter than ever, though at the distance the “Concorde” was now from the two combatants it was difficult to observe the changes of the fight. Still all the glasses were kept in that direction.
“There! there! I said it would be so!” exclaimed Rawson, still keeping his eye at the glass.
“What has happened?” inquired Ronald, eagerly.
“Why, the Frenchmen have shot away the ‘Thisbe’s’ foretopmast, as far as I can make out—her jury-masts, too,” answered Rawson. “The ‘Thisbe’s’ done for, I’m afraid.”
“What’s that you say, Rawson?” exclaimed Lieutenant Calder. “Done for! not she; she’s not done firing, at all events.”
Rawson said no more; still it was very evident that the “Thisbe” was again almost a complete wreck, while the Frenchman had her rigging comparatively uninjured. The firing on both sides began to decrease. Evening was now drawing on, the wind was increasing, and dark clouds were coming up from the westward. For several minutes not a shot had been heard. Flashes there were, but they were from the clouds, and heaven’s artillery now rattled through the sky. The combatants could now scarcely be discerned in the distance.
“The ‘Thisbe’ has struck,” cried Rawson. “I said it would be so. I knew I should never have such luck as to take a prize like this, and to keep our ship.”
“I don’t believe it,” exclaimed Mr Calder. “Captain Courtney would never have given in to the Frenchman without a harder tussle for it.”
“Perhaps Captain Courtney has been killed,” croaked out poor Rawson, who was very bitter at the prospect of losing his long-looked-for promotion, which he would have obtained as soon as the prize was carried into port. Tom Calder, too, had every reason to wish to escape the enemy, with the same object in view, and he was not a man to throw a chance away.
The wind was fair, and the coming darkness and the rising gale would favour their escape. He now clapped on every inch of canvas which could possibly be set, and did his utmost to keep up the spirits of his crew, rating Mr Rawson soundly for his expressing his forebodings of ill.
The wind increased, and howled through the rigging; the seas came roaring and hissing up alongside, as the frigate, driven onward by the gale, went surging through the foaming water.
Thus on she went for some time.
“If we had but our masts the enemy would have a hard job to come up with us,” observed Dicky Glover to Ronald. “As it is, I doubt whether she’ll find us, after all.”
The two midshipmen were standing aft, looking over the taffrail.
“I wish that I thought we should escape her,” answered Ronald; “but I say—look!—look!—what’s that out there?”
At that moment there was a break in the clouds, and through it a gleam of light fell on the lofty sails of a ship coming up within gunshot astern.
“The French frigate! I knew it would be so,” said the rough voice of old Rawson.
There could be little doubt that he was right. The stranger was supposed by the French officers on board to be the “Atalante,” a frigate of the same size as the “Concorde.” What hope then that the latter could successfully resist her? Not many men besides Tom Calder would have had any hope of escaping.
“Never cry out till you are caught,” was his motto on similar occasions.
“That vessel astern has not yet made us out,” he observed to Rawson. “Though should she prove to be the ‘Atalante,’ perhaps we may still escape her, or she may be a friend after all.”
“Not likely that last, sir,” said Rawson, “but whether friend or foe, here she comes! She has made us out clearly enough, too, that I’ll be sworn.”
For a short time the clouds had closed in, and the stranger was hidden from view, but they again breaking, she was seen like some huge dark monster, towering up towards the sky, surging onwards on the starboard quarter of the “Concorde.”
“We shall soon see now, sir, what she is,” observed Rawson to his superior.
The bright flash of a gun, and an eighteen-pound shot, which came crashing into the side of the prize left that point very little in doubt.
“Man the starboard guns!” cried Mr Calder. “We’ll show the Frenchmen that though we have lost our wings we have still got our beaks.”
With a hearty cheer—though, from the paucity of their numbers, not a very loud one—the men went to the guns.
Could they beat off the enemy? They would try, at all events. Rawson in a moment forgot his forebodings, and was all life and courage. The enemy was seen to be shortening sail, so as not to pass the “Concorde.”
“Fire!” cried Lieutenant Calder. The men obeyed with alacrity, but scarcely had the shot left the mouths of the guns than the enemy replied with a crashing broadside, which shot away several of the stays of the jury-masts, knocked over three or four of the crew, and reduced the frigate almost to the state of wreck in which she had been found when captured.
Rawson was the only officer wounded, but still he cheered on the crew.
“We’ll not give in lads! Old England for ever!” he exclaimed, putting his right hand to a gun-tackle, and hauling away. The other arm had been hit.
In vain were all the efforts of those gallant men.
“Here she comes!” was the cry. “Boarders! repel boarders!”
The enemy gave a sheer to port, and with a loud crash ran alongside the “Concorde.” Grappling-irons were hove aboard her and the next instant the Frenchmen, in overpowering numbers, rushed like a torrent along her decks.
Chapter Sixteen.
The “Thisbe’s” Crew prepare for a Fresh Fight.
The chief anxiety of Captain Courtney when he ascertained that the approaching ship was an enemy, was to secure the escape of the prize. She would indeed have been of very little use to the “Thisbe” in repelling an attack, as the French frigate from having all her canvas would have been able to manoeuvre so as to engage each of them singly.
“There she goes, and I’ll engage Tom Calder’s heart is heavier than any one’s aboard here at having to run away!” exclaimed Captain Courtney—“Good luck go with him. We’ll try and keep the enemy engaged, and wing him, if we can. You’ll do your best, I know, my lads.”
A cheerful shout was the answer to this appeal, the last part of which was addressed to the crew.
The men were now seen fastening their handkerchiefs round their heads, tightening their waistbands, most of them having thrown off their jackets and shirts, standing at their guns with their brawny arms and shoulders bare, like pictures of Hercules prepared for battle; not a countenance that did not exhibit a cheerful alacrity for the battle.
As the captain took a walk round the decks, he felt assured that what men could do they would to maintain the honour of old England’s flag.
Many bore marks of their recent combat, and several still pale from loss of blood, had insisted on rising from their hammocks and going to their guns. Among them stood the boatswain, Rolf Morton; the captain shook his head at him.
“What! you could not trust us to fight the ship without you, Mr Morton?” he said, in a kind tone of reproof. “I must let you stay now you are on deck, but I would rather you were snug in your berth.”
“While I’ve breath for my pipe, and legs to stand on, I’d rather be here, Captain Courtney, thank you, sir,” answered Rolf. “I would lose an arm rather than let our prize be retaken.”
“So would I, Mr Morton, and we will do our best to help her escape,” said the captain, and he passed on.
With like kind words of encouragement both to officers and men, the captain passed along the guns; not a man of the crew who would not have dropped at their quarters, or gone down with the ship, rather than yield as long as their brave chief bade them fight on.
By the time Captain Courtney regained his post on the quarter-deck, the enemy had got within gun-shot, and commenced firing with her longer pieces at the “Thisbe,” but the shot fell wide.
“The enemy’s gunners want practice,” observed the captain to the third lieutenant, who was doing duty as first, though he himself was severely wounded. “We’ll reserve our fire till they get a little nearer, and then give it them with a will. They probably expect that we shall haul down our colours after we have satisfied the calls of honour with a few shots.”
“They don’t know of whom they have got hold then,” answered Mr Trenane, the lieutenant. “In a light wind they might have had too much the advantage of us, but with this breeze, the loss of our masts will matter less, I hope.”
The enemy was now coming up rapidly on the “Thisbe’s” quarter. A shot from her bow chasers whistled through the latter’s rigging; several others followed as the guns could be brought to bear.
On she came.
The “Thisbe” had not fired.
“Down with the helm and give it them, my lads!” suddenly shouted the captain.
The English frigate luffed up, and poured her whole broadside into the bows of the approaching enemy. The Frenchman put down his helm and returned the compliment, and now the two ships stood on for some time exchanging broadsides as rapidly as they could. At length a shot struck the “Thisbe’s” fore-topmast; it had been wounded in the previous engagement. Down it came with a crash, but so eagerly were the crew engaged that few discovered what had happened.
The master with a few hands flew aloft, and quickly cut away the wreck; the crew redoubled their efforts. Still the uninjured condition of the enemy’s rigging gave her an important advantage; her shot came crashing on board the “Thisbe.”
Whatever Captain Courtney might have thought, he appeared as cheerful and confident as ever. His courage kept up that of the crew. The enemy was frequently hulled. Now one spar was shot away; now another; his fire slackened. The British crew cheered lustily. That hearty cheer must have been heard along the Frenchman’s decks. It showed him that though his enemy was almost dismantled, the courage of the people was as undaunted as ever.
“We may not take him, but we may prevent his taking us,” observed Morton, as he moved among the crew.
Just then the Frenchman’s bow was seen to move up closer to the wind; his tacks were hauled aboard, the breeze was freshening, and away he stood on a bowline under all the sail he could set, leaving the astonished crew of the British ship rubbing their eyes and wondering what he was about. They, however, did not cease sending their shot after him, as a parting compliment.
“She has but hauled off to repair damages,” observed the third lieutenant to the captain.
“Not so sure of that, Trenane,” answered Captain Courtney; “probably her captain and other superior officers have been killed or wounded, and the rest suspect that we should prove too tough a morsel for them to digest.”
Captain Courtney seemed to be right in his conjectures; the French frigate stood on.
All hands were instantly set to work to repair damages, to be ready for her in case she should return. Many an eye cast an anxious glance in the direction in which she was steering. The brave crew would have welcomed her back, but they wished to be ready first to receive her.
Again she was observed to alter her course.
“She is coming back!” was the cry. “Hurra, lads, we’ll give it her if she does.”
They watched her eagerly. She was steering to the northward under all sail. There could be little doubt that she was in pursuit of the “Concorde.” More energetically than ever the crew worked away, in the hopes of being in a condition to go to the aid of their consort; but every instant the wind was increasing, the sea was getting up, and their task became more difficult. Dark clouds were gathering in the western horizon. It was evident that a gale was brewing, and there were appearances that it would be a severe one. The safety of the ship demanded all the care of the officers and the redoubled exertions of the men. The guns were secured, the shot holes stopped, the rigging knotted and spliced as strongly as time would allow; everything moveable below was lashed, and the ship’s head was brought to the wind to meet the expected blast. Had she had sea room she might have scudded, but, with the land under her lee, that was out of the question. As a brave man girds himself for an inevitable and deadly contest, so was the gallant ship prepared for the desperate conflict with the elements.
The British crew had not prepared unnecessarily to meet the gale, although delayed; down it came at length upon them with even greater fury than was expected. More than once it seemed as if the masts and rigging would give way, and that the frigate would be driven helplessly before its fury. Had a sail gone, had a rope given way, she might have been hurried to destruction; but careful hands had secured the rigging, every rope held, and there she lay nobly breasting the storm. Still she drifted to the eastward, and, should the gale continue long, she after all could not escape destruction.
As the morning approached, the wind blew harder and harder. Daylight exhibited no sign of its abating. All that day it continued, its fury in no way decreased. The weary crew began to faint with their exertions, but the officers went among them, and with cheering words reanimated their spirits. The carpenter had often sounded the well. He now reported that the ship had sprang a leak; the pumps must be manned; the demand on the energies of the crew was increased. Still they worked cheerfully. Even some of the wounded insisted on coming up to take their spell at the pumps.
Night again came on, but not for a moment during the whole course of it did Captain Courtney leave the deck. Often and often did he look out astern. He had good reason for so doing. The order was given to range the cables. It might be necessary to anchor, to make, at all events, the attempt to bring up the ship before she was driven on the enemy’s shores.
The morning returned at last, and away to the leeward, amid the thick driving spray, and through the pale cold cheerless light, a line of coast rose above the tumbling waters. Calm, as if no storm was raging, Captain Courtney walked the deck, his eye now turned astern—now at the rigging of his ship. He sent Mr Trenane forward to see that the anchors were ready for letting go. The lieutenant reported all ready.
“Then we have done all that men can do to save the ship, and to Providence we must trust the rest,” observed the captain.
Few words were exchanged by any on board, the crew were at their stations, ready to perform any duty required of them; those told off to labour at the pumps were working manfully; and thus they would have continued till the noble ship had struck on the rocks, or gone down beneath the waves.
Hours passed by. Slowly but certainly she drove stern on towards the land. The captain after a time was seen to look frequently over the side, and to watch the land more earnestly. His countenance brightened.
“There is hope for us yet,” he observed to Mr Trenane; “the wind is dropping.”
Such was the case. Rapidly the gale abated, the ship no longer laboured as before, the leak was easily kept under, the sea quickly went down, the wind got round to the southward, and by nightfall the “Thisbe,” under all sail, was steering a course for England.
Chapter Seventeen.
The “Concorde” recaptured by the “Atalante”—The Ships in a Gale—The “Atalante” wrecked—Ronald swims ashore—Communication established—The English shut up in a Tower.
In vain Lieutenant Calder and the prize crew of the “Concorde” attempted to resist the onslaught of the enemy. Several were killed, others were wounded, and they soon found themselves completely overpowered. No time was lost in conveying them on board the ship which had captured them, which proved to be the “Atalante,” a consort of their hard-won prize. Most of the wounded French prisoners were removed likewise, that they might be under the care of the chief surgeon of the ship, and among them was Alfonse Gerardin. He had somewhat recovered his strength and spirits, and now that he found himself no longer a prisoner, he talked away freely as well with the young Frenchmen of his own rank as with the English midshipmen.
When the transfer of prisoners had been accomplished, the “Atalante” took the “Concorde” in tow and made sail, but the wind increasing, the hawser broke, and both ships had to look out for their safety independently of each other.
In consequence of the comparatively small number of the English prisoners they were not very strictly guarded, and the officers were allowed to go about the decks by themselves.
The gale increased during the night, and when early in the morning Ronald Morton went on deck, he found the French ship scudding before it under bare poles.
There was a good deal of confusion on board; the crew were labouring at the pumps, but in anything but an energetic manner; some would suddenly knock off, and halloa and bawl at their shipmates to come and help them, but it was often long before their places were taken. On looking aloft he saw, too, that the masts were wounded in several places, and though the ship was placed in much greater peril by the way she had been knocked about, it was with no little satisfaction that he observed the battering she had received from the “Thisbe’s” and “Concorde’s” guns. Before long he encountered Mr Calder, whose eyes were engaged as his had been.
“What do you think, sir, of the state of affairs?” he asked.
“That they are as bad, Morton, as well can be,” was the answer. “Neither captain nor officers know what they are about, and it will be a miracle if they do not cast the ship away.”
“Of course they will,” observed Rawson, who had just then joined them; “I said from the first that we should have no good luck, and what I said has come true.”
“But other chaps among us said that we should have good luck,” remarked Twigg, the master’s assistant, who was always fond of putting Rawson in the wrong. “Now, you see, old fellow, it was just heads or tails—even, you’ll understand—and as ill-luck would have it, you happened to win.”
“It’s the only thing I ever did win, then,” answered poor Rawson, in a melancholy tone.
“Well, well, Rawson, the next time you prophesy ill, we’ll all pray that you may prove a false prophet,” observed Mr Calder. “But, my lads, it may before long be of very little consequence to most of us who is right and who is wrong; unless these Frenchmen are steering for some shelter, and know the coast perfectly, they will run us hard and fast on it before the world is many hours older.”
Ronald on this said he would go and learn what he could from young Gerardin, who would probably be able to ascertain what the Frenchmen proposed doing.
Ronald found his way to the sick-bay, where Alfonse was in his cot, able to sit up and talk without difficulty.
“What we are going to do, you demand?” he answered. “Why, let the ship drive and go to destruction, for what I can tell; all on board seem to have lost their wits, from the captain downwards. They would pitch me out of the ship if they heard my remarks, so do not repeat them.”
When Ronald returned on deck he found things in no way mended. The French crew appeared to be obeying their officers very slowly and unwillingly; indeed, the ship was already in a state of semi-mutiny. The officers, too, seemed to be issuing contradictory orders. Ronald saw them examining a chart, but it was evident from their gestures that they differed very much in opinion as to the course which should be steered. No decision was arrived at, and the ship drove onwards towards the coast of Finisterre.
There were harbours and shelter there in abundance; but judgment and good pilotage was required to take advantage of them, and these qualities were wanting on board the “Atalante.”
The English officers stood grouped together, affording a strong contrast to their French captors. Mr Calder was cool and collected as ever.
“If the Frenchmen won’t let us try and save the ship, we must do our best to save our lives,” he remarked. “Remember, in the first place, let us all hold together and help each other. We may make a harbour and run no risk of losing our lives, or we may drive on the rocks and have a desperate struggle for them, but in either case, prisoners we shall remain, only in the last we shall have a better chance of making our escape in the end—let us keep that in view, whatever happens. Now, lads! there is the land; it won’t be long before we become more nearly acquainted with it.”
Rawson, Morton, and the rest promised implicitly to follow Mr Calder’s directions. It was agreed that the instant the ship struck, Morton and Twigg should hasten down to release their own men below, and to tell them what had been resolved on. There was little doubt, even in the expected extremity, that they would willingly follow Mr Calder’s directions.
“In ten minutes we shall know our fate,” said Mr Calder, calmly watching the shore, towards which the helpless ship was rapidly driving.
It consisted of a sandy beach, the ground rising a little beyond it, with here and there a low building, and in the centre a ruined mill, or fort, or watchtower—it was difficult to say what.
The sandy beach might have offered some prospect that their lives would be preserved, but in front of it rose among the foaming breakers a line of dark rocks, and no break was perceived in them through which the ship might force her way.
“Few of those on board this ill-fated craft will see another day,” observed Rawson, as he eyed the threatening coast. But he no longer spoke in a desponding tone; the moment of action was at hand, and such a prospect always roused him up.
“There’s a fresh hand at the bellows, to help us along to our fate,” he added. “Well, let it do its worst; Jack Rawson won’t flinch as long as he has a head on his shoulders.”
Morton was what is called constitutionally brave, and the calmness of his companions increased his courage. His friend, Dicky Glover, looked at him with admiration; Morton’s bearing gave him confidence. If one who, so short a time before, was a ship’s boy, was so cool and brave, of course he who was born a gentleman, and had long been a midshipman, ought to exhibit even more calmness and resolution. So in reality, at this trying moment, Glover appeared as much the hero as did Morton.
Mr Calder noted both of the lads, and his heart warmed with pride as he marked the courage of his young countrymen, though he grieved at the too great probability of their being cut off.
The greater number of the Frenchmen were all this time agitated in the greatest degree, each man following his own devices; the officers having lost all shadow of control. Some had hurried below to put on their best clothes, or to secure what valuables they possessed; others had broken into the spirit-room, and with cans and bottles in their hands, came reeling on deck, insisting on their officers drinking with them. Some were dancing furiously; others were singing at the top of their voices, but except a very few, no one was preparing for the inevitable catastrophe. More than half were below when it came.
“Secure that coil of rope, and hold on for your lives!” shouted Mr Calder.
The ship struck, the foremast instantly went by the board; the seas furiously dashed up the frigate’s sides, and washed through her ports and over her deck. Each time she was struck, she shivered as if about to be wrenched asunder.
Numbers of the hapless crew were washed away. Men and officers shared the same fate; some were seen for a time struggling between the beach and the ship, but the cruel seas as they rushed back, carried them off, and hurled them among the dark rocks, where life was speedily crushed and washed out of them.
Ronald, Glover, and Twigg, as directed, had instantly the ship struck, hurried below to release their countrymen. The seamen, knowing what had happened, were making desperate efforts to get out of the hold in which they had been battened down. A capstan bar, which Morton and his companions found outside, enabled them to accomplish their object. The English seamen rushed upon deck, for the terrific sounds which reached their ears, and the fierce concussions the ship was receiving, warned that no time was to be lost, if they would preserve their lives.
Morton was hurrying up with the rest, when he recollected the wounded midshipman, Alfonse Gerardin.
“His countrymen won’t help him, of that I am pretty certain, and I cannot leave the poor fellow to perish,” he exclaimed to Glover, who was near him.
“I’ll help you, whatever you do,” answered Dicky Glover, who was as ready to do a good deed as a mischievous one, if it was suggested to him.
“So will I, Mr Morton,” said a seaman who had kept by the two midshipmen from the moment he had got his liberty, and had moreover possessed himself of the capstan bar, to serve him as a trusty weapon in case of need.
“Thank you, friend Truefitt,” said Morton: “come along.”
Ronald was well pleased to get such an ally as honest Job Truefitt, for there was not among the crew of the “Thisbe” a better seaman or a more trustworthy, better-hearted fellow.
While the rest were rushing on deck, Ronald and his companions made their way along the deck to the sick-bay. Many of the wounded were calling on their shipmates to come to their assistance, and uttering imprecations fierce and terrible, when they found that they called in vain.
Gerardin was attempting to get up, but his strength failed him, and he lay back, his countenance betokening a proud resignation to his own fate, and scorn at the terror of the wretches who surrounded him.
“What!” he exclaimed, when he saw Morton and Glover with Job Truefitt, “have you Englishmen found time, amid all this confusion, to come and look after a wounded wretch like me; an enemy too—who has been taught with his utmost strength to hate the English?”
“We Englishmen have been taught to help our enemies in distress, mounseer,” observed Job Truefitt, as, without waiting a moment to ask leave, he lifted the wounded lad on his shoulders. “There’s no time for palavering. Come along, sirs.”
The midshipmen sprang on, helping Job to support his burden, and they soon reached the upper-deck, when the scene of horror and confusion was indescribable! Not without difficulty, and in great danger of being washed off, they made their way to the after part of the quarter-deck, where Mr Calder, with the other Englishmen, were assembled.
The ship had driven with her larboard side to the shore, and as she heeled over they were partly sheltered from the force of the seas, which dashed in arches of foam high above her.
The English lieutenant and his party had made fast a cask to the end of the line they had secured, and were endeavouring to float it towards the shore, where three or four people stood ready to receive it. In vain they tried. Several times the cable got almost within their reach, and was carried back again with the reflux of the wave. Morton, however, observed to his satisfaction, that just at that part there were no rocks, and that the seas rushed on without any break till they reached the beach.
“If I could but do it,” thought Morton to himself. “I have swum through some tolerably heavy seas on the Shetland coast.”
He at once made the proposal to Mr Calder.
“Impossible!” was the answer. “You would be drowned, my boy, to a certainty.”
“But I could do it, and whether I’m drowned or not, it matters little,” exclaimed Job Truefitt. “Here, who’ll take charge of this here young Frenchman?”
Rawson offered also to make the attempt, but he was known not to be a good swimmer.
A thundering crash was heard. It was the fall of the remainder of the foremast, and the breaking up of the fore part of the ship. It was a strong hint to the English party to hasten whatever they might undertake.
“You’ll let me go, Mr Calder?” said Morton again.
He and Job Truefitt had secured some light line to the cask, which had just been hauled up. It was again lowered, and the lieutenant nodded his head, but his countenance was very sad, as if he had little hopes of the success of the expedition. The instant his permission was gained, Ronald and Job slid down the side of the ship, and were quickly borne on with the cask towards the shore. They both struck out bravely, and soon reached the cask. They had little at first to do, except to keep themselves afloat. All those who anxiously watched them, knew that the trial would come as they neared the beach, and got within the power of the under suck of the receding waves. At first they merely accompanied the cask, and supporting themselves by it, husbanded their strength.
“They will be lost to a certainty, I know,” observed Rawson. “If they don’t succeed, I don’t know who will. I never saw a finer swimmer than that man Truefitt.”
“Oh, I hope they will! I hope they will be saved!” cried Glover, in an agony of terror for Morton, who had inspired him with the sincerest affection.
“There they go! bravely they swim!” cried Mr Calder. “They are ahead of the cask—they dart forward—the undertow has got them. No!—they are struggling desperately with it—they don’t lose ground—on they go!—No!”
There was a cry that the sea had carried them back, but the next moment their heads appeared on the top of a foaming sea, and on it rushed towards the beach.
Now was the critical moment. Their shipmates on board the wreck held their breath as they watched their progress. One was seen to rise up on the beach from out of a sheet of foam, and to hurry upwards; but there was only one. He did not stop a moment. Down he dashed again. He had a grasp of a rope, though the other end of which was held by the people on the shore.
Without hesitation, he plunged once more into the seething waters; he did not again appear—there was a cry of despair—all thought he was lost—but no—the next instant he was seen, and this time with a companion, and aided by the people, who were on the watch for them, they both together hurried up the beach, and the cask, with the line, was hauled up after them.
The great object was accomplished; a communication was secured with the shore. The passage, however, was still full of danger.
More line was procured. A traveller and slings were fitted, and Rawson volunteered to lead the way. Should he succeed, the passage would be somewhat less dangerous.
The people on shore now tightened the rope. He took a supply of line with which to haul the next person on shore. A shout from the English seamen proclaimed that he was successful.
It was now according to rule, under such circumstances, the privilege of the youngest to proceed. Dicky Glover was ordered into the slings.
“If I must go, may I take the young Frenchman?” he asked. “I know Morton would wish it.”
“Yes, be sharp,” answered Mr Calder, assisting himself to secure them both. Away they went on their perilous passage. It was near sun-down when the ship struck. It was now rapidly getting dark. What a night of horrors was there for those who were compelled to spend it on board the wreck.
When Dicky Glover had nearly reached the shore, the surf almost tore young Gerardin from the slings, and the hold he had of him. Almost hopelessly he struggled. In another instant they both would have been carried away, when Glover saw some one making his way through the foaming water towards him. A friendly hand grasped his, and in another minute he and his charge were hauled up out of the power of the sea.
Ronald Morton, with a rope round his waist, had been the means of rescuing him and Gerardin from death. Dicky began to thank him.
“Only obeying orders—helping each other,” answered Ronald. “But lend a hand, Glover, we have plenty to do.”
Morton and his companions became very anxious for the fate of their gallant superior. Had the frigate been his own ship, he would have been the last to leave the wreck; but now, having seen his own people on shore, he would have no hesitation in coming.
Ronald applied to Gerardin, but he could get no information from his confused countrymen as to what had become of the English lieutenant. The Englishmen, notwithstanding this, continued to assist energetically in hauling the people on shore. Each time a man reached the beach, they hailed him, hoping to find that he was their officer.
Suddenly, as they were hauling in on the line made fast to the traveller, the main line became slack: alas! all communication with the ill-fated ship was cut off.
“Haul on it, lads!” shouted Rawson and Morton in concert.
“It is heavy; there is some one on it,” cried the men. “Steady, lads, steady.”
Gradually they hauled in the line. The life of one more fellow-creature might be saved. They hauled away. Yes, a man was there! was he still alive, though?
They hailed as he neared them. An English voice answered, “All right, lads!” It was their own lieutenant. They welcomed him with a joyful shout, which showed that he had won the honest affections of his men, a prize worthy of an officer’s aim.
“I had a struggle for it,” he observed, as soon as he was somewhat recovered. “No sooner was I on the rope, than some of the wretches in their madness cut it, and have so lost all means of reaching the shore in safety. Still we will do what we can to help them.”
The Englishmen kept to this resolution. With unceasing watchfulness they moved up and down along the beach, saving the lives of many who would otherwise have fallen victims to the waves.
The wearied seamen, their labours over, threw themselves on the sands to rest, scarcely allowing the thought to trouble them of what next they should do. They had not enjoyed many minutes’ repose before they were roused up by a party of soldiers, who, without much ceremony, marched them all off to a tower in the neighbourhood, which Ronald recollected observing before the ship struck. Here, in spite of all Mr Calder’s expostulations, they were locked up in an upper chamber without food or water, and left to their own devices.
It is not surprising if their remarks and reflections were not very complimentary to the people on whose shores they had been thrown.