Фредерик Марриет
The King's Own
Chapter Thirty One.
Conquest pursues, where courage leads the way.
Garth.
The glasses of Captain M — , and the officers who remained on board of the frigate, were anxiously pointed towards the boats, which in less than half an hour had arrived within gunshot of the privateer. “There is a gun from her,” cried several of the men at the same moment, as the smoke boomed along the smooth water. The shot dashed up the spray under the bows of the boats, and ricochetting over them, disappeared in the wave, about half a mile astern.
The boats, which, previously, had been pulling in altogether, and without any particular order, now separated, and formed a line abreast, so that there was less chance of the shot taking effect than where they were before, en masse.
“Very good, Mr Price,” observed the captain, who had his eye fixed on them, through his glass.
The boats continued their advance towards the enemy, who fired her two long guns, both of which she had brought over to her starboard side, but, though well directed, the shot did not strike any of her assailants.
“There’s grape, sir,” said the master, as the sea was torn and ploughed up with it close to the launch, which, with the other boats, was now within a hundred yards of the privateer.
“The launch returns her fire,” observed Captain M — .
“And there’s blaze away from the pinnace and the barge,” cried one of the men, who stood on the rattlings of the main rigging. “Hurrah, my lads! keep it up,” continued the man, in his feeling of excitement, which, pervading Captain M — , as well as the rest of the crew, received no check, though not exactly in accordance with the strict routine of the service.
The combat now became warm; gun after gun from the privateer was rapidly fired at the boats, who were taking their stations previous to a simultaneous rush to board. The pinnace had pulled away towards the bow of the privateer; the barge had taken up a position on the quarter; the launch remained on her beam, firing round and grape from her eighteen-pounder carronade, with a rapidity that almost enabled her to return gun for gun to her superiorly-armed antagonist. Both the cutters were under her stern, keeping up an incessant fire of musketry, with which they were now close enough to annoy the enemy.
“A gun from the rock close to the barge, sir!” reported the signalman.
“I expected as much,” observed Captain M — to the officers standing near him.
“One of the cutters has winded, sir; she’s stretching out for the shore,” cried the master.
“Bravo — that’s decided — and without waiting for orders. Who commands that boat?” inquired Captain M — .
“It’s the first cutter — Mr Stewart, sir.”
The cutter was on shore before the gun could be reloaded and fired a second time. The crew, with the officer at their head, were seen to clamber up the rock! In a minute they returned, and jumping into the boat, pulled off to give their aid to the capture of the vessel.
“He has spiked the gun, I am certain,” observed Captain M — .
Before the cutter could regain her station, the other boats, were summoned by the bugle in the launch, and, with loud cheering, pulled up together to the attack. The booms, which had been rigged out to prevent them from coming alongside, already shot through by the grape from the launch, offered but little resistance to the impetus with which the boats were forced against them; they either broke in two, or sank under water.
“There’s board — Hurrah!” cried all the men who remained in the Aspasia, cheering those who heard them not.
But I must transport the reader to the scene of slaughter; for if he remains on board of the Aspasia, he will distinguish nothing but fire and smoke. Don’t be afraid, ladies, if I take you on board of the schooner — “these our actors are all air, thin air,” raised by the magic pen for your amusement. Come, then, fearlessly, with me, and view the scene of mortal strife. The launch has boarded on the starboard gangway, and it is against her that the crew of the privateer have directed their main efforts.
The boarding nettings cannot be divided, and the men are thrown back wounded or dead, into the boat. The crew of the pinnace are attempting the bows with indifferent success. Some have already fallen a sacrifice to their valour — none have yet succeeded in gaining a footing on deck, while the marines are resisting, with their bayonets, the thrusts of the boarding pikes which are protruded through the ports. Courtenay has not yet boarded in the barge, for, on pulling up on the quarter, he perceived that, on the larboard side of the vessel, the boarding nettings had either been neglected to be properly triced up, or had been cut away by the fire from the boats. He has pushed alongside, to take advantage of the opening, and the two cutters have followed him. They board with little resistance — the enemy are too busy repelling the attacks on the other side — and as his men pour upon the privateer’s deck, the crews of the launch and pinnace, tired with their vain endeavours to divide the nettings, and rendered desperate by their loss, have run up the fore and main rigging above the nettings, and thrown themselves down, cutlass in hand into the mêlée below, careless of the points of the weapons which may meet them in their descent. Now is the struggle for life or death!
Courtenay, who was daring as man could be, but not of a very athletic frame, reclimbed from the main chains of the vessel, into which he had already once fallen, from one of his own seamen having inadvertently made use of his shoulder as a step to assist his own ascent. He was overtaken by Robinson, the coxswain of the cutter, who sprang up with all the ardour and activity of an English sailor who “meant mischief,” and, pleased with the energy of his officer (forgetting, at the moment, the respect due to his rank), called out to him, by the sobriquet with which he had been christened by the men, — “Bravo, Little Bilious! that’s your sort!”
“What’s that, sir?” cried Courtenay, making a spring, so as to stand on the plane-sheer of the vessel at the same moment with the coxswain, and seizing him by the collar, — “I say, Robinson, what do you mean by calling me ‘Little Bilious?’” continued the lieutenant, wholly regardless of the situation they were placed in. The coxswain looked at him with surprise, and at the same moment parried off with his cutlass a thrust of a pike at Courtenay, which, in all probability, would otherwise have prevented his asking any more questions; then, without making any answer, sprang down on the deck into the midst of the affray.
“You, Robinson, come back,” cried Courtenay, after him — “Damned annoying — Little Bilious, indeed!” continued he, as, following the example of the coxswain, he proceeded to vent his bile, for the present, on the heads of the Frenchmen.
In most instances of boarding, but more especially in boarding small vessels, there is not much opportunity for what is termed hand-to-hand fighting. It is a rush for the deck; breast to breast, thigh to thigh, foot to foot, man wedged against man, so pressed on by those behind, that there is little possibility of using your cutlass, except by driving your antagonist’s teeth down his throat with the hilt. Gun-shot wounds, of course, take place throughout the whole of the combat, but those from the sabre and the cutlass are generally given and received before the close, or after the resistance of one party has yielded to the pertinacity and courage of the other. The crews of the barge and cutters having gained possession of the deck in the rear of the enemy, the affair was decided much sooner than it otherwise would have been, for the French fought with desperation, and were commanded by a most gallant and enterprising captain. In three minutes, the crew of the privateer were either beaten below, or forced overboard, and the colours hauled down from the mast-heads announced to Captain M — and the rest of the Aspasia’s crew, the welcome intelligence that the privateer was in the possession of their gallant shipmates. The hatches were secured, and the panting Englishmen, for a few minutes, desisted from their exertions, that they might recover their breath; after which Price gave directions for the cables and hawser to be cut, and the boats to go ahead, and tow the vessel out.
“They are firing musketry from the shore; they’ve just hit one of our men,” said the coxswain of the pinnace.
“Then cast off, and bring your gun to bear astern. If you do not hit them, at least they will not be so steady in their aim. As soon as we are out of musket-shot, pull out to us.”
The order was executed, whilst the other boats towed the privateer towards the frigate. In a few minutes they were out of musket-shot; the pinnace returned, and they had leisure to examine into the loss which they had sustained in the conflict.
The launch had suffered most; nine of her crew were either killed or wounded. Three seamen and four marines had suffered in the other boats. Twenty-seven of the privateer’s men were stretched on the decks, either dead or unable to rise. Those who had not been severely hurt had escaped below with the rest of the crew.
Price was standing at the wheel, his sabre not yet sheathed, with Courtenay at his side, when his inveterate habit returned, and he commenced —
“‘I do remember, when the fight was done — ’”
“So do I, and devilish glad that it’s over,” cried Jerry, coming forward from the taffrail with a cutlass in hand, which although he could wield, he could certainly not have done much execution with.
“Why, how came you here, Mr Jerry?” inquired Courtenay.
“Oh! Stewart brought me in his boat, with the hopes of getting rid of me; but I shall live to plague him yet.”
“You are not hurt, Seymour, I hope?” said Price to our hero, who now joined the party, and whose clothes were stained with blood.
“No,” replied Seymour, smiling. “It’s not my blood — it’s Stewart’s. I have been binding up his head; he has a very deep cut on the forehead, and a musket-ball in his neck; but I think neither of the wounds is of much consequence.”
“Where is he?”
“In the cutter. I desired them to put the wounded man in her, out of the launch, and to pull on board at once. Was not I right?”
“Yes, most assuredly. I should have thought of it myself.”
“Well, Jerry,” said Seymour, laughing, “how many did you — ”
“I did not count them; but if you meet with any chaps with deeper wounds than usual, put them down to me. Do you know, Mr Price, you are more indebted to me than you may imagine for the success of this affair?”
“How, Mr Jerry? I should like to know, that I may prove my gratitude; ‘eleven out of the thirteen’ you paid, I’ve no doubt.”
“It was not altogether that — I frightened them more than I hurt them; for when they would have returned the blows from this stalwart arm,” said Jerry, holding out the member in question, which was about the thickness of a large carrot, “I immediately turned edgeways to them, and was invisible. They thought that they had to deal with either a ghost or a magician, and, depend upon it, it unnerved them — ”
“‘Approach thou like,’ — what is it?” resumed Price, “something — ‘Hence, horrible shadow, unreal mockery, hence!’”
“Pretty names to be called in reward of my services,” cried Jerry. “I presume this is a specimen of the gratitude you were talking about. Well, after all, to take a leaf out of your book, Mr Price, I consider that the better part of valour is discretion. Now, that fellow, Stewart, he actually gave them his head to play with, and I am not sorry that he has had it broken — for I calculate that I shall be saved at least a dozen thrashings by some of his hot blood being let out — ‘the King’s poor cousin!’”
“By the bye, I quite forgot — where’s Robinson, the coxswain of the cutter?” demanded Courtenay.
“Between the guns forward seriously hurt, poor fellow, I am afraid,” answered Seymour.
“I’m very sorry for that — I’ll go and see him — I wish to speak with him,” replied Courtenay, walking forward.
Robinson was lying near the long brass gun, which was pointed out of the foremost port, his head pillowed upon the body of the French captain, who had fallen by his hand, just before he had received his mortal wound. A musket-ball had entered his groin, and divided the iliac artery; he was bleeding to death — nothing could save him. The cold perspiration on his forehead, and the glassy appearance of his eye, too plainly indicated that he had but a few minutes to live. Courtenay, shocked at the condition of the poor fellow, who was not only the most humorous, but one of the ablest seamen in the ship, knelt down on one knee beside him, and took his hand.
“How do you feel, Robinson? are you in much pain?”
“None at all, sir, thank ye,” replied the man, faintly; “but the purser may chalk me down D.D. as soon as he pleases. I suppose he’ll cheat government out of our day’s grub though,” continued the man, with a smile.
Courtenay, aware of the truth of the first observation, thought it no kindness to attempt to deceive a dying man with hopes of recovery in his last moments; he therefore continued — “Can I be of any service to you, Robinson? Is there any thing I can do when you are gone?”
“Nothing at all, sir. I’ve neither chick nor child, nor relation, that I know of. Yes, there is one thing, sir, but it’s on the bloody side; the key of the mess chest is in my trousers’ pocket — I wish you’d recollect to have it taken out and given to John Williams; you must wait till I’m dead, for I can’t turn myself just now.”
“It shall be attended to,” replied Courtenay.
“And, Mr Courtenay, remember me to the captain.”
“Is there any thing else?” continued Courtenay, who perceived that the man was sinking rapidly.
“Nothing — nothing, sir,” replied Robinson, very, faintly. “Good-bye, God bless you, sir; I’m going fast now.”
“But Robinson,” said Courtenay, in a low soothing voice, bending nearer to him, “tell me, my good fellow — I am not the least angry — tell me, why did you call me Little Bilious?”
The man turned his eyes up to him, and a smile played upon his features, as if he was pleased with the idea of disappointing the curiosity of his officer. He made no answer — his head fell back, and in a few seconds he had breathed his last.
“Poor fellow — he is gone!” said Courtenay, with a deep sigh, as he rose up from the body. “Never answered my question, too — Well,” continued he, as he walked slowly aft, “now that’s what I consider to be most excessively annoying.”
By this time, the privateer had been towed under the stern of the frigate, and a hawser was sent on board to secure her astern. Price and the other officers returned on board, where they were well received by Captain M — , who thanked them for their exertions. The wounded had been some time under the hands of Macallan, and fresh crews having been ordered into the boats, they returned to the privateer. The hatches were taken off and the prisoners removed to the frigate.
The name of the prize was the Estelle, of two hundred tons burthen, mounting fourteen guns, and having on board, at the commencement of the attack, her full complement of one hundred and twenty-five men.
Chapter Thirty Two.
Many with trust, with doubt few are undone.
Lord Brook.
Doubt wisely: in strange way
To stand inquiring right, is not to stray;
To run wrong, is.
Donne.
When the hatches were taken off on board of the privateer, the prisoners, as they came up, were handed into the boats. Jerry stood at the hatchway, with his cutlass in his hand, making his sarcastic remarks upon them as they appeared. A short interval had elapsed, after it was supposed that everybody had come from below, when a tall, thin personage, in the dress of a landsman, crawled up the hatchway.
“Halloo!” cried Jerry; “Mr Longtogs, who have we here? Why, he must be the padre. I say, mounseer, je very much suspect, que vous êtes what they call a Father Confessor, n’est-ce pas? Devilish good idea. A privateer with a parson! What’s your pay, mounseer? — a tenth, of course. Little enough too for looking after the souls of such a set of damned rascals. Well mounseer, vous êtes prisonnier, without benefit of clergy; so hop into that boat. Why, confound it, here’s another!” continued Jerry, as a second made his appearance. “He’s the clerk, of course, as he follows the parson. Come, Mont’ Arrivo Jack! What a cock-eye the rascal has!”
During this elegant harangue, which was certainly meant for his own amusement more than for their edification, as Jerry had no idea but that they were belonging to the privateer, and of course could not comprehend him, both the parties looked at him, and at each other, with astonishment, until the first who had appeared addressed the latter with, “I say, Paul, did you ever see such a thing before? Damn it, why he’s like a sixpenny fife, — more noise than substance.”
Jerry at once perceived his mistake, and recollected that the master of the vessel which they had boarded had mentioned that two English merchants had been taken out of her by the privateer, with the hopes of ransom; but, nettled with the remark which had been made, he retorted with —
“Well, I’d recommend you not to attempt to play upon me, that’s all.”
“No, I don’t mean, for I should only make you squeak.”
“You are the two gentlemen who were detained by the privateer, I presume,” said Pearce, the master, who had come on board to superintend the necessary arrangements previous to her being sent in.
“We are, sir, and must introduce ourselves. My name is Mr Peter Capon — that of my friend, designated by that young gentleman as Cock-eye, is Mr Paul Contract. Will you oblige us with a boat to go on board of the frigate, that we may speak to the captain?”
“Most certainly. Jump into the first cutter there. I am sorry you have been so unpleasantly situated, gentlemen. Why did not you come on deck before?”
Peter did not state the real ground, which was to secure their property, which was below, from being plundered by the privateer’s crew; but, wishing to pay off Jerry for his impertinence, replied —
“Why, we did look up the hatchway several times, but there was something so awful, and, I may say, so un-English-like, in the appearance of that officer, with his drawn sword, that we were afraid; we could not imagine into whose hands the vessel had fallen — we thought it had been captured by the Yahoos.”
“Houyhnhnms, more likely. You’ll find I’m a bit of a horse,” replied Jerry, in a passion.
“By Jove, then, you’re only fit for the hounds,” observed the gentleman with oblique vision; “I should order you — ”
“Would you? Well, now I’ll order you, sir,” replied the youngster, whose anger made him quite forget the presence of his commanding officer — “Have the goodness to step into that boat.”
“And I shall order you, Mr J — ,” observed the master, with asperity — “I order you to go into that boat, and take these gentlemen on board, and to hold your tongue.”
“Ay, ay, sir. This way, sir,” said Jerry to Mr Peter, making him a polite bow, and pointing to the boat at the gangway — “In that direction, sir, if you please,” continued Jerry, bowing to Mr Paul, and pointing to the quarter of the vessel.
“And why in that direction, sir?” observed Paul, “I am going on board of the frigate.”
“I know it, sir; it was considerate on my part: I was allowing for the angle of obliquity in your vision. You would have exactly fetched the boat.”
The indignation of Mr Paul was now at its height; and Pearce, the master, who was much annoyed at Jerry’s excessive impertinence, which he knew Captain M — would never have overlooked, detained the boat for a minute, while he wrote a few lines to Price, requesting him to send the bearer of it to the masthead, upon delivery, for his impertinent conduct. “Mr J — , take this on board, and deliver it from me to the commanding officer.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied Jerry. “Shove off there, forward.”
Mr Peter looked Jerry earnestly in his face for some time, as they were pulling on board.
“Well now, damn it, I like you, if it’s only for your excessive impudence.”
“A negative sort of commendation, but I believe it the only one that he has,” replied the other, in a surly tone.
“Highly flattered, sir,” replied Jerry to Mr Peter, “that you should perceive anything to induce you to like me; but I am sorry I cannot return the compliment, for I really cannot perceive anything to like you for. As for your friend there, I can only say, that I detest all crooked ways. — In bow forward! — way enough. Now, gentlemen, with your permission, I’ll show you the road,” said the youngster, climbing up the side.
Jerry, who had some suspicion that the note was not in his favour, took the liberty, as it was neither sealed nor watered, of reading it under the half-deck, while Price was showing the two gentlemen into the cabin. Not to deliver a note on service was an offence for which Captain M — would have dismissed him from the ship; but to be perched up, like a monkey, at the mast-head, in the afternoon, after having fought like a man in the morning, was very much against the grain. At any other time he would have cared little about it. He went upon deck again, where he found Prose on the gangway — “Well, Prose, my boy, how are you?”
“Why, upon my soul, Jerry, I am tired to death. Seven times have I been backward and forward to that abominable privateer, and now my tea is ready, and I am ordered to go again for these gentlemen’s things.”
“Well, that is hard. I will go for you, Prose, shall I? Where’s the boat?”
“All ready, alongside. Well, now, it’s very kind of you, Jerry, I do declare.”
Jerry laid hold of the man-ropes, and began to descend the side — and then, as if recollecting himself of a sudden, said, “Oh, by the bye, I had nearly forgot. Here’s a note from the master to Mr Price. Give it him, Prose.”
“Yes, Jerry, I will,” replied Prose, walking over to the side of the quarter-deck where Price was carrying on the duty, while Jerry made all the haste he could, and shoved off in the boat.
“A note, sir, from Mr Pearce, the master.”
“Hum,” said Price, running it over. “Mr Prose, go up to the masthead, and stay there till I call you down.”
“Sir!” replied Prose, aghast.
“No reply, sir — up immediately.”
“Why, sir, it was — ”
“Another word, sir, and I’ll keep you there all night,” cried Price, walking forward, in furtherance of the duty he was carrying on.
“Well, now, I do declare! What have I done?” said Prose, with a whimpering voice as he reluctantly ascended the main-rigging, not unperceived by Jerry, who was watching the result as he pulled on board of the privateer.
“Come on board for these gentlemen’s clothes, sir,” said Jerry, reporting himself to Mr Pearce, who, not a little surprised to see him, inquired —
“Did Mr Price receive my note?”
“Yes, sir, he did.”
“Why, I requested him to masthead you!”
“Many thanks, sir, for your kindness,” replied the youngster, touching his hat.
Pearce, who was annoyed that his request should not have been complied with, stated his feelings on the subject to Price, when he returned to the ship in the evening.
Price declared that he had sent Prose to the masthead, and had not called him down until eight o’clock. The affair was thus explained, and Jerry was pardoned for the ingenuity of his ruse de guerre, while all the comfort that was received by the unfortunate Prose, was being informed, on the ensuing morning, that it was all a mistake.
The prize being now ready, Captain M — desired Courtenay to take charge of it, and select two of the midshipmen to accompany him. His choice fell upon Seymour and Jerry: the latter being selected rather for his own amusement, than for his qualities as an officer. The distance to Jamaica, to which island he was directed to proceed, and from thence with his crew to obtain a passage to Barbadoes, was not great, and Captain M — did not like to have the frigate short manned; he was therefore not allowed to take more than ten seamen with him, five prisoners being sent on board, to assist in navigating the vessel. Mr Capon and Mr Contract, at their own request, went as passengers.
In the afternoon, as soon as the provisions were on board, Courtenay received his written orders, and in a few hours the frigate was out of sight. They had barely time to stow away everything in its place, and make the necessary arrangements, when a heavy North East swell, and lowering horizon, predicted a continuance of the fair wind, and plenty of it. So it proved; the wind increased rapidly, and the men found it difficult to reduce the canvas in sufficient time. Before dark, the wind blew with considerable force, not steadily, but in fitful gusts: and the sun, as he descended in the wave, warned them, by his red and fiery aspect, to prepare for an increase of the gale. The schooner flew before it, under her diminished sail, rolling gunwale-to in the deep trough, or lurching heavily as her weather quarter was borne up aloft by the culminating swell. All was secured for the night; the watch was set, and Seymour walked the deck, while Courtenay and the rest went below, and at an early hour retired to their beds.
Among other reasons for selecting our hero as one of his assistants, Courtenay was influenced by his perfect knowledge of the French language, which might prove useful in communicating with the French prisoners, who were sent on board to assist in working the vessel. Jerry had also boasted of his talent in that way, as he wished to go in the prize; and, although the reader, from the specimen which he has had, may not exactly give credit to his assertions, yet Courtenay, who had never heard him, believed that he was pretty well acquainted with the language.
But, soon after they had parted with the frigate, when Courtenay desired the French prisoners to lay hold of the ropes and assist in shortening sail, they all refused. Seymour was not on deck at the time; he had been desired to superintend the arrangements below: and although he had been informed of their conduct, he had not yet spoken to the prisoners. Two of them were sitting aft under the lee of the weather-bulwark, as Seymour was walking the deck to and fro. They were in earnest conversation, when Seymour stopped near to them, carelessly leaning over the weather-quarter, watching the long following seas, when he overheard one say to the other —
“Taisez, peut-être qu’il nous entend.”
“Nous verrons,” replied the other — who immediately rose, and addressed Seymour in French relative to the weather. What he had previously heard induced our hero to shake his head, and continue to look over the weather-quarter, and as Seymour only answered in the English negative to a further interrogation, the prisoners did not think it worth while to remove out of his hearing, but, satisfied with his not being able to comprehend them, sat down again, and resumed their conversation. The lurching of the vessel was a sufficient reason for not walking the deck; but Seymour, to remove all suspicion, took another turn or two, and then again held on by the ropes close by the Frenchmen. The wind blew too fresh to permit him to catch more than an occasional sentence or two of their conversation; but what he heard made him more anxious to collect more.
“Ils ne sont que seize, avec ce petit misère,” observed one, “et nous sommes — ” Here the rest of the sentence was lost. Seymour reckoned up the English on board, and found that, with Billy Pitt, whom Macallan had allowed Courtenay to take with him as his steward, they exactly amounted to that number. The latter epithet he considered, justly enough, to be bestowed upon his friend Jerry. A few minutes afterwards, he intercepted —
“They’ll throw us overboard, if we do not succeed — we’ll throw them overboard, if we do.”
“Courage, mon ami, il n’y aura pas de difficulté; nous sommes trop forts,” replied the other, as, terminating their conversation, they rose and walked forward.
It was evident to our hero that something was in agitation; but at the same time it appeared perfectly incomprehensible, that six prisoners should have even formed the idea of attempting the recapture of a vessel manned with sixteen Englishmen, and that they should consider themselves so strong as to insure success. Determined to report what he had heard to Courtenay, Seymour walked the remainder of his watch, was relieved, and went below to his hammock.
The wind had increased during the night; but as it was fair, and the sky clear, and the sun shone bright, the breeze was rather a matter of congratulation when they met at breakfast in the morning, although Peter and Paul complained of the violent motion of the vessel having taken away their appetite. Seymour reported to Courtenay the fragments of the conversation which he had overheard; and, insane as appeared to be the idea of recapture, the latter agreed with him that it demanded caution on their parts: but as it would appear very opposite to the English character to take open measures against six prisoners, when they were so numerous, he contented himself with desiring all the arms and ammunition to be stowed in the cabin, and gave orders that the prisoners, as they refused to work, should not be allowed to come on deck after dusk, — and then gave the affair no further thought. Seymour was aware that, although it was his duty to report the circumstance, he had no right to press the matter upon Courtenay, who was to be supposed the best judge; still he was not satisfied. He had an unaccountable foreboding that all was not right. He turned the subject in his mind until dinner was announced by Billy Pitt, which put an end to his reverie.
