Henty George Alfred
With Cochrane the Dauntless
Admiral Encalada, however, refused to allow himself to be made their tool, saying that he would wish for no greater honour than that of serving under so distinguished an officer as Lord Cochrane; for a time, therefore, their intrigue was defeated. No sooner had he hoisted his flag on board the O’Higgins than Lord Cochrane set to work with his usual energy to complete the outfit of his little fleet. This consisted, in addition to the O’Higgins, of the San Martin and Lautaro—both of which had been East Indiamen: the former carried 56 guns, the latter 44—the Hecate, now called the Galvarino, of 18 guns; the Chacabuco, of 20; the Aracano, of 16; the Puyrredon, of 14. The Spanish fleet consisted of three frigates: the Esmeralda, of 44 guns; the Bengenza, of 42; and the Sebastian, of 28; and four brigs: one of 22 guns, and three of 18. There was also a schooner carrying one heavy gun and 20 small ones; the rest were armed merchantmen: the Resolution, of 36 guns; the Cleopatra, of 28; the Fernando, of 26; the La Focha, of 20; and the Guarmey and San Antonio, of 18 each.
On the 16th of January, leaving Admiral Blanco to complete the equipment of the Galvarino, the Aracano, and the Puyrredon, Lord Cochrane sailed with the O’Higgins, San Martin, Lautaro, and Chacabuco. From the day the admiral’s flag was hoisted to that upon which he sailed, Stephen’s life had undergone a sudden and complete change. From morning until night he was engaged in rowing from the flagship to the other vessels, and in carrying orders, ascertaining how certain portions of the work were getting on, and reporting to the admiral, or going on shore to the dockyard with urgent requisitions for stores required. Lord Cochrane himself was equally busy. He went from ship to ship, and stood by the captains while the crews were put through their exercises in making and shortening sails, practising the drill and cutlass exercise on the deck, or working the guns. Hard as was the work imposed upon them by the constant drills, the enthusiasm and energy of the admiral so communicated itself to most of the officers and seamen that astonishing progress was made in the four weeks that elapsed before sailing. Though it could hardly be said that the smartness of the crews equalled that which would be shown by British men-of-war’s men, the work was very fairly done, and the admiral felt convinced that his ships would be worked and manœuvred far more rapidly than those of the Spaniards.
Stephen had from the first messed with the ship’s officers. Lord Cochrane had said to him on the day when he hoisted his flag: “As my flag-midshipman, Mr. Embleton, I could very well have you, as well as my flag lieutenant, at my table, but I think that it would be better for you to mess with the officers. I find that in the Chilian service the midshipmen do not mess by themselves, as is the case with us, but have a common mess with the lieutenants. There are certainly considerable advantages in this arrangement; though it might not work well in our navy, where boys are much more mischievous and given to pranks than are those of southern people. They do not enter so young into the service, and the six midshipmen on board are none of them younger than yourself. They are all members of good old families here, and there is therefore no need for so strict a line of distinction between midshipmen and lieutenants as there is with us. The system is more like that which prevails in our army, where the youngest ensigns associate when off duty on terms of equality with their elders. Mingling with them you will acquire the language far more rapidly than you would do were you to take your meals at my table. Moreover, I think that it will be a more pleasant and natural life for you, while it will avoid any appearance of favouritism and be altogether better.”
Stephen bowed. Fond as he was of the admiral, he felt himself that it would be more pleasant to associate with lads of his own age, than to be always on his best behaviour. He already knew all the officers, having met them at the various entertainments at Valparaiso. He had found them pleasant young fellows, though their airs of manliness and gravity had amused him a good deal, but he wished that he had in addition his old friend Joyce, with whom he could occasionally skylark, quarrel, and make it up again, after the manner of boys. The wardroom was large and airy, and there was ample space for the party. At meals they consisted of the three lieutenants, the surgeon, purser, and seven midshipmen. As he had never been accustomed to a rough life in the cock-pit of a British man-of-war, the contrast to his former condition was not so strong as it would have been to a midshipman in the royal service; but the somewhat stiff courtesy that prevailed among the Chilian officers in their relations to each other differed widely from the frank heartiness at Captain Pinder’s table. When the meals were over, however, the air of restraint softened a little, and Stephen soon became on intimate terms with the other midshipmen, three or four of whom had never been to sea before.
“Is this like life on board your ships?” one of them asked him a few days after he had joined.
“Not a bit, Don Enriques. To begin with, the midshipmen never dine with the lieutenants, and they don’t live half as well as we do. In the next place, you are a great deal more serious, and a great deal more dignified that English midshipmen are. With us they are always playing tricks with each other. We may be officers on board the ship, but when we are among ourselves we are just like other boys of the same age.”
“But you do not consider yourself a boy, Don Estevan?”
“I do indeed,” Stephen laughed; “and no one thinks himself a man until he is quite a senior midshipman.”
“But if you play tricks on each other you must quarrel sometimes?”
“Oh, yes, we quarrel, and then we have a fight, and then we are good friends again.”
“Ah! Do you fight with swords or pistols?”
Stephen laughed. “We fight with our fists.”
“What, like common people!” the young Chilian said, greatly shocked.
“Just the same, except that we fight a little better. That is the way we always settle quarrels among boys in England, and a very good way it is. One gets a black eye or something of that sort, and there is an end of it. As for fighting with swords or pistols, I do not know what would happen if two midshipmen were to fight a duel. In the first place they would get into a frightful row, and in the second place they would be the laughing-stock of the whole fleet. Of course, in a country like this, where a blow is considered as the deadliest of insults, things are different; but in England it is not viewed in the same light. Everyone knows something of boxing, that is, of the proper way of using the fists, and it has come to be the national way of fighting among the common people and among boys of all classes.”
“And would you, for example, Don Estevan, consent to fight with a boy or with a man of the peasant class if he injured you?”
“Certainly I would,” Stephen said. “I don’t know that I would fight a big man, because evidently I should have very little chance with him; but if I quarrelled with a fellow my own age, we should of course pitch into each other without any question of rank.”
Exclamations of surprise broke from the other midshipmen as Stephen made these statements in very broken Spanish. He was questioned over and over again by them to make sure that they had not misunderstood him.
“You seem to think it terrible,” Stephen said; “but you don’t stand on rank yourselves when you fight. When you board an enemy’s ship you fight with a sailor who attacks you, and don’t stop to discuss with him whether he is one of gentle blood, like yourself, or a mere peasant. For the time being you put yourself on an equality with him, and it is a pure matter of strength and skill. It is just the same with us in most matters. We stand on our rank the same as you do, but when our blood is up we put all that aside and fight without caring whether our opponent is a nobleman or a peasant, and when it is all over we shake hands and don’t feel that there is any bad blood between us.”
CHAPTER X.
WRECKED
On the fifth morning when the ships got up anchor there were no signs of movement on board the Chacabuco, nor was any attention paid to the admiral’s signals.
“Mr. Embleton, take one of the gigs, row on board, and report what is the matter there.”
Stephen did so. The approach of the boat was apparently unobserved, and the companion-ladder was not lowered. He therefore ordered the men to cease rowing; presently an officer appeared at the side.
“The admiral wishes to know what is the matter, and why you do not obey his signals,” Stephen said sharply, standing up in the stern-sheets.
“The crew are in a state of mutiny,” the officer said, “and they refuse to get up the anchor.”
Stephen returned with the message. The admiral at once gave orders for the frigate to bear down on the Chacabuco, and the crew were mustered at quarters. When she came within a cable’s length of the Chacabuco the frigate was thrown up into the wind, and the admiral shouted: “Unless the anchor is a-peak in five minutes we will blow you out of the water.”
There was no mistaking the earnestness of the tone, and many of the men sprang at once to the capstan bars, and the anchor was soon out of the water. “Make sail,” Lord Cochrane again ordered, “and keep along close beside us.”
A few minutes later the fleet were all under sail, and that afternoon entered the port of Coquimbo. As soon as the anchors were let go the admiral’s gig was lowered, and he went on board the Chacabuco.
“What is all this about?” he asked the captain, who received him at the gangway.
“The men say that they are overworked, your excellency; that they are kept hard at it all day making and taking off sail, and that they want to leave the ship.”
“Muster the crew, sir,” Lord Cochrane said briefly. The crew silently assembled. The port-holes of the O’Higgins were all opened, and the men could be seen standing at the guns.
“Now, men,” Lord Cochrane said, “I give you five minutes to pick out the twelve men who have been the ringleaders in this mutiny. You will iron them and bring them on board the flag-ship, where they will be tried and punished for their offence. What! is there a ship’s crew of Chilians so regardless of their duty, so careless of the honour of their country, that they are ready to disgrace themselves by turning into a pack of mutineers, merely because they are required to do extra work to fit them for fighting the enemies of their country? I am willing to believe that you have suffered yourselves to be misled, and that you did not understand the magnitude of the crime that you were committing. There, six bells are striking. You have five minutes to put your ringleaders into a boat. See that you do not exceed that time, for as soon as my watch tells me that five minutes have gone, I give the order to fire. One broadside will be sufficient to send the Chacabuco to the bottom. Gentlemen,” he said, turning to the officers, “at the end of the five minutes, if my orders have not been carried out, you will take to the boats and leave the ship, and as soon as you have done so we shall open fire.”
He then turned on his heel, went down the ladder, and rowed back to his ship. As he left he saw there was a great uproar on board the Chacabuco as the sailors disputed among themselves who had been their leaders in the matter. Two boats were lowered at once, and just before the expiration of the given time twelve men were put on board them ironed, and were then rowed to the flag-ship. A signal was made for the first lieutenant of each of the other ships of the squadron to come on board, and a court-martial was at once held upon the mutineers. The man who was shown to have been at the bottom of the whole affair, was sentenced to be hung, and the rest to terms of imprisonment. The admiral remitted the death sentence and changed it to ten years in jail, and the culprit and the other prisoners were taken on shore and handed over to the civil authorities. Having thus given a wholesome lesson, Lord Cochrane proceeded northward to Callao Bay, where he intended to attack a considerable naval force gathered there.
They were protected by the batteries of Callao and of San Lorenzo, a little island in the bay, mounting in all one hundred and sixty guns, in addition to those on board the Spanish war-ships, which consisted of a few frigates, two brigs, and eight gun-boats. To attack such a force lying under the guns of their batteries was too perilous an enterprise for even Cochrane to undertake. He determined, however, to make an attempt to do them at least some damage. He knew that two American men-of-war were expected to arrive in Callao, and he made some slight changes in his flag-ship and the Lautaro, hoisted the American flag, and sailed toward the harbour. The Carnival was at the time being carried on, and there was the less chance that a vigilant watch would be kept up by the forts and ships. Unfortunately a dense fog came on, and for eight days the Chilians were forced to remain inactive. At the end of that time, hearing a heavy firing, and believing that one of his ships must have gone into the bay and had been attacked by the enemy, Cochrane stood in the direction of the sound. The other ships did the same, when the fog clearing up in a moment, they discovered each other, and found a small gunboat lying close to them.
This they captured at once, and learned that the firing was a salute in honour of the viceroy, who had been paying a visit to the batteries, and was now returning to the town in a brig-of-war which was crowding all sail. The fog again closed in, and hoping the capture of the gun-boat had not been noticed, Lord Cochrane determined to risk a partial engagement rather than withdraw without firing a shot, as a retreat now would raise the spirits of the Spaniards and depress those of the Chilians. Accordingly the O’Higgins and the Lautaro stood on, each having a boat ahead sounding. The wind fell very light, and instead of going in and engaging the Spanish ships as he intended, Lord Cochrane was forced to anchor at some distance from them. The moment that the two Chilian vessels were made out through the fog the ships and batteries opened fire upon them, showing that the capture of the gun-boat had been observed and the sailors and garrison called to the guns.
For two hours the ships were exposed to a heavy fire from the batteries and ships. They replied steadily, their aim being chiefly directed against the northern angle of one of the principal forts, whose fire especially annoyed them. As soon as a little breeze sprang up, anchors were weighed, and the two ships sailed to and fro in front of the batteries returning their fire, until Captain Guise, who commanded the Lautaro, was severely wounded, and his ship at once retired from action. Neither of the other Chilian vessels ventured within range from first to last. The flag-ship being thus left alone exposed to the whole fire of the enemy, Lord Cochrane was ultimately obliged to relinquish the attack. He retired to an island three miles distant from the port, and for five weeks blockaded Callao.
“This is dull work, Mr. Embleton,” the admiral said one day, as he paced up and down the quarter-deck. “What can one do with four badly-equipped ships, one of which has lost its commander, who though not friendly to me was at least an officer of courage, the other two commanded by men who are afraid to bring their ships within range of the enemy’s guns, and all badly manned, badly provisioned, and by no means in fighting trim. If the Spaniards would but sail out to engage us, we might do something, but they have dismantled their frigates, and nothing will tempt the gun-boats to move out from the forts. The only consolation is that the spectacle of our blockading the place successfully cannot but rouse the spirit of the Chilians, and induce them, I hope, to make an effort to put a force on the sea capable of completely crippling the Spaniards.”
At the end of five weeks the little fleet proceeded to Huacho, a short distance north of Callao. The bulk of its inhabitants were secretly in sympathy with the Chilians, and the Spanish garrison evacuated the place and fled almost immediately the ships opened fire. The order was given for boats to be lowered, and Lord Cochrane himself landed to see that there was no scramble for the property of the government. Of this a large quantity was found in the stores, together with a considerable amount of money, which was of even more importance to the Chilians, whose treasury was empty, and who were crippled in all their operations by want of specie. During April and May Lord Cochrane cruised up and down the Peruvian coast. Several landings were effected, and valuable captures made of money and stores.
The property of the Peruvians was always respected, and the admiral spared no pains to convince the inhabitants that the Chilians were their friends and were hostile only to the Spaniards their oppressors. Several ships laden with stores for the Spanish troops also fell into their hands. Towards the end of the cruise a sail was observed at some distance in the offing. As, at the moment, the boats were about to effect a landing to capture a fort from which the Spaniards had been driven by the fire of the ships, the admiral turned to Stephen and said:
“Mr. Embleton, please to take command of the second cutter. She is a fast sailer, and I have no doubt that you can overhaul that brig in a couple of hours. The boat’s crew are already on board and armed, but I don’t suppose you will meet with any resistance. When you have boarded her you will take command of her and navigate her to Valparaiso. I shall be returning there in the course of two or three days.”
Stephen touched his hat and ran below. He was delighted at the prospect of his first command, though it was not a very important one. He had brought the best of his chronometers with him, and snatching up this, his quadrant, and a pocket compass, he at once descended the ladder to the boat, which had been hailed by the admiral and ordered to lie there, the petty officer who commanded being transferred to another boat. The crew consisted of twelve men. As the breeze was off shore Stephen ordered the masts to be stepped at once, and the two lug-sails hoisted. The crew were glad to escape the labour of carrying down stores from the fort and transporting them to the ship, and sat down contentedly in the bottom of the boat, while Stephen himself took the tiller. The brig was hull-down when seen from the boat, and Stephen calculated that she was six or seven miles out. She was steering south and had evidently less wind than that which was taking the cutter fast through the water. He made his course to a point some four miles south of the brig, so as to cut her off, and it was not long before it was evident to him that he should succeed in doing so.
They were within two miles of the ship when he saw the sailors talking earnestly together and looking towards the shore. Glancing round he saw that the tops of the hills were enveloped in clouds, a sign, as experience had already taught him, of the approach of a gale. The brig, which had evidently not noticed the boat, had also observed the threatening aspect of the clouds, and as Stephen again looked ahead, began to shorten sail.
“Had we not better return?” one of the Chilians asked.
“Certainly not,” Stephen said. “The wind is against us, and the storm will burst before we could get back, so that we should be much better off in that brig than we should be in this open boat. Get out oars, men, and help her along. The wind is freshening already. If it rises much more the brig will run away from us.”
The wind indeed got up rapidly, and the oars had to be laid in while the cutter was still a mile off from the brig. She had evidently been observed, and an attempt was being made to hoist some of the upper sails that had been lowered; but the boat was now flying through the water, and in a quarter of an hour ran up on the leeward side of the brig. The sails were dropped, the bow man caught hold of the chains with his boat-hook, and Stephen and the rest of the crew at once scrambled on board cutlass in hand.
There was, however, no resistance. The crew of the brig were as numerous as the boarders, but the successes of the Chilians had created such an effect that the captain cried out, as they leaped on board, that they surrendered. Stephen’s first order was to get the cutter up, and tackles were soon hooked on to her, and she was raised from the water and laid bottom upwards on deck. While this was being done the Peruvian crew were ordered to shorten sail.
It was none too soon, for the brig was heeling far over, and the wind momentarily increasing in strength. The Chilians gave a cheer as soon as the boat was safely on board, and in a very short time the sail was reduced to double-reefed top-sails. Under these and a storm-jib she was laid head to wind. The sky was now entirely obscured, the land was no longer visible, and the sea was beginning to rise.
“Is it going to be a heavy gale, do you think?” Stephen asked the Peruvian captain.
“Very heavy, I think. I have seen it coming on since daybreak, but I hoped to get to Callao before it burst. We are heavily laden, and in no state for facing a great gale.”
“What have you on board?”
“Military stores and ammunition.”
“Any money?”
“I believe so, señor. There are twenty boxes sealed up in the lazarette.”
“Now, tell me what you would have done if we had not captured you? You know your ship better than I do. Would you lie-to or let her run?”
“I should put her before the wind, señor, and at once; it will be dangerous to do so when the sea gets up.”
“Well, put two of your best men at the helm, captain, and give them the necessary orders. I know what ought to be done, but I do not know enough of your language to make sure that I shall not make a mistake. Man the braces, all hands,” he shouted. “Now, obey the captain’s orders as if they were mine.”
The manœuvre was safely executed, and the brig brought before the wind. She felt the relief at once, and sped rapidly before the storm on an even keel.
“How far will this gale extend beyond the coast?”
“There is no saying, señor. An ordinary gale will seldom be felt above a hundred or a hundred and fifty miles; but a big one, as this will I think be, may take us a thousand miles before we can get on our course again.”
“Are there any dangers to be feared?”
“If we go far enough we may get among some islands; but on the course that we are steering we shall run some hundreds of miles before we reach them.”
“You have got a chart, I suppose?”
“I have a chart of the coast, señor, but nothing beyond. We only do a coasting trade.”
“Then the look-out is a bad one if the wind holds like this,” Stephen said. “However, there is nothing to do now.”
The gale continued to increase in violence, and in a couple of hours Stephen ordered the main topsail to be lowered on to the cap and there secured. It was a dangerous service, and was undertaken by the Chilians, who are far more handy sailors than the Peruvians. Stephen felt grateful when the last of them stepped on to the deck again. Small as was the amount of sail that was now spread, the brig flew before the wind with alarming rapidity, the sea seeming to stand up on each side of her. The foremast bent so much under the pressure that Stephen had to order preventer-stays to be rove. These were with great difficulty and risk fastened above the hounds and taken well aft, where they were tightened by tackles, and the strain on the mast considerably relieved.
“I wish we could get down that upper spar,” he shouted to the captain; “its pressure helps to keep her head down.”
After watching it for some minutes he ordered the stays and runners to be cut, at the same time calling all hands aft. Scarcely had the men gathered there than the vessel plunged her head into the sea. There was a loud report, and the top-gallant mast fell over her bows with a crash. Two of the Chilians with axes crawled out along the bowsprit and cut away the gear that held the spar alongside, and the wreckage at once floated away. The jib-boom was then got in, and the vessel felt the relief and lifted her head more buoyantly over the seas. For four days the gale continued, her bulwarks were carried away, and the waves swept her decks continually. One tremendous roller carried away the boats, the caboose, and all the deck fittings, together with four of the Chilians and six of the Peruvian sailors. The straining had opened her seams, and although the pumps had been kept going as long as the crew had been able to work at them, the water had been gaining steadily, and even the Chilians, who had kept on doggedly long after the Peruvians had thrown themselves down exhausted and hopeless, now ceased what was evidently a useless labour.
The mainmast had been cut away, and was towed by a long hawser from the stern, thereby aiding to keep the vessel dead before the wind. Stephen felt that there was nothing to be done but to wait for the end. There were no materials for making a raft, and indeed the constant wash of the seas would have rendered the task an almost impossible one, even had there been spars at hand; but a raft, could one have been manufactured, would have prolonged life but for a few hours. They were now, he calculated, fully a thousand miles from the land, and there was no chance whatever of any vessel coming across them in these unfrequented seas. From the time the gale burst upon them he had but twice thrown himself down for a short sleep, and had eaten no food save a dry biscuit or two. The Peruvian captain agreed with him that the vessel would float but a few hours longer. She rose but sluggishly upon the seas, and several times she had plunged her head so deeply into them that Stephen thought that she was going to dive bodily down.
Night fell. He and the captain lay down on two of the sofas aft, while the crew were all in the forecastle. None expected to see the morning light; but Stephen left the door open, saying to the captain:
“It will make no difference; but I should rather make a struggle for my life before I die, than be drowned like a rat in a hole.”
The Peruvian, who had shown much cool courage during the storm, shrugged his shoulders.
“It makes no difference,” he said, as he rolled a cigarette and lighted it; “we have done all that we could. As for me, I would as lief be drowned here as outside. But I don’t think that there will be much choice; we shall have no warning when she goes; she will plunge down head-foremost.”
Stephen was too worn-out to reply, but he felt that what the captain said was true. But even the thought that when he woke it would be but for a short struggle for life was insufficient to keep him awake, and in a minute or two he dropped off to sleep. How long he slept he could not tell; he was awakened suddenly by a tremendous crash that threw him on to the floor. He struggled to his feet and rushed out almost instinctively, in obedience to his train of thought before sleeping. As he issued out of the poop a wave poured down from above, and for a moment he shrunk back. He was conscious that the ship was fast. There was no longer any movement; but the sea struck against the stern with a force that made the vessel quiver. As to going forward it was out of the question, for each wave swept right over her. The Peruvian had joined him at the door.
“Our voyage has ended, señor.”
“Yes, as far as the ship is concerned; but if she holds together until morning there will be a chance of getting ashore.”
As he spoke a great wave struck the vessel. She rose on it, moved a few yards further forward, and then fell again with a crash that threw them both off their feet.
“There is not much chance of that,” the Peruvian said as he rose again, taking up the conversation at the point at which it had been broken; “an hour or two will see the end of her, perhaps even less.”
“It felt to me as if she struck all over,” Stephen said, “and I should think she is on a flat ledge of rock. I don’t think that the wind is blowing as hard as it was when we lay down. There are some stars shining. At any rate we may as well go in again and wait. We should only be swept overboard if we tried to go forward.”
He turned to re-enter the cabin, but was nearly carried off his feet by a torrent of water that swept along the passage.
“That last wave has smashed her stern in,” he said to the Peruvian; “we must stand outside.”
They seated themselves on the deck, with their backs to the poop. The cataract of water which from time to time swept over them from above, fell beyond them and rushed forward.
“Her head is lower than her stern,” the Peruvian remarked. “I begin to think she may hold together until morning; she has not lifted again.”
It seemed, indeed, as if the storm had made its last effort in the great surge that had shifted the vessel forward. For although the waves still struck her with tremendous force, and they could hear an occasional rending and splintering of the timbers astern, she no longer moved, although she quivered from end to end under each blow, and worked as if at any moment she would break into fragments.
“The foremast has gone,” Stephen said presently. “I suppose it went over her bows when she struck. I am afraid none of the men have escaped. I can’t make out the head of the vessel at all.”
“They may have been washed ashore; but it is probable that the fall of the mast imprisoned them,” the captain said; “and as the stern is raised a good many feet, they must have been drowned at once. Poor fellows, there were some good men among them.”
“I wish we had had them all aft,” Steve exclaimed in a tone of deep regret. “Of course, we never thought of this; and indeed there was but small room for them in your little cabin. It seemed that death would come to us all together, and that their chances in the fo’c’s’le were as hopeless as ours in the stern cabin.”
