Itwas near to the hour of sunset, on an autumn evening about a week after the cozy dinner-party in the cabin of Captain Jack Mackenzie of theTonneraire. The tree-clad hills and terra-cotta cliffs around Tor Bay were all ablur with driving mist and rain, borne viciously along on the wings of a north-east gale. Far out beyond the harbour mouth, betwixt Berry Head and Hope’s Nose, the steel-blue waters were flecked and streaked with foam; while high against the rocks of Corbyn’s Head the waves broke in clouds of spray.As night fell, the wind seemed to increase; the sky was filled with storm-riven clouds; and the “white horses” that rode on the bay grew taller and taller.Surely on such a night as this every fishing-boat would seek shelter, and vessels near to the land would make good their offing for safety’s sake.There were those who, gazing out upon the storm from the green plateau above Daddy’s Hole, where the coastguard station now is, thought otherwise.Daddy’s Hole is a sort of inlet or indentation in the rock-wall, which rises so steeply up to the plain above that, though covered with grass, it seems hardly to afford foothold for goats. No man in his senses would venture to descend from above in a straight line, nor even by zigzag, were it not for the fact that here and there through the smooth green surface rocks protrude which would break his fall.Shading their eyes with their hands in the gathering gloom, with faces seaward, stood two rough-looking men, of the class we might call amphibious—men at home either on the water or on shore.“It can’t be done,” said one. “No, capting, it can’t.”“Can’t?” thundered the other; “and I tells yew, Dan, the skipper o’ theBrixhamknows no such aword as ‘can’t.’ He’s comin’. Yew’ll see. Hawkins never hauled ’is wind yet where a bit o’ the yellow was tow be made. Us’ll drink wine in France to-morrow, sure’s my name is Scrivings.”Dan shook his head.“W’y, yew soft-hearted chap, for tew pins I’d pitch yew ower the cliff.”But as “Capting” Scrivings laughed while he spoke, and shook his friend roughly by the shoulder, there was little chance of the terrible threat being fulfilled.“And min’ yew, Dan,” he added, “if us lands this un all right, us’ll be rich, lad—ha! ha! Besides, wot’s Hawkins got tow be afear’d of? TheBrixhamcan cut the winkers from the wind’s eye, that she can. Tack and ’alf tack though buried in green seas, Dan. Never saw a craft tow sail closer tow a wind. Here’s tow bold Hawkins and the braveBrixham!”The toast was drunk from a black bottle which the “capting” handed to Dan.“’Ave a pull, chap; yew needs it to brace yewr courage tow the sticking-point.”Captain Butler prided himself on the seaworthiness and fleetness of his cutter, the saucy littleMoonbeam.Not that she had been much to look at, or much to sail either, when he took her over; for in those good old times the Admiralty was not a whit more generous with paint and copper nails than it is now. But One-legged Butler was a man of some means, who might have driven his coach on shore had he not been so fond of the brine and the breeze. So he had theMoonbeamseen to at his own expense—not without asking and receiving permission, of course, for he was a strict-service man. Her bows were lengthened and her rig altered and improved; she was made, in fact, quite a model of.And Captain Butler was justly proud of theMoonbeam. So highly did he regard her that he would not have marked her smooth and spotless deck with his timber toe to obtain his promotion, and therefore his servant had orders to always keep the end of that useful limb shod with softest leather.Nothing that ever sailed got the weather-gauge on theMoonbeam.Except theBrixham.That smuggling sloop landed many a fine bale of silk, hogshead of wine, and tobacco galore, all along the south coast; but never had been caught. She was a fly-by-night and a veritable phantom. ThriceButler had chased her. He might as well have attempted to overhaul a gull on the wing.But to-night One-legged Butler meant to do or die. He knew she was going to venture into Tor Bay, and lie off at anchor under the lee of the cliffs. He could have boarded her in boats perhaps; but that would not have suited Butler’s idea of seamanship. It must be neck or nothing—a fair race and a fair fight.TheBrixhamcarried a dare-devil crew, however, and Hawkins feared nothing. TheMoonbeamwould have her work cut out; but then all the more glory to the bold fellows on board of her; for these were the days when adventure was beloved for its own sake alone.When, on the night previous, twenty brave blue-jackets from theTonnerairewere told off for special service and sent aboard the littleMoonbeam, which sailed a few hours after just as the moon was rising over the Hoe, they had no idea what was in the wind. From their armature of cutlasses and pistols, they “daresayed” there was a little bit of fighting to be done, and rejoiced accordingly, for Jack dearly loves a scrimmage. The wind blew high, even then tossing the cutter about like a cork, although she carried but little sail. By next forenoon, however, she hadpassed Tor Bay, and lay in semi-hiding near Hope’s Nose. There was the risk of the vessel’s presence being discovered and reported to Scrivings and his gang; but there always are risks in warfare.As soon as it was dusk a portion of the men were landed. Then theMoonbeam, although it blew big guns, set herself to watch for the foe.Hour after hour flew by, and the moon, glinting now and then through a rift in the clouds, whitened the curling waves, but showed no signs of theBrixham, or of anything else.It was an anxious time.At twelve o’clock grog and biscuits were served out. The men never had time to swallow a mouthful—of biscuit, I mean. No doubt they drank the grog, for those were the days of can-tossing, a custom now happily but seldom honoured.Yes, there she was! It could be none other save daring Hawkins in theBrixham.Small look-out was being kept to-night, however, on the smuggler.TheMoonbeamswept down on her as hawk swoops down on his prey, and although Tor Bay is wondrous wide, and theBrixhamwas nearly in the centre of it, the cutter was on her in a surprisingly short time.Fine seamanship, fine steering, to sheer alongside and grapple, despite the fact that the sea had gone down, and the waves were partially under the lee of the hills.If ever man was surprised, that man was Smuggler Hawkins. But he answered the call to surrender with a shout of defiance.After this it was all a wild medley of pistols cracking, cutlasses clashing, cries—yes, and, I am sorry to say, a few groans; for blood was shed, and one man at least would never sail the salt seas more. But if blood was shed, the seas washed it off; for the fight took place with the spray driving over both vessels, white in the moonlight.A prize crew was left on theBrixham, and in less than twenty minutes both craft were safe at anchor in Torquay harbour.Meanwhile, the party who had been landed near to Hope’s Nose had made their way inland, bearing somewhat to the east to make a detour, both for the purpose of getting well in the rear of the smugglers’ cottage—where Tom Fairlie, who was in command, knew the smugglers were to be found—and because the night was still young.When Scrivings left the outlook with Dan onwatch, he betook himself to this cottage, in order to complete arrangements for landing the cargo, every bale and tub of which they had meant to haul up from Daddy’s Hole to the plains above, then to cart them away inland.But he found his ten men ready, and even the horses and carts in waiting. They were hired conveyances. The smugglers found no difficulty in getting help to secure their booty in those days, when many even of the resident gentry of England sympathized with contraband trade. So there was nothing to be done but to wait.It was a lonely enough spot where the little cottage stood among rocks and woodland. Lovely as well as lonely and wild; though I fear its beauties alone did nothing to recommend the place to the favour of “Capting” Scrivings and his merry men.The night waned. The moon rose higher and higher. The men in the bothy, having eaten and drunk, had got tired at last of card-playing, and nearly all were curled up and asleep.The sentry had seated himself on a stone outside, and he too was nodding, lulled into dreamland by the sough of the wind among the solemn pines.The wind favoured Fairlie’s party, who, as stealthilyas Indians, crept towards the cottage from the rear.The sentry was neatly seized and quickly gagged, and next moment the lieutenant, sword in hand, his men behind him, had rushed into the dimly-lit bothy.“Surrender in the king’s name! The first who stirs is a dead man!”It was beautifully done. Not a show of resistance was or could be made, and in less than an hour Tom Fairlie, with his crestfallen prisoners, had reached the harbour, where they were welcomed by a hearty cheer, which awakened the echoes of the rocks and a good many of the inhabitants of the village of Torquay.[A]And now Captain Jack Mackenzie shook hands right heartily with his friend Tom Fairlie.“Splendid night’s work, Tom,” he said. “A thousand thanks! Now the saucyTonnerairemay be called ready for sea.”Splendid night’s work was it? Well, we now-a-days would think this impressment cruel—cruel to take men away from their homes and avocations, perhaps never to see their country more. Yet it must be admitted that smugglers like these, who had so long defied the law, richly deserved their fate.CHAPTER X.IN THE MOON’S BRIGHT WAKE.“Now welcome every sea delight—The cruise with eager watchful days,The skilful chase by glimmering night,The well-worked ship, the gallant fight,The loved commander’s praise!”—Old Song.Itwas not without a tinge of sorrow at his heart that Jack Mackenzie stood on his own quarter-deck and saw the chalky cliffs of England fading far astern, as the gloom of eventide fast deepened into night. He was not the one to give way to useless grief, but he could not help contrasting the hope and joyfulness with which he had last left home with his present state of mind. He was not a post-captain then certainly, but he had that—or thought he had—for which he would gladly now take the epaulettesfrom off his shoulders and fling them in the sea—namely, the love of the only girl he ever thought worth living for. But she— Well, no matter; that was past and gone. His love had been all a dream, a happy dream enough while it lasted, while his heart had been to her a toy. But then his father, his good old careless-hearted father. Wrecked and ruined! That he was in difficulties Jack had known for years, but he never knew how deep these were, nor that they had so entwined themselves around the roots of the old homestead, that to get rid of the former was to tear up the latter and cast all its old associations to the four winds of heaven. Dear old homestead! Somehow Jack had dreamt he would always have it to go home to on every return voyage, always have his father there to welcome him back, always—“Hallo!” said a voice at his side, “what is all this reverie about, Jack?”Tom laid his hand gently, half timidly on his arm as he spoke. Half timidly, I say, because it would not do for even the men to note a shadow of familiarity on poop or quarter-deck betwixt a commander and his captain.Jack smiled somewhat sadly.“I daresay, Tom,” he replied, “it was very wrong,but I was just breathing one last sigh for lost love and home. Oh, I don’t care for Grantley Hall so much; but then there is sister, and poor father, and it seems rather hard he should take service again. There is just enough saved out of the wreck for them to live on.”“Yes; and you’ll win a fortune yet, mayhap an earldom, Jack—”“Stay, Tom, stay. I care nothing for earldoms, and if I win enough to live on I’ll be content. One thing I do mean to win for Flora’s sake—honour and glory.”“Keep your mind easy about Flora,” laughed Tom. “I’m going to win all the honour and glory she is likely to want.”“I’d quite forgotten, Tom—brother.”“That’s better. And, Jack, I know you’ll get more ambitious as we go on. Now mind you, you’re not so badly off. That wound was a lucky hit. Just look around and beneath you. Ever see a finer frigate? Look at her build, her spars, her rigging, everything taut and trim and ship-shape—the very ship seems proud of herself, considering the independent way she goes swinging over the waves on the wings of this delightful breeze; swinging over the waves,bobbing and bowing to them as if they were mere passing acquaintances, and she proud mistress of the seas. Then, Jack, let me recall your attention to the fact that we have five-and-forty bonnie black guns and three hundred and twenty bold blue-jackets to man and to fight them; and thatyou—you lucky dog—are monarch of all you survey. Ah, brother mine, there is many a sailor mo’sieur afloat on the seas at this moment ’twixt here and America who well might tremble did he but know the fate that is in store for him when theTonnerairecrosses his hawse.”“You bloodthirsty man!”“No, no, no. I’ve got one of the softest hearts ever turned out of dock, but it is all for king and country, you know. Behold how our good ship goes sweeping through the deep! Look, my captain bold, we are coming up to the convoy hand-over-hand. It was a good idea giving them half a day’s start, for some of them, I daresay, we’ll find are lazy lubbers.”“Well,” said Jack, as we shall still call him, “we must do our best to keep them together. I would not like, however, for my own part, to go out in protection of many convoys.”“Nor will we; this is only a kind of trial trip. But if you are afraid you won’t have any fighting todo, you may be agreeably disappointed, as the Irishman said.”Jack Mackenzie laughed.“What a fire-eater you are, Tom! I wasn’t thinking of fighting. But if I have to fight, I’d rather these merchantmen were a hundred miles away. Fighting in convoy must make one feel as does the father of a family, whom he has to defend against an aggressor while the children cling tightly to his legs.”From the above conversation it will be gathered that theTonnerairehad sailed at last, and was in charge of a merchant fleet bound for America. This was considered a very responsible task in these warlike days, when the cruisers of the enemy were here, there, and everywhere in our ocean highways, watching a chance to seize our unprotected ships. TheTonnerairehad been chosen for her strength and her fleetness, and there was no doubt that under so able a young and dashing commander she would fulfil her mission, and make it warm for any Frenchman who sought to attack the ships.There they were now sailing as closely together as possible, because night would soon fall, and they could only be distinguished by their lights. A cruise of this sort was seldom, if ever, free from adventure,and it entailed much anxious care and forethought on the part of the captain of the war-vessel convoying them. A good thing this for Jack Mackenzie. No cure for sorrow in this world except honest work. He was really, too, in a manner of speaking, a probationer. To do his duty strictly, wisely, and well on this voyage would certainly entitle him to no step, not even perhaps to praise; but to neglect it, or even to be unfortunate, would cause him to incur the displeasure of the Admiralty and hinder his advancement.But a whole week went on, and though no Frenchman appeared on the scene, Jack and his fleet had encountered a gale of wind that had driven them considerably out of their course; and when one morning, about eight bells, a cry of “Land” was raised, he knew he must be in the neighbourhood of the Azores or Western Islands.He was not altogether sorry for this; it would give him a chance of taking in fresh water and of adding to the store of fresh provisions now almost exhausted. For ships in those days were vilely found, and the men called contractors were held in general detestation by every ship in the service.“Sailing across the moon’s bright wake was a French man-o’-war.”Page93.The merchantmen under Jack numbered fourteenin all, and were of different classes—brigs, barques, and full-rigged ships; but long before sundown they were all securely anchored in front of San Miguel, and Captain Mackenzie, in full uniform, accompanied by Commander Fairlie, had gone on shore to pay his respects to the Portuguese governor.San Miguel was not so densely populated as it is now, but very quaint as to its town, and very romantic and beautiful as to its scenery all around. The governor dwelt in a villa on a garden-terraced hill in the outskirts. He was very pleased to see the officers, but deferred business till next day.It was, however, while smoking in the veranda after dinner, and gazing dreamily away across the moonlit ocean, that Jack suddenly sprang up, and, clutching Tom’s arm, pointed seawards.Slowly sailing across the moon’s bright wake was a French man-o’-war.CHAPTER XI.THE PHANTOM FRENCHMAN.“If to engage we get the word,To quarters we’ll repair,While splintered masts go by the board,And shots sing through the air.”Dibdin.BEAUTIFUL island of San Miguel! on whose shores, wherever they slope in sheets of sand towards the sea, the white waves play and sing; whose gigantic rocks, frowning black and beetling above the water, are fondly licked by mother ocean’s tongue as dog salutes a master’s hand.Island, surrounded by seas that towards the far horizon seem unfathomably blue, yet near around are patched in the sunshine with opal, with green, and with azure, and tremble like mercury under the moon and the starlight.Island of fountain-springs, that shoot their white and boiling spray farther skywards than ever spouted Nor’land whale.Island of mountains, high and wild, whose summits seek to withdraw from earth away, and hide their proud heads above the clouds, when storms rage far beneath.Island of green and lonesome glens, where bright-winged birds chant low their love-songs to their listening mates, and where many a strange, fantastic fern nods weeping o’er the hurrying streams.Island of scented orange-groves, of waving palms, of dark dwarf pines—black shapes in many a cloud of green—of the rose, the camellia, the oleander, the passion-flower. Island of wild flowers, that grow and wanton everywhere, that have their home in the woods, that carpet the earth with colour, that clothe the rocks, that hang head downwards in masses over many a foaming cataract, that climb the trees and repose like living, sentient beings among the branches, wooing the bees, attracting the butterflies, and tempting the gay, metallic-tinted moths to expand their cloaks in the sunshine, and fly clumsily to their embrace.Island of seeming contentment, where even human beings live but to idle and to lounge and to love.Beautiful, beautiful island!Yes; but an island on which our heroes must not linger, for twice during the night a dark shape glided across the moon’s bright wake, and those on watch on board theTonneraireknew it was the waiting, watching foe. But when day broke no foe was to be seen. Captain Mackenzie stayed therefore only long enough to take in extra stores, water, and fruit, and to permit his fleet to do likewise; then the signal was made, “Up anchor, and to sea!”In silence the anchors were weighed on board the man-o’-war; but accompanied on the merchant-vessels by the never-failing song, with its frequent abrupt conclusion, without which merchantman Jack finds it impossible to carry on a bit of duty.“Hee—hoy—ee! Hee hoy! Pull, and she comes! Hoy—ee—ee! Hoip!”All that day the young captain of theTonnerairekept his fleet well together. Not an easy task, for although the wind was by no means high, and was moreover favourable, being north-east by east—the course steered about north-west, the convoy bearing up for Halifax and the Gulf of St. Lawrence—still the sailing powers of the vessels varied considerably.The strength of an iron chain equals the strength of its weakest link, and the speed of a fleet of merchantmen is measured by that of its slowest sailer. While at San Miguel, Jack had tried to impress this upon the minds of his various skippers. He held a meeting of these on board a large full-rigged ship, and told them their motto must be, “Keep together,” as the danger of an attack was imminent. Slow sailers must carry stun’-sails when they found themselves getting behind, while the fast must take in sail.They admitted this.“It is as plain as the nose on my face,” said one intelligent skipper, who had a huge red bulbous proboscis you could have almost seen in the dark. “We’ve got to play up to you, Captain Mackenzie, just as the small fry plays up to a great hactor on the stage.”This was all very well, but then they did not do it, so that the rate of speed was slow; ships and barques having to haul their fore or main yards aback at times to wait for the lazy brigs who either couldn’t or wouldn’t set stun’-sails. And at eventide, while the sun was going in a lacework of golden cloud, and looking so red that he appeared to be ashamed of thefleet, the vessels were scattered all over three square miles, and Jack Mackenzie, not now in the best of tempers, had to collect them as a collie pens his sheep.It was dark enough after the somewhat brief twilight had given place to light—to light and tolights, for signal-lanterns hung aloft on every ship; so all appeared safe and snug enough.But what had become of the Frenchman? He had not been seen all day. Was it indeed but a phantom that had been seen in the moon’s bright wake?A good watch was kept both ’low and aloft; and Jack went down to dinner at the sound of the bugle.As he passed near the midshipmen’s berth, quite a buzz of happy voices issued therefrom. Jack paused for a few seconds to listen. It was not so very long since he himself had been a middy. No responsibility had he then, any more than rested on any of these bright young hearts at that moment. How they laughed and chaffed and talked, to be sure! Interspersed in the hubbub were now and then snatches of merry song, and now and then the notes of a somewhat squeaky and asthmatical violin, invariably followed by some one shouting, “Stop that awful fiddle!” “Hit ’im in the eye with a bit o’biscuit!” or “Grease his bow!” Then a deeper bass voice, evidently Scotch, and just as evidently a junior surgeon’s, saying, “Let the laddie practise.—Fiddle away, my boy; I’ll thrash all hands if they meddle with ye.”Jack went away laughing to himself. Little those boys—who not long since left home and Merrie England—know or care that ere another hour, perhaps, the decks of theTonnerairemay be slippery with blood.Ah! all the care was his—was the post-captain’s. Uneasy lies the head that—hallo! He had just entered the ward-room, and found all the fellows there quite as happy as the middies. They were at dessert, for they dined earlier than their captain. MʻHearty was seated at the head of the table, and was spinning a short but funny yarn, to which his messmates’ laugh was ready chorus. Tom was vice-president; the lieutenants, the purser, and officers of the marines were ranged along the tables, red jackets and blue, forming a pretty contrast; the table was laden with fruit and flowers from the island they had that morning left, while glasses and cruets sparkled on a tablecloth white as snow.Jack took all this in at a glance as he entered witha preliminary tap, which was not heard in the delicious hubbub. He almost sighed to think that he had to go away and dine all by himself alone.On seeing the captain, every one rose, nor would they be seated until he consented to sit down.“Just sit down, Captain Mackenzie,” said MʻHearty, with a merry twinkle in his eye, “and have a glass of wine while your soup is getting cold.”“If the president bids me, I must obey,” said Jack, seating himself beside Tom. “It must be but for a moment. There are older men than myself here—our worthy Master Simmons, for example. I came to take your views about that Frenchman. He is evidently a battle-ship, probably a seventy-four. I say fight him; but considering this is my first captaincy—” But he was interrupted. Every man rose to his feet. It was a strange council of war, because every man held aloft a glass of wine.The words, “Fight him!” ran round the table like platoon firing. There was determination in every eye and in every voice, from the deep bass of the gray-bearded master down to the shrill treble of the rosy-cheeked fledgeling marine-officer Murray, a mere boy, who would certainly have seemed more in place in the cricket-field than on the battle-deck.“I’m going now,” said Jack. “Thank you all.—Excuse me, won’t you, Dr. MʻHearty? I think the soup is cold enough by this time. But we’ll make it hot for the enemy.”“Hurrah!”The moon was later in rising that night, being on the wane.It was the first lieutenant’s watch from eight till twelve. Nothing transpired until about seven bells, when Jack and Tom Fairlie were walking slowly up and down the poop. The moon was now well up, but hidden by a mass of cumulus cloud. Presently she would burst into view, for the clouds were sailing slowly along the horizon, and near hand was a rift of blue.Instinctively as it were, both officers stopped to gaze in that direction. In a few seconds the moon shot into the field of blue, and her light flashed over the sea.It flashed upon the phantom Frenchman, as Tom Fairlie called her; but so quickly had she come into view that the sight was startling in the extreme. She was not crossing the moon’s wake this time, however, but bearing down upon theTonneraire, as if about to attack her.The man at the mast-head had seen her at the same time, and his stentorian shout of, “Enemy on the starboard quarter!” awoke the sleeping ship to instant life as effectually as if a fifty-pounder had fired.All hands to quarters.R—r—r—r—r—r—r—r rattled the drum. It rattled once; the heaviest sleeper started and rubbed his eyes. It rattled twice; every man was on his legs and dressing. Thrice; and three minutes thereafter every man stood by his gun, and the cockpit hatches were put down. The ship was ready for action.Would she come on? would the Frenchman fight? Alas! no. Already she began to assume larger proportions as she showed broadside on. Above the wind, that now blew more gently from the north, the very flapping of her sails and loosening of her sheets could be heard as she came round, and in less than an hour she had almost disappeared in the uncertain light.CHAPTER XII.A BATTLE BY NIGHT.“What art thou, fascinating War,Thou trophied, painted pest,That thus men seek and yet abhor,Pursue and yet detest?”—Dibdin.DAY after day Jack’s fleet held on its course, and the weather continued unbroken and fine. Day after day the phantom Frenchman hovered somewhere about, afraid perhaps to try conclusions with that rakish, spiteful-looking British frigate, or perhaps but biding her chance.Twice or thrice Jack put about, sailed back and challenged her, with a shot, to fight if she dared. There never came the slightest response from Johnny Crapaud—she seemed indeed a phantom.And at night those on board theTonnerairecould not help thinking the phantom was ever near them,even when it was too dark to see her. I do not think, however, that it kept many of the officers awake at night, although it must be confessed Jack was ill at ease. If it were possible for the enemy to steal near enough in the pitchy dark portion of the night, the first intimation of her presence might be a raking broadside that would sweep the decks fore and aft; then farewell theTonneraire.There are few things more difficult to bear than what Scotch people so expressively term “tig-tire,” or excessive tantalization. There came a day when Jack called his chief officers together in his own cabin.“Gentlemen,” he said, “I’ve had enough of that French fellow. Why should he follow us night and day, like the shadow of the evil one, and yet refuse to fight? I mean to carry war into the enemy’s camp, or rather on to his quarter-deck, if you think my plan feasible. Remember, I am hot-headed and young.”Jack then unfolded his plans, and they were generally approved, though the old master was somewhat doubtful of their success.“However,” he growled, “I’ll take the wheel. Better, perhaps, after all, that we should take theinitiative; for, blow me to smithereens, if that tantalizing Froggie ain’t spoiling my appetite!”There was a general laugh at this, and the council broke up.Next day it blew little more than a seven-knot breeze, and the sun sparkled on the waters like showers of diamonds. The Frenchman marvelled much to see not only the British frigate, but all the merchant fleet close together, and with main or fore yards aback. The truth is, Captain Mackenzie was issuing his orders by boat.About an hour afterwards Johnny Crapaud smiled grimly to himself to see theTonnerairefill her sails and tack out to offer him battle.“The fool!” said Johnny. “When the gale of wind shall come, then I shall fight. Till then,non,non!”So he filled and bore southwards next; and as Jack had no desire for a race, he returned to his fleet. He had done all he wanted to: he had put Johnny on the wrong scent.That night, at sunset, clouds gathered up and quite obscured the sky.Johnny rubbed his hands and chuckled.“Soon,” he said, “it will blow what perfidious England calls big guns. Then—ah—then!”It blew big guns far sooner than he had expected.The night was intensely dark, but the half-moon would rise about four bells in the middle watch.When Johnny Crapaud looked towards the fleet, lo! the vessels had extra lights all, and lights were streaming from every port.“Ha! ha!” he grinned. “They rejoice; they dance. They think they have made me fly. When the gale blows, then they will dance—to different music.”The watch kept on board the French seventy-four was not extra vigilant. Especially did no one think of looking astern. Had any one on the outlook done so, then just about a quarter of an hour before moonrise he might have seen a dark shape coming hand-over-hand across the water from the direction in which “fair France” lay—fair France that many a poor fellow on Johnny’s ship would never see again.It was theTonneraire. She had made a detour with every stitch of canvas set, and was now almost close aboard of the enemy.Ah! at last they perceive her; and the noise on board the enemy is indescribable—the shrieking of orders, the rattle of arms and cordage, the trampling of feet, the stamping and unlimbering of guns. Butagainst her stern windows, which are all ablaze with light, theTonneraireconcentrates her whole starboard broadside. The effect is startling and terrible. Confusion prevails on board the enemy—almost panic, indeed; and this lasts long enough for the frigate to sail back on the other tack. Jack’s object is to cripple her, and with this object in view he concentrates his larboard broadside again in the stern of the seventy-four, and her rudder is a thing of the past.Away glides theTonneraire.Sheis the phantom now. She loads her guns, and is coming down with the wind again—like the wind, too—when the seventy-four gets in her first broadside. It does but little harm. It does not stop the onward rush of the swift bold frigate even for a moment; and Jack’s next broadside is a telling one, for the Frenchman’s sails are not only ashiver, but aflap, awry, anyhow and everyhow; and just as the moon throws her first faint light athwart the waves, once more the helpless merchantmen tremble to hear the thunder of twenty cannon. For theTonnerairehas crossed the enemy’s hawse, and raked him fore and aft.Now down comes the Frenchman’s foremast; and shortly after, a wild triumphant shout echoes fromstem to stern and stern to stem of brave young Jack’s ship, for the enemy has surrendered.A French seventy-four striking her flag to a British frigate of forty guns! Yes; but far more daring deeds than that which I now record happened in the dashing days of old.Captain Jack Mackenzie would have gone right straight on board the enemy, but the master cautioned him.“Nay, nay, sir,” he said. “There is such a thing as French treachery; I have known it before. Wait till the moon gets higher, and we will board in force. Remember, they may have about five hundred men still alive on that ship.”Jack took the advice thus vouchsafed; but in half-an-hour’s time theTonnerairerasped alongside the seventy-four, and a rush was made up the sides of the battle-ship.But all was safe.And stark and stiff on his own poop lay the French captain, and alongside him more than one of his officers. The decks were a sad sight in the glimmering moonlight, for splintered timbers and arms lay everywhere, and everywhere were dead and wounded.More by token, from the uncertain, heavy-swayingmotion of the vessel, it was evident she had been badly hit ’twixt wind and water, and was already sinking. All haste was therefore made to save the men. Those of the ship’s boats that were not smashed were lowered, and further assistance was sent for from the merchant fleet, and none too soon either.A few minutes after the last man—and that was Jack Mackenzie, who personally superintended everything—had left the ill-fated Frenchman, her decks blew up with a dull report, the water rushed in from all sides, and just as the sun threw his first yellow beams upwards through the morning clouds, the great ship shuddered like a dying thing, and shuddering sank.Such is war; why should we desire it?But side by side with tragedy do we ever find something akin to the ridiculous or comic.It was Tom Fairlie himself who was despatched to the merchant fleet to beg them to send all the boats they could to rescue the wounded and prisoners from the sinking war-ship. Almost the first vessel he boarded was that commanded by the skipper who owned the bulbous nose. And here a strange and a wonderful sight met his gaze. Arranged in double rank on the quarter-deck were about twenty or moresailors, each armed with a gun and bayonet, the skipper himself at their head drilling them.“Shoulder-houp!” he was shouting as Tom leaped down from the bulwark.The most comical part of the business was this: every one of the honest skipper’s sailor-soldiers had a white linen shirt on over his dress, and as the men’s legs were bare to the knees, they all looked as near to naked as decency would permit. While Tom stopped to laugh aloud, Captain Bulbous hastened to explain.“Were comin’ to your assistance, I was, in half-a-minute. Stuck on them shirts so’s they should know each other from the French. See? Do look curious, though, I must admit. What! the fight all over? Well, Iamsorry.”Before eight bells in the morning watch the prisoners were distributed all over the fleet, with the exception of the wounded, who were under the charge of Dr. MʻHearty on board the saucyTonneraire.CHAPTER XIII.A HAPPY SHIP.“On Friendship so many perfections attendThat the rational comfort of life is a friend.”Dibdin.Inthe early part of the present century the poet Dibdin wrote with great feeling and spirit concerning the “generous Britons and the barbarous French.” There is no doubt about it, the French in those days were far more cruel to their prisoners than ever we were to ours.And so the wounded on board theTonnerairewere absolutely astounded at the kind treatment they experienced under good MʻHearty and his assistants. The surgeon himself looked in face—or figure-head—as rough and weather-beaten a sailor as ever trod a plank, but in heart he was as tender as any woman.More than one of his poor patients wrung the doctor’s red hands, and, with tears rolling over their sallow cheeks, prayed Heaven to bless him for his goodness and sympathy.But this was not all, for even the men were good to the prisoners. Many a morsel of tobacco did they give them on the sly; and if a Jack-tar observed that one was asleep in his hammock, he would sign to his fellows to make as little noise as possible. It is no wonder, therefore, that the “Froggies,” as they were called, nearly all recovered from their wounds. Two or three, however, succumbed, and these were buried with as much ceremony as if they had been British sailors. The same impressive and beautiful service was repeated by the grating where the body lay; the same solemn silence prevailed while it was being read; and I am not sure that some of our Jacks did not even shed a tear—on the sly, that is, for your true sailor ever tries to hide two things, his grief and his tender-heartedness—as with dull plash the body dropped into the sea.Contrary winds and storms delayed the voyage. Nearly a whole month flew by, and still the little fleet had not yet reached the longitude of Newfoundland.But to his credit be it told, Jack and his officers had managed to keep them all well together, and had not lost one.TheTonnerairewas a very happy ship, the primary reason being that Jack Mackenzie, though a thorough upholder of the sacredness of duty, was really kind and thoughtful at heart. He knew the value in the service of strict obedience to command. I have heard it said that a man-o’-war sailor or a soldier is a mere machine. He is not even that, he is only part of a machine; but he has the honour to be part and portion of one of the grandest machines that ever were perfected—the upholder of our national honour, the defender of British hearths and homes, and the protector of tender women and helpless babies.We man-o’-war sailors, and ye soldiers, carry on war, it is true, and we hit just as hard as we know how to—and war is a fearful game at the best; but, dear civilians, do not forget that we constitute the only institutions that can render peace possible, and your homes happy and safe, machines though we be.But how would it be if strict, unthinking, unhesitating obedience were not exacted from every man and officer in the service to the commands of his superior officers? Why, on the day of battle thearmy or navy would be a mere squabbling mob, worse even than the British Parliament.I may mention here that it was his cheerful obedience to orders, his good-natured smiling alacrity—minus officiousness, mind you—his unselfishness and his bravery, that gained for Jack Mackenzie the proud position he now held.Young men who mean to enter the service should read that last sentence of mine over again, ay, even get it by heart.I digress, you say? So I do.Well, I was saying that theTonnerairewas a happy ship. All the officers, both junior and senior, agreed. The chief lights of the senior mess were Tom Fairlie, always good-humoured and cheerful; honest MʻHearty, rough and genial; young Murray, the boy marine officer, merry and innocent; and Simmons the master, whowouldhave his growl, who was all thunder without the lightning, but a very excellent old fellow, when young Murray didn’t tease himtoomuch. Between MʻHearty, Fairlie, Murray, and Jack himself a strange sort of a compact was made. It was Murray who proposed it one lovely moonlight night, when the four were together on the poop. Young Murray had cheek enough for anything. He was the secondson of a noble lord, and would himself be a lord one day—probably. Not that his rank in life made him any the cheekier, but I suppose it was born in the boy. He cared little or nothing for the etiquette or punctilios of the service when it suited him not to. For example, he one day actually linked his arm through that of an admiral on the quarter-deck. Everybody was aghast; but the good old admiral merely smiled. He knew boys and liked them.But that night on the quarter-deck Murray said openly and innocently to Jack: “I like you, sir—fact, I wish you were my brother; and you too, Fairlie, though you’re a fool sometimes; and you, MʻHearty, though you’re often absurdly rough. I wish we could be together for years and years and years, in the same ship, you know, and all that sort of thing.”“Well, why not?” said MʻHearty. “Let us try; eh, captain?”“I’m agreeable,” said Jack.“And I,” said Fairlie.“Hurrah!” cried Murray. So the compact was made.The men forward, taking the cue from their officers, were just as jolly.Those were terrible days of flogging. For a look or a glance, a man might be tied up and receive four dozen lashes with the terrible “cat.” It was a brutal punishment. But MʻHearty was dead against it; Jack too; and so the grating was never rigged on board theTonneraire.Well, despite dirty weather and head winds, the fleet finally sailed into the mouth of the St. Lawrence river without ever losing a stick. At the Canadian capital, Jack and his officers, ay, and the men as well, had what the Yankees call “a real good time of it.” Jack became quite a hero among the ladies, young and old. Yet he did not let that elate him. His heart was not his own—as yet, though he might get over his grief for his lost love Gerty.But having refitted, there was nothing left but to put to sea again.TheTonnerairecruised all down by the American coast and to the West Indies. Before reaching Jamaica she was attacked by two French line-of-battle ships. What they were doing here they themselves best knew. They were badly wanted just then on the other side of the sea. Now this was a chance to test the sailing powers of theTonneraire. Discretion is sometimes better than valour. Valour is sometimesfolly. Jack ran. Nelson himself did so once or twice. You and I, my bold young reader, are not going to stand a blow from a big fellow without hitting back; but if the big fellow brings his big brother, then we may as well take the opportunity of going shopping, or somewhere. Jack Mackenzie went shopping, so to speak, and theTonnerairewon the race.I wish I had space in my story to tell you something about Jamaica, and the lovely West India Islands, first discovered by Columbus. I am strangely tempted to. I will. Iwon’t. I shall. Ishan’t. Belay! I’ve won.At the time of which I am writing—the latter end of 1796—there was a very pretty naval combination formed, with a view to crush the might of Britain. The French, who had a navy nearly as powerful as our own, got the Dutch and Spaniards to join them, and felt certain that we should go down to Davy Jones by the run, and never more—“Sweep through the deepWhile stormy winds do blow.”Instead of saying “got the Dutch and Spaniards tojoin them,” I should have written, “formed an alliance with these nations against us,” because we determined that, with Heaven on our side, we should prevent a junction of the fleets. So brave Scotch Duncan shut the Dutch up in the Texel like a lot of rats. They had not the pluck to come out and fight him. Well, Duncan would have blown them sky-high, as he eventually did. There was a French fleet at Brest, and the Spaniards farther south, and had they all got together—but then they didn’t. You know the position of a game of draughts when you have one of your enemy’s crowned heads in each corner, and he cannot move without danger. That is blockade, and that is how we held and meant to hold the French, Spaniards, and Dutch till we should smash them time about, and then sing, “Britannia, the pride of the ocean,” or some bold equivalent thereto.The Spaniards had their lesson first.It was well for Jack Mackenzie that he arrived off Cadiz in his swiftTonneraire[B]about a week before the great battle of St. Vincent. I do not mean to describe this fight at any length; every school-boy knows all about it. I merely wish to remind the reader of some of its chief events, because to me ithas always seemed such a blood-stirring battle. The haughty Don had a fleet of twenty-seven sail of the line and two frigates. Some of his ships, like theSantissima-Trinidad, were perfectmontes belli—thunder-bergs. Fancy a four-decker carrying one hundred and thirty guns! and the Spaniards had six that carried one hundred and twenty; while we had only two of one hundred guns, theVictoryandBritannia.On the 1st of February Lord St. Vincent, then Sir John Jervis, was in the Tagus with only ten ships; but as the great fleet of the Don sailed from Carthagena to effect a junction with the French fleet at Toulon, Jervis set sail after them. He meant to spoil some of the paint-work about that fine Spanish fleet. It was very brave of him, and quite British. Luckily on the 6th he was joined by Admiral Parker with five ships, and on the 13th—hurrah!—by Commodore Nelson himself. Strangely enough, Nelson on the previous night seems to have sailed right through the Spanish fleet.St. Valentine’s Day 1797 will ever be memorable in the naval annals of this country, for, in a driving mist and fog, our fleet that morning forgathered with the might of Spain off Cape St. Vincent. The majesticappearance of the ships of the Don could not but have impressed our officers and men, but it did not awe them. The bigger the ship the larger the target, our Nelson used to say.Our fleet advanced in two beautiful lines. The Spaniards somehow had got divided into two groups—one of nineteen ships, the other group some distance to leeward—and these two made haste to unite. But Jervis spoiled that move by getting between them and attacking the main body. After the battle had fairly commenced, and each ship of ours had her orders, Nelson noted an attempt on the part of Don Josef de Cordova to pass round Jervis’s rear and join the other portion of the fleet; and despite the fact that he was disobeying orders—“They can but hang me,” he said to Captain Miller—he slipped back and threw his ship, theCaptain, right athwart the mightySantissima-Trinidad, thus driving the Don’s fleet back. It was, as the reader knows, this daring action on the part of Nelson that decided the battle. But how terribly the fight raged after that; how pluckily Nelson, with his vessel a wreck, boarded and captured ship after ship; how the hell of battle raged for three long hours, let history tell, as well as speak of cases of individual heroism. Suffice it for me to say that thebattle was won and the Don was thrashed, among the captured ships being the mightyTrinidadherself, the Spanish admiral’s castle.TheTonnerairesuffered severely. Sixty poor fellows would never again see their native land, and many more were wounded.Young Murray was among the severely wounded, but Jack himself, and Tom as well, escaped without a scratch.“Oh dear me, dear me!” said MʻHearty, running up for a few moments from the heat and smoke of the stifling cockpit, “I am thirsty.”Poor MʻHearty! he wasn’t a pretty sight to look at, begrimed with smoke and blood. But he just had a drink, and a big one, and went back once more to his terrible work.But the good doctor was washed and dressed and smiling again when he came to the captain’s cabin that evening while the stars were shining, to report, “Everything tidy, and all going on well.”“And poor Murray?” said Jack.“He’ll be all right—a bullet clean through the chest. That’s nothing to a young fellow like him.”“Well, stay and dine,” said Jack.“Willing, sir. What a glorious day we’ve had!But I can assure you, Captain Mackenzie, I’d rather have had my head above the hatches, now and then, anyhow.”“Be content,” said Jack, laughing; “it might have been blown off, you know.”CHAPTER XIV.MUTINY.“To be a hero, stand or fall,Depends upon the man;Let all then in their duty stand,Each point of duty weigh,Remembering those can best commandWho best know to obey.”—Dibdin.
It
was near to the hour of sunset, on an autumn evening about a week after the cozy dinner-party in the cabin of Captain Jack Mackenzie of theTonneraire. The tree-clad hills and terra-cotta cliffs around Tor Bay were all ablur with driving mist and rain, borne viciously along on the wings of a north-east gale. Far out beyond the harbour mouth, betwixt Berry Head and Hope’s Nose, the steel-blue waters were flecked and streaked with foam; while high against the rocks of Corbyn’s Head the waves broke in clouds of spray.
As night fell, the wind seemed to increase; the sky was filled with storm-riven clouds; and the “white horses” that rode on the bay grew taller and taller.
Surely on such a night as this every fishing-boat would seek shelter, and vessels near to the land would make good their offing for safety’s sake.
There were those who, gazing out upon the storm from the green plateau above Daddy’s Hole, where the coastguard station now is, thought otherwise.
Daddy’s Hole is a sort of inlet or indentation in the rock-wall, which rises so steeply up to the plain above that, though covered with grass, it seems hardly to afford foothold for goats. No man in his senses would venture to descend from above in a straight line, nor even by zigzag, were it not for the fact that here and there through the smooth green surface rocks protrude which would break his fall.
Shading their eyes with their hands in the gathering gloom, with faces seaward, stood two rough-looking men, of the class we might call amphibious—men at home either on the water or on shore.
“It can’t be done,” said one. “No, capting, it can’t.”
“Can’t?” thundered the other; “and I tells yew, Dan, the skipper o’ theBrixhamknows no such aword as ‘can’t.’ He’s comin’. Yew’ll see. Hawkins never hauled ’is wind yet where a bit o’ the yellow was tow be made. Us’ll drink wine in France to-morrow, sure’s my name is Scrivings.”
Dan shook his head.
“W’y, yew soft-hearted chap, for tew pins I’d pitch yew ower the cliff.”
But as “Capting” Scrivings laughed while he spoke, and shook his friend roughly by the shoulder, there was little chance of the terrible threat being fulfilled.
“And min’ yew, Dan,” he added, “if us lands this un all right, us’ll be rich, lad—ha! ha! Besides, wot’s Hawkins got tow be afear’d of? TheBrixhamcan cut the winkers from the wind’s eye, that she can. Tack and ’alf tack though buried in green seas, Dan. Never saw a craft tow sail closer tow a wind. Here’s tow bold Hawkins and the braveBrixham!”
The toast was drunk from a black bottle which the “capting” handed to Dan.
“’Ave a pull, chap; yew needs it to brace yewr courage tow the sticking-point.”
Captain Butler prided himself on the seaworthiness and fleetness of his cutter, the saucy littleMoonbeam.Not that she had been much to look at, or much to sail either, when he took her over; for in those good old times the Admiralty was not a whit more generous with paint and copper nails than it is now. But One-legged Butler was a man of some means, who might have driven his coach on shore had he not been so fond of the brine and the breeze. So he had theMoonbeamseen to at his own expense—not without asking and receiving permission, of course, for he was a strict-service man. Her bows were lengthened and her rig altered and improved; she was made, in fact, quite a model of.
And Captain Butler was justly proud of theMoonbeam. So highly did he regard her that he would not have marked her smooth and spotless deck with his timber toe to obtain his promotion, and therefore his servant had orders to always keep the end of that useful limb shod with softest leather.
Nothing that ever sailed got the weather-gauge on theMoonbeam.
Except theBrixham.
That smuggling sloop landed many a fine bale of silk, hogshead of wine, and tobacco galore, all along the south coast; but never had been caught. She was a fly-by-night and a veritable phantom. ThriceButler had chased her. He might as well have attempted to overhaul a gull on the wing.
But to-night One-legged Butler meant to do or die. He knew she was going to venture into Tor Bay, and lie off at anchor under the lee of the cliffs. He could have boarded her in boats perhaps; but that would not have suited Butler’s idea of seamanship. It must be neck or nothing—a fair race and a fair fight.
TheBrixhamcarried a dare-devil crew, however, and Hawkins feared nothing. TheMoonbeamwould have her work cut out; but then all the more glory to the bold fellows on board of her; for these were the days when adventure was beloved for its own sake alone.
When, on the night previous, twenty brave blue-jackets from theTonnerairewere told off for special service and sent aboard the littleMoonbeam, which sailed a few hours after just as the moon was rising over the Hoe, they had no idea what was in the wind. From their armature of cutlasses and pistols, they “daresayed” there was a little bit of fighting to be done, and rejoiced accordingly, for Jack dearly loves a scrimmage. The wind blew high, even then tossing the cutter about like a cork, although she carried but little sail. By next forenoon, however, she hadpassed Tor Bay, and lay in semi-hiding near Hope’s Nose. There was the risk of the vessel’s presence being discovered and reported to Scrivings and his gang; but there always are risks in warfare.
As soon as it was dusk a portion of the men were landed. Then theMoonbeam, although it blew big guns, set herself to watch for the foe.
Hour after hour flew by, and the moon, glinting now and then through a rift in the clouds, whitened the curling waves, but showed no signs of theBrixham, or of anything else.
It was an anxious time.
At twelve o’clock grog and biscuits were served out. The men never had time to swallow a mouthful—of biscuit, I mean. No doubt they drank the grog, for those were the days of can-tossing, a custom now happily but seldom honoured.
Yes, there she was! It could be none other save daring Hawkins in theBrixham.
Small look-out was being kept to-night, however, on the smuggler.
TheMoonbeamswept down on her as hawk swoops down on his prey, and although Tor Bay is wondrous wide, and theBrixhamwas nearly in the centre of it, the cutter was on her in a surprisingly short time.
Fine seamanship, fine steering, to sheer alongside and grapple, despite the fact that the sea had gone down, and the waves were partially under the lee of the hills.
If ever man was surprised, that man was Smuggler Hawkins. But he answered the call to surrender with a shout of defiance.
After this it was all a wild medley of pistols cracking, cutlasses clashing, cries—yes, and, I am sorry to say, a few groans; for blood was shed, and one man at least would never sail the salt seas more. But if blood was shed, the seas washed it off; for the fight took place with the spray driving over both vessels, white in the moonlight.
A prize crew was left on theBrixham, and in less than twenty minutes both craft were safe at anchor in Torquay harbour.
Meanwhile, the party who had been landed near to Hope’s Nose had made their way inland, bearing somewhat to the east to make a detour, both for the purpose of getting well in the rear of the smugglers’ cottage—where Tom Fairlie, who was in command, knew the smugglers were to be found—and because the night was still young.
When Scrivings left the outlook with Dan onwatch, he betook himself to this cottage, in order to complete arrangements for landing the cargo, every bale and tub of which they had meant to haul up from Daddy’s Hole to the plains above, then to cart them away inland.
But he found his ten men ready, and even the horses and carts in waiting. They were hired conveyances. The smugglers found no difficulty in getting help to secure their booty in those days, when many even of the resident gentry of England sympathized with contraband trade. So there was nothing to be done but to wait.
It was a lonely enough spot where the little cottage stood among rocks and woodland. Lovely as well as lonely and wild; though I fear its beauties alone did nothing to recommend the place to the favour of “Capting” Scrivings and his merry men.
The night waned. The moon rose higher and higher. The men in the bothy, having eaten and drunk, had got tired at last of card-playing, and nearly all were curled up and asleep.
The sentry had seated himself on a stone outside, and he too was nodding, lulled into dreamland by the sough of the wind among the solemn pines.
The wind favoured Fairlie’s party, who, as stealthilyas Indians, crept towards the cottage from the rear.
The sentry was neatly seized and quickly gagged, and next moment the lieutenant, sword in hand, his men behind him, had rushed into the dimly-lit bothy.
“Surrender in the king’s name! The first who stirs is a dead man!”
It was beautifully done. Not a show of resistance was or could be made, and in less than an hour Tom Fairlie, with his crestfallen prisoners, had reached the harbour, where they were welcomed by a hearty cheer, which awakened the echoes of the rocks and a good many of the inhabitants of the village of Torquay.[A]
And now Captain Jack Mackenzie shook hands right heartily with his friend Tom Fairlie.
“Splendid night’s work, Tom,” he said. “A thousand thanks! Now the saucyTonnerairemay be called ready for sea.”
Splendid night’s work was it? Well, we now-a-days would think this impressment cruel—cruel to take men away from their homes and avocations, perhaps never to see their country more. Yet it must be admitted that smugglers like these, who had so long defied the law, richly deserved their fate.
IN THE MOON’S BRIGHT WAKE.
“Now welcome every sea delight—The cruise with eager watchful days,The skilful chase by glimmering night,The well-worked ship, the gallant fight,The loved commander’s praise!”—Old Song.
It
was not without a tinge of sorrow at his heart that Jack Mackenzie stood on his own quarter-deck and saw the chalky cliffs of England fading far astern, as the gloom of eventide fast deepened into night. He was not the one to give way to useless grief, but he could not help contrasting the hope and joyfulness with which he had last left home with his present state of mind. He was not a post-captain then certainly, but he had that—or thought he had—for which he would gladly now take the epaulettesfrom off his shoulders and fling them in the sea—namely, the love of the only girl he ever thought worth living for. But she— Well, no matter; that was past and gone. His love had been all a dream, a happy dream enough while it lasted, while his heart had been to her a toy. But then his father, his good old careless-hearted father. Wrecked and ruined! That he was in difficulties Jack had known for years, but he never knew how deep these were, nor that they had so entwined themselves around the roots of the old homestead, that to get rid of the former was to tear up the latter and cast all its old associations to the four winds of heaven. Dear old homestead! Somehow Jack had dreamt he would always have it to go home to on every return voyage, always have his father there to welcome him back, always—
“Hallo!” said a voice at his side, “what is all this reverie about, Jack?”
Tom laid his hand gently, half timidly on his arm as he spoke. Half timidly, I say, because it would not do for even the men to note a shadow of familiarity on poop or quarter-deck betwixt a commander and his captain.
Jack smiled somewhat sadly.
“I daresay, Tom,” he replied, “it was very wrong,but I was just breathing one last sigh for lost love and home. Oh, I don’t care for Grantley Hall so much; but then there is sister, and poor father, and it seems rather hard he should take service again. There is just enough saved out of the wreck for them to live on.”
“Yes; and you’ll win a fortune yet, mayhap an earldom, Jack—”
“Stay, Tom, stay. I care nothing for earldoms, and if I win enough to live on I’ll be content. One thing I do mean to win for Flora’s sake—honour and glory.”
“Keep your mind easy about Flora,” laughed Tom. “I’m going to win all the honour and glory she is likely to want.”
“I’d quite forgotten, Tom—brother.”
“That’s better. And, Jack, I know you’ll get more ambitious as we go on. Now mind you, you’re not so badly off. That wound was a lucky hit. Just look around and beneath you. Ever see a finer frigate? Look at her build, her spars, her rigging, everything taut and trim and ship-shape—the very ship seems proud of herself, considering the independent way she goes swinging over the waves on the wings of this delightful breeze; swinging over the waves,bobbing and bowing to them as if they were mere passing acquaintances, and she proud mistress of the seas. Then, Jack, let me recall your attention to the fact that we have five-and-forty bonnie black guns and three hundred and twenty bold blue-jackets to man and to fight them; and thatyou—you lucky dog—are monarch of all you survey. Ah, brother mine, there is many a sailor mo’sieur afloat on the seas at this moment ’twixt here and America who well might tremble did he but know the fate that is in store for him when theTonnerairecrosses his hawse.”
“You bloodthirsty man!”
“No, no, no. I’ve got one of the softest hearts ever turned out of dock, but it is all for king and country, you know. Behold how our good ship goes sweeping through the deep! Look, my captain bold, we are coming up to the convoy hand-over-hand. It was a good idea giving them half a day’s start, for some of them, I daresay, we’ll find are lazy lubbers.”
“Well,” said Jack, as we shall still call him, “we must do our best to keep them together. I would not like, however, for my own part, to go out in protection of many convoys.”
“Nor will we; this is only a kind of trial trip. But if you are afraid you won’t have any fighting todo, you may be agreeably disappointed, as the Irishman said.”
Jack Mackenzie laughed.
“What a fire-eater you are, Tom! I wasn’t thinking of fighting. But if I have to fight, I’d rather these merchantmen were a hundred miles away. Fighting in convoy must make one feel as does the father of a family, whom he has to defend against an aggressor while the children cling tightly to his legs.”
From the above conversation it will be gathered that theTonnerairehad sailed at last, and was in charge of a merchant fleet bound for America. This was considered a very responsible task in these warlike days, when the cruisers of the enemy were here, there, and everywhere in our ocean highways, watching a chance to seize our unprotected ships. TheTonnerairehad been chosen for her strength and her fleetness, and there was no doubt that under so able a young and dashing commander she would fulfil her mission, and make it warm for any Frenchman who sought to attack the ships.
There they were now sailing as closely together as possible, because night would soon fall, and they could only be distinguished by their lights. A cruise of this sort was seldom, if ever, free from adventure,and it entailed much anxious care and forethought on the part of the captain of the war-vessel convoying them. A good thing this for Jack Mackenzie. No cure for sorrow in this world except honest work. He was really, too, in a manner of speaking, a probationer. To do his duty strictly, wisely, and well on this voyage would certainly entitle him to no step, not even perhaps to praise; but to neglect it, or even to be unfortunate, would cause him to incur the displeasure of the Admiralty and hinder his advancement.
But a whole week went on, and though no Frenchman appeared on the scene, Jack and his fleet had encountered a gale of wind that had driven them considerably out of their course; and when one morning, about eight bells, a cry of “Land” was raised, he knew he must be in the neighbourhood of the Azores or Western Islands.
He was not altogether sorry for this; it would give him a chance of taking in fresh water and of adding to the store of fresh provisions now almost exhausted. For ships in those days were vilely found, and the men called contractors were held in general detestation by every ship in the service.
“Sailing across the moon’s bright wake was a French man-o’-war.”Page93.
The merchantmen under Jack numbered fourteenin all, and were of different classes—brigs, barques, and full-rigged ships; but long before sundown they were all securely anchored in front of San Miguel, and Captain Mackenzie, in full uniform, accompanied by Commander Fairlie, had gone on shore to pay his respects to the Portuguese governor.
San Miguel was not so densely populated as it is now, but very quaint as to its town, and very romantic and beautiful as to its scenery all around. The governor dwelt in a villa on a garden-terraced hill in the outskirts. He was very pleased to see the officers, but deferred business till next day.
It was, however, while smoking in the veranda after dinner, and gazing dreamily away across the moonlit ocean, that Jack suddenly sprang up, and, clutching Tom’s arm, pointed seawards.
Slowly sailing across the moon’s bright wake was a French man-o’-war.
THE PHANTOM FRENCHMAN.
“If to engage we get the word,To quarters we’ll repair,While splintered masts go by the board,And shots sing through the air.”Dibdin.
B
EAUTIFUL island of San Miguel! on whose shores, wherever they slope in sheets of sand towards the sea, the white waves play and sing; whose gigantic rocks, frowning black and beetling above the water, are fondly licked by mother ocean’s tongue as dog salutes a master’s hand.
Island, surrounded by seas that towards the far horizon seem unfathomably blue, yet near around are patched in the sunshine with opal, with green, and with azure, and tremble like mercury under the moon and the starlight.
Island of fountain-springs, that shoot their white and boiling spray farther skywards than ever spouted Nor’land whale.
Island of mountains, high and wild, whose summits seek to withdraw from earth away, and hide their proud heads above the clouds, when storms rage far beneath.
Island of green and lonesome glens, where bright-winged birds chant low their love-songs to their listening mates, and where many a strange, fantastic fern nods weeping o’er the hurrying streams.
Island of scented orange-groves, of waving palms, of dark dwarf pines—black shapes in many a cloud of green—of the rose, the camellia, the oleander, the passion-flower. Island of wild flowers, that grow and wanton everywhere, that have their home in the woods, that carpet the earth with colour, that clothe the rocks, that hang head downwards in masses over many a foaming cataract, that climb the trees and repose like living, sentient beings among the branches, wooing the bees, attracting the butterflies, and tempting the gay, metallic-tinted moths to expand their cloaks in the sunshine, and fly clumsily to their embrace.
Island of seeming contentment, where even human beings live but to idle and to lounge and to love.
Beautiful, beautiful island!
Yes; but an island on which our heroes must not linger, for twice during the night a dark shape glided across the moon’s bright wake, and those on watch on board theTonneraireknew it was the waiting, watching foe. But when day broke no foe was to be seen. Captain Mackenzie stayed therefore only long enough to take in extra stores, water, and fruit, and to permit his fleet to do likewise; then the signal was made, “Up anchor, and to sea!”
In silence the anchors were weighed on board the man-o’-war; but accompanied on the merchant-vessels by the never-failing song, with its frequent abrupt conclusion, without which merchantman Jack finds it impossible to carry on a bit of duty.
“Hee—hoy—ee! Hee hoy! Pull, and she comes! Hoy—ee—ee! Hoip!”
All that day the young captain of theTonnerairekept his fleet well together. Not an easy task, for although the wind was by no means high, and was moreover favourable, being north-east by east—the course steered about north-west, the convoy bearing up for Halifax and the Gulf of St. Lawrence—still the sailing powers of the vessels varied considerably.The strength of an iron chain equals the strength of its weakest link, and the speed of a fleet of merchantmen is measured by that of its slowest sailer. While at San Miguel, Jack had tried to impress this upon the minds of his various skippers. He held a meeting of these on board a large full-rigged ship, and told them their motto must be, “Keep together,” as the danger of an attack was imminent. Slow sailers must carry stun’-sails when they found themselves getting behind, while the fast must take in sail.
They admitted this.
“It is as plain as the nose on my face,” said one intelligent skipper, who had a huge red bulbous proboscis you could have almost seen in the dark. “We’ve got to play up to you, Captain Mackenzie, just as the small fry plays up to a great hactor on the stage.”
This was all very well, but then they did not do it, so that the rate of speed was slow; ships and barques having to haul their fore or main yards aback at times to wait for the lazy brigs who either couldn’t or wouldn’t set stun’-sails. And at eventide, while the sun was going in a lacework of golden cloud, and looking so red that he appeared to be ashamed of thefleet, the vessels were scattered all over three square miles, and Jack Mackenzie, not now in the best of tempers, had to collect them as a collie pens his sheep.
It was dark enough after the somewhat brief twilight had given place to light—to light and tolights, for signal-lanterns hung aloft on every ship; so all appeared safe and snug enough.
But what had become of the Frenchman? He had not been seen all day. Was it indeed but a phantom that had been seen in the moon’s bright wake?
A good watch was kept both ’low and aloft; and Jack went down to dinner at the sound of the bugle.
As he passed near the midshipmen’s berth, quite a buzz of happy voices issued therefrom. Jack paused for a few seconds to listen. It was not so very long since he himself had been a middy. No responsibility had he then, any more than rested on any of these bright young hearts at that moment. How they laughed and chaffed and talked, to be sure! Interspersed in the hubbub were now and then snatches of merry song, and now and then the notes of a somewhat squeaky and asthmatical violin, invariably followed by some one shouting, “Stop that awful fiddle!” “Hit ’im in the eye with a bit o’biscuit!” or “Grease his bow!” Then a deeper bass voice, evidently Scotch, and just as evidently a junior surgeon’s, saying, “Let the laddie practise.—Fiddle away, my boy; I’ll thrash all hands if they meddle with ye.”
Jack went away laughing to himself. Little those boys—who not long since left home and Merrie England—know or care that ere another hour, perhaps, the decks of theTonnerairemay be slippery with blood.
Ah! all the care was his—was the post-captain’s. Uneasy lies the head that—hallo! He had just entered the ward-room, and found all the fellows there quite as happy as the middies. They were at dessert, for they dined earlier than their captain. MʻHearty was seated at the head of the table, and was spinning a short but funny yarn, to which his messmates’ laugh was ready chorus. Tom was vice-president; the lieutenants, the purser, and officers of the marines were ranged along the tables, red jackets and blue, forming a pretty contrast; the table was laden with fruit and flowers from the island they had that morning left, while glasses and cruets sparkled on a tablecloth white as snow.
Jack took all this in at a glance as he entered witha preliminary tap, which was not heard in the delicious hubbub. He almost sighed to think that he had to go away and dine all by himself alone.
On seeing the captain, every one rose, nor would they be seated until he consented to sit down.
“Just sit down, Captain Mackenzie,” said MʻHearty, with a merry twinkle in his eye, “and have a glass of wine while your soup is getting cold.”
“If the president bids me, I must obey,” said Jack, seating himself beside Tom. “It must be but for a moment. There are older men than myself here—our worthy Master Simmons, for example. I came to take your views about that Frenchman. He is evidently a battle-ship, probably a seventy-four. I say fight him; but considering this is my first captaincy—” But he was interrupted. Every man rose to his feet. It was a strange council of war, because every man held aloft a glass of wine.
The words, “Fight him!” ran round the table like platoon firing. There was determination in every eye and in every voice, from the deep bass of the gray-bearded master down to the shrill treble of the rosy-cheeked fledgeling marine-officer Murray, a mere boy, who would certainly have seemed more in place in the cricket-field than on the battle-deck.
“I’m going now,” said Jack. “Thank you all.—Excuse me, won’t you, Dr. MʻHearty? I think the soup is cold enough by this time. But we’ll make it hot for the enemy.”
“Hurrah!”
The moon was later in rising that night, being on the wane.
It was the first lieutenant’s watch from eight till twelve. Nothing transpired until about seven bells, when Jack and Tom Fairlie were walking slowly up and down the poop. The moon was now well up, but hidden by a mass of cumulus cloud. Presently she would burst into view, for the clouds were sailing slowly along the horizon, and near hand was a rift of blue.
Instinctively as it were, both officers stopped to gaze in that direction. In a few seconds the moon shot into the field of blue, and her light flashed over the sea.
It flashed upon the phantom Frenchman, as Tom Fairlie called her; but so quickly had she come into view that the sight was startling in the extreme. She was not crossing the moon’s wake this time, however, but bearing down upon theTonneraire, as if about to attack her.
The man at the mast-head had seen her at the same time, and his stentorian shout of, “Enemy on the starboard quarter!” awoke the sleeping ship to instant life as effectually as if a fifty-pounder had fired.
All hands to quarters.
R—r—r—r—r—r—r—r rattled the drum. It rattled once; the heaviest sleeper started and rubbed his eyes. It rattled twice; every man was on his legs and dressing. Thrice; and three minutes thereafter every man stood by his gun, and the cockpit hatches were put down. The ship was ready for action.
Would she come on? would the Frenchman fight? Alas! no. Already she began to assume larger proportions as she showed broadside on. Above the wind, that now blew more gently from the north, the very flapping of her sails and loosening of her sheets could be heard as she came round, and in less than an hour she had almost disappeared in the uncertain light.
A BATTLE BY NIGHT.
“What art thou, fascinating War,Thou trophied, painted pest,That thus men seek and yet abhor,Pursue and yet detest?”—Dibdin.
D
AY after day Jack’s fleet held on its course, and the weather continued unbroken and fine. Day after day the phantom Frenchman hovered somewhere about, afraid perhaps to try conclusions with that rakish, spiteful-looking British frigate, or perhaps but biding her chance.
Twice or thrice Jack put about, sailed back and challenged her, with a shot, to fight if she dared. There never came the slightest response from Johnny Crapaud—she seemed indeed a phantom.
And at night those on board theTonnerairecould not help thinking the phantom was ever near them,even when it was too dark to see her. I do not think, however, that it kept many of the officers awake at night, although it must be confessed Jack was ill at ease. If it were possible for the enemy to steal near enough in the pitchy dark portion of the night, the first intimation of her presence might be a raking broadside that would sweep the decks fore and aft; then farewell theTonneraire.
There are few things more difficult to bear than what Scotch people so expressively term “tig-tire,” or excessive tantalization. There came a day when Jack called his chief officers together in his own cabin.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I’ve had enough of that French fellow. Why should he follow us night and day, like the shadow of the evil one, and yet refuse to fight? I mean to carry war into the enemy’s camp, or rather on to his quarter-deck, if you think my plan feasible. Remember, I am hot-headed and young.”
Jack then unfolded his plans, and they were generally approved, though the old master was somewhat doubtful of their success.
“However,” he growled, “I’ll take the wheel. Better, perhaps, after all, that we should take theinitiative; for, blow me to smithereens, if that tantalizing Froggie ain’t spoiling my appetite!”
There was a general laugh at this, and the council broke up.
Next day it blew little more than a seven-knot breeze, and the sun sparkled on the waters like showers of diamonds. The Frenchman marvelled much to see not only the British frigate, but all the merchant fleet close together, and with main or fore yards aback. The truth is, Captain Mackenzie was issuing his orders by boat.
About an hour afterwards Johnny Crapaud smiled grimly to himself to see theTonnerairefill her sails and tack out to offer him battle.
“The fool!” said Johnny. “When the gale of wind shall come, then I shall fight. Till then,non,non!”
So he filled and bore southwards next; and as Jack had no desire for a race, he returned to his fleet. He had done all he wanted to: he had put Johnny on the wrong scent.
That night, at sunset, clouds gathered up and quite obscured the sky.
Johnny rubbed his hands and chuckled.
“Soon,” he said, “it will blow what perfidious England calls big guns. Then—ah—then!”
It blew big guns far sooner than he had expected.
The night was intensely dark, but the half-moon would rise about four bells in the middle watch.
When Johnny Crapaud looked towards the fleet, lo! the vessels had extra lights all, and lights were streaming from every port.
“Ha! ha!” he grinned. “They rejoice; they dance. They think they have made me fly. When the gale blows, then they will dance—to different music.”
The watch kept on board the French seventy-four was not extra vigilant. Especially did no one think of looking astern. Had any one on the outlook done so, then just about a quarter of an hour before moonrise he might have seen a dark shape coming hand-over-hand across the water from the direction in which “fair France” lay—fair France that many a poor fellow on Johnny’s ship would never see again.
It was theTonneraire. She had made a detour with every stitch of canvas set, and was now almost close aboard of the enemy.
Ah! at last they perceive her; and the noise on board the enemy is indescribable—the shrieking of orders, the rattle of arms and cordage, the trampling of feet, the stamping and unlimbering of guns. Butagainst her stern windows, which are all ablaze with light, theTonneraireconcentrates her whole starboard broadside. The effect is startling and terrible. Confusion prevails on board the enemy—almost panic, indeed; and this lasts long enough for the frigate to sail back on the other tack. Jack’s object is to cripple her, and with this object in view he concentrates his larboard broadside again in the stern of the seventy-four, and her rudder is a thing of the past.
Away glides theTonneraire.Sheis the phantom now. She loads her guns, and is coming down with the wind again—like the wind, too—when the seventy-four gets in her first broadside. It does but little harm. It does not stop the onward rush of the swift bold frigate even for a moment; and Jack’s next broadside is a telling one, for the Frenchman’s sails are not only ashiver, but aflap, awry, anyhow and everyhow; and just as the moon throws her first faint light athwart the waves, once more the helpless merchantmen tremble to hear the thunder of twenty cannon. For theTonnerairehas crossed the enemy’s hawse, and raked him fore and aft.
Now down comes the Frenchman’s foremast; and shortly after, a wild triumphant shout echoes fromstem to stern and stern to stem of brave young Jack’s ship, for the enemy has surrendered.
A French seventy-four striking her flag to a British frigate of forty guns! Yes; but far more daring deeds than that which I now record happened in the dashing days of old.
Captain Jack Mackenzie would have gone right straight on board the enemy, but the master cautioned him.
“Nay, nay, sir,” he said. “There is such a thing as French treachery; I have known it before. Wait till the moon gets higher, and we will board in force. Remember, they may have about five hundred men still alive on that ship.”
Jack took the advice thus vouchsafed; but in half-an-hour’s time theTonnerairerasped alongside the seventy-four, and a rush was made up the sides of the battle-ship.
But all was safe.
And stark and stiff on his own poop lay the French captain, and alongside him more than one of his officers. The decks were a sad sight in the glimmering moonlight, for splintered timbers and arms lay everywhere, and everywhere were dead and wounded.
More by token, from the uncertain, heavy-swayingmotion of the vessel, it was evident she had been badly hit ’twixt wind and water, and was already sinking. All haste was therefore made to save the men. Those of the ship’s boats that were not smashed were lowered, and further assistance was sent for from the merchant fleet, and none too soon either.
A few minutes after the last man—and that was Jack Mackenzie, who personally superintended everything—had left the ill-fated Frenchman, her decks blew up with a dull report, the water rushed in from all sides, and just as the sun threw his first yellow beams upwards through the morning clouds, the great ship shuddered like a dying thing, and shuddering sank.
Such is war; why should we desire it?
But side by side with tragedy do we ever find something akin to the ridiculous or comic.
It was Tom Fairlie himself who was despatched to the merchant fleet to beg them to send all the boats they could to rescue the wounded and prisoners from the sinking war-ship. Almost the first vessel he boarded was that commanded by the skipper who owned the bulbous nose. And here a strange and a wonderful sight met his gaze. Arranged in double rank on the quarter-deck were about twenty or moresailors, each armed with a gun and bayonet, the skipper himself at their head drilling them.
“Shoulder-houp!” he was shouting as Tom leaped down from the bulwark.
The most comical part of the business was this: every one of the honest skipper’s sailor-soldiers had a white linen shirt on over his dress, and as the men’s legs were bare to the knees, they all looked as near to naked as decency would permit. While Tom stopped to laugh aloud, Captain Bulbous hastened to explain.
“Were comin’ to your assistance, I was, in half-a-minute. Stuck on them shirts so’s they should know each other from the French. See? Do look curious, though, I must admit. What! the fight all over? Well, Iamsorry.”
Before eight bells in the morning watch the prisoners were distributed all over the fleet, with the exception of the wounded, who were under the charge of Dr. MʻHearty on board the saucyTonneraire.
A HAPPY SHIP.
“On Friendship so many perfections attendThat the rational comfort of life is a friend.”Dibdin.
In
the early part of the present century the poet Dibdin wrote with great feeling and spirit concerning the “generous Britons and the barbarous French.” There is no doubt about it, the French in those days were far more cruel to their prisoners than ever we were to ours.
And so the wounded on board theTonnerairewere absolutely astounded at the kind treatment they experienced under good MʻHearty and his assistants. The surgeon himself looked in face—or figure-head—as rough and weather-beaten a sailor as ever trod a plank, but in heart he was as tender as any woman.
More than one of his poor patients wrung the doctor’s red hands, and, with tears rolling over their sallow cheeks, prayed Heaven to bless him for his goodness and sympathy.
But this was not all, for even the men were good to the prisoners. Many a morsel of tobacco did they give them on the sly; and if a Jack-tar observed that one was asleep in his hammock, he would sign to his fellows to make as little noise as possible. It is no wonder, therefore, that the “Froggies,” as they were called, nearly all recovered from their wounds. Two or three, however, succumbed, and these were buried with as much ceremony as if they had been British sailors. The same impressive and beautiful service was repeated by the grating where the body lay; the same solemn silence prevailed while it was being read; and I am not sure that some of our Jacks did not even shed a tear—on the sly, that is, for your true sailor ever tries to hide two things, his grief and his tender-heartedness—as with dull plash the body dropped into the sea.
Contrary winds and storms delayed the voyage. Nearly a whole month flew by, and still the little fleet had not yet reached the longitude of Newfoundland.But to his credit be it told, Jack and his officers had managed to keep them all well together, and had not lost one.
TheTonnerairewas a very happy ship, the primary reason being that Jack Mackenzie, though a thorough upholder of the sacredness of duty, was really kind and thoughtful at heart. He knew the value in the service of strict obedience to command. I have heard it said that a man-o’-war sailor or a soldier is a mere machine. He is not even that, he is only part of a machine; but he has the honour to be part and portion of one of the grandest machines that ever were perfected—the upholder of our national honour, the defender of British hearths and homes, and the protector of tender women and helpless babies.
We man-o’-war sailors, and ye soldiers, carry on war, it is true, and we hit just as hard as we know how to—and war is a fearful game at the best; but, dear civilians, do not forget that we constitute the only institutions that can render peace possible, and your homes happy and safe, machines though we be.
But how would it be if strict, unthinking, unhesitating obedience were not exacted from every man and officer in the service to the commands of his superior officers? Why, on the day of battle thearmy or navy would be a mere squabbling mob, worse even than the British Parliament.
I may mention here that it was his cheerful obedience to orders, his good-natured smiling alacrity—minus officiousness, mind you—his unselfishness and his bravery, that gained for Jack Mackenzie the proud position he now held.
Young men who mean to enter the service should read that last sentence of mine over again, ay, even get it by heart.
I digress, you say? So I do.
Well, I was saying that theTonnerairewas a happy ship. All the officers, both junior and senior, agreed. The chief lights of the senior mess were Tom Fairlie, always good-humoured and cheerful; honest MʻHearty, rough and genial; young Murray, the boy marine officer, merry and innocent; and Simmons the master, whowouldhave his growl, who was all thunder without the lightning, but a very excellent old fellow, when young Murray didn’t tease himtoomuch. Between MʻHearty, Fairlie, Murray, and Jack himself a strange sort of a compact was made. It was Murray who proposed it one lovely moonlight night, when the four were together on the poop. Young Murray had cheek enough for anything. He was the secondson of a noble lord, and would himself be a lord one day—probably. Not that his rank in life made him any the cheekier, but I suppose it was born in the boy. He cared little or nothing for the etiquette or punctilios of the service when it suited him not to. For example, he one day actually linked his arm through that of an admiral on the quarter-deck. Everybody was aghast; but the good old admiral merely smiled. He knew boys and liked them.
But that night on the quarter-deck Murray said openly and innocently to Jack: “I like you, sir—fact, I wish you were my brother; and you too, Fairlie, though you’re a fool sometimes; and you, MʻHearty, though you’re often absurdly rough. I wish we could be together for years and years and years, in the same ship, you know, and all that sort of thing.”
“Well, why not?” said MʻHearty. “Let us try; eh, captain?”
“I’m agreeable,” said Jack.
“And I,” said Fairlie.
“Hurrah!” cried Murray. So the compact was made.
The men forward, taking the cue from their officers, were just as jolly.
Those were terrible days of flogging. For a look or a glance, a man might be tied up and receive four dozen lashes with the terrible “cat.” It was a brutal punishment. But MʻHearty was dead against it; Jack too; and so the grating was never rigged on board theTonneraire.
Well, despite dirty weather and head winds, the fleet finally sailed into the mouth of the St. Lawrence river without ever losing a stick. At the Canadian capital, Jack and his officers, ay, and the men as well, had what the Yankees call “a real good time of it.” Jack became quite a hero among the ladies, young and old. Yet he did not let that elate him. His heart was not his own—as yet, though he might get over his grief for his lost love Gerty.
But having refitted, there was nothing left but to put to sea again.
TheTonnerairecruised all down by the American coast and to the West Indies. Before reaching Jamaica she was attacked by two French line-of-battle ships. What they were doing here they themselves best knew. They were badly wanted just then on the other side of the sea. Now this was a chance to test the sailing powers of theTonneraire. Discretion is sometimes better than valour. Valour is sometimesfolly. Jack ran. Nelson himself did so once or twice. You and I, my bold young reader, are not going to stand a blow from a big fellow without hitting back; but if the big fellow brings his big brother, then we may as well take the opportunity of going shopping, or somewhere. Jack Mackenzie went shopping, so to speak, and theTonnerairewon the race.
I wish I had space in my story to tell you something about Jamaica, and the lovely West India Islands, first discovered by Columbus. I am strangely tempted to. I will. Iwon’t. I shall. Ishan’t. Belay! I’ve won.
At the time of which I am writing—the latter end of 1796—there was a very pretty naval combination formed, with a view to crush the might of Britain. The French, who had a navy nearly as powerful as our own, got the Dutch and Spaniards to join them, and felt certain that we should go down to Davy Jones by the run, and never more—
“Sweep through the deepWhile stormy winds do blow.”
Instead of saying “got the Dutch and Spaniards tojoin them,” I should have written, “formed an alliance with these nations against us,” because we determined that, with Heaven on our side, we should prevent a junction of the fleets. So brave Scotch Duncan shut the Dutch up in the Texel like a lot of rats. They had not the pluck to come out and fight him. Well, Duncan would have blown them sky-high, as he eventually did. There was a French fleet at Brest, and the Spaniards farther south, and had they all got together—but then they didn’t. You know the position of a game of draughts when you have one of your enemy’s crowned heads in each corner, and he cannot move without danger. That is blockade, and that is how we held and meant to hold the French, Spaniards, and Dutch till we should smash them time about, and then sing, “Britannia, the pride of the ocean,” or some bold equivalent thereto.
The Spaniards had their lesson first.
It was well for Jack Mackenzie that he arrived off Cadiz in his swiftTonneraire[B]about a week before the great battle of St. Vincent. I do not mean to describe this fight at any length; every school-boy knows all about it. I merely wish to remind the reader of some of its chief events, because to me ithas always seemed such a blood-stirring battle. The haughty Don had a fleet of twenty-seven sail of the line and two frigates. Some of his ships, like theSantissima-Trinidad, were perfectmontes belli—thunder-bergs. Fancy a four-decker carrying one hundred and thirty guns! and the Spaniards had six that carried one hundred and twenty; while we had only two of one hundred guns, theVictoryandBritannia.
On the 1st of February Lord St. Vincent, then Sir John Jervis, was in the Tagus with only ten ships; but as the great fleet of the Don sailed from Carthagena to effect a junction with the French fleet at Toulon, Jervis set sail after them. He meant to spoil some of the paint-work about that fine Spanish fleet. It was very brave of him, and quite British. Luckily on the 6th he was joined by Admiral Parker with five ships, and on the 13th—hurrah!—by Commodore Nelson himself. Strangely enough, Nelson on the previous night seems to have sailed right through the Spanish fleet.
St. Valentine’s Day 1797 will ever be memorable in the naval annals of this country, for, in a driving mist and fog, our fleet that morning forgathered with the might of Spain off Cape St. Vincent. The majesticappearance of the ships of the Don could not but have impressed our officers and men, but it did not awe them. The bigger the ship the larger the target, our Nelson used to say.
Our fleet advanced in two beautiful lines. The Spaniards somehow had got divided into two groups—one of nineteen ships, the other group some distance to leeward—and these two made haste to unite. But Jervis spoiled that move by getting between them and attacking the main body. After the battle had fairly commenced, and each ship of ours had her orders, Nelson noted an attempt on the part of Don Josef de Cordova to pass round Jervis’s rear and join the other portion of the fleet; and despite the fact that he was disobeying orders—“They can but hang me,” he said to Captain Miller—he slipped back and threw his ship, theCaptain, right athwart the mightySantissima-Trinidad, thus driving the Don’s fleet back. It was, as the reader knows, this daring action on the part of Nelson that decided the battle. But how terribly the fight raged after that; how pluckily Nelson, with his vessel a wreck, boarded and captured ship after ship; how the hell of battle raged for three long hours, let history tell, as well as speak of cases of individual heroism. Suffice it for me to say that thebattle was won and the Don was thrashed, among the captured ships being the mightyTrinidadherself, the Spanish admiral’s castle.
TheTonnerairesuffered severely. Sixty poor fellows would never again see their native land, and many more were wounded.
Young Murray was among the severely wounded, but Jack himself, and Tom as well, escaped without a scratch.
“Oh dear me, dear me!” said MʻHearty, running up for a few moments from the heat and smoke of the stifling cockpit, “I am thirsty.”
Poor MʻHearty! he wasn’t a pretty sight to look at, begrimed with smoke and blood. But he just had a drink, and a big one, and went back once more to his terrible work.
But the good doctor was washed and dressed and smiling again when he came to the captain’s cabin that evening while the stars were shining, to report, “Everything tidy, and all going on well.”
“And poor Murray?” said Jack.
“He’ll be all right—a bullet clean through the chest. That’s nothing to a young fellow like him.”
“Well, stay and dine,” said Jack.
“Willing, sir. What a glorious day we’ve had!But I can assure you, Captain Mackenzie, I’d rather have had my head above the hatches, now and then, anyhow.”
“Be content,” said Jack, laughing; “it might have been blown off, you know.”
MUTINY.
“To be a hero, stand or fall,Depends upon the man;Let all then in their duty stand,Each point of duty weigh,Remembering those can best commandWho best know to obey.”—Dibdin.