Chapter Thirty Eight.Paving-stones sometimes prove stumbling-blocks—A disquisition on the figurative, ends by Ralph figuring at the mast-head, thus extending his views upon the subject.The next morning at daylight we weighed, and, by the aid of much firing of guns, and the display of unmeasured bunting, we got the whole of the convoy out of the cove by noon, with two men-of-war brigs bringing up the rear. Shortly after losing sight of land, bad weather came on, in which poor Gubbins was drowned, as I have before narrated.By the time that we had reached Madeira, the ship’s company had settled into good order, and formed that concentrated principle which enabled them to act as one man. It was a young and a fine crew, made up of drafts of twenties and thirties from different vessels, thanks to the nepotism of the treasurer of the navy.We also began to understand each other’s characters, and to study the captain’s. Mischief was his besetting sin. Naturally malignant he was not, but inconsiderate to a degree that would make you think that his heart was really bad. One of his greatest pleasures was that of placing people in awkward and ludicrous situations. He very soon discovered the fattest men among the masters of the merchant vessels; and, when we had run far enough to the southward to make sitting in an open boat very unpleasant, he would in light winds, make a signal for one of his jolly friends to come on board, the more especially if he happened to be far astern. Then began Captain Reud’s enjoyment. After two hours’ hard pulling, the master would be seen coming up astern, wiping his brows, and, when within hail, Reud would shout to him to give away—and, just as he reached the stern ladder, the main-topsail of the frigate would be shivered, and the boat again be left half a mile astern. Another attempt, and another failure, the captain meanwhile gloating over the poor man’s misery with the suppressed chuckle of delight, in which you would fancy a monkey to indulge after he had perpetrated some irreparable mischief.However, he would generally tease his victim no longer than dinner-time. The ship would then be effectively hove-to, the half-melted skipper would get on board, and the captain receive him with studied politeness. Much would I admire the gravity with which he would deplore the impossibility of stopping his Majesty’s shipEosby anything short of an anchor and good holding ground. No, she would not be hove-to—go a-head or go astern she must—but stand still she could not. During this harangue, the mystified mariner would look at his commodore, much wondering which of the two was the fool.“But, Mister Stubbs,” the tormentor would continue, “it is now nearly six bells—you have not dined, I presume; how long have you been making this little distance, Mister Stubbs?” with a slow accent on the word Mister. “Six hours!—bless me—I would certainly rope’s—end those lubbers in your boat. Youmustbe hungry—so must they, poor fellows! Here, Mr Rattlin, call them up, put a boat-keeper in the boat, and let her drop astern—tell my steward to give them a good tuck—out and a glass of grog. Mister Stubbs, you’ll dine with me;” and the affair would end by the gratified hoaxed one being sent on board his own vessel about the end of twilight, seeing more stars in the heavens than astronomers have yet discovered.But these skippers were, though very plump, but very humble game for our yellow-skinned tormentor. He nearly drove the third lieutenant mad, and that by a series of such delicate persecutions, annoyances so artfully veiled, and administered in a manner so gentlemanly, that complaint on the part of the persecuted, instead of exciting commiseration, covered him with ridicule. This officer was a Portuguese nobleman of the name of Silva—the Don we could never bring our English mouths to use—who had entered our service at a very early age, and consequently spoke our language as naturally as ourselves. He was surnamed the “Paviour,” and, when off duty, generally so addressed. It must not be supposed that he acquired this soubriquet on account of the gentlemen in corduroys laying by their hammers when he walked the street, bidding God bless him, for he was a very light and elegant figure, and singularly handsome. At this time I was the youngster of his watch, and a great favourite with him. The misfortune of his life was, that he had written a book—only one single sin—but it never left him,—it haunted him through half the ships in the service, and finally drove him out of it. He had written this book, and caused it to be printed—and hepublishedit also, for nobody else could. His bookseller had tried, and failed lamentably. Now, Don Silva was always publishing, and never selling. His cabin was piled up with several ill-conditioned cases of great weight, which cases laboured under the abominable suspicion of containing the unsold copies.As much as ever I could learn of the matter, no one ever got farther than the middle of the second page of this volume, excepting the printer’s devils, the corrector of the press, and the author. The book was lent to me, but, great reader as I am, I broke down in attempting to pass the impassible passage. The book might have been a good book, for aught I, or the world, knew to the contrary: but there was a fatality attending this particular part that was really enough to make one superstitious—nobody could break the charm, and get over it. I wish that the thought had occurred to me at that time of beginning it at the end, and reading it backwards; surely, in that manner, the book might have been got through. It was of a winning exterior, and tolerable thickness. Never did an unsound nut look more tempting to be cracked, than this volume to be opened and read. It had for its title the imposing sentence of, “A Naval and MilitaryTour up and downthe Rio de la Plate, by Don Alphonso Ribidiero da Silva.”I have before stated that my shipmates were all strangers to each other. We had hardly got things to rights after leaving Cork, when Mr Silva began, “as was his custom in the afternoon,” topublishhis book. He begged leave to read it to his messmates after dinner, and leave was granted. With bland frankness, he insisted upon the opinions of the company as he proceeded. He began—but the wily purser at once started an objection to the first sentence—yea, even to the title. He begged to be enlightened as to what sort oftourthat was that merely wentupanddown. However, the doctor came at this crisis to the assistance of the Don, and suggested that the river might haveturnsin it. The reader sees how critical we are in a man-of-war.However, in the middle of the second page appeared the fatal passage, “After havingpavedour way up theriver;” upon which, issue was immediately joined, and hot argument ensued. The objector, of course, was the purser; and, on this point, the doctor went over to the enemy. All the lieutenants followed, the master stood neuter, and the marine officer fell asleep—thus poor Silva stood alone in his glory, to fight the unequal battle; and in doing so, after the manner of authors, lost his temper.Five, six, seven times was the book begun, but, like the hackney coaches, the audience could not get off the stones. The book and the discussion were always closed together in anger, just as the author waspaving his way. As he adopted the phrase with a parental fondness, the father was called the “paviour.”All this duly reached the ears of the captain. He immediately wrote to Don Silva, requesting his company to dinner, particularly soliciting him to bring his excellent work. Of course, the little man took care to have the doctor and purser. The claret is on the table, the Amphytrion settles himself into a right critical attitude, but with a most suspicious leer in the corner of his eye. Our friend begins to read his book exultingly, but, at the memorable passage, as was previously concerted, the hue and cry is raised.During the janging of argument Reud seems undecided, and observes that he can only judge the matter from well understanding the previous style and the context, and so, every now and then, requests him, with a most persuasive politeness, to begin again from the beginning. Of course, he gets no farther than the paving. After the baited author had re-read his page-and-a-half about six or seven times, the captain smiles upon him lovingly, and says in his most insinuating tones, “Just read it over again once more, and we shall never trouble you after—we shall know it by heart.”As it was well understood that the author was never to get beyond that passage until he had acknowledged it absurd and egregiously foolish, anybody who knows anything about thegenus irritabilewill be certain, that if he lived till “the crack of doom,” Don Silva would never have passed the Rubicon. It was thus that the poor fellow was tormented: and every time that he was asked to dine in the cabin, he was requested to bring his Tour, in order that thewholeof it might be read.The best and most imposing manner of writing is, to lay down some wise dogma, and afterwards prove it by example. I shall follow this august method. It is unwise for a midshipman to argue with the lieutenant of the watch, whilst there are three lofty mastheads unoccupied. QED.One morning, after a literary skirmish in the captain’s cabin the overnight, Mr Silva smiled me over to him on his side of the quarter-deck, just as day was breaking. The weather was beautiful, and we had got well into the trade winds.“Mr Rattlin,” said he, “you have not yet read my book. You are very young, but you have had a liberal education.”I bowed with flattered humility.“I will lend it to you—you shall read it; and as a youthful, yet a clever scholar—give me your opinion of it—be candid. I suppose you have heard the trivial, foolish, spiteful objection started against a passage I have employed in the second page?” and he takes a copy out of his pocket and begins to read it to me until he comes to “After havingpavedour way up theriver,” he then enters into a long justificatory argument, the gravamen of which was to prove, that in figurative phrases a great latitude of expression was not only admissible but often elegant.I begged leave, in assenting to his doctrine, to differ from his application of it, as we ought not to risk, by using a figurative expression, the exciting of any absurd images or catachrestical ideas. The author began to warm, and terminated my gentle representation by ordering me over to leeward, with this pompous speech, “I tell you what, sir, your friends have spent their money and your tutors their time upon you to little purpose; for know, sir, that when progress is to be made anywhere, in any shape, or in any manner, a more appropriate phrase than paving your way cannot be used—send the top-men aloft to loose the top-gallant sails.”Checked, though not humbled, I repeat the necessary orders, and no sooner do I see the men on the rattlings, than I squeak out at the top of my voice, “Pave your wayup the rigging—pave your way, you lubbers.” The men stop for a moment, grin at me with astonishment, and then scamper up like so many party-coloured devils.“Mr Rattlin, pave your way up to the mast-head, and stay there till I call you down,” said the angry lieutenant; and thus, through my love for the figurative, for the first time I tasted the delights of a mast-heading.
The next morning at daylight we weighed, and, by the aid of much firing of guns, and the display of unmeasured bunting, we got the whole of the convoy out of the cove by noon, with two men-of-war brigs bringing up the rear. Shortly after losing sight of land, bad weather came on, in which poor Gubbins was drowned, as I have before narrated.
By the time that we had reached Madeira, the ship’s company had settled into good order, and formed that concentrated principle which enabled them to act as one man. It was a young and a fine crew, made up of drafts of twenties and thirties from different vessels, thanks to the nepotism of the treasurer of the navy.
We also began to understand each other’s characters, and to study the captain’s. Mischief was his besetting sin. Naturally malignant he was not, but inconsiderate to a degree that would make you think that his heart was really bad. One of his greatest pleasures was that of placing people in awkward and ludicrous situations. He very soon discovered the fattest men among the masters of the merchant vessels; and, when we had run far enough to the southward to make sitting in an open boat very unpleasant, he would in light winds, make a signal for one of his jolly friends to come on board, the more especially if he happened to be far astern. Then began Captain Reud’s enjoyment. After two hours’ hard pulling, the master would be seen coming up astern, wiping his brows, and, when within hail, Reud would shout to him to give away—and, just as he reached the stern ladder, the main-topsail of the frigate would be shivered, and the boat again be left half a mile astern. Another attempt, and another failure, the captain meanwhile gloating over the poor man’s misery with the suppressed chuckle of delight, in which you would fancy a monkey to indulge after he had perpetrated some irreparable mischief.
However, he would generally tease his victim no longer than dinner-time. The ship would then be effectively hove-to, the half-melted skipper would get on board, and the captain receive him with studied politeness. Much would I admire the gravity with which he would deplore the impossibility of stopping his Majesty’s shipEosby anything short of an anchor and good holding ground. No, she would not be hove-to—go a-head or go astern she must—but stand still she could not. During this harangue, the mystified mariner would look at his commodore, much wondering which of the two was the fool.
“But, Mister Stubbs,” the tormentor would continue, “it is now nearly six bells—you have not dined, I presume; how long have you been making this little distance, Mister Stubbs?” with a slow accent on the word Mister. “Six hours!—bless me—I would certainly rope’s—end those lubbers in your boat. Youmustbe hungry—so must they, poor fellows! Here, Mr Rattlin, call them up, put a boat-keeper in the boat, and let her drop astern—tell my steward to give them a good tuck—out and a glass of grog. Mister Stubbs, you’ll dine with me;” and the affair would end by the gratified hoaxed one being sent on board his own vessel about the end of twilight, seeing more stars in the heavens than astronomers have yet discovered.
But these skippers were, though very plump, but very humble game for our yellow-skinned tormentor. He nearly drove the third lieutenant mad, and that by a series of such delicate persecutions, annoyances so artfully veiled, and administered in a manner so gentlemanly, that complaint on the part of the persecuted, instead of exciting commiseration, covered him with ridicule. This officer was a Portuguese nobleman of the name of Silva—the Don we could never bring our English mouths to use—who had entered our service at a very early age, and consequently spoke our language as naturally as ourselves. He was surnamed the “Paviour,” and, when off duty, generally so addressed. It must not be supposed that he acquired this soubriquet on account of the gentlemen in corduroys laying by their hammers when he walked the street, bidding God bless him, for he was a very light and elegant figure, and singularly handsome. At this time I was the youngster of his watch, and a great favourite with him. The misfortune of his life was, that he had written a book—only one single sin—but it never left him,—it haunted him through half the ships in the service, and finally drove him out of it. He had written this book, and caused it to be printed—and hepublishedit also, for nobody else could. His bookseller had tried, and failed lamentably. Now, Don Silva was always publishing, and never selling. His cabin was piled up with several ill-conditioned cases of great weight, which cases laboured under the abominable suspicion of containing the unsold copies.
As much as ever I could learn of the matter, no one ever got farther than the middle of the second page of this volume, excepting the printer’s devils, the corrector of the press, and the author. The book was lent to me, but, great reader as I am, I broke down in attempting to pass the impassible passage. The book might have been a good book, for aught I, or the world, knew to the contrary: but there was a fatality attending this particular part that was really enough to make one superstitious—nobody could break the charm, and get over it. I wish that the thought had occurred to me at that time of beginning it at the end, and reading it backwards; surely, in that manner, the book might have been got through. It was of a winning exterior, and tolerable thickness. Never did an unsound nut look more tempting to be cracked, than this volume to be opened and read. It had for its title the imposing sentence of, “A Naval and MilitaryTour up and downthe Rio de la Plate, by Don Alphonso Ribidiero da Silva.”
I have before stated that my shipmates were all strangers to each other. We had hardly got things to rights after leaving Cork, when Mr Silva began, “as was his custom in the afternoon,” topublishhis book. He begged leave to read it to his messmates after dinner, and leave was granted. With bland frankness, he insisted upon the opinions of the company as he proceeded. He began—but the wily purser at once started an objection to the first sentence—yea, even to the title. He begged to be enlightened as to what sort oftourthat was that merely wentupanddown. However, the doctor came at this crisis to the assistance of the Don, and suggested that the river might haveturnsin it. The reader sees how critical we are in a man-of-war.
However, in the middle of the second page appeared the fatal passage, “After havingpavedour way up theriver;” upon which, issue was immediately joined, and hot argument ensued. The objector, of course, was the purser; and, on this point, the doctor went over to the enemy. All the lieutenants followed, the master stood neuter, and the marine officer fell asleep—thus poor Silva stood alone in his glory, to fight the unequal battle; and in doing so, after the manner of authors, lost his temper.
Five, six, seven times was the book begun, but, like the hackney coaches, the audience could not get off the stones. The book and the discussion were always closed together in anger, just as the author waspaving his way. As he adopted the phrase with a parental fondness, the father was called the “paviour.”
All this duly reached the ears of the captain. He immediately wrote to Don Silva, requesting his company to dinner, particularly soliciting him to bring his excellent work. Of course, the little man took care to have the doctor and purser. The claret is on the table, the Amphytrion settles himself into a right critical attitude, but with a most suspicious leer in the corner of his eye. Our friend begins to read his book exultingly, but, at the memorable passage, as was previously concerted, the hue and cry is raised.
During the janging of argument Reud seems undecided, and observes that he can only judge the matter from well understanding the previous style and the context, and so, every now and then, requests him, with a most persuasive politeness, to begin again from the beginning. Of course, he gets no farther than the paving. After the baited author had re-read his page-and-a-half about six or seven times, the captain smiles upon him lovingly, and says in his most insinuating tones, “Just read it over again once more, and we shall never trouble you after—we shall know it by heart.”
As it was well understood that the author was never to get beyond that passage until he had acknowledged it absurd and egregiously foolish, anybody who knows anything about thegenus irritabilewill be certain, that if he lived till “the crack of doom,” Don Silva would never have passed the Rubicon. It was thus that the poor fellow was tormented: and every time that he was asked to dine in the cabin, he was requested to bring his Tour, in order that thewholeof it might be read.
The best and most imposing manner of writing is, to lay down some wise dogma, and afterwards prove it by example. I shall follow this august method. It is unwise for a midshipman to argue with the lieutenant of the watch, whilst there are three lofty mastheads unoccupied. QED.
One morning, after a literary skirmish in the captain’s cabin the overnight, Mr Silva smiled me over to him on his side of the quarter-deck, just as day was breaking. The weather was beautiful, and we had got well into the trade winds.
“Mr Rattlin,” said he, “you have not yet read my book. You are very young, but you have had a liberal education.”
I bowed with flattered humility.
“I will lend it to you—you shall read it; and as a youthful, yet a clever scholar—give me your opinion of it—be candid. I suppose you have heard the trivial, foolish, spiteful objection started against a passage I have employed in the second page?” and he takes a copy out of his pocket and begins to read it to me until he comes to “After havingpavedour way up theriver,” he then enters into a long justificatory argument, the gravamen of which was to prove, that in figurative phrases a great latitude of expression was not only admissible but often elegant.
I begged leave, in assenting to his doctrine, to differ from his application of it, as we ought not to risk, by using a figurative expression, the exciting of any absurd images or catachrestical ideas. The author began to warm, and terminated my gentle representation by ordering me over to leeward, with this pompous speech, “I tell you what, sir, your friends have spent their money and your tutors their time upon you to little purpose; for know, sir, that when progress is to be made anywhere, in any shape, or in any manner, a more appropriate phrase than paving your way cannot be used—send the top-men aloft to loose the top-gallant sails.”
Checked, though not humbled, I repeat the necessary orders, and no sooner do I see the men on the rattlings, than I squeak out at the top of my voice, “Pave your wayup the rigging—pave your way, you lubbers.” The men stop for a moment, grin at me with astonishment, and then scamper up like so many party-coloured devils.
“Mr Rattlin, pave your way up to the mast-head, and stay there till I call you down,” said the angry lieutenant; and thus, through my love for the figurative, for the first time I tasted the delights of a mast-heading.
Chapter Thirty Nine.Ralph regenerateth himself and becometh good, for half-an-hour—Singeth one verse of a hymn, escheweth telling one lie, and getteth his reward in being asked to breakfast.What a nice, varied, sentimental, joyous, lachrymose, objurgatory, laudatory, reflective volume might be made, entitled, “Meditations at the Mast-head!”When I found myself comfortably established in my aëry domicile, I first looked down on the vessel below with a feeling nearly akin to pity, then around me with a positive feeling of rapture, and at length above me with a heart-warming glow of adoration. Perched up at a height so great, the decks of the frigate looked extremely long and narrow; and the foreshortened view one has of those upon it makes them look but little bigger or more important than so many puppets. Beneath me I saw the discontented author of my elevation, and of “A Tour up and down the Rio de la Plate,” skipping actively here and there to avoid the splashing necessary in washing the decks. I could not help comparing the annoyance of this involuntary dance with the after-guard, thiscroissezwith clattering buckets, anddos à dosing with wet swabs, with my comfortable and commanding recumbency upon the cross-trees. I looked down upon Lieutenant Silva, and pitied him. I looked around me, and my heart was exceeding glad. The upper rim of the sun was dallying with a crimson cloud, whilst the greater part of his disc was still below the well-defined deep-blue horizon. All above him to the zenith was chequered with small vapours, layer over layer, like the scales of a breastplate of burnished gold. The little waves were mantling, dimpling, and seemed playfully striving to emulate the intenser glories of the heavens above. They now flashed into living light, now assumed the blushing hue of a rosebud, and here and there wreathed up into a diminutive foam, mocking the smile of youth when she shows her white teeth between her beauty-breathing lips. As I swung aloft, with a motion gentle as that of the cradled infant, and looked out upon the splendours beneath and around me, my bosom swelled with the most rapturous emotions. Everywhere, as far as my eye could reach, the transparent and beryl-dyed waters were speckled with white sails, actually “blushing rosy red” with the morning beams. Far, far astern, hull down, were the huge dull sailers, spreading all their studding-sails to the wind, reminding me of frightened swans with expanded wings. Conspicuous among these were the two men-of-war brigs, obliquely sailing now here and then there, and ever and anon firing a gun, whose mimic thunder came with melodious resonance over the waters, whilst the many-coloured signals were continually flying and shifting. They were the hawks among the covey of the larger white-plumed birds.At this moment our gallant frigate, like a youthful and a regal giant, more majestic from the lightness of her dress, walked in conscious superiority in the midst of all. She had, as I before mentioned, just set her top-gallant sails, in order to take her proud station in the van. We now passed vessel after vessel, each with a different quantity of canvas set, according to her powers of sailing. It was altogether a glorious sight, and to my feelings, excelled in quiet and cheerful sublimity any review, however splendid might be the troops, or imposing their numbers. Then the breeze came so freshly and kissingly on my cheek, whispering such pleasant things to my excited fancy, and invigorating so joyously the fibres of my heart—I looked around me, and was glad.When the soul is big with all good and pure feelings, gratitude will be there; and, at her smiling invitation, piety will come cheerfully and clasp her hand. Surely not that sectarian piety, which metes out wrath instead of mercy to an erring world; not that piety, dealing “damnation round the land,” daily making the pale, within which the only few to be saved are folded, more and more circumscribed; nor even that bigotted, sensuous piety, which floats on the frankincense that eddies round the marble altar, and which, if unassisted by the vista of the dark aisle, the dimly-seen procession, the choral hymn, the banner, and the relic, faints, and sees no God: no, none of these will be the piety of a heart exulting in the beneficence of the All-Good. Then and there, why should I have wished to have crept and grovelled under piled and sordid stone? Since first the aspiring architect spanned the arch at Thebes, which isnoteverlasting, and lifted the column at Rome, which isnotimmortal, was there ever dome like that which glowed over my head imagined by the brain of man? “Fretted with golden fires,” and studded with such glorious clouds, that it were almost sinful not to believe that each veiled an angel; the vast concave, based all around upon the sapphire horizon, sprang upwards, terminating above me in that deep, deep, immeasurable blue, the best type of eternity;—was not this a fitting temple for worship? What frankincense was ever equal to that which nature then spread over the wave and through the air? All this I saw—all this I felt. I looked upwards, and I was at once enraptured and humbled. Perhaps then, for the first time since I had left my schoolboy’s haunts, I bethought me that there was a God. Too, too often I had heard his awful presence wantonly invoked, his sacred name taken in vain. Lately, I had not shuddered at this habitual profanation. The work of demoralisation had commenced. I knew it then, and with this knowledge, the first pang of guilty shame entered my bosom. I stood up with reverence upon the cross-trees. I took off my hat, and though I did not even whisper the prayers we had used at school, mentally I went through the whole of them. When I said to myself, “I have done those things that I ought not to have done, and haveleft undonethose things that Ioughtto have done,” I was startled at the measure of sin that I had confessed. I think that I was contrite. I resolved to amend. I gradually flung off the hardness that my late life of recklessness had been encrusting upon my heart. I softened towards all who had ever shown me kindness; and, in my mind, I faithfully retraced the last time that I had ever walked to church with her whom I had been fond to deem my mother. These silent devotions, and these home-harmonised thoughts, first chastened, and then made me very, very happy. At last, I felt the spirit of blissful serenity so strong upon me, that, forgetting for a moment to what ridicule I might subject myself; I began to sing aloud that morning hymn that I had never omitted, for so many years, until I had joined the service—“Awake, my soul, and with the sun.”And I confess that I sang the whole of the first verse.I am sure that no one will sneer at all this. The good will not—the wicked dare not. The worst of us, even if his sin have put on the armour of infidelity, must remember the time when he believed in a God of love, and loved to believe it. For the sake of that period of happiness, he will not, cannot condemn the expression of feelings, and the manifestation of a bliss that he has himself voluntarily, and, if he would ask his own heart, and record the answer, miserably, cast away.However, it will be long before I again trouble the reader with anything sooutréas that which I have just written. Many were the days of error, and the nights of sin, that passed before I again even looked into my own heart. The feelings with which I made my mast-head orisons are gone and for ever. How often, and with what bitterness of spirit, have I said, “Would that I had then died!” If there is mercy in heaven—I say it with reverence—I feel assured that then to have passed away, would have been but the closing of the eyes on earth to awaken immediately in the lap of a blissful immortality. Since then the world’s foot has been upon my breast, and I have writhed under the opprobrious weight; and, with sinful pride and self-trust, have, though grovelling in the dust, returned scorn for scorn, and injury for injury—even wrong for wrong.I have been a sad dog, and that’s the truth; but—I have been forced to hunt, and to house, and to howl with dogs much worse than myself; and that’s equally true.“Maintopmast-head there,” squeaked out the very disagreeable treble of Captain Reud, who had then come on deck, as I was trolling, “Shake off dull sloth, and early rise.”“Mr Rattlin, what do you say?”“Ay, ay, sir.”“Ay, ay, sir! what were you saying? How many sails are there in sight?”“I can’t make out, sir.”“Why not? Have you counted them?”Now, as I before stated, I had taken off my hat, and was standing up in a fit of natural devotion; and the captain, no doubt, thought that I was bareheaded, and shading my eyes, the better to reckon the convoy. To lie would have been so easy, and I was tempted to reply to the question, that I had. But my better feelings predominated; so, at the risk of a reprimand, I answered, “Not yet, sir.”At this moment Mr Silva, the lieutenant of the watch, placed the mast-head look-outs, and sent the signal-man up to assist me in counting the convoy; and, at the same time, the latter bore me a quiet message, that when the number was ascertained I might come down.I came on deck, and gave the report.“I am very glad, Mr Rattlin,” said the captain, approvingly, “to see you so attentive to your duty. No doubt you went up of your own accord to count the convoy?”“Indeed, sir,” said I, with a great deal of humility, “I did not.”“What—how? I thought when I came on deck I heard you singing out.”“I was mast-headed, sir.”“Mast-headed! How—for what?”At this question, revenge, with her insidious breath, came whispering her venom into my ear; but a voice, to the warnings of which I have too seldom attended, seemed to reverberate in the recesses of my heart, and say, “Be generous.” If I had told the truth maliciously, I should have assuredly have drawn ridicule, and perhaps anger, on the head of the lieutenant, and approbation to myself. I therefore briefly replied, “For impertinence to Mr Silva, sir.”And I was amply repaid by the eloquent look that, with eyes actually moistened, my late persecutor cast upon me. I read the look aright, and knew, from that moment, that he was deserving of better things than a continued persecution for having unfortunately misapplied an expression. I immediately made a vow that I would read the “Tour up and down the Rio de la Plate,” with exemplary assiduity.“I am glad,” said the captain, “that you candidly acknowledge your offence, instead of disrespectfully endeavouring to justify it. I hope, Mr Silva, that it is not of that extent to preclude me from asking him to breakfast with us this morning?”“By no means,” said Silva, his features sparkling with delight; “he is a good lad: I have reason to say, a very good lad.”I understood him; and though no explanations ever took place between us, we were, till he was driven from the ship, the most perfect friends.“Well,” said the captain, as he turned go down the quarter-deck ladder, “you will, at the usual time, both of you,pave your way into the cabin. I am sure, Mr Silva, you won’t object to that, though I have not yet made up my mind as to the propriety of the expression, so we’ll have the purser, and talk it over in a friendly, good-humoured way.” And saying this, he disappeared, with a look of merry malignancy that no features but his own could so adequately express.The scene at the breakfast-table was of the usual description. Authority, masking ill-nature under the guise of quizzing, on the one hand, and literary obstinacy fast resolving itself into deep personal hostility on the other.
What a nice, varied, sentimental, joyous, lachrymose, objurgatory, laudatory, reflective volume might be made, entitled, “Meditations at the Mast-head!”
When I found myself comfortably established in my aëry domicile, I first looked down on the vessel below with a feeling nearly akin to pity, then around me with a positive feeling of rapture, and at length above me with a heart-warming glow of adoration. Perched up at a height so great, the decks of the frigate looked extremely long and narrow; and the foreshortened view one has of those upon it makes them look but little bigger or more important than so many puppets. Beneath me I saw the discontented author of my elevation, and of “A Tour up and down the Rio de la Plate,” skipping actively here and there to avoid the splashing necessary in washing the decks. I could not help comparing the annoyance of this involuntary dance with the after-guard, thiscroissezwith clattering buckets, anddos à dosing with wet swabs, with my comfortable and commanding recumbency upon the cross-trees. I looked down upon Lieutenant Silva, and pitied him. I looked around me, and my heart was exceeding glad. The upper rim of the sun was dallying with a crimson cloud, whilst the greater part of his disc was still below the well-defined deep-blue horizon. All above him to the zenith was chequered with small vapours, layer over layer, like the scales of a breastplate of burnished gold. The little waves were mantling, dimpling, and seemed playfully striving to emulate the intenser glories of the heavens above. They now flashed into living light, now assumed the blushing hue of a rosebud, and here and there wreathed up into a diminutive foam, mocking the smile of youth when she shows her white teeth between her beauty-breathing lips. As I swung aloft, with a motion gentle as that of the cradled infant, and looked out upon the splendours beneath and around me, my bosom swelled with the most rapturous emotions. Everywhere, as far as my eye could reach, the transparent and beryl-dyed waters were speckled with white sails, actually “blushing rosy red” with the morning beams. Far, far astern, hull down, were the huge dull sailers, spreading all their studding-sails to the wind, reminding me of frightened swans with expanded wings. Conspicuous among these were the two men-of-war brigs, obliquely sailing now here and then there, and ever and anon firing a gun, whose mimic thunder came with melodious resonance over the waters, whilst the many-coloured signals were continually flying and shifting. They were the hawks among the covey of the larger white-plumed birds.
At this moment our gallant frigate, like a youthful and a regal giant, more majestic from the lightness of her dress, walked in conscious superiority in the midst of all. She had, as I before mentioned, just set her top-gallant sails, in order to take her proud station in the van. We now passed vessel after vessel, each with a different quantity of canvas set, according to her powers of sailing. It was altogether a glorious sight, and to my feelings, excelled in quiet and cheerful sublimity any review, however splendid might be the troops, or imposing their numbers. Then the breeze came so freshly and kissingly on my cheek, whispering such pleasant things to my excited fancy, and invigorating so joyously the fibres of my heart—I looked around me, and was glad.
When the soul is big with all good and pure feelings, gratitude will be there; and, at her smiling invitation, piety will come cheerfully and clasp her hand. Surely not that sectarian piety, which metes out wrath instead of mercy to an erring world; not that piety, dealing “damnation round the land,” daily making the pale, within which the only few to be saved are folded, more and more circumscribed; nor even that bigotted, sensuous piety, which floats on the frankincense that eddies round the marble altar, and which, if unassisted by the vista of the dark aisle, the dimly-seen procession, the choral hymn, the banner, and the relic, faints, and sees no God: no, none of these will be the piety of a heart exulting in the beneficence of the All-Good. Then and there, why should I have wished to have crept and grovelled under piled and sordid stone? Since first the aspiring architect spanned the arch at Thebes, which isnoteverlasting, and lifted the column at Rome, which isnotimmortal, was there ever dome like that which glowed over my head imagined by the brain of man? “Fretted with golden fires,” and studded with such glorious clouds, that it were almost sinful not to believe that each veiled an angel; the vast concave, based all around upon the sapphire horizon, sprang upwards, terminating above me in that deep, deep, immeasurable blue, the best type of eternity;—was not this a fitting temple for worship? What frankincense was ever equal to that which nature then spread over the wave and through the air? All this I saw—all this I felt. I looked upwards, and I was at once enraptured and humbled. Perhaps then, for the first time since I had left my schoolboy’s haunts, I bethought me that there was a God. Too, too often I had heard his awful presence wantonly invoked, his sacred name taken in vain. Lately, I had not shuddered at this habitual profanation. The work of demoralisation had commenced. I knew it then, and with this knowledge, the first pang of guilty shame entered my bosom. I stood up with reverence upon the cross-trees. I took off my hat, and though I did not even whisper the prayers we had used at school, mentally I went through the whole of them. When I said to myself, “I have done those things that I ought not to have done, and haveleft undonethose things that Ioughtto have done,” I was startled at the measure of sin that I had confessed. I think that I was contrite. I resolved to amend. I gradually flung off the hardness that my late life of recklessness had been encrusting upon my heart. I softened towards all who had ever shown me kindness; and, in my mind, I faithfully retraced the last time that I had ever walked to church with her whom I had been fond to deem my mother. These silent devotions, and these home-harmonised thoughts, first chastened, and then made me very, very happy. At last, I felt the spirit of blissful serenity so strong upon me, that, forgetting for a moment to what ridicule I might subject myself; I began to sing aloud that morning hymn that I had never omitted, for so many years, until I had joined the service—
“Awake, my soul, and with the sun.”
“Awake, my soul, and with the sun.”
And I confess that I sang the whole of the first verse.
I am sure that no one will sneer at all this. The good will not—the wicked dare not. The worst of us, even if his sin have put on the armour of infidelity, must remember the time when he believed in a God of love, and loved to believe it. For the sake of that period of happiness, he will not, cannot condemn the expression of feelings, and the manifestation of a bliss that he has himself voluntarily, and, if he would ask his own heart, and record the answer, miserably, cast away.
However, it will be long before I again trouble the reader with anything sooutréas that which I have just written. Many were the days of error, and the nights of sin, that passed before I again even looked into my own heart. The feelings with which I made my mast-head orisons are gone and for ever. How often, and with what bitterness of spirit, have I said, “Would that I had then died!” If there is mercy in heaven—I say it with reverence—I feel assured that then to have passed away, would have been but the closing of the eyes on earth to awaken immediately in the lap of a blissful immortality. Since then the world’s foot has been upon my breast, and I have writhed under the opprobrious weight; and, with sinful pride and self-trust, have, though grovelling in the dust, returned scorn for scorn, and injury for injury—even wrong for wrong.
I have been a sad dog, and that’s the truth; but—
I have been forced to hunt, and to house, and to howl with dogs much worse than myself; and that’s equally true.
“Maintopmast-head there,” squeaked out the very disagreeable treble of Captain Reud, who had then come on deck, as I was trolling, “Shake off dull sloth, and early rise.”
“Mr Rattlin, what do you say?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Ay, ay, sir! what were you saying? How many sails are there in sight?”
“I can’t make out, sir.”
“Why not? Have you counted them?”
Now, as I before stated, I had taken off my hat, and was standing up in a fit of natural devotion; and the captain, no doubt, thought that I was bareheaded, and shading my eyes, the better to reckon the convoy. To lie would have been so easy, and I was tempted to reply to the question, that I had. But my better feelings predominated; so, at the risk of a reprimand, I answered, “Not yet, sir.”
At this moment Mr Silva, the lieutenant of the watch, placed the mast-head look-outs, and sent the signal-man up to assist me in counting the convoy; and, at the same time, the latter bore me a quiet message, that when the number was ascertained I might come down.
I came on deck, and gave the report.
“I am very glad, Mr Rattlin,” said the captain, approvingly, “to see you so attentive to your duty. No doubt you went up of your own accord to count the convoy?”
“Indeed, sir,” said I, with a great deal of humility, “I did not.”
“What—how? I thought when I came on deck I heard you singing out.”
“I was mast-headed, sir.”
“Mast-headed! How—for what?”
At this question, revenge, with her insidious breath, came whispering her venom into my ear; but a voice, to the warnings of which I have too seldom attended, seemed to reverberate in the recesses of my heart, and say, “Be generous.” If I had told the truth maliciously, I should have assuredly have drawn ridicule, and perhaps anger, on the head of the lieutenant, and approbation to myself. I therefore briefly replied, “For impertinence to Mr Silva, sir.”
And I was amply repaid by the eloquent look that, with eyes actually moistened, my late persecutor cast upon me. I read the look aright, and knew, from that moment, that he was deserving of better things than a continued persecution for having unfortunately misapplied an expression. I immediately made a vow that I would read the “Tour up and down the Rio de la Plate,” with exemplary assiduity.
“I am glad,” said the captain, “that you candidly acknowledge your offence, instead of disrespectfully endeavouring to justify it. I hope, Mr Silva, that it is not of that extent to preclude me from asking him to breakfast with us this morning?”
“By no means,” said Silva, his features sparkling with delight; “he is a good lad: I have reason to say, a very good lad.”
I understood him; and though no explanations ever took place between us, we were, till he was driven from the ship, the most perfect friends.
“Well,” said the captain, as he turned go down the quarter-deck ladder, “you will, at the usual time, both of you,pave your way into the cabin. I am sure, Mr Silva, you won’t object to that, though I have not yet made up my mind as to the propriety of the expression, so we’ll have the purser, and talk it over in a friendly, good-humoured way.” And saying this, he disappeared, with a look of merry malignancy that no features but his own could so adequately express.
The scene at the breakfast-table was of the usual description. Authority, masking ill-nature under the guise of quizzing, on the one hand, and literary obstinacy fast resolving itself into deep personal hostility on the other.
Chapter Forty.How to make a day’s work easy—Ralph avoideth trouble by anticipating land, but is anticipated by the enemy—A chapter altogether of chasing, which it is hoped will pleasantly chase away the reader’s ennui.We had now the usual indications of approaching the land. In fact, I had made it, by my reckoning, a fortnight before. The non-nautical reader must understand, that the young gentlemen are required to send into the captain daily, a day’s work, that is, an abstract of the course of the ship for the last twenty-four hours, the distance run, and her whereabouts exactly.Now, with that failing that never left me through life, of feeling no interest where there was no difficulty to overcome, after I had fully conquered all the various methods of making this calculation, to make it all became a great bore. So I clapped on more steam, and giving the ship more way, and allowing every day for forty or fifty miles, of westerly currents, I, by my account, ran theEoshigh and dry upon the Island of Barbadoes, three good weeks before we made the land. Thus, I had the satisfaction of looking on with placid indolence, whilst my messmates were furiously handling their Gunter’s scales, and straining their eyes over the small printed figures in the distance and departure columns of John Hamilton Moore, of blessed (cursed?) memory, in a cabin over 90 degrees Fahrenheit, that was melting at the same time the youthful navigator, and the one miserable purser’s dip that tormented rather than enlightened him with its flickering yellow flame.As we neared the island, greater precautions were taken to preserve the convoy. We sailed in more compact order, and scarcely progressed at all during the night. The whippers-in were on the alert, for it was well known that this part of the Atlantic was infested with numerous small French men-of-war, and some privateer schooners.That morning at length arrived, when it was debated strongly whether the faint discoloration that broke the line of the western horizon as seen from the mast-head, were land or not. As daylight became more decided, so did the state of our convoy. The wolves were hovering round the sheep. Well down to the southward there was a large square-rigged, three-masted vessel, fraternising with one of our finest West Indiamen. The stranger looked tall, grim, and dark, with his courses up, but his top-gallant sails and royals set. The white sails of the merchant vessel, and she was under a press of sail, were flying in all directions; she was hove-to, with her studding-sails set, and many of her tacks and sheets were flapping to the wind. Both vessels were hull down from the deck, and we well understood what was going forward. Right astern, and directly in the wind’s eye of us, was a flat, broad schooner running before the wind, with nothing set but her fore stay-sail. As she lifted to the sea, at the edge of the horizon, her strength of beam was so great, and her bulwarks so little above the water, that she seemed to make way broadside on, rather than to sail in the usual position. There was no vessel particularly near her. Those of the mercantile navy that most enjoyed her propinquity did not seem, by the press of sail that they were carrying, to think the situation very enviable. However, the Falcon, one of our men-of-war brigs, was between this schooner and all the convoy, with the signal flying, “May I chase?”But this was not all; a whitish haze cleared up; to the northward there was a spanking felucca, with her long lanteen sails brailed up, and sweeping about in the very centre of a knot of dull sailing merchant vessels, four of which, by their altered courses, had evidently been taken possession of. Reversing the good old adage, first come first served, we turned our attention to the last appearance. We made the signal to the other man-of-war brig, theCurlew, to chase and capture the felucca, she not being more than two miles distant from her.No sooner did the convoy generally begin to find out how matters stood, than like a parcel of fussy and frightened old women, they began to pop, pop, pop, firing away their one and two-pounders in all directions, and those farthest from the scene of action serving their guns the quickest, and firing the oftenest. It seemed to them of but little consequence, so long as the guns were fired, where the shot fell. Now this was a great nuisance, as it prevented, by the smoke it raised, our signals from being distinguished, even if these belligerents in a a small way, had not been so occupied by these demonstrations of their valour from attending to them. Indeed, the volumes of smoke the popping created, became very considerable. I do not now know if there be any convoy signal in the merchant code equivalent to “cease firing.” If there were at that time, I am sure it was displayed, but displayed or not, the hubbub was on the increase. We were at last compelled to fire shot over these pugnacious tubs to quiet them, and there was thus acted the singular spectacle of three vessels capturing the convoy, whilst the artillery of its principal protector appeared to be incessantly playing upon it.Having our attention so much divided, there was a great deal of activity and bustle, though no confusion on our decks. We were hoisting out the boats to make the recaptures, and dividing the marines into parties to go in each. In the midst of all this hurry, when Mr Farmer, our gallant first-lieutenant, was much heated, a droll circumstance occurred, the consequence of the indiscriminate firing of the convoy. A boat pulled alongside, and a little swab-man, with his face all fire, and in an awfully sinful passion, jumped on the quarter-deck, with something rolled up in a silk handkerchief. He was so irritated that whilst he followed the first-lieutenant about for two or three minutes, he could not articulate.“Out of my way, man. Mr Burn, see that all the small arms are ready, and handed down into the boat in good order. Out of my way, man—what the devil do you want? Muster the pinnace’s crew on the starboard gangway—move all these lubberly marines, Mr Silva, if that stupid fool don’t cease firing, send a shot right into him. Man, man, what do you want—why don’t you speak?”“There, sir,” at last stammered out the little angry master of a brig, unfolding his handkerchief, and exhibiting a two-pound shot in a most filthy condition, “What—what do you think of that, sir. Slap on board of me, from theLady Jane, sir—through, clean through my bulwarks into the cook’s slush-tub. There’s murder and piracy for you on the high seas—my slush-tub, sir—my bulwarks, sir.”“Damn you and your slush-tub too—out of my way! Sail trimmers aloft, and get ready the topmast and top-gallant studding-sails.”“Am I to have no redress, sir? Is a British subject to have his slush-tub cannonaded on the high seas, and no redress, sir? Sir, sir, I tell you, sir, if you don’t do me justice, I’ll go on board and open my fire upon that scoundrellyLady Jane.”Now this was something like a gasconade, as our irritated friend happened to have but three quakers (wooden guns) on each side, that certainly were not equal to the merits of that apocryphal good dog, that could bark, though not bite—however, they looked as if they could.“You had better,” said Captain Reud, “go on board theLady Jane, and if you are man enough, give the master a hiding.”“If I’m man enough!” said he, jumping with his shot into his boat, with ireful alacrity. Shortly after, taking my glass, I looked at theLady Jane, and sure enough there was a pugilistic encounter proceeding on her quarter-deck, with all that peculiargoûtthat characterises Englishmen when engaged in that amusement.In answer to the signal of theFalcon, which was astern of the convoy, and between it and the gigantic schooner, “Shall I chase?” we replied, “No.” By this time we had thrashed our convoy into something like silence and good order. We then signalled to them to close round theFalcon, and heave-to. To theFalcon, “to protect convoy.”We had now been some time at quarters, and everything was ready for chasing and fighting. But the fun had already begun to the northward. Our second man-of-war brig, theCurlew, had closed considerably upon the felucca, which was evidently endeavouring to make the chase a windward one. The brig closed more upon her than she ought. It certainly enabled her to fire broadside after broadside upon her, but, as far as we could perceive, with little or no effect. In a short time the privateer contrived to get into the wind’s eye of the man-of-war, and away they went. After the four ships had been taken possession of and which were each making a different course, we sent three of the boats—the barge, yawl, and pinnace—under the command of Mr Silva, in order to recapture them, of which there was every prospect, as the breeze was light, and would not probably freshen before ten o’clock; for, however the captured vessels might steer, their courses must be weather ones, as, if they had attempted to run to leeward, they must have crossed the body of the convoy. Having now made our arrangements, we turned all our attention to leeward, upon the large dark, three-masted vessel, that still remained hove-to, seeming to honour us with but little notice. She had taken possession of the finest and largest ship of the convoy. Long as I have been narrating all these facts, I assure the reader they did not occupy ten minutes in action, including the monomachia on board of theLady Jane. Just as we had got the ship’s head towards the stranger, with every stitch of canvas crowded upon her, and the eight-oared cutter, manned, armed, and marined, towing astern, they had got the captured West Indiaman before the wind, with everything set. The stranger was not long following this example; but steered about a S.W. and by W course, whilst his prize ran down nearly due south.I have always found in the beginning, that the size of the chase is magnified, either by the expectations or the fears of the pursuers. At first, we had no doubt but that the flying vessel was a French frigate, as large, or nearly as large, as ourselves. We knew from good authority that a couple of large frigate-built ships had, evading our blockading cruisers, escaped from Brest, and were playing fine pranks among the West India Islands. Everybody immediately concluded the vessel in view to be one of them. If this conjecture should turn out true, there would be no easy task before us, seeing how much we had crippled ourselves, by sending away, in the boats, so many officers and men.It now became a matter of earnest deliberation, to which of the two ships we should first turn our attention, as the probabilities were great against our capturing both. ThePrince William, the captured West Indiaman, I have before said, was the largest and finest ship of the convoy. Indeed, she was nearly as large as ourselves, mounted sixteen guns, and we had made her a repeating ship, and employed her continually in whipping-in the bad sailers.The chase after her promised to be as as long as would have been the chase after the Frenchman.Mr Farmer, who was all for fighting, and getting his next step of promotion, was for nearing the West Indiaman a little more, sending the cutter to take possession, and then do our best to capture the frigate. Now, the cutter pulled eight oars, there were two good-looking jollies, with their muskets between their knees, stuck up in the bows, six in the stern-sheets, Mr Pridhomme, the enamoured master’s mate, and the Irish young gentleman, who had seen as much service and as many years as myself; with the coxswain, who was steering. Mr Farmer, of course, measured everybody’s courage by his own; but I think it was taxing British intrepidity a little too much, to expect that nineteen persons, in broad daylight, should chase in an open boat, and which must necessarily pull up a long stern-pull of perhaps two or three hours, exposed to the fire of those on board, and then afterwards, supposing that nobody had been either killed or wounded by the ball practice that would have been certainly lavished on the attacking party, to get alongside, and climb up the lofty side of a vessel, as high out of the water as a fifty-gun ship. We say nothing of the guns that might have been loaded by the captors with grape, and the number of men that would infallibly be placed to defend and to navigate so noble a vessel.Captain Reud weighed all this, and decided upon making with the frigate, the recapture first, and then trusting to Providence for the other: for which decision, which I thought most sound, he got black looks from the first-lieutenant and some of the officers, and certain hints were whispered ofdarkbirds sometimes showing white feathers.The sequel proved that the captain acted with the greatest judgment. To our utter astonishment, we came up hand over hand with a vessel which we before had shrewd suspicions, could, going free sail very nearly as well as ourselves. Of course, we were now fast leaving the convoy; we found that the felucca had worked herself dead to windward, and was, by this time, nearly out of gun-shot of theCurlew, and, that thefaineantstrange schooner had now made sail, and was on such a course as approximated her fast to the other privateer.The large vessel, perceiving our attention solely directed to the capture, shortened sail and made demonstrations of rescue. At this, Mr Farmer grinned savage approbation, and, not yet having had a good view of her hull, we all thought, from her conduct, that she was conscious of force. We were, therefore, doubly on the alert in seeing everything in the very best order for fighting. The bulk-heads of the captain’s cabin were knocked down, and the sheep, pigs, and poultry, gingerly ushered into the hold, preparatory to the demolition of their several pens, styes, and coops, on the main deck. All this I found very amusing, but I must confess to a little anxiety, and, younker as I was, I knew, if we came to action, that the eighty or ninety men, away in the boats, would be very severely felt. I was also sorry for the absence of Mr Silva, as I had a great, yet puerile curiosity, to see how a man that had written a book, would fight.The run of an hour and a-half brought us nearly alongside thePrince William, when we expected, at the least, a ten hour’s chase. It was well we came up so soon; the Frenchman had clapped forty as ill-looking savage vagabonds on board of her, as ever made a poor fellow walk the plank. They had fully prepared themselves for sinking the cutter, as soon as she could come alongside, and their means for doing so were most ample.As our prisoners came up the sides, we soon discovered by the shabby, faded, and rent uniforms of the two officers among them, that they belonged to the French imperial service. They bore their reverse of fortune, notwithstanding they belonged to a philosophical nation, with a very despicable philosophy. They stamped with rage, and ground theirsacresunceasingly between their teeth. They could not comprehend how so fine a looking vessel should sail so much like a haystack. The mystery was, however, soon solved. The third mate, with about half a dozen men, had been left on board of her; and the provident and gallant young fellow had, whilst the Frenchmen were so pre-occupied in preparing to resist the threatened attack of the boat, contrived to pass, unobserved, overboard from the bows, a spare-sail loaded with shot, that effectually had checked the ship’s way. Had the Frenchmen turned their attention to that part of the vessel, without they had examined narrowly, they would have perceived nothing more than a rope towing overboard. He certainly ought to have shared with us prize-money for the recapture; but after all, he sustained no great loss by not having his name down on the prize-list, as nobody but the captain ever got anything for what we did that day. He, lucky dog, got his share in advance, many said much more, for appointing the Messrs Isaiahsons and Co as our agents. They got the money, and then, as the possession of much cash (of other people’s) is very impoverishing, they became bankrupts, paid nothing-farthing in the pound, were very much commiserated, and the last that we heard of them was, that they were living like princes in America, upon the miserable wreck of their (own?) property.We made, of course, most anxious and most minute inquiries of Messieurs les François, as to the class of vessel to which they belonged, and which we were in turn preparing to pursue. As might be expected, we got from them nothing but contradictory reports; but they all agreed in giving us the most conscientious and disinterested advice, not to think of irritating her, as we should most certainly be blown out of the water. We read this backwards. If she were strong enough to take us, it was their interest that we should engage her, and thus their liberation would be effected.As it was, notwithstanding these many occurrences, only eight a.m. when we made the re-capture, and as the convoy were all still in sight, we only put six men in thePrince Williamwhich, in addition to the English still on board, were sufficient to take her to theCurlew, near which vessel the merchantmen had all nestled, and orders were transmitted to her commanding officer to see that men enough were put on board the re-capture to insure her safety.
We had now the usual indications of approaching the land. In fact, I had made it, by my reckoning, a fortnight before. The non-nautical reader must understand, that the young gentlemen are required to send into the captain daily, a day’s work, that is, an abstract of the course of the ship for the last twenty-four hours, the distance run, and her whereabouts exactly.
Now, with that failing that never left me through life, of feeling no interest where there was no difficulty to overcome, after I had fully conquered all the various methods of making this calculation, to make it all became a great bore. So I clapped on more steam, and giving the ship more way, and allowing every day for forty or fifty miles, of westerly currents, I, by my account, ran theEoshigh and dry upon the Island of Barbadoes, three good weeks before we made the land. Thus, I had the satisfaction of looking on with placid indolence, whilst my messmates were furiously handling their Gunter’s scales, and straining their eyes over the small printed figures in the distance and departure columns of John Hamilton Moore, of blessed (cursed?) memory, in a cabin over 90 degrees Fahrenheit, that was melting at the same time the youthful navigator, and the one miserable purser’s dip that tormented rather than enlightened him with its flickering yellow flame.
As we neared the island, greater precautions were taken to preserve the convoy. We sailed in more compact order, and scarcely progressed at all during the night. The whippers-in were on the alert, for it was well known that this part of the Atlantic was infested with numerous small French men-of-war, and some privateer schooners.
That morning at length arrived, when it was debated strongly whether the faint discoloration that broke the line of the western horizon as seen from the mast-head, were land or not. As daylight became more decided, so did the state of our convoy. The wolves were hovering round the sheep. Well down to the southward there was a large square-rigged, three-masted vessel, fraternising with one of our finest West Indiamen. The stranger looked tall, grim, and dark, with his courses up, but his top-gallant sails and royals set. The white sails of the merchant vessel, and she was under a press of sail, were flying in all directions; she was hove-to, with her studding-sails set, and many of her tacks and sheets were flapping to the wind. Both vessels were hull down from the deck, and we well understood what was going forward. Right astern, and directly in the wind’s eye of us, was a flat, broad schooner running before the wind, with nothing set but her fore stay-sail. As she lifted to the sea, at the edge of the horizon, her strength of beam was so great, and her bulwarks so little above the water, that she seemed to make way broadside on, rather than to sail in the usual position. There was no vessel particularly near her. Those of the mercantile navy that most enjoyed her propinquity did not seem, by the press of sail that they were carrying, to think the situation very enviable. However, the Falcon, one of our men-of-war brigs, was between this schooner and all the convoy, with the signal flying, “May I chase?”
But this was not all; a whitish haze cleared up; to the northward there was a spanking felucca, with her long lanteen sails brailed up, and sweeping about in the very centre of a knot of dull sailing merchant vessels, four of which, by their altered courses, had evidently been taken possession of. Reversing the good old adage, first come first served, we turned our attention to the last appearance. We made the signal to the other man-of-war brig, theCurlew, to chase and capture the felucca, she not being more than two miles distant from her.
No sooner did the convoy generally begin to find out how matters stood, than like a parcel of fussy and frightened old women, they began to pop, pop, pop, firing away their one and two-pounders in all directions, and those farthest from the scene of action serving their guns the quickest, and firing the oftenest. It seemed to them of but little consequence, so long as the guns were fired, where the shot fell. Now this was a great nuisance, as it prevented, by the smoke it raised, our signals from being distinguished, even if these belligerents in a a small way, had not been so occupied by these demonstrations of their valour from attending to them. Indeed, the volumes of smoke the popping created, became very considerable. I do not now know if there be any convoy signal in the merchant code equivalent to “cease firing.” If there were at that time, I am sure it was displayed, but displayed or not, the hubbub was on the increase. We were at last compelled to fire shot over these pugnacious tubs to quiet them, and there was thus acted the singular spectacle of three vessels capturing the convoy, whilst the artillery of its principal protector appeared to be incessantly playing upon it.
Having our attention so much divided, there was a great deal of activity and bustle, though no confusion on our decks. We were hoisting out the boats to make the recaptures, and dividing the marines into parties to go in each. In the midst of all this hurry, when Mr Farmer, our gallant first-lieutenant, was much heated, a droll circumstance occurred, the consequence of the indiscriminate firing of the convoy. A boat pulled alongside, and a little swab-man, with his face all fire, and in an awfully sinful passion, jumped on the quarter-deck, with something rolled up in a silk handkerchief. He was so irritated that whilst he followed the first-lieutenant about for two or three minutes, he could not articulate.
“Out of my way, man. Mr Burn, see that all the small arms are ready, and handed down into the boat in good order. Out of my way, man—what the devil do you want? Muster the pinnace’s crew on the starboard gangway—move all these lubberly marines, Mr Silva, if that stupid fool don’t cease firing, send a shot right into him. Man, man, what do you want—why don’t you speak?”
“There, sir,” at last stammered out the little angry master of a brig, unfolding his handkerchief, and exhibiting a two-pound shot in a most filthy condition, “What—what do you think of that, sir. Slap on board of me, from theLady Jane, sir—through, clean through my bulwarks into the cook’s slush-tub. There’s murder and piracy for you on the high seas—my slush-tub, sir—my bulwarks, sir.”
“Damn you and your slush-tub too—out of my way! Sail trimmers aloft, and get ready the topmast and top-gallant studding-sails.”
“Am I to have no redress, sir? Is a British subject to have his slush-tub cannonaded on the high seas, and no redress, sir? Sir, sir, I tell you, sir, if you don’t do me justice, I’ll go on board and open my fire upon that scoundrellyLady Jane.”
Now this was something like a gasconade, as our irritated friend happened to have but three quakers (wooden guns) on each side, that certainly were not equal to the merits of that apocryphal good dog, that could bark, though not bite—however, they looked as if they could.
“You had better,” said Captain Reud, “go on board theLady Jane, and if you are man enough, give the master a hiding.”
“If I’m man enough!” said he, jumping with his shot into his boat, with ireful alacrity. Shortly after, taking my glass, I looked at theLady Jane, and sure enough there was a pugilistic encounter proceeding on her quarter-deck, with all that peculiargoûtthat characterises Englishmen when engaged in that amusement.
In answer to the signal of theFalcon, which was astern of the convoy, and between it and the gigantic schooner, “Shall I chase?” we replied, “No.” By this time we had thrashed our convoy into something like silence and good order. We then signalled to them to close round theFalcon, and heave-to. To theFalcon, “to protect convoy.”
We had now been some time at quarters, and everything was ready for chasing and fighting. But the fun had already begun to the northward. Our second man-of-war brig, theCurlew, had closed considerably upon the felucca, which was evidently endeavouring to make the chase a windward one. The brig closed more upon her than she ought. It certainly enabled her to fire broadside after broadside upon her, but, as far as we could perceive, with little or no effect. In a short time the privateer contrived to get into the wind’s eye of the man-of-war, and away they went. After the four ships had been taken possession of and which were each making a different course, we sent three of the boats—the barge, yawl, and pinnace—under the command of Mr Silva, in order to recapture them, of which there was every prospect, as the breeze was light, and would not probably freshen before ten o’clock; for, however the captured vessels might steer, their courses must be weather ones, as, if they had attempted to run to leeward, they must have crossed the body of the convoy. Having now made our arrangements, we turned all our attention to leeward, upon the large dark, three-masted vessel, that still remained hove-to, seeming to honour us with but little notice. She had taken possession of the finest and largest ship of the convoy. Long as I have been narrating all these facts, I assure the reader they did not occupy ten minutes in action, including the monomachia on board of theLady Jane. Just as we had got the ship’s head towards the stranger, with every stitch of canvas crowded upon her, and the eight-oared cutter, manned, armed, and marined, towing astern, they had got the captured West Indiaman before the wind, with everything set. The stranger was not long following this example; but steered about a S.W. and by W course, whilst his prize ran down nearly due south.
I have always found in the beginning, that the size of the chase is magnified, either by the expectations or the fears of the pursuers. At first, we had no doubt but that the flying vessel was a French frigate, as large, or nearly as large, as ourselves. We knew from good authority that a couple of large frigate-built ships had, evading our blockading cruisers, escaped from Brest, and were playing fine pranks among the West India Islands. Everybody immediately concluded the vessel in view to be one of them. If this conjecture should turn out true, there would be no easy task before us, seeing how much we had crippled ourselves, by sending away, in the boats, so many officers and men.
It now became a matter of earnest deliberation, to which of the two ships we should first turn our attention, as the probabilities were great against our capturing both. ThePrince William, the captured West Indiaman, I have before said, was the largest and finest ship of the convoy. Indeed, she was nearly as large as ourselves, mounted sixteen guns, and we had made her a repeating ship, and employed her continually in whipping-in the bad sailers.
The chase after her promised to be as as long as would have been the chase after the Frenchman.
Mr Farmer, who was all for fighting, and getting his next step of promotion, was for nearing the West Indiaman a little more, sending the cutter to take possession, and then do our best to capture the frigate. Now, the cutter pulled eight oars, there were two good-looking jollies, with their muskets between their knees, stuck up in the bows, six in the stern-sheets, Mr Pridhomme, the enamoured master’s mate, and the Irish young gentleman, who had seen as much service and as many years as myself; with the coxswain, who was steering. Mr Farmer, of course, measured everybody’s courage by his own; but I think it was taxing British intrepidity a little too much, to expect that nineteen persons, in broad daylight, should chase in an open boat, and which must necessarily pull up a long stern-pull of perhaps two or three hours, exposed to the fire of those on board, and then afterwards, supposing that nobody had been either killed or wounded by the ball practice that would have been certainly lavished on the attacking party, to get alongside, and climb up the lofty side of a vessel, as high out of the water as a fifty-gun ship. We say nothing of the guns that might have been loaded by the captors with grape, and the number of men that would infallibly be placed to defend and to navigate so noble a vessel.
Captain Reud weighed all this, and decided upon making with the frigate, the recapture first, and then trusting to Providence for the other: for which decision, which I thought most sound, he got black looks from the first-lieutenant and some of the officers, and certain hints were whispered ofdarkbirds sometimes showing white feathers.
The sequel proved that the captain acted with the greatest judgment. To our utter astonishment, we came up hand over hand with a vessel which we before had shrewd suspicions, could, going free sail very nearly as well as ourselves. Of course, we were now fast leaving the convoy; we found that the felucca had worked herself dead to windward, and was, by this time, nearly out of gun-shot of theCurlew, and, that thefaineantstrange schooner had now made sail, and was on such a course as approximated her fast to the other privateer.
The large vessel, perceiving our attention solely directed to the capture, shortened sail and made demonstrations of rescue. At this, Mr Farmer grinned savage approbation, and, not yet having had a good view of her hull, we all thought, from her conduct, that she was conscious of force. We were, therefore, doubly on the alert in seeing everything in the very best order for fighting. The bulk-heads of the captain’s cabin were knocked down, and the sheep, pigs, and poultry, gingerly ushered into the hold, preparatory to the demolition of their several pens, styes, and coops, on the main deck. All this I found very amusing, but I must confess to a little anxiety, and, younker as I was, I knew, if we came to action, that the eighty or ninety men, away in the boats, would be very severely felt. I was also sorry for the absence of Mr Silva, as I had a great, yet puerile curiosity, to see how a man that had written a book, would fight.
The run of an hour and a-half brought us nearly alongside thePrince William, when we expected, at the least, a ten hour’s chase. It was well we came up so soon; the Frenchman had clapped forty as ill-looking savage vagabonds on board of her, as ever made a poor fellow walk the plank. They had fully prepared themselves for sinking the cutter, as soon as she could come alongside, and their means for doing so were most ample.
As our prisoners came up the sides, we soon discovered by the shabby, faded, and rent uniforms of the two officers among them, that they belonged to the French imperial service. They bore their reverse of fortune, notwithstanding they belonged to a philosophical nation, with a very despicable philosophy. They stamped with rage, and ground theirsacresunceasingly between their teeth. They could not comprehend how so fine a looking vessel should sail so much like a haystack. The mystery was, however, soon solved. The third mate, with about half a dozen men, had been left on board of her; and the provident and gallant young fellow had, whilst the Frenchmen were so pre-occupied in preparing to resist the threatened attack of the boat, contrived to pass, unobserved, overboard from the bows, a spare-sail loaded with shot, that effectually had checked the ship’s way. Had the Frenchmen turned their attention to that part of the vessel, without they had examined narrowly, they would have perceived nothing more than a rope towing overboard. He certainly ought to have shared with us prize-money for the recapture; but after all, he sustained no great loss by not having his name down on the prize-list, as nobody but the captain ever got anything for what we did that day. He, lucky dog, got his share in advance, many said much more, for appointing the Messrs Isaiahsons and Co as our agents. They got the money, and then, as the possession of much cash (of other people’s) is very impoverishing, they became bankrupts, paid nothing-farthing in the pound, were very much commiserated, and the last that we heard of them was, that they were living like princes in America, upon the miserable wreck of their (own?) property.
We made, of course, most anxious and most minute inquiries of Messieurs les François, as to the class of vessel to which they belonged, and which we were in turn preparing to pursue. As might be expected, we got from them nothing but contradictory reports; but they all agreed in giving us the most conscientious and disinterested advice, not to think of irritating her, as we should most certainly be blown out of the water. We read this backwards. If she were strong enough to take us, it was their interest that we should engage her, and thus their liberation would be effected.
As it was, notwithstanding these many occurrences, only eight a.m. when we made the re-capture, and as the convoy were all still in sight, we only put six men in thePrince Williamwhich, in addition to the English still on board, were sufficient to take her to theCurlew, near which vessel the merchantmen had all nestled, and orders were transmitted to her commanding officer to see that men enough were put on board the re-capture to insure her safety.
Chapter Forty One.Ralph maketh acquaintance with bloody instruments, and boweth to the iron messengers of death; and is taught to stand fire, by being nearly knocked down.We now pressed the ship with every stitch of canvas that we could set. We had already learned the name of our friend in the distance; it was theJean Bart. Indeed, at this time, almost every fourth French vessel in those seas, if its occupation was the cutting of throats, was a “Jean Bart.” However,Jean Bart, long before we had done with thePrince Williamhad spread a cloud of canvas—a dark one, it is true—and had considerably increased his distance from us. It was a chase dead before the wind. By nine o’clock the breeze had freshened. I don’t know how it could be otherwise, considering the abundance of wishing and votive whistling. At ten we got a good sight of Johnny Crapaud’s hull from the maintop, and found out that she was no frigate. I was not at all nervous before, but I must confess, at this certainty my courage rose considerably. I narrowly inspected the condition of the four after-quarter guns, my charge, and was very impressive on the powder-boys as to the necessity of activity, coolness, and presence of mind.Dr Thompson now came on deck, very much lamenting the disordered rites of his breakfast. The jocular fellow invited me down into the cock-pit, to see his preparations, in order, as he said, to keep up my spirits, by showing me what excellent arrangements he had made for trepanning my skull, or lopping my leg, should any accident happen to me. I attended him. What with the fearnought (an amazingly thick cloth of a woollen texture) screens, and other precautions against fire, it was certainly the hottest place in which I had yet ever been. The dim, yellow, yet sufficient light from the lanterns, gave a lurid horror to the various ghastly and blood-greedy instruments that were ostentatiously displayed upon the platform. Crooked knives, that the eye alone assured you were sharp, seemed to be twisting with a living anxiety to embrace and separate your flesh; and saws appeared to grin at me, which to look upon, knowing their horrid office, actually turned my teeth on edge. There were the three assistant-surgeons, stripped to their shirts, with their sleeves tucked up ready, looking anxious, keen, and something terrified. As to the burly doctor, with his huge, round, red face, and his coarse jokes, he abstracted something from the romantic terrors of the place; but added considerably to the disgust it excited, as he strongly reminded me of a carcass butcher in full practice.No doubt, his amiable purpose in bringing me to his den was to frighten me, and enjoy my fright. Be that as it may, I took the matter as coolly as the heat of the place would permit me. The first lesson in bravery is to assume the appearance of it; the second, to sustain the appearance; and third will find you with all that courage “that doth become a man.”By noon we had a staggering breeze. We could now perceive that we were chasing a large corvette, though from the end-on view we had of her, we could not count her ports. TheEosseemed to fly through the water.At one o’clock the spars began to complain—preventer braces were rove, but no one thought of shortening sail.At two o’clock we had risen theJean Bart, so as to clear her broadside from the water’s edge as seen from our decks. The appetites of the doctor and purser had risen in proportion. They made a joint and disconsolate visit to the galley. All the fires were put out. The hens were cackling and the pigs grunting in dark security among the water casks. Miserable men! there was no prospect of a dinner. They were obliged to do detestable penance upon cold fowl and ham, liquified with nothing better than claret, burgundy, and the small solace derivable from the best brandy, mixed with filtrated water in most praiseworthy moderation.At three o’clock we had theJean Bartperfectly in sight, and we could, from the foreyard, observe well the motions of those on deck. The master was broiling his very red nose over his sextant in the forestay sail netting, when it was reported that the Frenchman was getting aft his two long brass bow chasers; and in half an hour after, we had the report from the said brass bellowers themselves, followed by the whistling of the shot, one wide of the ship, but the other smack through our foresail, and which must have passed very near the nose of our respectable master.Most of the officers, myself with the rest, were standing on the forecastle. Though not the first shot that I had seen fired in anger, it certainly was the first that had ever hissed by me. This first salute is always a memorable epoch in the life of a soldier or sailor. By the rent the shot made in the foresail, it could not have passed more than two yards directly over my head. I was taken by surprise. Everybody knows that the rushing that the shot makes is excessively loud. As the illustrious stranger came on board with so much pomp and ceremony, I, from the impulse of pure courtesy, could not do otherwise than bow to it; for which act of politeness the first-lieutenant gave me a very considerably tingling box of the ear.My angry looks, my clenched fists, and my threatening attitude, told him plainly that it was no want of spirit that made me duck to the shot. Just as I was passionately exclaiming, “Sir—I—I—I—” Captain Reud put his hand gently on my shoulder, and said, “Mr Rattlin, what are you about? Mr Farmer, that blow was not deserved. I, sir,” said he, drawing himself up proudly, “ducked to the first shot. Many a fine fellow that has bobbed to the first has stood out gallantly to the last. What could you expect, Mr Farmer, from such a mere boy? And to strike him! Fie upon it! That blow, if the lad had weak nerves, though his spirit were as brave as Nelson’s, and as noble as your namesake’s, that foul blow might have cowed him for ever.”“They are getting ready to fire again,” was now reported from the foreyard.“Here, Rattlin,” continued the captain, “take my glass, seat yourself upon the hammock-cloths, and tell me if you can make out what they are about.”Two flashes, smoke, and then the rushing of the shot, followed by the loud and ringing report of the brass guns, and of the reverberation of metal, was heard immediately beneath me. One of the shot had struck the fluke of the anchor in the fore-chains.“There, Mr Farmer,” said the captain exultingly, “did you mark that? I knew it—I knew it, sir. He neither moved nor flinched—even the long tube that he held to his eye never quivered for an instant. Oh! Mr Farmer, if you have the generous heart I give you credit for, never, never again strike a younker for bobbing at the first, or even the fifth shot.”“I was wrong, sir,” was the humble reply; “I am sorry that I should have given you occasion to make thispublicreprimand.”“No, Farmer,” said the little Creole very kindly; “I did not mean to reprimand, only to remonstrate. The severest reprimand was given you by Mr Rattlin himself.”I could at that moment have hugged the little yellow-skinned captain, wicked as I knew him to be, and stood unmoved the fire of the grape of a twenty-gun battery.But was I not really frightened at the whistling of the shot?Yes; a little.
We now pressed the ship with every stitch of canvas that we could set. We had already learned the name of our friend in the distance; it was theJean Bart. Indeed, at this time, almost every fourth French vessel in those seas, if its occupation was the cutting of throats, was a “Jean Bart.” However,Jean Bart, long before we had done with thePrince Williamhad spread a cloud of canvas—a dark one, it is true—and had considerably increased his distance from us. It was a chase dead before the wind. By nine o’clock the breeze had freshened. I don’t know how it could be otherwise, considering the abundance of wishing and votive whistling. At ten we got a good sight of Johnny Crapaud’s hull from the maintop, and found out that she was no frigate. I was not at all nervous before, but I must confess, at this certainty my courage rose considerably. I narrowly inspected the condition of the four after-quarter guns, my charge, and was very impressive on the powder-boys as to the necessity of activity, coolness, and presence of mind.
Dr Thompson now came on deck, very much lamenting the disordered rites of his breakfast. The jocular fellow invited me down into the cock-pit, to see his preparations, in order, as he said, to keep up my spirits, by showing me what excellent arrangements he had made for trepanning my skull, or lopping my leg, should any accident happen to me. I attended him. What with the fearnought (an amazingly thick cloth of a woollen texture) screens, and other precautions against fire, it was certainly the hottest place in which I had yet ever been. The dim, yellow, yet sufficient light from the lanterns, gave a lurid horror to the various ghastly and blood-greedy instruments that were ostentatiously displayed upon the platform. Crooked knives, that the eye alone assured you were sharp, seemed to be twisting with a living anxiety to embrace and separate your flesh; and saws appeared to grin at me, which to look upon, knowing their horrid office, actually turned my teeth on edge. There were the three assistant-surgeons, stripped to their shirts, with their sleeves tucked up ready, looking anxious, keen, and something terrified. As to the burly doctor, with his huge, round, red face, and his coarse jokes, he abstracted something from the romantic terrors of the place; but added considerably to the disgust it excited, as he strongly reminded me of a carcass butcher in full practice.
No doubt, his amiable purpose in bringing me to his den was to frighten me, and enjoy my fright. Be that as it may, I took the matter as coolly as the heat of the place would permit me. The first lesson in bravery is to assume the appearance of it; the second, to sustain the appearance; and third will find you with all that courage “that doth become a man.”
By noon we had a staggering breeze. We could now perceive that we were chasing a large corvette, though from the end-on view we had of her, we could not count her ports. TheEosseemed to fly through the water.
At one o’clock the spars began to complain—preventer braces were rove, but no one thought of shortening sail.
At two o’clock we had risen theJean Bart, so as to clear her broadside from the water’s edge as seen from our decks. The appetites of the doctor and purser had risen in proportion. They made a joint and disconsolate visit to the galley. All the fires were put out. The hens were cackling and the pigs grunting in dark security among the water casks. Miserable men! there was no prospect of a dinner. They were obliged to do detestable penance upon cold fowl and ham, liquified with nothing better than claret, burgundy, and the small solace derivable from the best brandy, mixed with filtrated water in most praiseworthy moderation.
At three o’clock we had theJean Bartperfectly in sight, and we could, from the foreyard, observe well the motions of those on deck. The master was broiling his very red nose over his sextant in the forestay sail netting, when it was reported that the Frenchman was getting aft his two long brass bow chasers; and in half an hour after, we had the report from the said brass bellowers themselves, followed by the whistling of the shot, one wide of the ship, but the other smack through our foresail, and which must have passed very near the nose of our respectable master.
Most of the officers, myself with the rest, were standing on the forecastle. Though not the first shot that I had seen fired in anger, it certainly was the first that had ever hissed by me. This first salute is always a memorable epoch in the life of a soldier or sailor. By the rent the shot made in the foresail, it could not have passed more than two yards directly over my head. I was taken by surprise. Everybody knows that the rushing that the shot makes is excessively loud. As the illustrious stranger came on board with so much pomp and ceremony, I, from the impulse of pure courtesy, could not do otherwise than bow to it; for which act of politeness the first-lieutenant gave me a very considerably tingling box of the ear.
My angry looks, my clenched fists, and my threatening attitude, told him plainly that it was no want of spirit that made me duck to the shot. Just as I was passionately exclaiming, “Sir—I—I—I—” Captain Reud put his hand gently on my shoulder, and said, “Mr Rattlin, what are you about? Mr Farmer, that blow was not deserved. I, sir,” said he, drawing himself up proudly, “ducked to the first shot. Many a fine fellow that has bobbed to the first has stood out gallantly to the last. What could you expect, Mr Farmer, from such a mere boy? And to strike him! Fie upon it! That blow, if the lad had weak nerves, though his spirit were as brave as Nelson’s, and as noble as your namesake’s, that foul blow might have cowed him for ever.”
“They are getting ready to fire again,” was now reported from the foreyard.
“Here, Rattlin,” continued the captain, “take my glass, seat yourself upon the hammock-cloths, and tell me if you can make out what they are about.”
Two flashes, smoke, and then the rushing of the shot, followed by the loud and ringing report of the brass guns, and of the reverberation of metal, was heard immediately beneath me. One of the shot had struck the fluke of the anchor in the fore-chains.
“There, Mr Farmer,” said the captain exultingly, “did you mark that? I knew it—I knew it, sir. He neither moved nor flinched—even the long tube that he held to his eye never quivered for an instant. Oh! Mr Farmer, if you have the generous heart I give you credit for, never, never again strike a younker for bobbing at the first, or even the fifth shot.”
“I was wrong, sir,” was the humble reply; “I am sorry that I should have given you occasion to make thispublicreprimand.”
“No, Farmer,” said the little Creole very kindly; “I did not mean to reprimand, only to remonstrate. The severest reprimand was given you by Mr Rattlin himself.”
I could at that moment have hugged the little yellow-skinned captain, wicked as I knew him to be, and stood unmoved the fire of the grape of a twenty-gun battery.
But was I not really frightened at the whistling of the shot?
Yes; a little.
Chapter Forty Two.It’s well to have a long spoon when one sips soup with the Devil—The captain’s shot seldom misses.It is always a greater proof of courage to stand fire coolly than to fire. Captain Reud, I must suppose, wished to try the degree of intrepidity of his officers, by permitting the chase to give us several weighty objections against any more advance of familiarity on our parts. A quarter of a century ago there were some very strange notions prevalent in the navy, among which none was more common, than that the firing of the bow gunsmateriallychecked the speed of the vessel. The captain and the first-lieutenant both held this opinion. Thus we continued to gain upon the corvette, and she, being emboldened by the impunity with which she cannonaded us, fired the more rapidly and with the greater precision, as our rent sails and ravelled running rigging began to testify.I was rather impatient at this apparent apathy on our parts. Mr Burn, the gunner, seemed to more than participate in my feelings. Our two bow-guns were very imposing-looking magnates. They would deliver a message at three miles’ distance, though it were no less than a missive of eighteen pounds avoirdupois; and we were now barely within half that distance. Mr Burn was particularly excellent at two things—a long shot, and the long bow. In all the ships that I have sailed, I never yet met with his equal at a cool, embellished, intrepid lie, or at the accuracy of his ball practice. Baron Munchausen would have found no mean rival in him at the former; and, were duels fought with eighteen pounders, Lord Camelford would have been remarkably polite in the company of our master of projectiles.I was upon the point of writing that Mr Burn wasburningwith ardour. I see it written—it is something worse than a pun—therefore,per omnes modos et casus—heretical and damnable—consequently I beg the reader to consign it to the oblivion with which we cover our bad actions, and read thus:— The gunner was burning with impatience to show the captain what a valuable officer he commanded. The two guns had long been ready, and, with the lanyard of the lock in his right hand, and the rim of his glazed hat in his left, he was continually saying, “shall I give her a shot now, Captain Reud?”The answer was as provokingly tautologous as a member of parliament’s speech, who is in aid of the whipper-in, speaking against time. “Wait a little, Mr Burn.”“Well, Mr Rattlin,” said the fat doctor, blowing himself up to me, “so you have been knighted—on the field of battle, too—knight banneret of the order of the light bobs.”I was standing with the captain’s glass to my eye, looking over the hammocks. In order to get near me he had been obliged to cling hold of the hammock rails with both hands, so that his huge, round, red face, just peeped above the tarpaulin hammock cloths, his chin resting upon them, no bad type of an angry sun showing his face above the rim of a black cloud, through a London November fog.“Take care doctor,” I sang out, for I had seen the flashings of the enemy’s guns.“Light bobs,” said the jeering doctor; when away flew the upper part of his hat, and down he dropped on the deck, on that part which nature seems to have purposely padded in order to make the fall of man easy.“No light bob, however,” said I.The doctor arose, rubbing with an assiduity that strongly reminded me of my old schoolmaster, Mr Root.“To your station, doctor,” said the captain, harshly.“Spoilt a good hat in trying to make a bad joke;” and he shuffled himself below.“Your gig, Captain Reud, cut all to shivers,” said a petty officer.This was the unkindest cut of all. As we were approaching Barbados, the captain had caused his very handsome gig to be hoisted in from over the stern, placed on the thwarts of the launch, and it had been in that position only the day before, very elaborately painted. The irritated commander seized hold of the lanyard of one of the eighteen pounders, exclaiming, at the same time, “Mr Burn, when you have got your sight, fire!”The two pieces of artillery simultaneously roared out their thunders, the smoke was driven aft immediately, and down toppled the three topmasts of the corvette. The falling of those masts was a beautiful sight. They did not rush down impetuously, but stooped themselves gradually and gracefully, with all their clouds of canvas. A swan in mid air, with her drooping wings broken by a shot, slowly descending, might give you some idea of the view. But after the descent of the multitudinous sails, the beauty was wholly destroyed. Where before there careered gallantly and triumphantly before the gale a noble ship, now nothing but a wreck appeared painfully to trail along laboriously its tattered and degraded ruins.“What do you think of that shot, Mr Farmer?” said the little captain, all exultation. “Pray, Mr Rattlin, where did Mr Burn’s shot fall?”“Oneof the shot struck the water about half a mile to port, sir,” said I, for I was still at my post watching the proceedings.“O Mr Burn! Mr Burn! what could you be about? It is really shameful to throw away his Majesty’s shot in that manner. Oh, Mr Burn!” said the captain, more in pity than in anger.Mr Burn looked ridiculously foolish.“O Mr Burn!” said I, “is this all you can show to justify your bragging?”“If ever I fire a shot with the captain again,” said the mortified gunner, “may I be rammed, crammed, and jammed in a mortar, and blown to atoms.”In the space of a quarter of an hour we were alongside of theJean Bart. She mounted twenty-two guns, was crowded with a dirty crew, and, after taking out most of them, and sending plenty of hands on board, in two hours more we had got up her spare top-masts.Before dark, everything appeared to be as if nothing had occurred, with the exception of the captain’s gig and the doctor’s hat; and hauling our wind, in company with our prize, we made sail towards that quarter in which we had left our convoy.At daylight next morning, we found ourselves again with our convoy. Mr Silva had recaptured the four vessels taken by the felucca. TheFalconhove in sight about mid-day. She had chased the felucca well, to windward, when the immense large schooner had intruded herself as a third in the party, and she and the felucca, as well as I could understand, had united, and gave the man-of-war brig a pretty considerable tarnation licking, as brother Jonathan hath it.She certainly made a very shattered appearance, and had lost several men. However, in the official letter of the commander to Captain Reud, all this was satisfactorily explained. He had beaten both, and they had struck; but owing to night coming on before he could take possession of them, they had most infamously escaped in the darkness. However, it did not much signify, as they were now, having struck, lawful prizes to any English vessel that could lay hold of them. I thought at the time that there was no doubt ofthat.The next day we made the land. The low island of Barbados had the appearance of a highly-cultivated garden, and the green look, so refreshing in a hot country, and so dear to me, as it reminded me of England.
It is always a greater proof of courage to stand fire coolly than to fire. Captain Reud, I must suppose, wished to try the degree of intrepidity of his officers, by permitting the chase to give us several weighty objections against any more advance of familiarity on our parts. A quarter of a century ago there were some very strange notions prevalent in the navy, among which none was more common, than that the firing of the bow gunsmateriallychecked the speed of the vessel. The captain and the first-lieutenant both held this opinion. Thus we continued to gain upon the corvette, and she, being emboldened by the impunity with which she cannonaded us, fired the more rapidly and with the greater precision, as our rent sails and ravelled running rigging began to testify.
I was rather impatient at this apparent apathy on our parts. Mr Burn, the gunner, seemed to more than participate in my feelings. Our two bow-guns were very imposing-looking magnates. They would deliver a message at three miles’ distance, though it were no less than a missive of eighteen pounds avoirdupois; and we were now barely within half that distance. Mr Burn was particularly excellent at two things—a long shot, and the long bow. In all the ships that I have sailed, I never yet met with his equal at a cool, embellished, intrepid lie, or at the accuracy of his ball practice. Baron Munchausen would have found no mean rival in him at the former; and, were duels fought with eighteen pounders, Lord Camelford would have been remarkably polite in the company of our master of projectiles.
I was upon the point of writing that Mr Burn wasburningwith ardour. I see it written—it is something worse than a pun—therefore,per omnes modos et casus—heretical and damnable—consequently I beg the reader to consign it to the oblivion with which we cover our bad actions, and read thus:— The gunner was burning with impatience to show the captain what a valuable officer he commanded. The two guns had long been ready, and, with the lanyard of the lock in his right hand, and the rim of his glazed hat in his left, he was continually saying, “shall I give her a shot now, Captain Reud?”
The answer was as provokingly tautologous as a member of parliament’s speech, who is in aid of the whipper-in, speaking against time. “Wait a little, Mr Burn.”
“Well, Mr Rattlin,” said the fat doctor, blowing himself up to me, “so you have been knighted—on the field of battle, too—knight banneret of the order of the light bobs.”
I was standing with the captain’s glass to my eye, looking over the hammocks. In order to get near me he had been obliged to cling hold of the hammock rails with both hands, so that his huge, round, red face, just peeped above the tarpaulin hammock cloths, his chin resting upon them, no bad type of an angry sun showing his face above the rim of a black cloud, through a London November fog.
“Take care doctor,” I sang out, for I had seen the flashings of the enemy’s guns.
“Light bobs,” said the jeering doctor; when away flew the upper part of his hat, and down he dropped on the deck, on that part which nature seems to have purposely padded in order to make the fall of man easy.
“No light bob, however,” said I.
The doctor arose, rubbing with an assiduity that strongly reminded me of my old schoolmaster, Mr Root.
“To your station, doctor,” said the captain, harshly.
“Spoilt a good hat in trying to make a bad joke;” and he shuffled himself below.
“Your gig, Captain Reud, cut all to shivers,” said a petty officer.
This was the unkindest cut of all. As we were approaching Barbados, the captain had caused his very handsome gig to be hoisted in from over the stern, placed on the thwarts of the launch, and it had been in that position only the day before, very elaborately painted. The irritated commander seized hold of the lanyard of one of the eighteen pounders, exclaiming, at the same time, “Mr Burn, when you have got your sight, fire!”
The two pieces of artillery simultaneously roared out their thunders, the smoke was driven aft immediately, and down toppled the three topmasts of the corvette. The falling of those masts was a beautiful sight. They did not rush down impetuously, but stooped themselves gradually and gracefully, with all their clouds of canvas. A swan in mid air, with her drooping wings broken by a shot, slowly descending, might give you some idea of the view. But after the descent of the multitudinous sails, the beauty was wholly destroyed. Where before there careered gallantly and triumphantly before the gale a noble ship, now nothing but a wreck appeared painfully to trail along laboriously its tattered and degraded ruins.
“What do you think of that shot, Mr Farmer?” said the little captain, all exultation. “Pray, Mr Rattlin, where did Mr Burn’s shot fall?”
“Oneof the shot struck the water about half a mile to port, sir,” said I, for I was still at my post watching the proceedings.
“O Mr Burn! Mr Burn! what could you be about? It is really shameful to throw away his Majesty’s shot in that manner. Oh, Mr Burn!” said the captain, more in pity than in anger.
Mr Burn looked ridiculously foolish.
“O Mr Burn!” said I, “is this all you can show to justify your bragging?”
“If ever I fire a shot with the captain again,” said the mortified gunner, “may I be rammed, crammed, and jammed in a mortar, and blown to atoms.”
In the space of a quarter of an hour we were alongside of theJean Bart. She mounted twenty-two guns, was crowded with a dirty crew, and, after taking out most of them, and sending plenty of hands on board, in two hours more we had got up her spare top-masts.
Before dark, everything appeared to be as if nothing had occurred, with the exception of the captain’s gig and the doctor’s hat; and hauling our wind, in company with our prize, we made sail towards that quarter in which we had left our convoy.
At daylight next morning, we found ourselves again with our convoy. Mr Silva had recaptured the four vessels taken by the felucca. TheFalconhove in sight about mid-day. She had chased the felucca well, to windward, when the immense large schooner had intruded herself as a third in the party, and she and the felucca, as well as I could understand, had united, and gave the man-of-war brig a pretty considerable tarnation licking, as brother Jonathan hath it.
She certainly made a very shattered appearance, and had lost several men. However, in the official letter of the commander to Captain Reud, all this was satisfactorily explained. He had beaten both, and they had struck; but owing to night coming on before he could take possession of them, they had most infamously escaped in the darkness. However, it did not much signify, as they were now, having struck, lawful prizes to any English vessel that could lay hold of them. I thought at the time that there was no doubt ofthat.
The next day we made the land. The low island of Barbados had the appearance of a highly-cultivated garden, and the green look, so refreshing in a hot country, and so dear to me, as it reminded me of England.