ETHELSTON’S FURTHER ADVENTURES AT SEA, AND HOW HE BECAME CAPTOR AND
CAPTIVE IN A VERY SHORT SPACE OF TIME.
It seemed almost miraculous that not a man on The Pride of the Ohio
was killed by the frigate’s broadside; nor was one wounded, excepting
Ethelston, who received a slight hurt in the left arm from a splinter;
but he paid no attention to it, and calmly gave all the requisite
orders for repairing the damaged spars and rigging.
As soon as all was made snug, he let the men go below to dinner; and
leaning over the shivered bulwarks of his little craft, seemed busily
employed in counting the shot that had struck her; but his eyes were
for a time fixed upon the water, through which she was cutting her easy
way, and his thoughts were afar off, as he whispered almost audibly to
himself, “Dear, dear Lucy—your namesake is wounded and disfigured, but
she is not disgraced. Thank Heaven, no Frenchman’s foot has yet trodden
her deck, and—“
Here he was interrupted by Gregson, who having been carefully observing
the frigate through his glass, came up to him, and said, “Beg pardon,
sir; but she is getting ready her boats, and the breeze is failing
fast; in another hour we shall have scarce a cat’s paw.”
Ethelston started from his short reverie, and immediately convinced
himself that the mate spoke the truth: “You are right,” said he, “but
we have a good hour to spare, for the frigate is nearly becalmed.
Let the men have their dinner quietly, say nothing to them about the
matter, and give ‘em an extra glass of grog; but no drunkenness,
Gregson; they may want the full use of their heads and hands to–night;
send Cupid to my cabin, and tell him to bring me a slice of cold meat
and a glass of Madeira.”
So saying, he went below: the mate looked after him, and turning his
quid three or four times in his cheek, he muttered, “Damme if he makes
any more count of the frigate’s guns or boats than a bear does of a
bee–hive! They spoilt as good a commodore as ever stept a deck when
they made a trading–skipper of him!” Having vented this characteristic
encomium on his young commander, the old seaman went forward to execute
his orders.
Meanwhile Ethelston, consulting his chart, found that the reefs and
shoals, as laid down, rendered the navigation of the coast extremely
dangerous, even for the light draught of his brig; having only allowed
himself a few minutes for refreshment, he again went on deck, and
observing the frigate still becalmed, he ordered the mate to shorten
sail, take soundings, and to desire the carpenter to make a report of
the leakage, or any other serious injury sustained by the frigate’s
shot.
During this time L’Estrange was not idle on board The Epervier. Nettled
at the successful trick played upon him, he resolved as the breeze
gradually died away to capture the chase with his boats: for this duty
the launch and the pinnace were assigned: the former had a carronade
and twenty–five hands, and was commanded by his son; the latter had
a swivel, and thirteen hands, commanded by a junior lieutenant. The
object of L’Estrange being to prevent an unnecessary effusion of blood,
by sending a force strong enough to render resistance hopeless on the
part of what he called a dirty little sugar–boat. The crew of The
Pride of Ohio, elated by the success of their captain’s manœuvre, and
exhilarated by the extra grog served out, were in high good humour, and
laughing over the events of the morning with reckless merriment, when
they received an order from Ethelston to come aft. On their obeying the
summons, he again addressed them as follows:—
“My lads, you have thus far done your duty like men; but our work is
not yet over. The Epervier is determined to sink or capture our little
craft; she is now getting out her boats for that service: if we resist,
we shall have warm work of it; if we strike without a fight, we may rot
in a French dungeon. Again I ask you, my lads, will you stick by The
Pride, and hurrah for home, or a sailor’s grave?”
A hearty and simultaneous cheer from the crew was the only reply.
“I knew it, my lads,” continued Ethelston, his countenance, usually so
calm, now glowing with enthusiasm; “I knew that you would not desert
her while she could float! It is now my duty to tell you that she has
received two awkward shots just between wind and water line, and that
she leaks apace. We must stop them as well as we may; but be prepared
for the boats from The Epervier;—they shall at least buy us a dear
bargain!”
Ethelston now called the mate, and gave him full instructions for
the plan of defence from the expected attack. The long gun and the
carronades were got ready and loaded, the former with round shot, the
latter with grape; small arms and cutlasses were served out to the
men, and the deck cleared of every thing that might impede them in
the approaching struggle. Meantime Ethelston ordered to be hoisted a
new ensign, given to the brig by Lucy, and said to be partly worked
by her own fair fingers. As soon as it was run up, he sent aloft a
boy, with orders to nail it to the mast–head, which was done amid the
repeated cheers of the crew. They were not long kept in suspense: the
breeze had died away; the flapping sails and creaking yards gave the
usual sullen indications of a calm, when the boats from The Epervier
advanced at a steady and measured stroke towards the brig. Ethelston
gave the long gun to the charge of Gregson, reserving to himself that
of the carronades; he issued also special orders not to fire, under any
circumstances, until he gave the word, or, in case he fell, until they
received the order from Gregson, who would succeed him in the command.
During all these preparations, Cupid appeared indifferent to what was
passing, and continued busily occupied with his pots and pans in the
caboose. This conduct caused some little surprise in Ethelston, who
knew that the black was not the stupid, phlegmatic character that
he now seemed; and he accordingly sent Gregson to inquire whether,
in the event of an attack from the frigate’s boats, he meant to
fight?—desiring the mate at the same time to offer him a cutlass.
The African grinned when he received this message, and replied that
he meant to do his best. He declined, however, the proffered cutlass,
informing the mate, that he had got a toasting–fork of his own, ready
for the mounseers; as he said this, he showed him the fragment of a
capstan–bar, the end of which he had sharpened and burnt hard in the
hot cinders: it was an unwieldy kind of club, and in the hands of an
ordinary man, could have been but of little service; but his gigantic
strength enabled him to wield it like a common cudgel. The truth is,
that Cupid would have preferred being armed with cutlass and pistol,
both of which he could use as well as any man on board; but he had tact
enough to know that the prejudice against his colour forbad his taking
his place on deck among the other defenders of the vessel.
The boats being now within hail, Lieutenant L’Estrange stood up in the
launch and ordered the brig to strike her colours and receive him on
board. Finding this order unheeded, he repeated it through the trumpet
in a sterner tone, adding that, if not immediately obeyed, he should
fire upon her. Not a man stirred on board the brig, neither was any
reply made to the lieutenant, who forthwith discharged the contents of
his carronade into her hull, by which one man was killed dead, and two
were wounded by splinters; he then desired his men to pull hard for
the brig to board her, while others had orders to fire small arms at
all whom they could see above the bulwarks. The boats had approached
within fifty yards before Ethelston gave the word to fire. Gregson
pointed the long gun upon the smaller boat with so true an aim that
the heavy shot went clean through her, and she filled and went down
in a few minutes, the survivors of her crew being picked up by the
launch. Meanwhile, Ethelston fired a volley of grape into the latter
with terrible effect, several being killed on the spot, and many of
the remainder severely wounded. Nothing daunted by this murderous
fire, the gallant young lieutenant held on his way to the brig, and
again discharging his carronade at the distance of only a few yards,
her timbers were fearfully rent, and amidst the smoke and confusion
thereby created, he and his crew scrambled up her sides to board.
The combat was now hand to hand; nor was it very unequal, so many of
the Frenchmen having been killed and wounded in the boats; they were
strong enough, however, to make good their footing on deck, and inch
by inch they forced back the crew of the brig. Ethelston fought with
the courage of a lion; his voice was heard above the din of the fray,
animating his men; and several of the boldest of the enemy had already
felt the edge of his cutlass. Nor was young L’Estrange less gallant in
his attack; and his followers being more numerous than their opponents,
drove them back gradually by main force. It was at this moment that
Cupid, who had hitherto remained unnoticed in his caboose, thought
fit to commence his operations; which he did by throwing a great pan
of greasy boiling water over three or four of the assailants, and
then laying about him with his huge club, which felled a man almost
at every blow. The excruciating pain occasioned by the hot liquid,
together with the consternation produced by this unexpected attack in
their rear, completed the dismay of the Frenchmen. At this crisis young
L’Estrange slipped and fell on the deck: Gregson, bestriding him, was
about to dispatch him; when Ethelston, who was already bleeding from
a severe cutlass wound in the forehead, rushed forward to save him;
but the infuriated youth, perhaps mistaking his intention, drew his
last remaining pistol, and fired with so true an aim, that Ethelston’s
left arm fell powerless at his side. A flush of anger came over his
countenance; but seeing Gregson again raising his hand to dispatch
the young officer, he again interposed, and desired the mate to spare
him,—an order which the seaman reluctantly obeyed.
Ethelston now entreated L’Estrange to give up his sword, and to save
further bloodshed; and the young man, seeing that his followers were
mostly overpowered and wounded, presented it with a countenance in
which grief and shame were blended with indignation. “Stay,” said
Ethelston; “before I receive your sword, the conditions on which I
receive it are, that you give your parole, that neither you nor any
one of your men shall bear arms against the United States during the
continuance of this war, whether you and I are recaptured or not; and
the launch becomes my prize.”
To these terms the youth assented, and ordered such of his men as
were not quite disabled, to lay down their arms. In a few minutes,
all who were unhurt were busily engaged in tending the dying and
wounded. Fortunately an assistant–surgeon, who had volunteered on this
service from the frigate, was among those unhurt, and he set about his
professional duties with as much alacrity as if he had been in the ward
of an hospital. Cupid retreated quietly to his caboose, and Ethelston
continued giving his orders with the same clearness and decision that
had marked his whole conduct. Young L’Estrange looked over the brig’s
low sides into the water: his heart was too full for utterance; and
his captor, with considerate kindness, abstained from addressing him.
The surgeon, observing that the blood still flowed from the wound on
Ethelston’s forehead, and that his left arm hung at his side, now
came and offered his services. Thanking him courteously, he replied,
smiling, “I took my chance of wounds on equal terms with those brave
fellows, and I will take my chance of cure on equal terms also; when
you have attended to all those who are more seriously hurt, I shall be
happy to avail myself of your skill.”
The surgeon bowed and withdrew. An audible groan burst from the
unhappy L’Estrange; but still he spoke not; and Ethelston held a brief
consultation with his mate and the carpenter, the result of which was,
an order given to the former, in a low tone of voice, “to prepare
immediately, and to send Cupid to him in the cabin.”
As he was going down, L’Estrange came to him, and asked him,
confusedly, and with an averted countenance, if he might speak to him
alone for a minute. Ethelston begged him to follow him into his cabin,
when, having shut the door, he said, “Mr. L’Estrange, we are alone,
pray speak; is there any thing in which I can serve you?”
The youth gazed on him for a moment, in an agony that could not yet
find relief in words, and then falling on the floor, burst into a
flood of tears. Ethelston was moved and surprised at this violent
grief in one whom he had so lately seen under the influence of pride
and passion. Taking him kindly by the hand, he said, “Pray compose
yourself! these are misfortunes to which all brave men are liable. You
did all that a gallant officer could do;—success is at the disposal of
a higher power; you will meet it another day.”
“Never, never!” said the young lieutenant, vehemently; “the loss of
my boat is nothing; the failure of our attack is nothing; but I am a
dishonoured coward, and Heaven itself cannot restore a tainted honour!”
“Nay, nay,” replied Ethelston; “you must not say so. I maintain that
you and your crew fought gallantly till every hope of success was
gone—the bravest can do no more!”
“You are blindly generous,” said the youth passionately; “you _will_
not understand me! When every hope was gone—when I lay at the mercy
of your mate’s cutlass—you sprang forward to save my life. I, like
a savage—a monster—a coward, as I am,—fired and tried to kill
you;—even then, without a word of anger or reproach, you, although
wounded by my pistol, again interposed, and saved me from the death I
deserved. Oh, would that I had died an hundred deaths rather than have
lived to such disgrace!”
And again the unhappy young officer buried his face in his hands, while
his whole frame still trembled convulsively with grief. Ethelston used
every exertion to soothe and allay his agitation. He assured him that
the wound he had received was not serious, that the pistol was fired
under a strong excitement, and in the turmoil of a bloody fray, when
no man’s thoughts are sufficiently collected to regulate his conduct;
and he forgave him so freely, and mingled his forgiveness with so
many expressions of kindness and esteem, that he succeeded at length
in restoring him to a certain degree of composure. Nothing, however,
would satisfy L’Estrange but that he should have his wounds instantly
dressed; and he ran himself and summoned the surgeon, resolving to be
present at the operation.
When Ethelston’s clothes were removed, it appeared that, besides a
few flesh–cuts, of no great consequence, he had received two severe
shot wounds: one from a musket–ball, which had sunk deep into the
left shoulder; the other from L’Estrange’s pistol, by which the bone
of the left arm was broken. The latter was soon set and bandaged; but
the ball could not be extracted from the former, either because the
surgeon’s skill was not equal to the task, or from his not having with
him the instruments requisite for the operation. As soon as this was
over, Ethelston dismissed the surgeon; and turning good–humouredly to
L’Estrange he said, “Now, my young friend, I want your assistance. I
must lose no time in putting all our men aboard the launch, and taking
in as many stores and necessaries as she will hold, for this brig is
doomed; your swivel and the frigate’s guns have finished her; she is
fast settling down, and in a couple of hours I expect her to sink.”
“On my word, sir,” said L’Estrange, “you will pardon me if I say that
you are the strangest gentleman that I ever yet knew to command a
trading brig! You out–manœuvre a frigate, capture her boats, fight as
if you had done nothing but fight all your life, sit as quiet under
that surgeon’s probes and tortures as if you were eating your dinner,
and now talk calmly of scuttling your brig, for which you have run all
these risks!”
“It is my philosophy, Monsieur L’Estrange. I tried first to get away
without fighting; when that was impossible, I fought as well as I
could. What has happened since, and what is yet to come, I bear as well
as I can! All that I ask of you is, to keep your fellows in order, and
make them assist mine in removing the wounded and the requisite stores
on board the launch.” So saying, and again saluting his prisoner, he
went on deck.
Though he struggled thus manfully against his emotion, it was with a
heavy heart that Ethelston prepared to bid a final adieu to his little
vessel, which he loved much for her own sake,—more perhaps for the
name she bore. While giving the necessary orders for this melancholy
duty, his attention was called by Gregson to a sail that was coming
up with the light evening breeze astern. One look through the glass
sufficed to show him that she hoisted French colours; and L’Estrange,
who now came on deck, immediately knew her to be The Hirondelle,—an
armed cutter, that acted on this cruise as a tender to The Epervier.
A momentary glow overspread the countenance of Ethelston, as he felt
that resistance was hopeless, and that in another hour his brig would
be sunk, and his brave crew prisoners. But being too proud to allow
the French officer to see his emotion, he controlled it by a powerful
effort, and continued to give his orders with his accustomed coolness
and precision.
Though young L’Estrange’s heart beat high at this sudden and
unlooked–for deliverance, he could not forbear his admiration at his
captor’s self–possession; and his own joy was damped by the remembrance
of that portion of his own conduct which he had so deeply lamented, and
also of the parole he had given, not to bear arms again during the
war. Meantime the removal of the men, the stores, the provisions, and
papers from the brig went on with the greatest order and despatch.
Ethelston was the last to leave her: previous to his doing so, he made
the carpenter knock out the oakum and other temporary plugs with which
he had stopped the leaks, being determined that she should not fall
into the hands of the French. This being completed, the launch shoved
off; and while pulling heavily for the shore, the crew looked in gloomy
silence at their ill–fated brig. Ethelston was almost unmanned; for his
heart and his thoughts were on Ohio’s banks, and he could not separate
the recollections of Lucy from the untimely fate of her favourite
vessel. He gazed until his sight and brain grew dizzy; he fancied that
he saw Lucy’s form on the deck of the brig, and that she stretched her
arms to him for aid. Even while he thus looked, the waters poured fast
into their victim. She settled,—sunk; and in a few minutes scarce a
bubble on their surface told where The Pride of Ohio had gone down!
A groan burst from Ethelston’s bosom. Nature could no longer endure
the accumulated weight of fatigue and intense pain occasioned by his
wounds: he sunk down insensible in the boat, and when he recovered his
senses, found himself a prisoner on board The Hirondelle.
Great had been the surprise of the lieutenant who commanded her at the
disappearance of the brig which he had been sent to secure; and greater
still at the condition of the persons found on board the launch. His
inquiries were answered by young L’Estrange with obvious reluctance: so
having paid the last melancholy duties to the dead, and afforded all
the assistance in his power to the wounded, he put about the cutter,
and made sail for The Epervier.
As soon as young L’Estrange found himself on the frigate’s deck, he
asked for an immediate and private audience of his father, to whom he
detailed without reserve all the circumstances of the late expedition.
He concluded his narration with the warmest praises of Ethelston’s
courage, conduct, and humanity, while he repeated that bitter censure
of his own behaviour which he had before expressed on board The Pride
of Ohio. The gallant old captain, though mortified at the failure of
the enterprise and the loss of men that he had sustained, could not
but appreciate the candour, and feel for the mortification of his
favourite son; and he readily promised that Ethelston should be treated
with the greatest care and kindness, and that the most favourable
terms, consistent with his duty, should be offered to the prisoners.
Young L’Estrange gave up his own berth to Ethelston, whose severe
sufferings had been succeeded by a weakness and lethargy, yet more
dangerous. The surgeon was ordered to attend him; and his care was
extended to all the wounded, without distinction of country.
After a few days, Captain L’Estrange determined to exchange Gregson,
the mate, and the remainder of the brig’s crew, for some French
prisoners lately taken by an American privateer: they were accordingly
placed for that purpose on board the cutter, and sent to New Orleans.
Young L’Estrange having learned from the mate the address of Colonel
Brandon, and his connection with Ethelston, wrote him a letter, in
which he mentioned the latter in the highest and most affectionate
terms, assuring the Colonel that he should be treated as if he were
his own brother; and that, although the danger arising from his wounds
rendered it absolutely necessary that he should return to Guadaloupe
with the frigate, his friends might rely upon his being tended with the
same care as if he had been at home. Cupid, at his own urgent entreaty,
remained with his master, taking charge of all his private baggage and
papers.
We need not follow the fate of the cutter any further than to say that
she reached her destination in safety; that the proposed exchange was
effected, and the prisoners restored to their respective homes.
The surgeon on board The Epervier succeeded at length in taking out
the ball lodged in Ethelston’s shoulder; and when they arrived at
Guadaloupe, he pronounced his patient out of danger, but enjoined the
strictest quiet and confinement, till his recovery should be further
advanced. The ardent young L’Estrange no sooner reached home than he
prevailed on his father to receive Ethelston into his own house. He
painted to his sister Nina, a girl of seventeen, the sufferings and
the heroism of their guest in the most glowing colours; he made her
prepare for him the most refreshing and restoring beverages; he watched
for hours at the side of his couch; in short, he lavished upon him all
those marks of affection with which a hasty and generous nature loves
to make reparation for a wrong. In all these attentions and endeavours,
he was warmly seconded by Nina, who made her brother repeat more than
once the narrative of the defence and subsequent loss of the brig. How
Ethelston’s recovery proceeded under the care of the brother and sister
shall be told in another chapter.