"WOULD HE EVER COME AGAIN?"
"A sailor's life's the life for me,
He takes his duty merrily;
If bullets whistle, Jack can sing,
Still faithful to his friend and king."
DIBDIN.
Jack was right about love and "the creel," or rather, I should say, the
old song is right,--
"Mickle lighter is the boat
When love bears up the creel."
For the next three months the swift _Tonneraire_ was here, there, and
everywhere--except in England. She cruised much farther south, and
chiefly along the coast of France, and seldom put into harbour except to
cut out some merchantman, snugly ensconced, perhaps, under the guns of a
fort, and deeming herself in a very safe position. It was,
unfortunately for her, the feeling of security that proved her ruin.
Three or four several times did the _Tonneraire_ thus prove herself a
crack ship. A crack ship with a crack crew and officers, remember; for
the best of ships is but a drone unless well managed. Not even a drone,
indeed; for a drone is a most duty-full bee, and a most respectable
member of the apiarian republic. There is a vast deal of very
indifferent music in the very best of fiddles, and I feel quite
convinced that had some less active officer commanded even the
_Tonneraire_, he would have had little to show at the end of his cruise.
In his daring cutting-out expeditions Jack had been invariably
successful. First and foremost he chased the vessel, and failing to
overhaul her, he bore away seawards again, as if he had given up all
hope, she perhaps taking refuge under the guns of a fort. But although
he might sail out of sight of land, soon as the shades of evening began
to fall the _Tonneraire_ came round. Then all depended on cleverness and
pluck.
The _Ferdinand_ was a gun-brig that, on the morning of the 12th of June
'97, had saucily fired at the _Tonneraire_, then shown her a clean pair
of heels. She was near to the port of T----, so could afford to be
insolent. Jack sent a fifty-six pound shot tearing through her rigging,
without doing much damage, on which the _Ferdinand_ fired again from her
stern. Only a puff of white smoke, only a ten-pound shot, with a sound
withal like that of a boy's pop-gun. But it was enough. Jack's Highland
blood was up; and he said to M'Hearty, who was near him on the poop,
"I'll have her, if only for her insolence."
M'Hearty laughed. It was not polite; but he couldn't help it. For the
doctor and captain of the _Tonneraire_ were the dearest friends.
"You've been much livelier and happier within this last month or two,"
said M'Hearty. "Tell me, sir, are you in love?"
"What would you do if I were?"
"Nothing, Captain Jack. I've got pills to cure melancholy; but for love,
well, I never had it myself, so I shouldn't know what to do. But--may
you be happy."
It was very dark that night when the _Tonneraire_ stole silently back.
She hauled her main-yard aback, and five armed boats, under command of
Tom, were despatched to cut the saucy Frenchman out. The oars were
muffled, and there was not a glimmer of light permitted to shine
anywhere about the ship.
The captain of marines and Murray both went in different boats, and on
this occasion M'Hearty himself. The great fellow said he wanted to
stretch his legs and swing his arms about a bit.
"Don't get shot, anyhow, doctor," said Jack.
"My clear Captain Mackenzie, I'm positively bulletproof."
Young Murray was in high glee. He put on white gloves for the occasion.
M'Hearty left his sword on board, and his coat and hat, and positively
entered the boat bareheaded, in his shirt sleeves, and armed with a
cutlass.
"Nobody will see me," he said to Jack.
"I'll be bound they'll feel you," laughed the captain of marines.
This was as pretty a cutting-out action as ever I have heard of.
Feeling sure of their safety, the Frenchmen were careless in their
watch. The officers were wining and playing cards down below, when
suddenly there was a shout, and a rattle and bump and rush. Hardly had
the bugle, that awakened echoes from the walls of the fort, sung out to
summon the crew to repel boarders, ere our fine fellows were on board.
Stern was the resistance made, however, to the British tars. Big
M'Hearty had boarded on the port-bow, and came flailing away aft. He
knew nothing of sword-exercise, but simply grasped the cutlass, a huge
one, by both hands, and hammered away in old Highland fashion. But a
Frenchman fell at every blow.
Murray fought like a little lion, but was knocked under a gun, and lay
like a dead thing till all the fight was over, and long after.
Yes, they were victorious.
"Better go back to your cards and wine," shouted M'Hearty, as he drove
the last officer down below.
Meanwhile, will it be believed, the fort opened fire on their own brig.
Tom caused every light at once to be extinguished. Then sail was set,
and though the brig was struck over and over with round shot, again they
managed to cut her out. As she got fairly under way, our fellows
returned a cheer of defiance to the fort, and just one gun was fired by
way of farewell.
The capture had not been without mishap. Two of our men were killed
outright, and about ten, including Murray, were wounded.
At first it was thought the sprightly young officer was dead, but soon
after being carried on board his own ship, he opened his eyes, stared
wildly around him for a few moments, then sank again into insensibility.
He had been merely stunned.
This made the third time Murray had come to grief in action.
"It was always the same," he said, "even when I was a little fellow; I
never could fight without getting a bad black eye. Just my luck."
The brig was manned by a prize crew, half the Froggies, as our Jacks
carelessly called them, being taken on board the man-o'-war. These were
started for England a day or two afterwards, in a gun-brig of ours which
was fallen in with homeward bound.
The _Ferdinand_ was sent home, a midshipman being in charge as captain,
and a happy lad was he. But long before he reached England this same
gun-brig was recaptured by the French, and this same middy, prize crew
and all, made prisoners. He was not so happy then! only this is the
fortune of war.
Jack Mackenzie used to boast that the _Tonneraire_ carried the smartest
lot of midshipmen that the service could boast of. They were indeed a
fine lot, not midship_mites_ but midship_men_; for some indeed had
been, for acts of valour, promoted from gunners or boatswains.
It needed all their strength and courage to fight the battle I shall now
briefly describe.
Everything, it is said, is fair in love and war. I do not know about the
love, but I am certain about the war. It is the aim and object of any
one nation carrying on war with another, not only to destroy the
war-ships of the enemy, but to sink and burn her vessels of commerce
wherever found. In this memorable cruise of Jack Mackenzie's, then, he
was ever on the outlook for a sail or sails. The _Tonneraire_ was as
fleet as the wind. If, then, a man-o'-war, French or Spanish, was fallen
in with, unless the odds seemed out of all proportion against him, Jack
fought her. If she was too big he performed a strategic retreat; well,
in plainer language, he ran away.
But he used to send boats in and around the numerous islands on the
coast of France to reconnoitre, and frequently they found something
lying at anchor worth attacking. When, one forenoon, Tom Fairlie
returned and reported a whole convoy of merchantmen lying at anchor
under the protection of a frigate and the forts between the island of
N---- and the mainland, Jack at once held a council of war, and
it was resolved to attack after nightfall. On this occasion all the
boats save one were needed, and the little expedition consisted of seven
officers, over one hundred Seamen, and fifty marines.
As usual, the boarding took place after dark. I need not describe the
fight; it was fierce, brief, and terrible, but finally the frigate was
captured.
At this time very little wind was blowing, and a half-moon in the sky
shed a sad but uncertain light upon the blood-slippery decks.
And now a council of war was held to consider what had best be done. The
destruction of the fleet of fifteen merchantmen, who as the tide was
running out had grounded in shallow water, was imperative. It was
determined, therefore, to leave a sufficient force of men on board the
captured vessel, in case of an attempt on the part of the foe to regain
their ship, and to proceed forthwith to burn the fleet. Tom Fairlie left
four of his sturdiest mids and eighty men on board the frigate, and then
left her. In less than half-an-hour every one of the merchantmen was
well a-lit, the crews having already escaped in their boats.
It was a strange and appalling sight. The flames were red and lurid, the
green hills, the dark rocks, and the sands were lit up with a brilliancy
as of noonday, while the rolling clouds of smoke, laden as thickly with
sparks as the sky in a snowstorm, were carried far away southwards and
seaward. But the light was dazzling, confusing; and before the bold
sailors knew which way to steer, they ran aground. The tide, in ten
minutes' time, left them high and dry.
Guns from the forts, too, began to roar out; and to add to the terror of
the situation, a company of soldiers was drawn up on the beach, and
Tom's men began to fall, uncertain though their fire was.
It was a trying situation; but Tom Fairlie was as cool as an old
general. He descried that troops of marines, hundreds in fact, were
being poured into the frigate, and that she seemed already recaptured.
He resolved, therefore, to desert his boats and cross the bay, where lay
a craft which could contain all his men.
This was done at extraordinary hazard, Tom's men, though bearing their
wounded with them, keeping up a running fire till the craft was reached.
Luckily the soldiers had retired, but it took his men half-an-hour to
get the little schooner into deep water.
It was a sad though heroic story that Tom Fairlie had to tell when in
the gray dawn of that summer's morning he rejoined his ship.
Jack now made all sail southwards, to report proceedings to his admiral.
He was welcomed most kindly; and although he half expected a reprimand
for losing so many boats and so many men, he received nothing but praise
for his gallantry, and a special despatch was sent home descriptive of
the whole cruise of the _Tonneraire_.
"We cannot expect to fight without losses," said the good admiral
warmly; "and I am always pleased when my officers do their duty, as you
and your brave associates have done yours."
Jack's face glowed with shy pride. It was so delightful to be thus
talked to that his eyes filled with tears.
The _Tonneraire_ got more boats, and was soon again on the war-path; but
somehow everybody in the mess, and even the sailors forward, sadly
missed the merry, laughing face of young Murray, for the boy was among
the captured.
Would he ever come again?