I had been at sea about five years, and had seen some pretty hard
service, when I was appointed to a dashing frigate, the _Tiger_, on the
West India station. Our captain had never been accustomed to let the
grass grow on his ship's bottom, and he took good care to keep that of
the _Tiger_ pretty clean. Those were stirring times. England was
engaged in a fierce war, both by sea and by land, with the larger
proportion of the civilised nations in the world, and it was more easy
to find an enemy than a friend wherever we sailed. I cannot say that we
had any complaint to make with that state of things, as we came off
generally the victors, and made lots of prize-money. The more of the
latter we got the more we wanted, and we spent it as lavishly as if
there would be no end of it. We had taken several prizes, when we
received notice that a large French privateer was in those seas,
committing a good deal of havoc among our merchantmen. It is said that
everything is fair in love and war--in war, it may be the case; in love,
nothing is fair that is not straightforward and honourable. Our captain
considered that stratagem in war was, at all events, allowable, and he
used to disguise the frigate in so wonderful a way, that even we
ourselves, at a little distance, should not have known her. By this
means many an unwary craft fell into our clutches. One day we lay
becalmed, with our seemingly black and worn sails hanging against the
masts, our ports concealed by canvas, painted to represent the
weather-beaten sides of a big merchantman, our yards untrimmed, and all
our rigging slack. At length a breeze was seen coming towards us,
bringing up a large ship. When the stranger was within a couple of
miles the wind fell. We were soon convinced that our trap was well
baited, for we saw the stranger lower three boats, which came rapidly
towards us. We, in the meantime, lowered three others, well armed and
ready at a moment's notice to pull off in chase, when the enemy should
discover his mistake. Not, however, till the Frenchmen were close up to
us, did they find out that we were not what we appeared. We saw by
their gestures of astonishment that they suspected all was not right.
Before, however, they had time to pull round, our boats were after them.
I was in one of them. We were alongside in two minutes--they attempted
to defend themselves; they had better have been quiet; a few were
knocked overboard and hauled in by our fellows, and all three boats were
taken. We found that we had got the captain and second and third
officers of the stranger among our prisoners, and that she was the
privateer of which we were in search. The Frenchmen frantically tore
their hair, and swore terribly at us for the trick we had played them.
"Ah! you perfides Anglais, had we been on board our ship, you would not
have taken us so easily," exclaimed the French captain. "Then, sir, you
are welcome to go back and fight it out!" answered our captain. "All,
morbleu lion!" cried the Frenchman, with a shrug of his shoulders, "I
know what sort of fellows you are in this frigate, and I would rather
stay where I am with a whole skin than return to be riddled by your
shot. If my ship escapes, though, do not blame me."
"Certainly not; but I have no intention that she shall escape!" said our
captain, with a bow, directly afterwards ordering all the boats ahead to
tow us towards the enemy. They pulled on till we got her well within
range of our guns, when the painted canvas being cleared away, we opened
fire. In five minutes she hauled down her colours. We found on board
the crew of a large English West Indiaman, captured that morning, and
supposed not to be far off, though not in sight. Depend on it we
whistled with right good will for a breeze. It came at length, and
disguising ourselves as before, and having the French ensign over the
English, we and our big prize made sail in chase. Greatly to our
delight, the merchantman was seen standing boldly towards us, attracted
by the firing. It was amusing to watch the countenances of the French
prisoners--they would have done their best to warn her off had they
dared, but they could only make grimaces at each other, and hurl low
muttered curses on our heads, while their richly-laden prize was
recovered by us. She was a West Indiaman--the _Diana_. I cannot say
much for the beauty of the goddess of the night, for she was a huge
wall-sided ship, capable of stowing away a vast quantity of sugar and
molasses, articles much in request at the time in Europe. The French
prize crew were being removed when the captain sent for me. My heart
fluttered unusually. "Mr Brine, you have behaved very well, very well
indeed, since you joined this ship, and I have much confidence in you,"
he began. I bowed at the compliment--I had an idea that it was
deserved, though I did not say so--I had done two or three things to be
proud of, and I knew that I stood well in the captain's opinion,
although I was not yet a passed midshipman; "I accordingly place you in
command of the _Diana_, more willingly than I should any other
midshipman. You are to take her to Bristol or Plymouth, and remember
that she is of no small value to us." I thanked the captain for his
good opinion of me, but begged to have a mate capable of navigating the
ship, should I fall sick or lose my life; and I named Tony Fenwick,
another midshipman, my junior, and a great chum of mine. I had an old
follower, Paul Bott, who had been to sea with my father. His name was
short, but he was a tall man. I asked if he also might come. The
captain granted both my requests, and allowed me to pick out six other
men for my crew. I felt wonderfully proud as I walked the deck of my
first command, and certainly no two happier or better satisfied
midshipmen could be found than Tony Fenwick and I, as we navigated the
sugar-laden _Diana_ across the Atlantic. We only wished that we could
meet a letter of marque of our own size, which might attempt to
interfere with us. What thought we of tempests or foes, the possibility
of wreck or recapture? We both of us hoped soon to obtain our
promotion, for those were the days when a post-captain of nineteen
commanded one of the finest frigates in the navy, and had dared and done
deeds as gallant as any which naval history can record, and requiring
knowledge, judgment, and discretion, as well as bravery. Old heads were
often worn on young shoulders, though there were plenty of harum-scarum
fellows, as now, who did no good to themselves and much harm to others,
whenever they chanced to be placed in command. We had a fine passage
across the Atlantic--Cape Clear was sighted, and we expected, in a few
days at most, to carry the _Diana_ safe into port. Fenwick had the
first watch on deck one morning--daylight had just broke when the
look-out at the mast-head shouted, "A sail on the weatherbow--a large
ship!" I heard Fenwick's reply, and jumped on deck, for I always slept
in my clothes ready for work. The stranger, we concluded, was probably
an English cruiser. The _Diana_ was kept accordingly on her course;
still, not free from suspicion, we narrowly watched the stranger's
movements. I was looking in another direction, when I heard Tony utter
a loud exclamation, not complimentary to the French, and looking round,
when it was now too late to escape from her power, what was my annoyance
to see the hated tricolour flying from the stranger's peak! Still
neither Tony nor I had any thought of yielding up our charge without a
struggle. "She's a big one to tackle, and we shall have a squeak for it
at best!" observed Tony, eyeing the Frenchman with no loving glance.
All sail was made, but nothing but a miracle could have saved us. The
men showed their opinion of what was to happen by slipping down one by
one below, and putting on their best clothes, as sailors always do when
they expect to fall into any enemy's hands. I have known some to do so
when they expect to be wrecked, with but little prospect of saving their
lives. Now they had good reason for what they did, for the Frenchman,
should they take our ship, were sure not to leave us more than we had on
our backs, even if so much. All we could do to escape, we did, but in
vain. Before long, we found ourselves under the guns of a French
seventy-four, the _Droits-de-l'Homme_, one of the squadron, with troops
on board, intended for the invasion of Ireland. With sad hearts, Tony
Fenwick, Paul Bott, and most of our crew found ourselves conveyed on
board our captor, which soon afterwards made sail for France. It was
the winter season; the nights were long, the weather tempestuous. When
near the coast, two sail were seen--large ships, supposed to be British;
we devoutly hoped that they might prove so. The _Droits-de-l'Homme_
made sail to escape them. Shortly afterwards two other ships were seen
steering so as to cut her off from the land. They were undoubtedly
enemies. Though surrounded, as they supposed, by foes, the Frenchmen
made every attempt to escape, but fortune was against them. "We caught
a Tartar t'other day--the Mounseers have caught half-a-dozen!" observed
Tony, as we watched what was going on through one of the main-deck
ports. A heavy squall, as he spoke, carried away the fore and
main-top-masts. It was no easy matter for us to refrain from cheering
at the accident, but the probability of getting a clout on our heads,
and being sent below for our patriotism, kept us silent. "There's no
fear now, that before many hours are over we shall be under our own flag
again," whispered Tony to me. "The same mishap which has occurred to
the Frenchman may befall our friends," I answered. "There are but two
frigates in sight, but I hope that they are more than a match for a
French seventy-four."
The Frenchmen were so busy with clearing away the wreck of the masts to
be ready for their foes, that no one thought of us and the other English
prisoners they had on board. The gale increased; the sea ran high; the
English frigates were seen to be reefing topsails. "Why, they are not
going to desert us, I hope!" exclaimed Tony. "No, no, they are getting
under snugger canvas for more easy handling, depend on that," I
answered, laughing; "they are after us again--hurrah!" Before long the
largest frigate approached, and suddenly hauling up, fired her
broadside, which would have proved most destructive, had not the
_Droits-de-l'Homme_ hauled up likewise, the troops which were posted on
the upper-deck and poop replying with a heavy discharge of musketry.
Fortunately, perhaps, for us, though we did not consider it so at the
time, one of the French officers thought of sending us to join the other
prisoners in the cable tier, out of harm's way. Most unwillingly we
descended, though we should have run a great chance of having had our
heads knocked off without the honour and glory. On getting below we
found ourselves placed under guard, in almost total darkness. The big
ship rolled and tumbled in a way which made it appear as if the waves
alone would wrench her asunder; the great guns roared with greater
frequency, the musketry rattled, the shot from the active frigates came
crashing on board and tearing through the stout planks; there was the
tramp of men bearing their wounded comrades below; their shrieks and
groans, as the surgeons attempted in vain to operate on their shattered
limbs; and the rush of water which came through the ports, with the
fearful rolling of the ship. All these various sounds gave us an idea,
and not a pleasant one, of the work going on above our heads. Now and
then, too, louder reports and more terrific crashes told of guns
bursting, and masts gone by the board. Hour after hour passed by, and
still the fearful uproar continued. We prisoners would all of us rather
have been on deck, notwithstanding the more than possibility of having
our heads knocked off, than shut up in the dark, bilge-water smelling,
stifling hold. "I say, these Frenchmen fight bravely, but I wish that
they would give in; it would be wiser in them, and they must before
long," observed Fenwick, as he sat on a cask by my side, kicking his
heels against the staves.
"All in good time," I answered. "But consider that this ship carries
more guns than the two frigates put together, and of heavier metal; and
aboard here there are more than twice as many men as will be found
between them. There will be a tough fight before we get our liberty,
but we shall get it, never fear." While we were speaking there was a
cessation of firing. "Can she have struck?" was asked by many of our
fellow-prisoners. We waited in breathless suspense. No intimation was
given to us of what had occurred. "The frigates cannot have given up
the fight, of that I am certain," I exclaimed. "Maybe they have just
hauled off to repair damages, and will be at it again," suggested Paul.
He was right. Like the voice of a giant awaking out of sleep the big
ship's guns began again to roar forth, quickly followed by a duller
sound, showing that her enemies were replying with as much energy as
before. For long the battle raged furiously. How we unfortunates, like
rats in a hole below, longed to be on deck, that we might see what was
going forward! Again there was a cessation of firing. What could have
happened? Had the Frenchman struck? That either of the English
frigates had done so of course none of us would believe. It was a time
of awful suspense to us all. One thing was certain, that though the
battle might have ceased the war of the elements was raging more
furiously than ever. From the way the ship rolled it was evident that
she was dismasted. Various sounds, the cause of which seamen alone
could understand, were heard. "I suspects, sir, as how we're in shoal
water; they've let go an anchor," said Paul, calmly, though he knew full
well the peril of our position. "But it doesn't hold, d'ye see, sir."
Signal guns were heard. A few minutes passed, to most of us the time
appeared far longer. A dull, ominous roaring sound reached even to our
ears down in the depths of the ship. "We are among the breakers!" I
sung out, jumping from my seat; and scarcely were the words out of my
mouth when a cry was heard from above, and words of compassion reached
our ears. "Pauvres Anglais! pauvres Anglais! Montez bien vites; nous
sommes tous perdus!" The sentinel rushed from his post and we prisoners
sprang on deck. Fenwick and I, with Paul and a few others, stopped,
however, to help the more weak and helpless, for among them were women
and children, unable to take care of themselves. The early dawn, as we
reached the deck, revealed a scene of horror rarely equalled: breakers
on every side, the masts gone, the decks slippery with human gore, and
the ship driving to destruction. At a little distance lay one of the
English frigates, the surf breaking over her, her fate sealed. The
other was observed standing off from the Penmark Rocks, which threatened
her with instant destruction. "Can she be saved?" asked Fenwick, for,
in spite of our own danger, we had been intently watching her. "If her
sticks stand and she is well handled; if not, Heaven have mercy on the
souls of all on board, for their condition will be worse than ours!" I
said, in a sad tone. "The people in the other frigate, already on
shore, are badly enough off, but the sea as yet does not appear to break
heavily over her."
"As it will, howsom'dever, over us, before the world's a minute older,"
cried Paul; "I've been cast ashore more than once with your honoured
father, Mr Brine, and the advice he gave us was, `Lads, hold on to the
wreck till the time comes for getting ashore.' He wished to say, `Don't
let the sea take you off the wreck if you can help it, but just hold on
till you see that you have a fair chance of setting foot on land in
safety.'"
This advice was not thrown away. In another instant a terrific shock
was felt; the wild seas dashed furiously over the huge wreck; shrieks
arose from every part of the ship; horror and dismay were depicted on
the countenances of all around us. As the foaming waters came rushing
over the decks many were swept helplessly away.
We and our men kept together, holding fast by the upper bulwarks. We
could make out clearly a village on shore, and crowds of people, who
lined the beach but were unable to render us any assistance. There were
no lifeboats in those days, no apparatus for carrying ropes to a
stranded ship; boats were indeed launched by the hardy fishermen, but
were quickly dashed to pieces against the rocks. Rafts were built, but
those who ventured on them were swept off by the furious seas. Others
tried, by swimming, to convey a rope from the ship to the shore, but in
vain. Thus the day closed, and a night of horrors commenced, during
which numbers were washed away. Still my companions and I kept our
posts. All this time not a particle of food could be obtained, as the
hold was under water. Paul had observed a small boat uninjured. He
told me of it; I undertook to carry a line safely by her to the shore.
Fenwick and Paul agreed to accompany me, and we had no lack of other
volunteers among our men. At low water we three, with seven others,
stood ready to launch her. We allowed a heavy sea to roll by, "Now in
with her, boys, and give way," I shouted. Through the boiling cauldron
we pulled. None, indeed, but stout-hearted British seamen could have
made way in such troubled waters. Sea upon sea came rolling on after
us. On the summit of one we reached the beach. Before another sea
could follow we had leaped out and dragged our boat high up above the
power of the waters. We set to work, and had the satisfaction of saving
the lives of several of the French crew; but, unhappily, the rope
parted, and in vain we endeavoured to secure another.
A second night passed--a third came, and few were saved. We remained on
the beach to afford all the aid in our power to those still on the
wreck. What occurred on board was not known to us till afterwards. The
Frenchmen endeavoured to launch one of their largest boats, but
discipline was at an end. In vain the officers ordered the men to keep
back--it was right that the sick and wounded should first be removed.
No one obeyed; a hundred and fifty men crowded into her. They shoved
off, a sea rushed on, they were hid from view; the shattered boat and
their lifeless corpses alone reached the shore. Eight hundred human
beings, it is supposed, had by this time perished. Those few who now
reached the shore, aided chiefly, I have a right to boast, by my party,
reported the dreadful condition of the remainder. Numbers were dying of
hunger; the decks were covered with corpses; expedients too horrible to
be believed for sustaining life had been proposed. A fourth day came,
and with it a more serene sky. The sea went down. "A sail! a sail!" A
man-of-war brig and an armed cutter appeared. Their boats quickly
approached, but the sea still broke so violently over the wreck that
they were unable to get alongside. The famishing survivors, therefore,
constructed some rafts, to be towed off by the boats, but many of those
who ventured on them were swept away by the surf. About a hundred and
fifty were, however, conveyed on board the brig that evening, leaving
still nearly four hundred human beings on the wreck to endure a sixth
night of horrors. The sufferings of many were more than human endurance
could sustain, and next morning, when the men-of-war's boats returned,
half of the hapless beings were found dead. We, meantime, when our
services could be of no further avail, found ourselves, being in an
enemy's country, marched off as prisoners; but I am bound to say that we
were treated with the greatest kindness by the French. The spot where
the wreck occurred was, we found, the Bay of Audierne, and the town near
it that of Plouzenec. Here we met part of the officers and crew of the
British thirty-six-gun frigate, _Amazon_, which had been wrecked with
us. Her whole ship's company (six men only excepted, who had stolen the
cutter and were drowned) had, by means of rafts, landed in safety by
nine a.m. of the morning the frigate went on shore. This might have
been partly owing to the position of the ship, but more particularly to
the admirable discipline maintained on board. We rejoiced to find that
the other frigate, which was the _Indefatigable_, of forty-four guns,
Captain Sir Edward Pellew, had escaped the danger which threatened her.
Fenwick and I were sighing over the prospect of our expected captivity,
and the destruction of all our hopes of promotion, when the captain of
the French ship, who had been among the last to leave the wreck, sent
for us, and, complimenting us on our behaviour, assured us that as we
had been fellow-sufferers with him and his people, we and our men might
rely on being liberated without delay. To our great joy we and our
companions were shortly afterwards placed on board a cartel and sent to
England without ransom or exchange, an act of generosity on the part of
the French worthy of note.