THE BUCCANEERS SAIL FOR THE SPANISH MAIN, AND ARE CHASED BY A GREAT
SHIP OF WAR.
In an hour after these events, I was on board the ‘Will o’ the Wisp,’
greatly to the relief of Captain Jem, who feared, from my long stay,
that some evil had befallen me; and with the first puff of sea-breeze
in the morning, we were gliding past the point of the Pallisades out
into the open ocean, on my first buccaneering voyage. As the sun
rose into a cloudless sky, the merry trade-wind freshened until it
tore up the tops of the long swells into ridges of rolling foam, and
caused the schooner to careen gaily over, so that the water buzzed,
and gushed, and gurgled in the lee-scupper holes. Then my spirits,
which all night long had been heavy and depressed, rose with every
mile of sea which rolled between us and the land, and I felt as
elated and merry, bound upon a wild and venturesome expedition to an
unhealthy and little known coast, as when the ‘Golden Grove’ raised
her anchor from the sands of Leith, and I expected in due time to see
the hills of Italy and Greece.
We had a fierce and wild-looking crew, wearing in their dress the
fashions of many lands; some were clad in jackets cut out of rich
brocades and stuffs captured from the Spaniards. Others had doublets
of hide. All wore moustachioes and beards, and carried great
broad-bladed knives stuck into girdles of leather, or neatly twisted
yarn. The experience of a few days showed us that we were manned by
active and skilful seamen, one or two who turned out inferior in
this respect being set to duties fitted for them, such as cooking,
serving out the provisions from the casks, and helping the carpenter
or sail-maker. Moreover, the men seemed tractable as well as handy
fellows, and were on very good terms with each other, and quite
delighted with the captain and the ship. To this there was but one
exception—a sailor from London, called Bell. This man was sullen,
sulky, and lazy, and Captain Jem having found him skulking from work,
upon one occasion, when the wind blew very fresh, and the whole crew
were on deck taking in sail, gave him so strong a hint with the flat
of his cutlass, that for some time, at least, there was no repetition
of the offence.
On the third day, after losing sight of Jamaica, soon after sunrise,
we descried a great sail to windward. The weather was then almost
calm, and the swell trifling. Still the appearance of the sky was,
as we thought, threatening. The sun had risen of a fiery red, and
huge fleecy banks of vapour brooded over the ocean. The sail must
have been for some time in sight ere we had distinguished it from
the wreaths of white morning mist which here and there floated
over the water; but having made it out, we knew that so great a
spread of canvas must arise from a stately ship. Now, if she were
an Englishman, a Frenchman, or a Dutchman, we had nothing to say to
her, whereas if she were a Spaniard, she must be either an exceeding
rich merchantman, in which case it was our business to speak her as
fast as possible, or she was a man-of war, in which case, we could
hardly pack too much canvas upon the schooner to get her out of such
a dangerous neighbourhood. However, the ship had the weather-guage of
us; she would bring down the sea-breeze with her, and all we could
do was to lie idly upon the swell, watching her motions. For myself,
I climbed to the schooner’s main-topmast, with the best perspective
glass we had on board; and I had not been long there before I could
plainly perceive that our big neighbour had felt the power of the
sea-breeze, for she rose fast, spreading her great sheets of canvas
out, like wings, and coming directly down upon us.
Captain Jem then hailed me eagerly from the deck, asking whether she
looked like a merchant ship or a frigate. At first, I could give
little satisfaction to his questions, as the stranger was coming
directly towards us; but presently, whether from bad steering or not
I am unaware, she gave a sheer to starboard, and lifting that moment
upon a swell, I saw that she carried a great broadside of heavy guns,
with a very high poop, rising I am sure forty feet above the water,
and all encrusted, as it were, with galleries and carved windows,
after the fashion in which the Spaniards build their men-of-war.
Upon this intelligence, we prepared for immediate flight. We were
to leeward, and so had nothing for it but to run before the wind.
As yet, however, only those little puffs or airs called by sailors
cat’s-paws, the precursors of the coming wind, were stealing over the
great shiny backs of the smooth lazy swells, whereas the Spanish
frigate, for such we doubted her not to be, was in the midst of
roughened water, and rolling two great ridges of white foam, from
beneath her bows. How we cursed the chance which condemned us to
lie idle on the ocean, when a formidable enemy was swooping down
upon us, with a wind which made his heaviest canvas surge, and his
stout masts bend and creak. Meantime, however, we prepared to set
studding-sails, and indeed hoisted them to be ready for the first
of the coming breeze, at the same time, by the help of a sweep or
great oar swinging round the head of the schooner in the direction
which circumstances compelled us to take. This manœuvre was instantly
observed on board the great ship, for she straightway fired a cannon,
and hauled up the gorgeous ensign of Spain to her main-topmast head,
where it streamed forth in all its red and yellow glory. The next
moment a bright spout of flame flashed from the Spaniard’s bows,
and the ball came skipping along the sea, making its last plunge
not a quarter of a mile from us. But almost at the same moment our
sails flapped and surged, then steadily swelling out, the schooner
began to slip through the water. Seeing this, the Spaniards fired
again and again; but without effect. Meantime, we were hard at work,
setting every stitch of canvas we could get to draw, and presently
we had quite enough of wind for the safety of our spars, the breeze
driving before it that heavy pelting shower, which often falls soon
after sunrise, and which sailors call the Pride of the Morning. The
‘Will-o’-the-Wisp’ was now careering along at her full speed, rolling
heavily before the great following surges, which would often rise in
white foam, hissing and glancing round her stern, and then melting,
as it were, from beneath her, would sweep on, while the schooner
plunged heavily down into the trough, her sails flapping like thunder
in the lull, and then tearing and struggling, as though they would
drag the masts out of the keel as the vessel was hove high again
on the crest of the next following wave. Still the large ship was
gaining upon us fast. A schooner is a species of vessel unfitted
to scud before a brisk gale, like a square rigged ship, although in
beating up to windward, we would most likely have the advantage.
However, we spread every inch of canvas we could stretch out, and
Captain Jem and myself both stood by the tiller. In an hour from the
commencement of the chase, the Spaniard was not a mile astern of us;
and truly, if the great ship had been a friend, she would have been a
gay and a gallant sight—with her brave tall masts, and great sheets
of canvas, which rolled from side to side, like a tower which totters
in an earthquake, and her vast bows, all carved and encrusted with
ornaments and devices, which would now plunge deeply into the brine,
and then rise with the sea water pouring and flashing down, amid the
sculptures and images of saints and long moulded and fretted ledges
and serpentine projections of carved wood, which extended in gracious
undulations on either side of the cut-water. But we had little mind
to admire the cunning work of the Spanish artificers, although,
unhappily, every moment we saw it plainer and plainer. Our men began
to look pale and troubled, and spoke in whispers to each other, and
some of them lay sullenly down upon the deck. Meanwhile, Captain Jem
and I consulted together in a low voice, and presently hit upon a
plan which would give us, at all events, a last chance.
‘Nicky Hamstring,’ said Captain Jem, ‘show the Don a sight of the
flag which Sir Francis Drake carried against the great Armada.’
At this bold speech, the men seemed to pluck up a little.
‘What, boys!’ quoth brave Jem; ‘you do not mean to stretch out your
throats to the Spaniard’s whittles?’
‘Where is the use of preaching?’ cries one of the men. ‘If we don’t
strike and heave-to, he will give us the stem, run his ship crash
over us, and send us to the bottom before we can say a prayer.’
Captain Jem pulled out a great pistol and cocked it.
‘That was George Bell’s voice!’ he shouted. ‘Hark ye, you snivelling
cur, say but another syllable of striking or heaving-to, and I’ll
send you to hell with the word upon your lips. Comrades,’ continued
the captain, raising his voice, ‘is it fit that brave men and staunch
should listen to a hen-hearted skulk like the man who spoke?’
‘No, no!’ cried the whole of the crew, ‘no striking; let the Dons do
their worst.’ And at that moment the ensign of St. George fluttering
up to the main-topmast head, we greeted it with a cheer, the echo of
which came back from the broad sails of the Spaniard.
‘Now, men,’ said Captain Jem, ‘be steady and sharp, and in ten
minutes we shall have the big ship’s weather-guage.’
Several moments passed in perfect silence, broken only by the roar
of the sea around us, and the great plunges of the Spanish ship, as
she came careering and wallowing over the waves. We looked back, and
saw her bows clustered with men, and standing upon the bowsprit, with
his arm round a stay, we could discern the figure of an officer, with
a very brave uniform, and holding a trumpet in his hand. Presently
this officer passed his trumpet to a man who stood by him, and who at
once hailed in good English. We all heard his words, for they echoed
loudly between the sails of the two ships.
‘Surrender,’ he said, ‘or we will run the frigate over you.’
‘Stand by your sheets, men,’ said Captain Jem, softly; ‘and never
fear for all I do, that we are going to run our necks into Spanish
hemp this cruise.’
‘Do you surrender?’ hailed the Spaniard once more.
There was now not a hundred feet between the man-of-war’s jib and our
taffrail rail. It was fearful to see the great ship, like a moving
steeple, rushing down upon us, and, despite of myself, I felt my
teeth grinding against each other. I looked back once more, there was
the mighty prow, clustered with men, frowning above us, and ploughing
the sea into a great furrow of foam. That ship could crush our
schooner as a rock would smash a pipkin.
Yet no muscle quivered in Captain Jem’s face. All at once he sung
out, sharp and quick—
‘Nicky, strike the flag.’
The Spanish man-of-war rose upon a great sea, heaving her bows out of
the water almost to her keel. The next moment she would be crushing
down bodily upon our deck. Just then the red-cross ensign disappeared
from the mast-head, and Captain Jem, turning round, took off his hat.
The officer on the bowsprit of the great ship immediately shouted,
and as he spoke the vast bows gave a sudden sweep to the port or
larboard side, almost shaving our taffrail as they grazed past.
‘Now, then!’ roared Captain Jem, ramming down the tiller hard a port.
‘Sheets, boys, mind your sheets—in with them—in with the larboard
sheets. Hurrah, boys, hurrah! show the Don that he must shut his
claws quick, or we will slip through his fingers.’
The words had not been spoken when the Will-o’-the-Wisp flew round
like a top, in the opposite direction to that of the Spaniard,
plunging down into one tremendous sea, taking tons upon tons of the
glancing green water over her weather bow, and then lying over to the
wind, until the washing seas rose up to the very centre of her deck.
Of course the studding-sail-booms snapped like pipe-stems, and the
sails they supported burst away and floated down to leeward. But for
this we cared very little.
‘If the spars stand it we’re safe,’ shouted the Captain to me.
I looked aloft, the schooner was almost on her broadside, the sea
pouring over and over us in great curling volumes of blinding spray,
flashing up high into the rigging, and drenching the surging, tearing
canvas. This lasted but for a moment. There was a lull, the schooner
righted in the water, plunged heavily at one or two seas, and then,
although carrying a fearful press of sail, shot gaily away to
windward. We looked astern. The Spaniard had been utterly discomfited
by our manœuvre. After diverging from her course just enough, as
she thought, to save us from being run down, she had been obliged
to keep before the wind, being afraid, with all her sail, to try
the desperate experiment of luffing up, and was now a good mile to
leeward, her crew busily employed in getting in all her light canvas,
evidently with the intent of following up the chase.
‘Now, boys!’ called out the captain—‘we have not shaken off the Don
yet. He has had a taste of our quality, but he will be after us
again. So while he is amusing himself to leeward yonder, let us get
in a reef or so, the schooner will make better way through the water
than when she is dragged down by too great a show of canvas.’
So presently the Will-o’-the-Wisp’ was under suitable sail, working
hard to windward. Captain Jem was right in saying that the Spaniard
meant not to give up his prey after one baffled swoop, and in a
brief space he was close hauled upon the same tack with ourselves,
careening down to the wind, until we sometimes expected to see him
turn over bodily. It was lucky for us, that, heeling over so much,
he could not bring his guns to bear upon the schooner. Once or twice
he fired a cannon, but the ball must have passed far above us. Our
own pieces were too small for us to return the compliment, across a
mile of sea, with any chance of hard hitting; besides, it was our cue
to trust rather to our legs than our teeth, and to mind our canvas
rather than our guns.
All that long and anxious day did the Spaniard stick to our skirts.
Had the breeze been lighter, we would have left him hand over hand,
but the strong wind, and great tumbling seas, often bore us bodily
to leeward, while the Spaniard burst through and through them with
mighty plunges. Such a wind and sea, I repeat, could not but be of
great advantage to the bigger and heavier ship. Thus it came to pass
that when the sun touched the western waves, the Spaniard still held
his position about a mile to leeward of the schooner. We had run more
than one hundred miles since we hauled our wind, and still for all we
could see, we had neither lost nor gained an inch.
The night came on, but the wind still howled unabatedly over the
far-spreading ridges of angry water. There was no moon, and great
patches of dusky clouds went scudding by between the ocean and the
stars.
‘Now, my mates,’ quoth Captain Jem—‘we shall find out whether Jack
Spaniard’s eyes mark well in the dark. Let all lights be extinguished
in the ship, except the binnacle lantern.’
This order was speedily obeyed, and soon afterwards the binnacle
lamp was carefully screened, and at the same instant we lit a bright
lantern, and placed it conspicuously on our lee quarter. By this
manœuvre it is evident that the Spaniard, if he saw aught, saw but
one light, as though we carried no more. After this we tacked several
times, shifting the lantern so as to allow our pursuer a good view of
it, and make him believe that we were showing the light in bravado.
By this time it was nine o’clock and the wind was sensibly abating.
We could see naught of the Spaniard, although many a pair of eyes
were strained until they ached and throbbed with vain efforts to
make out the secret of his whereabouts. About ten o’clock, we were
upon the starboard tack, the schooner then laying a course which
would have brought her back to Jamaica. A good-sized cask was then
prepared, by eight twelve-pound balls being cast into it as it stood
on one end on deck. Then a sort of pole or spar, made out of an oar,
was fitted into the cask, being stepped as it were amongst the cannon
balls, and coming up through the opposite head of the cask, like a
mast through the deck of a ship. This apparatus being well secured
by stout ropes, was hove overboard, and slackening the lines, we saw
that it floated perfectly upright. The machine was then hauled in
again; the lantern which I have already mentioned, was made fast to
the top of the pole, and then the cask and all were carefully lifted
over the bulwark, and cast adrift upon the sea; while, at the same
moment, the tiller was put down, the schooner tilted gaily round
and filled upon the other tack, and in five minutes we were half a
mile away from the decoy beacon, which glimmered with an uncertain
light, as it rose rocking upon the ridges of the seas. In silence and
in darkness we kept our new course. Happily this was the gloomiest
period of the night. Lowering banks of cloud lay heavily upon the
eastern horizon, and the stars only glimmered occasionally through
the scud. The schooner was kept a little from the wind, so as to make
her sail her very best, and went careering, as though she bore a
light heart, across the waves. We saw or heard nothing of our enemy,
and by midnight we trusted that many a league of ocean rolled between
our gay schooner and the great Spanish man-of-war.