Among the ships forming the squadron under Admiral Graves, ordered to
proceed to England, was the _Hector_, 74, captured from the French in
the glorious battle of the 12th of April 1782. Captain Bouchier, who
had commanded the _Zebra_ sloop, had been appointed to her to take her
home; and although her complement had been filled up chiefly by
invalids, and French and American prisoners, who had volunteered to
serve in her, it was necessary also to have a certain number of prime
seamen on board. These were drafted from several ships, and, to the no
small satisfaction of Paul Pringle, he with Abel Bush, Peter Ogle, and
Tom Snell were taken from the _Fame_.
As the _Fame_ had already a fiddler, and the _Hector_ had none, they got
leave for Sam Smatch to accompany them.
Paul was anxious to let Billy live a little more on shore than he had
hitherto done. "D'ye see, Abel," he observed to his chum, "it's time,
to my mind, that he should begin to get his ribs lined with true honest
English beef, and sniff up some of the old country's fresh sharp air,
and learn to slide and play snowballs, which he can't do out in these
hot outlandish parts; for if he don't, he'll not be growing into the
stout chap we wants him to be. You mind when we was little, how we used
to tumble and roll about in the snow?"
"'Deed I do, mate," answered Abel. "There's nothing like a roll in the
snow and a mouthful of good air to put strength into a fellow's back;
besides, to my mind, Billy ought to be ashore a little to learn the ways
and manners of people there--not but what I thinks our ways afloat are
better, or just as good; but, d'ye see, as some day or other I suppose
he will have to go on shore for a spell, he'd be just like a fish out of
water if he has never been before--not know what to do with hisself any
more than a bear in a china shop, or a ploughman aboard a ship."
At length, on the 15th of August, Admiral Graves, in the _Ramillies_,
74, with his convoy of merchantmen and prizes captured from the French,
sailed for England.
The fleet continued its course without any occurrence worthy of note
till the night of the 22nd of August, when Captain Bouchier, from the
bad sailing qualities of the _Hector_, and from her comparatively small
crew, unable to make or shorten sail as rapidly as was necessary, found
that she was dropping astern. She was an old ship; when captured, many
of her guns had been removed at Jamaica, fifty-two only remaining; and
her masts had been replaced by others of smaller dimensions, while her
crew, all mustered, amounted only to three hundred men.
"I didn't think things were so bad," observed Paul to Abel after they
had been on board a few days. "Howsomever, Abel, we'll do our duty and
trust in Providence."
The weather became very threatening, and soon very bad after they parted
from the fleet; and the officers, as they went about their duty, could
scarcely conceal their anxiety as to what might be the fate of the ship,
should matters, as appeared too probable, grow worse than they were.
The Admiral's ship must be followed for a short time. On the 8th of
September, the _Caton_, 64, and _Pallas_, frigate, sprung dangerous
leaks. The Admiral, consequently ordered them to bear away for Halifax.
On the 16th, when the fleet was in latitude 42 degrees 15 minutes north
and longitude 48 degrees 15 minutes west, the weather gave signs of
changing, and a violent gale from the east-south-east sprung up and
increased towards night. The crews of the ships did all that seamen
could do under such circumstances; sails were furled or closely reefed,
topmasts were struck, and everything secured to meet the rising tempest.
Still it blew harder and harder, and the sea increased and ran
mountains high, so that all knew, should one ship be driven against
another, most probably both would go down together. With unabated fury
it continued all night till three o'clock in the morning, when for a
moment there was a lull, and many thought that the tempest was over; but
sadly were they deceived. With a roar of thunder, down came the wind
upon them in a terrific hurricane; and on board the ill-fated squadron
the crashing of masts and spars told of the sad havoc it was committing,
while numbers of the merchantmen were thrown on their beam-ends at the
same instant, never to rise again.
The _Ramillies_ had been carrying her mainsail, when, the squall
striking her, she was taken aback, and before the clew-garnets could be
manned and the sail clewed up, the mainmast went overboard, carrying
with it in its fall the mizen-mast, the fore-topmast and foreyard; the
tiller broke off at the head, and then in an instant the noble ship lay
a helpless wreck on the tossing ocean. The carpenter sounded the well,
and it was found that a leak had been sprung, and that there were six
feet of water in the hold. The chain-pumps were manned; but great was
the dismay when it was found that they were choked and would not work.
When the day broke, indescribable was the scene of horror and distress
which the light disclosed. Nearly all the ships of war were dismasted
and otherwise disabled. Many of the convoy had suffered in the same
way, and others had actually foundered, while the tumultuous sea around
was dotted thickly with wrecks. Numbers of unhappy beings, both men and
women, were seen either lashed or clinging to them, or to shattered
masts or spars, while the utter impossibility of lowering a boat in such
a sea rendered their situation still more piteous. In vain they
shrieked--in vain they waved for assistance. One by one they were torn
from their holds, and, hopelessly struggling, sunk amid the waves. Some
of the ships less disabled managed to steer near a few of the wrecks;
and by means of ropes hove to them, a small number were thus saved, but
small indeed compared to the many who were imploring assistance; and
gradually the ships drove on before the gale, and they were left to
their miserable fate.
Very soon all the ships of war parted company, and the _Ramillies_ was
left with a few merchantmen only around her. Her crew were exerting
themselves to the utmost to save her. Some of her guns and her heavy
stores were, during the course of the day, thrown overboard, in the
hopes of easing her; but she still laboured violently, and the pumps
could not be cleared. Two more anxious days passed, and, in spite of
all their efforts, the leak increased till there were ten feet of water
in the hold. The Admiral now began to despair of saving the ship.
Happily the gale had abated, so he made a signal to the merchantmen
still in his company to come down to his assistance, and to take on
board his crew. Their boats thickly surrounded his flagship, and by
four o'clock in the afternoon all the ship's company of the _Ramillies_
were distributed among them. She had by this time fifteen feet of water
in her hold.
The last sad act of the drama was to be performed. By the directions of
the Admiral, her commander, Captain Moriarty, set her on fire fore and
aft, and then, with his boat's crew, pulled on board the merchantman
prepared to receive him. In a few minutes the fine old ship with a loud
explosion blew up, and the merchantmen she had been convoying sailed on
their way.
On the 4th of October, the _Canada_, 74, Captain Cornwallis, reached
Spithead, and brought accounts of the hurricane and its dreadful
effects. In vain those who had friends on board that large fleet waited
to hear tidings of them. The Admiral and his scattered crew arrived,
but no other man-of-war of all the number ever reached the shores of Old
England.
After the _Hector_ parted company from the fleet, she continued on her
solitary voyage. Her leaky condition made it necessary to keep her
pumps constantly going, a task which her weakened crew were ill able to
perform. Had it not been for Paul Pringle and his shipmates from the
_Fame_, the greater number would soon have flinched from the work.
Sam Smatch, too, aided not a little, and his fiddle was in constant
requisition to keep up their spirits. When not engaged in playing for
the amusement of the men, he employed himself in fiddling to little True
Blue, whom Tom Snell had lately undertaken to instruct in dancing a
hornpipe. No more apt scholar was ever found.
"Anybody would know that he was a true sailor's son by the way the
little chap handles his feet!" exclaimed Tom with delight as he and his
old shipmates stood round, with intense admiration depicted on their
countenances, while Billy was performing in public for the first time.
"Watch now there his double shuffle--how he slips his little feet about
just as if they were on ice!--and hear what a crack he gives his
fingers. It won't be long before he'll take the shine out of many a big
fellow who fancies that he hasn't got an equal."
Similar remarks of approbation continued to be showered down on Billy,
who certainly entered into the spirit of the dance with all the zest
that his patrons could desire, while Sam Smatch fiddled away and grinned
from ear to ear with delight.
They were thus engaged when, on the afternoon of the 24th of September,
a cry was heard from the masthead that two sail were in sight. In a
short time it was ascertained that the strangers were standing towards
the _Hector_. Whether, however, they were friends or foes, she was not
in a condition to avoid them. On they came, and towards evening it was
seen that they were French frigates, of forty guns each. Captain
Bouchier addressed his people, urging them to stand boldly to their
guns, and promising them to fight the ship to the last. Paul Pringle
backed the Captain with all his influence among the men; but his heart
was very sad, for he felt that, from the great superiority of the enemy,
they would very likely come off victorious; and if so, little Billy True
Blue might be carried to France and brought up as a Frenchman. Such an
idea had always been a horror to him, and the too great probability that
it might now be realised made his heart sink lower than it had ever done
before.
The only alternative seemed to be that of going down with their flag
still flying; but the safety of little Billy, who would be involved in
the catastrophe, made that too terrible to contemplate. So Paul talked
to Abel, and Tom, and Peter, and his other friends, and they went round
among the men and urged them to stand boldly to their guns, to blaze
away as fast as they could, and to try and beat off the Frenchmen.
Night came on before the enemy got up to them, and for some time the two
frigates were seen hovering just beyond range of their guns, as if
uncertain whether or not to attack them.
Of course Billy, in spite of his entreaties to be allowed to remain on
deck, was sent below with Sam, who received the strictest charge under
no pretence to allow him to escape. An hour or more passed, and then,
through the thick gloom of night, the two strangers were seen drawing
near. As they ranged up, after passing her quarters and pouring in a
heavy fire, the _Hector_ opened her broadsides in return. Now they
sailed by, and first one and then the other crossed her bows, raking her
as they did so. Broadside after broadside was poured into her. Many of
her brave crew were struck down, some never to rise again. Still
Captain Bouchier, ably seconded by Captain O'Brien Drury, who was on his
passage to England, continued to defend the ship, though, from want of
hands, a complete broadside could never be fired.
Still the few strong, able-bodied seamen made up in activity in a great
measure for the paucity of their numbers, and for the weakness of the
rest. Paul, Abel, Tom, and Peter, and the rest literally flew about the
decks, and handled the guns as if they were quakers made of wood and not
of heavy metal.
The officers laboured like the men; their example encouraged the sick
and wounded, who slid out of their hammocks and seized the gun-tackles,
hauling at them with an energy which no one would have supposed they
possessed. Even the Americans and French, in the excitement of the
moment, seemed to forget that they were helping their late enemies, and
laboured like the rest, in spite of the showers of shot which came
crashing in on them. Still, exert themselves as they would, they knew
that the Frenchmen must have been aware, from their mode of firing, that
they were short of guns, because, having approached while it was yet
day, they had seen by her size that she was a seventy-four-gun ship.
The Captain and master stood by the helm, and frequently had to call the
men from the guns to trim sails, in order to alter the position of the
ship, and to avoid being raked by the French frigates, who, nimble in
their movements, again and again attempted to cross her bows and stern.
Frequently they succeeded, and their shot came tearing along her decks,
and ripping them up fore and aft, wounding the beams and knocking some
completely away. Still the British would not give in. Had there been
more men on board the _Hector_, the slaughter would have been much
greater. As it was, numbers were falling on every deck.
At length the discouraging cry arose that the Captain was desperately
wounded. At that moment his voice was heard exclaiming, loud above the
din of battle, "Never fear, my lads; my heart is unhurt, and that still
beats for you!"
Just then the first lieutenant was standing not far from Paul Pringle
when a shot struck him to the deck. Paul stooped to raise him.
"Let me remain here, my lads," he said in a low voice. "It's all over
with me; but stick to your guns. Tell the men never to give in."
These were his last words, for his life was ebbing fast away. Now it
was known that Captain Drury had taken command, and once more the
courage of the crew, which had begun to sink at the loss of their two
principal officers, revived as before. The Frenchmen must have been
severe sufferers by the fire of the _Hector_, and must have felt the
apparent hopelessness of compelling her to strike.
Suddenly there was a cry that the French frigates were ranging up
alongside, with the evident intention of boarding. Their decks had been
seen crowded with men, and there could be no doubt that they had troops
on board.
"Boarders, prepare to receive boarders!" shouted Captain Drury through
his speaking trumpet. Of course the most active and best men had been
told off for the service. Crash came the two ships of the enemy, one on
each quarter. Paul Pringle, with Abel Bush, were among the leading men
of the party, headed by the second lieutenant, while several of their
old shipmates were with them. The instant the Frenchmen's bows touched
the _Hector's_ sides, numbers of the enemy came swarming on board on the
upper deck and through the ports on the main deck. Paul and Abel and
their companions rushed aft, with cutlass in hand, to repel the
Frenchmen who were attacking on the starboard side. Pistols were
flashing, bullets whizzing, and swords were clashing, while a hot fire
of musketry was kept up from the enemy's poops, and the great guns which
could be brought to bear were playing away without cessation. There
seemed, indeed, every probability that numbers would gain the day. Paul
began to think so likewise. Still, amid the desperate fight, one idea
was uppermost in his mind. It was about little True Blue. It was the
dread, if the enemy gained the day, that he would be turned into a
little frog-eating Frenchman.
"Remember our own little True Blue, mates!" he shouted. "Whatever we
do, don't let the Crapauds have him. Huzza for our Billy! Huzza for
little True Blue!" and he and his old shipmates, making a fresh and
still more desperate onset against the enemy, cut them down right and
left, and drove them back with prodigious slaughter, some on board the
frigate and some into the water, where many sank to rise no more. Just
then, either from accident or design, the frigate on that side sheered
off; but the Frenchmen who had attacked on the larboard side had already
gained a footing on the _Hector's_ deck. Every inch of it was, however,
being hotly disputed; and now Paul and his companions, with their
newly-invented battle cry, rushed over on that side to the assistance of
their shipmates. Their coming turned the tide of the fight. "Huzza for
Billy True Blue! Huzza for our Billy!" shouted Paul, and Abel, and Tom,
and Peter. Step by step, as they had advanced, only at a much greater
speed, the Frenchmen were driven back,--though numbers never got back,
being cut down as they stood,--till at last the rest, with desperate
springs, endeavoured to regain their ship. Very few accomplished their
intention, for most of them shared the fate of their friends in the
other ship.
Many, indeed, had no friendly plank to step on, for the frigate fell
away and left them deserted on the _Hector's_ decks. No one thought of
asking for quarter, and in the heat of that desperate fight no quarter
was given. The instant the ship was free of her opponents, the crew
flew back to their guns and began to blaze away with as much energy as
before. Now the old seventy-four's yards and blocks, and rigging, came
rattling down from aloft; her sails hung in tatters, and the water
rushing in told of numerous shot-holes between wind and water, while
scarcely a brace or a sheet remained to enable her to alter her
position. Once again the Frenchmen ranged up alongside. Again the cry
was heard, "Boarders, repel boarders!"
As before, two parties of seamen, and a few of the invalid soldiers and
others, rushed to repel them. Neither party could tell how far success
was attending the exertions of their friends. Paul's was very nearly
overpowered; but again Billy True Blue's name was shouted to the rescue,
and, with as much slaughter as before, the Frenchmen were driven back to
their ships. On the larboard side the fight was even more obstinate;
but British pluck gained the day, and tumbled most of the Frenchmen into
the sea.
Again the Frenchmen drew off and opened their broadsides. Dawn was now
breaking, and what a scene of wreck and havoc did the pure fresh light
disclose! Captain Drury gazed with grief at the state of the ship, for
he knew that the increasing light would exhibit it to the enemy and
encourage them in persisting in the attack. Still he resolved to make
them pay dear for their victory, if they were to gain it; and calling on
the half-fainting crew to persevere to the last, he ordered them to pour
their broadsides into the enemy, who were just then passing them abeam.
The men with alacrity obeyed, and cheers, though often faint and feeble,
from nearly dying men ran along the decks, and showed the enemy that the
true British courage of the _Hector's_ crew was still unabated. Again
another broadside was loaded, and they were preparing to pour it in on
the enemy, when what was their surprise to see both the frigates make
all sail and stand away to the westward! Some parting shots and some
hearty cheers were sent after them; and then numbers of the brave crew
sank down exhausted on the decks, slippery with the gore of their
shipmates.
Even Paul Pringle began to tremble like a child, and could scarcely drag
his legs after him as he went below to assure himself of the safety of
little Billy. Stout-hearted as he was, he could not help shuddering at
the scenes of horror which met him on every side--at the shattered
condition of the ship, and the shrieks and groans of the wounded, now in
the hands of the surgeons. Many poor fellows lay about, too, apparently
unhurt, but expiring through fatigue. Still, nothing stopped him till
he reached the hold.
The water was finding its way down there from the shot-holes above, and
all was dark and gloomy. He groped his way on, shouting out for Sam and
Billy. At length little True Blue's voice was heard.
"Here I, Billy; but Sam no let me come."
"Yes, Billy, you go now--you go now," said Sam in reply. When Paul got
up to them, he found by the dim light of the lantern which Sam had that
he had made the child fast to a stanchion, evidently for fear of his
again running away, and he was now busily engaged in casting him loose.
As soon as little Billy was free, he rushed up to Paul, who look him in
his arms and hugged him and kissed him, as a fond mother would have
done, while the child burst into tears, exclaiming:
"Billy so--so berry glad Paul not hurt. How Abel? how Peter? how Tom?"
"Not one of them hit, my boy, I believe," answered Paul, giving him
another hug. "You've been thinking on us, then, have you? And we was
thinking on you, that we was, bless your little heart; and we made the
Frenchmen know that they shouldn't have you as long as we'd a plank to
float you on, and an arm to strike for you. And now, Sam, just stump up
out of this, and try and get Billy some breakfast. I must go and lend a
hand in getting the ship to rights."
In the action one lieutenant and eight men had been killed, and
thirty-two wounded--their brave captain among the number, having lost
his arm, and being otherwise much injured, while from that day many
other poor fellows sank under their hardships and privations.
The hope now of reaching England was abandoned, and the ship bore up for
Halifax. Scarcely, however, was the helm shifted when a squall struck
her, and in an instant, as if they had been mere willow wands, the
already injured masts went with a crash over the sides. Now the tempest
came on and roared louder and louder, and the sea got rapidly up and
tossed the big ship helplessly about, and, before the slightest sail
could be made to keep her before the wind and steady her, a sea struck
her rudder and carried it away.
Thus like a log she lay, tossed about by the waves. The riven decks
could ill keep out the water which washed aboard her, while many of the
beams gave way, and those of the orlop-deck bent and cracked till
several of them fell into the hold. Nothing now seemed to stop the
entrance of the water. Paul and his old companions exerted themselves
to the utmost. They did not like to believe for a moment that the ship
would go down, and yet they could not help seeing that such a fate was
too likely to befall her. Furiously raged the hurricane. Higher and
higher rose the sea, and more and more the ship worked; and the leaks
increased till the entire hold was flooded, and casks and provisions of
all sorts were rolled helplessly about; the bread was spoiled, the
water-casks were stove in, and the greater portion of the fresh water
destroyed.
"Paul, what is to be done?" said Abel to his friend.
"Pump away, mates, and trust in Providence," was the answer. "Fresh
hands to the pumps, ho!" he sang out with as cheerful a voice as he
could command.
His shipmates followed his example and worked away with fresh energy;
but pumping is exhausting work, and dry work, too, and there was
scarcely any water left, and but a few casks of spirits could be got at.
These were carried aft and kept under charge of a sentry. A small
quantity only was served out at intervals to each man with a little
biscuit; and this was all the crew had to sustain life and enable them
to undergo the increasing exertions they were called on to make. Many
of the invalids could no longer exert themselves in the slightest
degree, and numbers died every day. The surgeons went among the poor
fellows and did their utmost, but without sufficient or wholesome
sustenance their efforts were unavailing; and one of the saddest labours
of each morning was to commit to the deep those who had perished during
the night.
At length the gale ceased, and jury-masts were rigged, and the officers
thought that by getting a sail thrummed under the ship's bottom some of
the leaks might be stopped. By great exertions they got the sail placed
as was intended, but it had no effect whatever: the leaks continued to
increase, and consternation and despair appeared on the countenances of
nearly all. Some poor fellows actually sank down at the pumps and died;
others refused to work at them any longer, declaring that it was utterly
useless making the attempt to keep the ship afloat, and the officers had
to use the greatest exertions to persuade them to remain at their duty.
"Come, come, mates!" exclaimed Paul Pringle when he saw several quitting
the pumps, "there's not a man of you but what would be ready to stand to
his guns and die at them gladly; then why not stand to the pumps to the
last, and die like true men doing our duty? Hurrah! lads, who knows but
what we may keep the old ship afloat till help of some sort comes to us?
And never let it be said that we turned cowards and shrank from our
duty."
Thus exhorted, the greater number again seized the pump-handles and
buckets, and continued to work away as before. Still it was too evident
that, spite of all their exertions, the leaks were gaining on them.
Even the most hopeful began to despair that all their efforts would do
no more than prolong their lives. Some few, indeed, went to their
hammocks, and, lashing themselves in, declared their intention of
remaining there, and thus going down with the ship.
"Oh, shame on you!" cried Paul Pringle when he saw some of them doing
this. "Do you call yourselves British seamen, and yet afraid to face
death at your quarters? The ship is still afloat, and may float for
some hours longer for what you can tell. Think of your duty, lads--
think of your duty, and never flinch from it to the last."
While Paul was saying this, however, his brave heart was very sad. In
the cabin of the Captain's steward sat Sam Smatch, holding little True
Blue on his knee. The child's countenance showed that he partook of the
anxiety of all around, and, moreover, that he, too, was suffering from
the want of proper sustenance; the colour had forsaken his cheeks, and
he looked thin and weak. In vain his friends had foraged for him; they
could find nothing but damaged biscuit and salt beef, uncooked. Paul
often thought of making a raft; but out in the Atlantic what would be
the use of that? It might only prolong the child's life for a few
hours, and inflict on it greater sufferings. Still, he said nothing on
the subject.
Again and again the carpenter sounded the well. Each time his report
was more disheartening. The end of September arrived, and there was not
a drop of spirits or water in the ship. Death in another dreadful form
now stared the seamen in the face. Each day the poor feverish wretches
cried out for water to moisten their lips, but none was to be had. Many
died from that want alone, others from starvation.
Each morning the horizon was anxiously scanned, in the hope that some
ship might be in sight to bring them relief. Even an enemy would have
been welcomed, for their condition would have excited the compassion of
their greatest foes.
Daylight, on the 3rd of October, broke. From the report of the
carpenter, the officers knew that the ship could not float many hours
longer; and, like brave men and Christians, they prepared to meet that
death which now seemed inevitable. The day drew on--slight were the
hopes that another would ever dawn on them. A few still refused to give
way to despair. Paul Pringle was among the number. He climbed to the
head of the jury-mast to have another look out. In vain he looked--
still he lingered. Then his eye brightened. "A sail! a sail!" he
shouted. With the most intense eagerness he watched her. "She sees us!
she sees us! she is bearing down on us!" he cried, still remaining at
his post to watch her.
In a short time her hull rose above the horizon, and those on deck could
see her. Many burst into tears, and some fell on their knees on deck,
and thanked Heaven that assistance had been sent them. Still their
anxiety was great, for even before the stranger could get up to them the
ship might go down.
"Well!" cried Paul Pringle, seizing little True Blue and holding him in
his arms, "if she does, I'll have a swim for it, and save the most
precious thing aboard--that I will." Paul had got a grating ready, into
which he was prepared to spring should the catastrophe occur.
Still the _Hector_ floated. The stranger proved to be the _Snow Hawk_,
a letter of marque, belonging to Dartmouth, commanded by Captain John
Hill, from Lisbon, bound to Saint John's, Newfoundland. No sooner did
Captain Hill come on board and understand the miserable condition of the
_Hector_, than, without bargain or agreement, he at once offered to
render every assistance in his power. Some few of the wounded were at
once removed, but darkness prevented the others leaving the ship. He
therefore remained by them all night; but though the spirits of some
revived, it was a night of fearful anxiety to many, who believed that at
any moment the ship might go down. Paul was of opinion that she would
float, but he never let go of Billy, and kept a sharp eye on his grating
in case of accident. The next morning, as the men were told off into
the boats, only two hundred out of the three which had left the West
Indies were found to have survived. As most of the _Hector's_ boats
were damaged, it took a long time to remove the crew; and the greater
part of the day had passed before all, with their wounded Captain, were
on board the _Hawk_. Scarcely had the last boat left her than the
_Hector_ made one plunge and went down head first into the depths of the
ocean. So crowded was the _Hawk_, that Captain Hill threw overboard a
considerable quantity of his cargo to accommodate his passengers. The
wind held fair, but all hands were put on a very limited allowance of
provisions and water. The last cask of water was abroach on the very
day the _Hawk_ reached Saint John's. No man more deserved to have his
name held in remembrance than Captain Hill for his generous and humane
conduct on that occasion.
In time, Paul Pringle and his companions, with their young charge and
most of the survivors of the _Hector's_ crew, found their way to the
shores of Old England, by which time peace was proclaimed, and men began
to indulge in the fond fancy that wars were to cease for ever on the
globe.