Never was an order obeyed with more alacrity. The stranger appeared
also to be standing under a press of sail, and steering to the southward
of east.
"She wishes to escape us altogether, or is not quite ready for action,"
observed the Captain to Mr Brine.
"She seems to be putting her best foot foremost, at all events,"
answered the first lieutenant, taking a look at the stranger through his
glass, for she could now be seen clearly from the deck. "She looks like
a frigate of much about our size; and I have little doubt, by the cut of
her sails, she is French."
"I have great hopes that she is, and more, that she is one of the very
frigates we have been on the lookout for," said the Captain. "What do
you think, master?" he added, turning to that officer, Mr Handlead, who
stood near.
"A Johnny Crapaud, sir," he answered quickly. "There's no doubt about
it; and to my mind the villain is making all sail to be off, because he
doesn't like the look of us."
"I trust that we shall overtake her, and take her, too, master," said
Captain Garland. "I think that we are already gaining on her. The
frigate slips well through the water."
The crew on the forecastle were carrying on a conversation much in the
same style. "Bless her heart, she is walking along at a good rate,"
observed Abel Bush as he looked over the bows. "The old girl's got as
pretty a pair of heels of her own as you'd wish to see."
"The faster she goes, the better," answered Peter Ogle. "I never does
feel comfortable like when one of those Monsieurs is in sight, till I
gets up alongside him and overhauls him one way or the other. You mind
how they used to give us the slip in the West Ingies. They'll be trying
on the same game now, depend on't."
"But when they do begin, they don't fight badly, you'll allow," observed
Paul Pringle.
"Maybe; but while they can lift their heels, they'll run," stoutly
maintained Abel.
In this instance the stranger seemed determined to contradict his
assertion, for at that very moment she was seen to haul up her foresail,
while the topgallant-sails were lowered on the caps, where they hung
swelling out and fluttering in the breeze; at the same time the flag of
republican France was run up at the peak, and a shot of defiance was
fired from one of her after-guns.
The British seamen, led by Paul Pringle, replied to it with a hearty
cheer, which, although it could not reach the Frenchmen's ears, served
to warm up their own hearts for the fight. Although the crew had not
served long together, each man knew his proper station; and there each
man now stood bold and fearless, prepared for the contest.
Captain Garland, with Mr Brine near him, walked the quarterdeck, with
telescope in hand, watching each movement of the enemy. The marines,
commanded by their lieutenant, stood drawn up with muskets, ready to
open fire as soon as they could get within range. Added to them were a
party of small-arm men prepared for the same object, or ready to board
if required, while others were stationed there to fight the quarterdeck
guns, or to attend the braces. Here, also, were grouped the mates and
midshipmen, not wanted elsewhere, ready to be despatched on any duty
which might be required of them. On the maindeck the crew of each gun,
with handkerchiefs round their heads, and stripped to the waist,
clustered round it, the locks fixed in readiness, and the lanyards
coiled around them, the tackles laid along the decks, the captains with
their priming-boxes buckled on, the officers with their swords on,
standing by their proper divisions; while in long rows were the
round-shot and wads, with grape and canister; and at intervals sat the
ship's boys,--powder-monkeys they were often called,--each on his proper
tub full of powder, which he had brought up from the magazine below.
Here in the depths of the ship was the gunner, the presiding genius of
destruction, ready to serve out the further supply of powder which might
be required, as the boys came tripping down nimbly to receive it, with
no more concern than if they had had to carry up baskets of flour or of
corn. The carpenter was also below. He and his mates were preparing
shot-plugs with tallow and oakum, and were placing them in readiness in
the wings to stop any holes which the enemy's round-shot might make in
the ship's side; while he was prepared to sound the well occasionally,
and to make his report as to the depth of water in the hold. The other
warrant-officer, the second in rank, the boatswain, stood on the
forecastle with his mates, having especially to look after the masts and
spars, and to repair immediately, if possible, any material damage. The
purser and Captain's clerks were mostly on the quarterdeck, and, though
not fighting officers, ready and willing enough to fight like the rest;
while, lastly, the surgeon and his assistants were in the cockpit, with
the tables prepared, and the various implements required by them spread
out--saws, tourniquets, knives, basins, and sponges, as well as
restoratives of different kinds--to repair the damage, and to soothe or
alleviate the pain which the chances of cruel war might inflict on frail
humanity.
True Blue sat on his tub, with Harry Hartland next to him, and the big
Gipples on the other side of Harry. They were stationed on the upper
deck. True Blue was wishing that he was bigger, that he might be
serving the guns, or might be standing with Abel Bush and other friends,
who, with pistols in their belts and cutlasses at their sides, were
collected ready to board the enemy, or to repel boarders, should their
opponents make the attempt.
Big Gipples was in no way liking the look of things; and only the
conviction that he would be sent up again with a rope's end prevented
him jumping off his tub and running down to stow himself away in the
hold. The other boys, though not aware of the excess of his terror,
maliciously wished to frighten him in retaliation for his bullying.
"Who's likely to be best off now?" began Tim Fid, one of the smallest of
the set, speaking across Gipples to Harry; "we little chaps or the big
ones, when the round-shot comes bowling about us? They'd just as soon
take a big chap's head off as a little one's. I'd rather, for my part,
be small and weak than big and strong. Wouldn't you, Harry?"
"Certainly," answered Harry, who, having glanced at Gipples'
countenance, could not resist the temptation of having a fling at him.
"I've heard it said that the big fellows in a sea-fight are generally
picked off first, and that that is the reason there are more small
sailors than large ones. I wonder what Billy has to say about it?"
True Blue, thus appealed to, was nothing loth to join in trying to
increase the evident terror of Gipples. "Oh, as to that, I've heard
tell how these powder tubs on which we are made to sit sometimes catches
fire and blows the fellows on them like sky-rockets into the air,"
remarked Billy, laughing. "Mind, it's what I've heard tell of, though I
never saw it. But I did see once a ship and a whole ship's company
blown up together; and, mates, I hope I may never see the same sight
again. I was a little chap then, and I saw some sad things that day,
but I remember that one just as clearly as if it happened a week ago."
"Well, I do think it's a shame we small chaps, as have never done
anybody any harm, should be made to sit here to be shot at by them
Monsieurs out there--that I do," continued Tim Fid. "For my part, I do
think that the Captain ought to let us little ones go down and stow
ourselves comfortably away in the hold. Don't you, Gipples?"
Gipples, not perceiving that Tim was joking, looked up and said in a
half-crying tone:
"Yes, I do; if any on you chaps will come, I'll bolt--that I will."
On this there was a general laugh.
"I'd just like to see you," said Tim, "whether you'd go down or come up
the fastest. If every man was to do as you'd do, I should like to know
what would become of the ship. The sooner you goes home and learns to
hem or sell dog's meat the better."
The wretched Gipples saw that his feelings gained no sympathy. He tried
to back out of his proposal, but his tormentors were in no way inclined
to let him alone, till at last they made so much noise that they were
called to order by the men standing at the guns nearest them.
Presently, too, the deep-toned voice of the Captain was heard.
"Silence there, fore and aft!" he exclaimed. "We have an enemy in
sight, of equal if not greater force. We must take her, of course, but
the sooner we take her the less loss and the more honour we shall gain.
I intend to wait till we are close alongside before we open our fire. I
shall take off my hat--wait till I lift it above my head; and then, my
lads, I expect you'll give her a right good dose of our shot."
The seamen raised three hearty cheers. British sailors are always ready
for that; and directly afterwards the taunt masts and white canvas of
the French frigate were seen by those on deck rising above the hammock
nettings on the larboard bow. The Captain stepped to the larboard
gangway. A voice came from the deck of the Frenchman.
"What do they say?" asked the Captain of the master, who was nearest
him.
"I don't know, sir. I never could make out the Frenchmen's lingo, and I
doubt that they intend us to understand them," answered Mr Handlead
with a tone of contempt in his voice. "They are only mocking at us.
It's their way, sir." Mr Brine more briefly said that he could not
make out the Frenchman's hail.
"Then keep her as she goes, master," said Captain Garland; and, putting
his speaking trumpet to his mouth, he shouted, "This is His Britannic
Majesty's ship, the _Ruby_, and I beg to know the name of yours, and the
King you serve?"
"This is _La Belle Citoyenne_, belonging to the Republican Government of
France," was the answer. To which was added by several men in chorus,
"We serve no King--no, no!"
"But we do!" cried Paul Pringle. "And right glad we are to serve him.
Hurrah, boys, for King George and Old England! Hurrah! hurrah!"
Three hearty cheers burst from the throats of the British tars.
Scarcely had they ceased when the French Captain, who was still standing
in the gangway, was seen to hold aloft in his hand a _bonnet rouge_, the
red cap of liberty, and briefly to address his crew in terms of
considerable animation. "Vive la Nation!" he exclaimed. "Vive la
Republique!" answered the crew.
The French Captain, having finished his speech, handed the red cap to
one of the seamen, who ran with it up the rigging and screwed it on to
the masthead, where it was evident that a hole was prepared to receive
the screw. The marines might easily have picked him off; but no one
even thought of attempting to injure the brave fellow.
The _Ruby_ was now well up with her opponent, and the two Captains,
taking off their hats, made the politest of bows to each other, the
Frenchman, however, beating the English Captain in the vehemence of his
flourish. Both then returned to the quarterdeck. The moment to begin
the fight had arrived. Captain Garland, who had kept his hat in his
hand, raised it to his head. Every eye was on him. All knew the signal
he had promised to give. For an instant not a sound was heard; and then
there burst forth the loud continued roar of the broadsides of the two
frigates as gun after gun of the _Ruby_, beginning at the foremost, was
brought to bear on her antagonist, responded to by the after-guns of the
Frenchman. And now the two frigates ran on before the wind, so close
together that the combatants could see their opponents' faces, pouring
their shot into each other's sides. Fast as the British seamen could
run in their guns, they loaded, and, straining every muscle, they were
rapidly run out again and fired. While round-shot and grapeshot and
canister were sent rattling in through the enemy's ports and across her
decks, about her rigging, or tearing open her sides, she gallantly
returned the compliment with much the same coin. Many of the bold
seamen on board the _Ruby_ were cut down.
A shot struck two men working the gun nearest to where Gipples was
sitting on his powder tub in terror unspeakable, not knowing what moment
he might be hit. On came the mangled forms of the poor fellows,
writhing in their dying agonies, directly against him. He and his tub
were upset, and he was sent, covered with their blood, sprawling on the
deck.
"Oh, I'm killed! I'm killed!" he shrieked out, and, overcome with
terror, did not attempt to rise.
Two of the idlers, whose duty it was to carry the wounded below and
throw the dead overboard,--the common custom in those days of disposing
of them,--hearing him shriek out, thought that he had also been killed.
Having disposed of the first two men who really were dead, they lifted
him up and were about to throw him overboard, when, discovering how he
was to be treated, he groaned out, "Oh, I ain't dead yet--take me
below." The men having been ordered to take all the wounded to the
cockpit, immediately carried him below, and, placing him on the
surgeon's table, one of them said:
"Here's a poor fellow, gentlemen, as seems very bad; but I don't know
whether he wants an arm or a leg cut off most."
"I hope that he may escape without losing either," said the surgeon,
lifting up Gipples and preparing to strip him to examine his wound.
"Where are you hit, my man?"
"Oh, oh, sir! all over, sir!" answered Gregory.
The surgeon, who had noted Gipples for some time and guessed his
character, very quickly ascertained that there was nothing whatever the
matter with him. Taking up a splint, he bestowed a few hearty cuts with
it on his bare body, and then, telling him to jump up and slip on his
clothes, he sent him up on deck to attend to his duty. Poor Gipples
would gladly have hid himself away; but he was watched, and started from
deck to deck till he had resumed the charge of his powder tub. Meantime
Paul Pringle was keeping an anxious eye on True Blue. There he sat as
composed and fearless as if nothing unusual was going forward, only
jumping up with alacrity and handing out the powder to the crews of the
guns he was ordered to serve. Never was his eye brighter. Never had he
seemed more full of life and animation.
"Ay, he's of the right sort," said Paul to himself; "I knew he'd be."
The moment his tub was empty, down he ran to the magazine, and speedily
again sprang with it on deck. His friend Harry imitated his example as
well as he could; but he could not avoid stopping short when a shot
crashed in just before him, carrying off the head of a seaman, whose
body fell across the deck along where he had to pass.
The cry of "Powder, powder, boy!" from the captain of the gun made him
move on, but his knees trembled so that he could scarcely reach his
post. After he had delivered the amount of powder required and sat down
on his tub, his tranquillity of mind and nerve returned. Another shot
came whizzing by; he merely bobbed his head. When the next passed near
him, he sat perfectly still. After that he scarcely moved eyelid or
muscle, in spite of all the missiles and splinters and fragments flying
about.
Not so the miserable Gipples. Compelled to stay on deck he was; but
nothing could keep his head from bobbing at every shot which struck the
ship or passed over her, while his whole body was continually shrinking
down on the deck. Several times he lay flat along it, and so confused
was he, that, when called on to deliver the powder, he often did not
appear to hear, or ran off to the wrong gun; till at last, had there
been anybody to supply his place, he would have been kicked below and
declared unfit to be even a powder-monkey. Even Tim Fid, when the
firing began, was not altogether as steady as usual; but though he
bobbed and sprang about with the feeling that he was dodging the shot,
which he could not do in reality, it was much in the same way that he
would have dodged a big play fellow whom he did not wish to touch him;
and as he never for a moment was found wanting at his post, no one
complained.
The action began at a quarter-past six that bright summer morning, and
for about a quarter of an hour the two frigates ran along parallel to
each other, exchanging broadsides with the greatest rapidity of which
their respective crews were capable. They were keeping all the time
directly before the wind, and within hailing distance of each other. In
that short period great had been the carnage on both sides. One of the
English lieutenants and two midshipmen, besides a dozen men or more, had
been killed, and half as many again had been wounded; while the bulwarks
of the lately trim frigate were shattered and torn, her crew begrimed
with powder, perspiration, and blood, and her white decks slippery with
gore, torn up with shot, and covered with fragments from the yards and
the rent woodwork around. The mainmast, too, had been severely wounded;
and though some of the carpenter's crew were busy in lashing and
otherwise strengthening it, great fears were felt for its safety.
"If that goes," exclaimed Paul Pringle, who saw the accident, "those
rascally Monsieurs will get off after all!"
At about half-past six the _Belle Citoyenne_ hauled up about eight
points from the wind, thus increasing her distance from the _Ruby_.
"I thought how it would be!" exclaimed Paul Pringle when he saw the
manoeuvre. "The Monsieurs can't stand our fire. Wing him, boys, wing
him! Don't let the Frenchman get away from us. Here, Billy, you come
here. You all know that there isn't a better eye in the ship. Let him
have a shot, boys."
True Blue, thus summoned, sprang with delight to the gun. The mass of
smoke which hung round them, and the death of the officer in charge of
his division, enabled Paul to accomplish his object without question.
"Now steady, Billy, as you love me, boy!" he exclaimed in his eagerness.
True Blue had not far to stoop as he took the lanyard of the lock in his
hand and looked carefully along the gun. The _Ruby_ had herself hauled
up a little. For an instant there was a cessation of firing. Billy at
that moment pulled the trigger. The Frenchmen were in the very act of
bracing up the mizen-topsail-yard when the mizen-mast was seen to bend
over to starboard, and, with a crash, to come toppling down overboard,
shot away a few feet only above the deck.
"You did it--you did it, Billy, my boy!" exclaimed Paul Pringle, almost
beside himself with joy, seizing his godson in his arms and giving him a
squeeze which would have pressed the breath out of a slighter body.
"Who fired that last shot?" asked the Captain from aft.
"True Blue, sir--Billy Freeborn!" cried Paul Pringle.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" shouted the men at the gun.
"Bravo! let him fire another, then," answered Captain Garland, not
complaining of the irregularity of the proceeding. Not another word
could have been heard, for both the _Ruby_ and the French frigate again
began pounding away at each other.
True Blue, with the encouragement he had received, stepped boldly up to
the gun. The captain was Tom Marline, one of his assistant-guardians,
and he was a favourite with all the rest, so that there was no feeling
of jealousy excited against him.
Again he looked along it. He waited his time till the smoke had cleared
away a little, and then once more he fired. The shot hit--of that both
Marline and Paul Pringle were certain, but what damage was done they
could not determine.
"I pitched it astern, not far from the wheel," observed True Blue
quietly. "Maybe it hit the wheel--maybe not."
Again the firing went on as before, and True Blue modestly returned to
his powder tub. More than once he jumped up, anxious to have another
pull at the lanyard of his gun. Paul, however, did not encourage this;
he wisely considered that he had done enough to establish a reputation,
which more shots would not have increased.
Suddenly Paul struck his hands together with delight. "She is steering
wildly! she is steering wildly!" he cried out. "True Blue, you did
knock her wheel away--you did, boy. See what she's about!"
The French frigate as he spoke paid off right before the wind, and
presented her bows directly at the _Ruby_. In that position she
received a raking broadside; but nothing could stop her--she was utterly
without guidance, and on she came like a battering-ram directly at the
beam of the _Ruby_. Captain Garland, so sudden was the movement, could
accomplish no manoeuvre to avoid the collision. The French ship's
jibboom, as she fell on board the English frigate, passed directly
between her fore and mainmasts, and there she hung, while it pressed so
hard against the already wounded mainmast that there appeared every
prospect of the latter being carried away. Just before, a shot had
struck the boatswain and brought him mortally wounded to the deck.
Paul Pringle knew of his loss. As he looked at the mast, strained to
the utmost, the main and spring stays being also shot away, he thought
to himself, "If the mast goes the Frenchman will break clear, and ten to
one, after all, escape us."
It was a time for decision, not for much consideration.
"Who'll follow me, lads?" he exclaimed, seizing an axe and springing
into the rigging.
Tom Marline and several other bold fellows did follow. They had to
ascend and then to descend the tottering mast. Terrific was the danger.
Should the mast fall, their death would be almost certain. They
thought, however, only of the safety of the ship, or rather, how they
might best prevent the escape of the enemy. With right good will they
plied their axes on the enemy's jibboom. Bravely they hacked away, in
spite of the fire of musketry which was kept up from her decks.
Meantime a cry was raised below that the French were about to board.
"Boarders, repel boarders!" cried Captain Garland.
"I'll lead you, my lads!" exclaimed the first lieutenant. "See, they
are not coming; but we'll be at them--hurrah!"
True Blue, finding that there was no more work for him to do in getting
up powder, and seeing Abel Bush and Peter Ogle, with a few others,
following Mr Brine on board the Frenchman, seized the cutlass of a
seaman who had just been killed close to him, and, in the impulse of the
moment, sprang after them. In vain, however, their gallant leader
endeavoured to get on board from the upper deck. Numbers of Frenchmen
stood in the head, and, in spite of all the activity of the British
seamen, they could not spring into it. On finding this, quick as
lightning Mr Brine leaped down, and, followed by a few, reached the
maindeck. Then, calling more round him, he sprang through the bow-ports
of the enemy's maindeck, with Peter Ogle, True Blue, and a few others,
driving all opponents before him. Just at that moment, before all the
boarders had time to follow, Paul Pringle had succeeded in cutting
through the Frenchman's jibboom, with all the connecting rigging, and,
her head coming round, she was once more clear of the _Ruby_, and
drifting helplessly away from her. Even while engaged in his task,
Paul's watchful eye had detected True Blue seizing the cutlass, and when
he followed Mr Brine he guessed his object. Still he did not suppose
that those with him would allow the boy to board the Frenchman; and, at
all events, he was not the man to be deterred by any consideration from
completing the duty which he had undertaken.
The moment, however, that he had performed it thus effectually, he slid
down rapidly on deck and eagerly sought for his godson. He was met with
a cry from Harry Hartland and Tim Fid, "Oh yes, Paul, he's gone--True
Blue's gone; he's on board the Frenchman, and they'll make mincemeat of
him--that they will!"
He observed, also, Abel Bush, Tom Marline, and others standing eyeing
the French frigate, the very pictures of anxiety and disappointed rage.
He saw too clearly that True Blue must have been one of those who had
been carried off in the French ship when she broke adrift from them. To
assist in clearing her, the _Ruby's_ helm had been put aport, or to
larboard, as was then the expression, and this carried her still farther
away from _La Belle Citoyenne_.
Captain Garland was not aware for some little time that any of his
people had gained the enemy's decks. The instant the fact was
communicated to him, he became doubly eager to get once more alongside.
The minutes, however, appeared like hours to those who knew that their
shipmates and friends were surrounded by exasperated foes, who were too
likely, in the heat of the moment, to give no quarter. Paul Pringle
groaned with anxiety for the fate of his godson. There he stood, his
huge beard blackened with smoke and dabbled with a shipmate's blood; his
hair, which had escaped from under his handkerchief when he went aloft,
streaming in the breeze; his brawny arm bared, and his drawn cutlass in
his hand; and looking truly like one of the sea-kings of old, the rovers
of the main, prepared for a desperate struggle with his enemies. Just
then the sails of the French frigate were taken aback, and the effect of
this was to cause her to make a stern board, which drove her right down
on the _Ruby_.
Once more, by slightly shifting his helm, Captain Garland allowed her to
drop alongside, the respective bows and sterns of the two ships being in
opposite directions.
"And now, my lads, lash her fast!" he shouted. "We must not let her
part from us till she is ours."
The very instant the sides of the two frigates ground together, Paul
Pringle, who, with a party of boarders, many of them old shipmates,
stood ready on the maindeck, sprang through the after-ports, shouting
out, "Remember little True Blue, boys! Let us get back our Billy True
Blue!"
The clash of steel and the occasional report of pistols saluted their
ears, and there stood at bay the gallant little band, the lieutenant and
Peter Ogle, with most of the men, bleeding at every pore--one or two,
indeed, stretched lifeless at their feet; but True Blue himself was
nowhere to be seen. Numbers were pressing round the gallant band, and
in another instant it seemed likely that they would have been
overwhelmed. With such impetuosity, however, did Paul and his party
dash on board, that although numbers of the Frenchmen were thronging the
maindeck, they were rapidly driven back. In vain they struggled--in
vain they fought. Nothing could stop the fierce onslaught of the
British seamen.
High above all other cries, Paul Pringle's voice was heard shouting the
name of True Blue. "We must find our True Blue. Huzza for our True
Blue, boys!"
Thus timely relieved, Mr Brine was once more able to advance aft, and
now on both sides, led by him and by old Handlead, who was among the
first of the second party, the British tars swept the Frenchman's
maindeck fore and aft, cutting down or driving below all before them.
At length, when near the after-hatchway, the Frenchmen made a bold
stand, as if resolved to sell their lives dearly or to drive back their
assailants. Just then, Paul caught sight of True Blue himself,
struggling to get free from between two of the after-guns, to which
place it was evident he had been carried as a prisoner.
"There he is, boys! there is our True Blue!" shouted Paul, and at the
same moment he and his companions dashed on with redoubled energy from
the check they had received, tumbled all the remaining Frenchmen down
into the cockpit, and in another instant Paul had once more grasped his
godson by the hand.
"You deserve one thing, Billy, and you shall do it!" he exclaimed.
"Follow me quick, though."
He sprang up the ladder to the upper deck. Meantime the officers had
placed parties at the hatchways to keep in check those who had taken
refuge below, the remaining few who appeared on the maindeck having
thrown down their arms and prayed for mercy.
On the upper deck stood a gallant few surrounding their Captain, who lay
wounded among them at the foot of the mainmast. They seemed scarcely
aware that their companions below had yielded, and that all hope of
resistance was vain. The rush of the British seamen who now swarmed on
board and swept along the deck undeceived them, and, driven right and
left or overboard, the remainder dropped their swords and asked for
quarter.
Paul, followed by True Blue, had gained the main-rigging. His quick eye
had discovered that the halliards of the Frenchman's flag, that of the
new Republic, led into the top.
"There, boy!" exclaimed Paul, "you must haul that down. Quick, aloft!"
True Blue required no second order, but, springing up the ratlines
before anybody could overtake him, he had reached the top, when, seizing
the halliards, down came gliding the flaunting tricolour, followed
quickly by the red cap of liberty, which, unscrewing, he threw among the
people on deck; and three hearty cheers from the British crew announced
that the well-fought battle was won.
The gallant French Captain opened his dim eyes at the sound, to see the
emblem for which he had striven trampled under foot. He had been
endeavouring, since he saw that all hope of escape was over, to tear to
pieces with his teeth and to swallow a paper which he had drawn from his
pocket. Suddenly, while thus engaged, he saw the red cap fall like a
flash of fire from aloft. His fingers released their hold of the paper,
and with a deep groan he expired.
Mr Brine stooped down by the side of his brave opponent. The paper he
had been endeavouring to destroy was his commission; but another paper
projected from his pocket. It was a code of private signals, which,
with noble patriotism, he had wished to prevent falling into an enemy's
hands.
"Well, I suppose there is some good in those Frenchmen after all!"
exclaimed old Handlead when he heard of it. "He tried to serve his
country to the last, at all events."
No time was now lost in securing the prisoners and removing them to the
_Ruby_ as the two ships lay alongside each other. Some of the Frenchmen
looked very glum, and evidently, if they could get an opportunity, meant
mischief; but they mostly yielded to the fortune of war with a shrug,
and by the evening were skipping away right merrily, to the sound of Sam
Smatch's fiddle. Indeed, they had little cause for animosity against
him, as he had taken no part whatever in their capture, having
volunteered to remain below to assist the surgeon. The English, in this
gallant action, a type of many which were to follow, had just fifty men
killed and wounded, while the French lost between sixty and seventy.
Just as the last of the prisoners were removed, and the prize crew of
the _Belle Citoyenne_ had got on board, the two ships separated.
When once more the two frigates were in a condition to make sail, and
were standing along amicably together, Captain Garland called the crew
aft. "My lads," he cried, "all have done well to-day. That fine
frigate, now ours, is the best proof of it--won, too, let me tell you,
from the moment the first shot was fired till the flag was hauled down,
in less than an hour. When all have done their duty like brave British
seamen, I can scarcely pick out any in particular to praise; but there
is one lad among you who rendered material service in the work of the
day."
Paul Pringle brightened, and, his countenance beaming with pleasure, he
placed his hand on his godson's shoulder. The Captain went on:
"There was one shot which especially tended to secure us the prize; that
shot was fired by the boy Freeborn--True Blue Freeborn. I shall have my
eye upon him. If he goes on as he has begun, he will be an honour to
the service, and rise in it, too, if I mistake not. Lads, you have all
my hearty thanks, and our King and country will thank you too."
Three hearty cheers for their gallant Captain were given by the crew as
he finished his address; and then, however unexpected, and as Paul
Pringle expressed himself, "almost dumfoundering," three more were
raised for Billy True Blue Freeborn, the pride of the crew. No one
shouted louder than Tim Fid and Harry Hartland; but Gipples growled out
as he sneaked below, "It'll be all the same some day when a shot takes
his head off. They can't keep that on with all their petting."
The next day the frigate reached Portsmouth, where the brave French
Captain was buried with all the honours of war; and Captain Garland, and
his officers and ship's company, received the praises and rewards which
they so well-merited for their gallant achievement.