IN COMMAND OF THE SQUADRON.
One night about seven years after this, the handsome fifty-four gun
frigate, the Naiad, flagship of Admiral Beaumont’s squadron, and the
sloops-of-war Vixen and Spitfire lay at anchor off a town on the South
American coast.
The night was clear, although there was no moon, and the harbor lights
shone steadily. The town itself was full of life and light, the
governor’s castle blazed, and across the dark water floated the
inspiring music of several military bands. A grand official reception in
honor of the admiral and his officers was in progress.
Walking the deck of the Naiad was Brydell, now a handsome young ensign.
He wore a look of sublime resignation. He had a wholesome appetite for
receptions, but it being his watch that night he was obliged to remain
on board. In vain had he made all sorts of advantageous offers of
exchanging duty with the other young watch officers, of whom Maxwell,
his old acquaintance of the Constellation, was one, and Cunliffe was
another. Brydell had pleaded, cajoled, and stormed; the other fellows
only laughed at him and went off to enjoy themselves.
“Just look over there at the Spitfire,” growled Brydell to himself—the
Spitfire was commanded by Brydell’s father. “Dad hates these affairs and
has let all the fellows go and stays at home and keeps ship himself. I
wish our captain was an unsocial widower like dad.”
And as if to exasperate him further came a burst of music from the
shore, borne fitfully over the water. Brydell glanced cynically up at
the frigate’s lights which indicated by their arrangement that both
admiral and captain were on shore, while the Spitfire, a short distance
off, although looming up indistinctly, yet showed by the lanterns on her
shadowy spars that her captain was aboard.
“However,” thought Brydell, slamming his cap fiercely on his head,
“Admiral Beaumont is nearer right than my father, for he gets all the
solid fun there is out of life. That’s the sort of admiral I mean to
be.”
Brydell had enjoyed every moment of his cruise on the flagship. It was
Admiral Beaumont’s last sea service before his retirement. They expected
to sail for home within a few days, and when the admiral hauled down his
flag it would be for good. He had been known as a great martinet, but
for the last few weeks he had become rather more indulgent, especially
in the matter of shore leave; and now, for the first time on the cruise,
the ship had on her only one lieutenant, Verdery; one ensign, Brydell;
two young naval cadets, and one assistant engineer.
As Brydell walked the deck some strange thoughts crossed his mind. They
had that day taken on board from the Vixen a number of men whose time
was up, and who were to be conveyed back to the United States, while the
Vixen remained on the South Atlantic station.
And among them was a sailor rated on the ship’s books as “William Black,
able seaman,” whom Brydell instantly recognized, in spite of a heavy
full beard, as Esdaile. He had heard nothing of Grubb’s disgraced son in
all those seven years, and had thought that an American man-of-war was
the last place on earth to look for him. But he concluded that Esdaile
had no doubt spent his little patrimony and had probably enlisted for a
living, failing in other things.
Esdaile or Black had given no sign of recognition, and probably hoped
that his altered name, his beard, and the changes of seven years would
keep his identity unknown. The meeting had given Brydell a shock. He had
never forgotten his promise to poor Grubb to befriend his son if
possible, but he had had no means of doing so.
Then his thoughts turned to pleasanter things. He had received a letter
from Minna Laurison that day, enclosing her photograph in her white
commencement gown. She was a pretty girl of seventeen then, and eager to
enter college, which she would do the next year.
Brydell had been back to the Laurison place several times since he had
spent his year of farm work there, and Minna and he had continued fast
friends. Minna, in her enthusiasm for the higher education, was loftily
indifferent to receptions, never having been to one; and Brydell made
her very indignant and amused himself very much by promising her that
her head would no doubt be completely turned by the first she should go
to.
“Never mind,” thought Brydell to himself as he walked up and down the
deserted quarterdeck. “Some time or other I’ll go to a more gorgeous
reception than this, and I’ll have a sweeter girl to take than any
here—it will be Minna Laurison.”
The sea had been rough when the boats put off, and it grew rougher as
the wind suddenly began to rise. Lieutenant Verdery, one of the oldest
lieutenants, who was left in command of the ship, had gone forward for a
few moments and presently came back. The wind began then to blow in
earnest, and the big frigate was rocking like a cockle shell. The sky,
too, became black and lowering in an inconceivably short time.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if we were in for a norther,” said Verdery.
“We have had most uncommon good weather for this coast, and it’s about
time for it to change. I shouldn’t be surprised if the admiral got wet
coming off to-night.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t get off at all,” answered
Brydell, pointing to the northwest.
A great mass of black clouds had collected as if by magic, and at that
instant it was torn by a flash of forked green light that seemed to rend
the heavens. Nothing could have been more sudden. Verdery dashed below
to look at the glass and to see the engineer, for if the storm struck
them, the safety of the ship and of the four hundred men she carried
would depend upon the power of the engines to keep her off the giant
rocks that fringed the shore.
Almost instantly the distant roar of the advancing tempest was heard,
and in another moment the cabin orderly came running up excitedly to
Brydell.
“If you please, sir,” he said, “Mr. Verdery was just going in the cabin
to look at the glass when, one of the ports being loose, the wind blew
it in and it struck Mr. Verdery right full in the forehead and knocked
him insensible. The cabin steward run to him to do everything he could,
but Mr. Verdery can’t give no orders, and the steward, as was a hospital
steward once, says as how it was a pretty bad blow, and when Mr. Verdery
comes to, he can’t give no orders ’cause both his eyes is bleeding and
he can’t see.”
For one moment Brydell’s heart stood still. He was the next officer in
rank to Verdery on board, the only others besides the assistant engineer
being Manning and Buxton, both his juniors, and upon him would rest the
command of the flagship and her company in a gale which promised to be a
hurricane. In another moment, though, his courage rose.
“I can only do my best,” he thought, “and all my life and training has
been steadily toward making me fit for such an emergency; and all I can
do is to keep off shore and trust in God.”
At that very moment the advance guard of the storm struck them. As they
were at anchor their canvas was secure, but their steam was low, and the
wind was driving them straight on to destruction. The Naiad’s head had
been pointed seaward, but as the tempest struck her it knocked the great
frigate around as if it had been a paper ship, and her heavy anchors
began to drag.
“Call the boatswain!” was Brydell’s first quick order, given calmly
enough although his heart was thumping like a steam engine, and his next
was, “Call the signal man!”
In another moment the sharp call of the whistle was heard to get up the
anchor, and above the darkness the night signal went up to the other
ships, “Up anchors and go to sea!”
Their only safety lay in seeking the open ocean. Manning and Buxton were
on deck immediately, cool and composed. Crawford, the young engineer,
was at his post working hard to get up steam, and in a few minutes the
throb of the engines, slow but steady, was heard.
Brydell was at the wheel with Atkins, his old acquaintance of his cadet
days, who was now a quartermaster and remarkably cool-headed and
reliable. The helm was put hard aport, and in the teeth of the gale the
ship was brought about by slow degrees.
A black and blinding rain had come along with thunder, lightning, and
wind, and it was only during the flashes of lightning that the Vixen and
the Spitfire could be seen. Both sloops-of-war had more powerful engines
for their size and worked better than the Naiad. As soon as the signal
was sent up, Brydell saw that both ships had come about and were heading
seaward for safety. They made but slow progress, but still they were
moving steadily and passed close to the Naiad on the port quarter. The
Naiad was struggling with the fury of the storm and, although her head
had been brought partly around, she lay in the trough of the sea, her
laboring engines seemingly unable to move her against the force of the
hurricane.
All her company were on deck except the force down in the engine rooms,
and the men had begun to make silent preparation for the fight for their
lives. Most of them had kicked off their shoes and stripped off their
jackets, expecting every moment to be engulfed in the boiling sea.
Suddenly a flash of lightning that lasted nearly a minute and played
over the whole heavens showed them the Spitfire, passing them easily
though slowly, followed by the Vixen. Captain Brydell was standing on
the bridge of the Spitfire, and saw at a glance that Brydell was in
command. He at once surmised that Lieutenant Verdery was disabled.
As he forged ahead of the flagship, Captain Brydell took off his cap and
waved it; and Brydell, knowing the spirit of fortitude that his father
expected of him, waved his cap back in that one moment of ghastly light.
Then, as the darkness descended, a cheer rang out above the howling of
the wind; it was the men on the Naiad cheering their more fortunate
comrades, while they themselves seemed doomed to destruction.
But at that moment the frigate, as if gathering herself for a mighty
effort, moved forward a little, then stopped and staggered, and again
she was moving ahead, although but slowly and unsteadily. Brydell
managed to keep her head to the wind, and by degrees as the steam got up
she made a little more headway.
In the blinding flashes of light they could see the two sloops-of-war
for a while ahead of them, but when they had got a mile or two from
shore not even the lightning gleam could pierce the whole of the awful
darkness.
Brydell’s sensations as he stood by the wheel, occasionally leaving it
to mount the bridge for a minute or two, could not be described. He was
simply doing what any other officer could do or would have done, but no
young officer in the world, having for his first command the safety of a
flagship in a furious gale and the lives of four hundred souls, could
feel anything but awed and solemn.
The quickness with which he had seized the situation and had signaled
the course to pursue had inspired the men with confidence, and he was
well supported by the coolness and steadiness of the young midshipmen.
Presently, while walking forward to see how things were going, he was
met by the cabin orderly, who in attempting to salute lost his cap in
the shrieking wind.
“Mr. Verdery, sir, has come to,” he yelled in Brydell’s ear above the
roaring of wind and water, “and the cabin steward is helpin’ him on
deck; but he can’t see ’cause both his eyes were hurt by that ’ere port
blowin’ out.”
In the half-darkness that the ship’s lights could only pierce like star
points Brydell saw Verdery, with his eyes bandaged, being helped up the
companionway. Brydell hurried to him.
“You have done admirably, Mr. Brydell,” was Verdery’s generous greeting,
“and it shall be known to your credit. My first dread when I recovered
my senses was that you had not grasped the situation, but when I asked I
found out that you had put to sea as promptly as any officer could.”
“And I immediately signaled the other ships to go to sea also,” replied
Brydell.
At that a sudden change came over Verdery’s pale and anxious face which
was visible below the bandages. In the midst of the horrors and dangers
of the hour he suddenly burst out laughing.
“Quite right you were,” said he, “but your father was in command of the
Spitfire. I wonder how he would have felt if he had known it was you who
ordered him to go outside?”
“He did know it, sir,” answered Brydell, smiling faintly. “They passed
quite close to us, and a great flash of light came, and I saw my father
as plainly as I see you now, and of course he saw I was in command. He
waved his cap to me, and I waved mine back at him.”
Verdery, in spite of his dangerous hurt and helpless condition, remained
on deck, but he gave no orders, nor did he find it necessary to make any
suggestions, and his presence was only from the feeling that he wished
to be found at his post, even if he could not do duty.
The fury of the storm continued, but the Naiad, with her engines
revolving quickly, was better able to withstand it. They had now worked
their way well out to sea and were in fairly good condition to weather
the gale.
Brydell, although absorbed in trying to save the ship, had yet noticed
Black, the seaman whom he knew to be Esdaile. There was little for the
men to do, so they gathered forward on the fok’sle ready for any
emergency.
Not so Black, who stood as far aft as discipline would allow, and apart
from his mates. Just then the fury of the gale blew a part of the main
staysail out of the bolt ropes, and the men sprang aloft to reef the
ragged sail.
It was Black’s duty to go and he went, but Brydell, watching him in the
half-light, saw that he shirked his work. He was the last man aloft, and
he was so careless in what he was doing that the captain of the maintop,
pushing him aside, secured the sail himself. Black dropped to the deck
unconcernedly, close by Brydell.
“My man,” said Brydell sharply, “you must be smarter at your duty than
that.”
Without a word Black rushed at Brydell and with one blow felled him to
the deck; then, as if maddened, he jumped on him and began kicking him
furiously. In an instant a dozen brawny arms had seized the
insubordinate sailor and he was dragged below, fighting and resisting
violently.
Neither the blow nor the kicks had seriously hurt Brydell. He was dazed
by the suddenness of it, but in half a minute he was on his feet, none
the worse but for a few bruises. The men, seeing his escape and knowing
how much the safety of all on board depended on the young ensign, with
one accord gave him three thundering cheers that echoed above the
roaring of the storm.
All night the tempest raved, and when a ghastly dawn followed, the ship
was still fighting for her life. Brydell did not once leave the deck,
but toward noon the wind calmed, and although the sea still ran high the
fury of the storm was over.
About two o’clock in the day the Spitfire was sighted. Brydell, knowing
her superior speed, signaled: “Report us all right and we will be in
some time to-day.”
The Spitfire signaled back: “Congratulations. Who commands?” The answer
came: “Ensign Brydell. Verdery hurt, but not seriously.”
With this good report the Spitfire steamed away for the anchorage.