"Sumner wants to see you, Hurry," said he; "I think a little talk with
you will do him good. He is very low, left so many hours by himself,
and he does not sleep much."
Our young messmate had been progressing favourably, according to the
doctor's report, since he was wounded, but he was nervous and fanciful,
poor little fellow! and wanted more tender nursing than the rough,
albeit kind-hearted, treatment he could obtain on board. Captain Hudson
would gladly have landed him, could he have found any friends on shore
willing to take charge of him; but as this was impossible, all
circumstances would allow was done to make him comfortable. I sat
myself down on a stool by the side of his cot, and told him all that was
going forward on deck.
"I wish that I could be about and doing my duty again," said he; "I'm
weary of being boxed up here below."
"I should be glad if you could get sent home, and have your mother and
sister to nurse you till you are strong and well."
"Who told you that I had a sister?" he asked quickly.
"You did, surely, Harry," I answered; "how else should I have known it?"
"Oh, I never spoke about her, I'm sure!" said he earnestly. "She is
such a little angel, Hurry, that I could not bear to have her name
uttered by any of our fellows in the way they speak of each other's
sisters and female friends."
"Trust me, indeed, I will never mention her," I answered, appreciating
his delicacy, though I felt a strong desire to see the little girl he
praised so highly. I did not reflect that her portrait was painted by a
loving brother. I got him to talk more about her, and when his heart
was opened he seemed never tired of the theme. He told me how she was
two or three years older than himself; how she had watched over him and
instructed him in all that was good, and how bitterly she grieved at his
going away to sea, and much did he blame himself for having often
appeared ungrateful for her love and affection. Often in a night-watch
did my thoughts recur to Julia Sumner. It was a midshipman's fancy, and
perhaps a folly, but it was very excusable, I cannot help thinking even
at the present time.
Our conversation was interrupted by the report of one of our
bow-chasers: I sprang on deck. We had got the chase within range of our
guns, and we were not likely to let them remain inactive. Still she
stood on; not a trace nor a sheet did she slack; and as our gunnery was
not first-rate it must be owned, we could not as yet hope to do her much
damage.
"We have gained on her considerably since you went below," said Delisle,
whose glass was fixed on the chase, watching the effect of our shot.
"In another hour, if the wind holds, we shall get her well under our
guns, and then she'll have very little more to say for herself."
"Land ahead!" shouted the look-out from aloft. I with others went to
the mast-head to ascertain its distance. We judged it to be the land
about Cape Cod, some fifteen miles or so away. It would take us a
couple of hours to get up with it. Evening, however, was now coming on,
and it would be dark before we could hope to reach it. We watched the
chase more anxiously than ever; the prospect of bringing her to before
she should reach the shore was every instant growing less. Those who
manned her were no cowards. As we were watching her, her stern-ports
opened, and a couple of shots came hissing by us. It was a desperate
chance. Her object was to cripple us, and if she could do so, perhaps
she hoped to haul her wind, and, favoured by the darkness, to creep away
from between us and the shore. We fired our bow-chasers as often as we
could in return, and more than one shot told with damaging effect.
Still every injury was repaired as soon as received. The land, seen
under the glow of the setting sun, was growing more and more distinct,
and by the time the shades of evening came over us we were near enough
to distinguish it and the chase, now in dangerous proximity to its
sands.
The chase had now lasted fifteen hours--another hour would decide the
point. It soon passed. It was a moment of intense interest. Every man
was at his station. Hands were in the chains with the lead. We were
nearer the coast than under other circumstances we would willingly have
been. The chase stood on with everything set. One felt it a grievous
pity that so beautiful a fabric should be doomed to destruction. Her
striking would give us time to haul off. On she glided, her symmetry
unimpaired. In another moment her tall masts rocked to and fro; a loud
crashing and tearing, even at that distance, reached our ears.
"Down with the helm!" shouted Captain Hudson. "Haul aft the starboard
sheets! Flatten in the starboard braces! Give her the starboard
broadside!"
These and other orders to bring the ship on a wind followed in quick
succession amid the roar of our guns, which sent the shot crashing into
the unfortunate chase. As soon as the ship was put about she stood back
on the other tack, pouring in a second and still more destructive
broadside. Again the ship was put about; once more the starboard
broadside was loaded, and as we came abreast of the stranded chase,
fired into her with deadly effect.
"Boats away!" was now the order. The men, with cutlasses by their sides
and pistols in their belts, sprang into them. Mr Willis led the
expedition: not a moment was to be lost. The stranger must be boarded
before the crew could recover from the effects of our broadsides, or
people would come off from the shore to defend her. She had fallen
almost broadside on to the beach, and on the other side the sea was
washing over her. We pulled round, and boarded under her counter,
cutlass in hand. A slight resistance only was made by her captain and
officers and some of the crew. A few were cut down, and the rest
retreated forward, and escaped on shore by a warp, which had previously
been carried there, no one attempting to stop them. As with lanterns in
our hands, we wandered over the ship, everywhere signs were visible of
the cruel effect of our broadsides. In the cabin lay an officer and two
men. We thought they were wounded. We threw the light on their
countenances; they had been dragged there by their shipmates to be out
of the way, probably, and had died as they lay. Poor fellows! they had
fought their last fight--they were dead. Not a thing was found on
board. A glance showed Mr Willis that it would be impossible to get
the ship off, so he ordered us to set fire to her in every direction.
Having done so, and left the dead bodies to be consumed in a not ignoble
funeral pile, we hurried to the boats. We had been taught by a former
catastrophe not to delay too long. As we pulled away, the flames,
climbing up the masts and spars; to which the canvas still hung, formed
a magnificent pyramid of fire, which grew and grew in height till it
seemed to reach the very skies. It was a fine spectacle, but a finer
was to come. She was still burning when we got back to our ship, and
the boats were hoisted in. I watched the conflagration from the deck.
The fire threw a ruddy glare over the sand-hills and the dark woods
beyond, and by its light we could see people watching, undoubtedly with
bitter hearts, the destruction of their property. Without a moment's
warning, while the conflagration was at its height, the whole mass of
flame seemed to be lifted together like a huge fire-work--then it spread
far and wide, forming a fiery canopy of mushroom shape, and breaking
into a thousand fragments, came hissing down into the surrounding ocean,
while a few burning embers alone remained to mark the spot where the
tall ship had lately been--a pretty night's work for the officers and
crew of his Majesty's ship Orpheus. I don't know that the thought of
what we had been about disturbed the rest of any of those who enjoyed
the luxury of turning into their hammocks. The next morning a boat with
a flag of truce was sent on shore to learn particulars of the vessel we
had destroyed. A number of persons were collected in the neighbourhood
of the wreck, and, as may be supposed, they did not look very
affectionately at us; but flags of truce were always respected, in spite
of the animosity which was daily increasing between the belligerents,
and an officer stepped forward to know what we wanted.
We told him our errand. "Tell your captain," said he, "that he has done
good service to his government, and saved the capture of many a rich
merchantman, if I mistake not. The ship you have destroyed was the
`Wilks' privateer, mounting twenty guns--six-pounders--commanded by as
brave a man as ever stepped, Captain John Williams, and bound into the
English channel on a six-months' cruise. If it is any satisfaction to
you, you may say that she was only off the stocks five weeks. There's
the captain; he'll never break biscuit more, nor will several of our
people who were drowned coming on shore. There's all that remains of
poor Captain Williams."
He spoke with bitterness, and, lifting a flag, exposed the form of a man
in an officer's uniform. He had been wounded, it appeared, by one of
our broadsides, and carried on shore by his crew. I was not sorry,
having received the information we were ordered to obtain, to get away
from the scene of the catastrophe. This was our finishing stroke in the
Bay of Fundy. During our cruise there it appeared by the log-book that
we had seen ninety rebel vessels of various descriptions, of which we
had either taken or destroyed thirty-three sail--a highly satisfactory
amount of mischief to have committed in so short a time--but it had no
effect in making the Americans loyal, or increasing their love for their
British brethren.