THE FLEET AT SPITHEAD--ROLF MORTON'S VISIT TO SHETLAND--ROLF TAKES
RONALD TO SEA--THE THISBE AND FRENCH FRIGATE--RONALD MORTON'S FIRST
BATTLE--THE ENEMY STRIKES.
One of the most beautiful sights on the ocean, to the eye of a sailor,
is the spectacle presented by a large fleet, when the signal for
weighing is seen flying from the flag-ship. The boatswain's whistle
sends its shrill sounds along each deck; the capstan bars are shipped,
the merry pipe strikes up, with sturdy tramp round go the men--others of
the crew swarm upon the yards, the broad folds of canvas are let fall,
and, as if by magic, those vast machines, lately so immovable, now
looking like tall pyramids of snow, begin noiselessly to glide over the
blue surface of the water.
Such was the sight witnessed by numerous spectators, both on the Isle of
Wight shore and that of Portsmouth, when early in the year 1794 one of
England's noble fleets sailed from Spithead. A fine breeze from the
northward enabled the ships to be well out round Saint Helen's, when
hauling their tacks aboard they stood down channel under all sail. In
the centre were the heavy line-of-battle ships, exhibiting a dense mass
of shining canvas; while scattered around on either side were the
lighter frigates, like skirmishers on the field of battle feeling the
way for the main body of the army. Among the fastest, the finest, and
most dashing of the latter craft, was the thirty-eight gun frigate
"Thisbe."
She had only lately been put in commission, and her captain, officers,
and crew, were mostly strangers to each other. Captain Courtney, who
commanded her, had the reputation of being brave and enterprising, but
his present crew had yet to learn what he was made of.
The day was closing; the fleet had made good progress down channel, and
the "Thisbe" was one of the southernmost look-out frigates; the crew
were enjoying a short relaxation from their duties, which were pretty
severe, for when a ship first gets to sea there is much to be done to
put her in order, to encounter an enemy or a gale.
The captain and two of his lieutenants walked the weather side of the
quarter-deck, while the other gun-room officers and some of the
midshipmen, paced the lee side. Captain Courtney's appearance was much
in his favour; though his firm mouth and the general expression of his
features showed that he was accustomed to command, the pleasant smile
occasionally playing over his countenance relieved them from too great
sternness.
The first lieutenant, Mr Strickland, looked like his chief, the perfect
officer and gentleman, while the second, well known in the service as
Tom Calder, was more of the rough-and-ready school.
Tom was broad-shouldered and short, with an open countenance, and a
complexion which once had been fair, but was now burnt nearly to a
bright copper, but neither winds nor sun had been able to change the
rich golden tint of his hair, which clustered in thick curls under his
hat, which hat he managed to stick on the very back of his head; whether
cocked hat, or tarpaulin, or sou'-wester, he wore it the same; it was a
puzzle, though, to say how it kept there. But to see Tom as he was, was
to catch him at work, with knife and marlin-spike, secured by rope-yarns
round his neck, his hands showing intimate acquaintance with the tar
bucket, while not a job was there to be done which he could not show the
best way of doing.
Tom Calder, as was said of him, was the man to get work out of a crew,
and where he led others were ever ready to follow. Altogether, he was
evidently cut out for a good working first lieutenant, and there seemed
every prospect of his becoming one. He had entered the service at the
hawse-hole, and worked his way up, by his steadiness and gallantry, to
the quarterdeck, a position to which he was well calculated to do
credit.
On the forecastle the three warrant officers sauntered slowly up and
down, stretching their limbs after their day's work was over.
They were accompanied by a fine intelligent-looking boy, apparently of
about fifteen, who was attentively listening to their conversation. The
likeness which the boy bore to one of them, made it pretty evident that
they were father and son.
The boatswain was Rolf Morton. When once pressed into the navy, by the
management of Sir Marcus Wardhill, he had, from want of the energy
required to take steps to leave it, remained in the service till a
warrant had been almost forced on him. Just before the "Thisbe" was
commissioned he had paid a visit to Shetland; he had found his boy
Ronald grown and improved beyond his most sanguine expectations. The
Lady Hilda, as she was still called, had devoted herself to his
education, and treated him as her son; and in the more important matters
which she unhappily was unable to teach him. Bertha Eswick had afforded
him instruction. But Ronald had another instructor, though an eccentric
one, in Lawrence Brindister. Not a more daring or expert boatman, a
finer swimmer, or a better shot of his age, or much above his age, was
to be found in all Shetland.
Poor Hilda had never heard from Pedro Alvarez, nor had she received
tidings of her son, though, hopeless as it might seem, she lived on in
the expectation of one day recovering him. Both she and Bertha had so
earnestly entreated Rolf to leave Ronald in Shetland, that he would have
done so, had he not received a warning, not to be neglected, from
Lawrence Brindister, to be off and to take his boy with him.
He had often suspected that Sir Marcus Wardhill was his enemy, and now
he learned from Lawrence, that he was the enemy of his son also, and
would work him ill if he had him in his power.
"Then I will take him out of his power," observed Rolf; and before the
next morning he was away to Lerwick. Sir Marcus sent a fast rowing boat
after him, but when she reached the capital of Shetland, Rolf and his
son had already taken their departure. Sir Marcus Wardhill was reaping
where he had sown.
From his younger and best-loved daughter he had long been almost totally
estranged. Colonel Armytage had for years held no direct communication
with him, while Edda's letters were very brief, and she, having become
the mother of a daughter, offered this as an excuse for not paying a
visit to the north.
It was not till now that Hilda revealed to him the whole history of her
marriage and the loss of her boy. His rage knew no bounds when he
discovered that no certificate of this marriage was forthcoming. But
one witness, who was forthcoming, survived--Bertha Eswick: she, however,
had been in a declining state for some time, and but a few days had
passed after Rolf and Ronald had quitted Lunnasting before she expired,
leaving Hilda more solitary and miserable than ever.
Ronald Morton had commenced his life at sea with the greatest zest, and
although he had a few difficulties to contend with, and not a few older
boys to fight, he invariably came off victorious, and was altogether a
general favourite. Rolf devotedly loved his son, and though not
ambitious for himself, his great desire was to see Ronald on the
quarter-deck, and rising in his profession: he certainly looked as if it
were more his proper place than was the forecastle where he now was.
"Father," he said, turning his beaming countenance, "I do long to be in
a battle. Are we likely soon to fall in with an enemy?"
"No hurry for that, boy," answered the boatswain, who had been in many a
desperate fight, and knew what fighting was; "we shall fall in with one
before long, depend on that."
"I hope so, indeed," exclaimed Ronald; "those Frenchmen who have cut off
their king's head deserve to be thrashed round and round the globe till
not a man of them remains alive."
This sentiment was warmly applauded both by the gunner and carpenter.
"I don't say as how I 'zactly hates the Frenchmen," observed Mr
Rammage, the gunner; "but it's my opinion that the sea is not big enough
for both of us, and the sooner we drives them off it, the sooner we
shall be friends again."
Ronald had not long to wait before he saw, though chiefly at a distance,
one of the most important of England's naval battles. The "Thisbe"
formed one of Lord Howe's fleet, when he gained the glorious victory of
the 1st of June which taught the Frenchmen, by a lesson often to be
repeated, that they must expect defeat whenever they might venture to
contend with England's navy on the ocean.
As the "Thisbe" was employed as a look-out frigate, she took but little
part in the action. What she did do, far from damping Ronald's ardour,
only made him the more eager to fight again. He had not long to wait.
The "Thisbe," with the rest of the fleet, returned to Spithead to
receive the marks of honour the sovereign and the nation showered on the
heads of the gallant chiefs, who had led their ships to victory; but
before long she was again on a cruise down channel. Rounding Ushant,
she steered to the southward, boldly standing along the French coast,
and making what the French probably considered a very impertinent
examination of their forts and harbours.
She approached the place to be examined during the night, and at early
dawn the required information having been obtained, she was again
standing off shore, under all sail, before any of the enemy's ships
could get under weigh to pursue her. She proceeded as far south as
Rochelle.
Looking one morning into the harbour of that place, a frigate was
discovered in the outer roads, apparently ready for sea.
"She seems about our size; if we could draw her out, we might take her,"
observed Captain Courtney to his first lieutenant, Mr Strickland.
"No doubt about it, sir," was the answer; "she is, however, I suspect,
rather larger, but so much the better. There is little honour in
capturing a Frenchman of one's own size. That we are of course expected
to do. We should be thankful when we fall in with an antagonist of
superior strength."
"You are right, Strickland," exclaimed the captain, warmly. "Back the
maintopsail and fire a gun towards her. The signal of defiance will be
understood, and if her captain has a spark of courage, he'll come out
and meet us."
With colours flying, the British frigate lay-to off the Frenchman's
port. While thus defying the enemy a large schooner was seen standing
along shore and apparently making for the harbour.
"We'll take her before their very noses, and if that does not rouse
them, I do not know what will," observed the captain, as he gave the
orders to make sail in chase.
The schooner, little expecting to be snapped up by an enemy in the very
sight of port, endeavoured in vain to escape. The "Thisbe," like an
eagle towards its prey, flew after her, and in a short time she was a
prize.
Taking out the prisoners and putting a prize crew on board, Captain
Courtney stood back, with the schooner in tow, towards the mouth of the
harbour; then again firing another shot of defiance, he bore away to the
westward.
"The Frenchmen will bear a great deal, but they will not bear that,"
observed Morton to his son. "Before this time tomorrow we shall either
be inside that harbour, feeling very much ashamed of ourselves--and I
don't think that is likely to happen--or we shall have that frigate in
there for our prize, and be standing away with her for old England."
The "Thisbe" had got some eight miles or so away from the land, when the
French frigate was seen under sail and standing towards her. Captain
Courtney was anxious to draw the enemy as far from the coast as
possible, lest, when the hoped-for result of the action should become
known, notice might be sent of the event to other ports to the
northward, and a superior force despatched to capture him. He
accordingly hove-to occasionally, and then stood on to entice the enemy
after him.
When the evening closed in, the Frenchman was in sight about two leagues
off, coming up astern. The "Thisbe," now casting off the prize, stood
towards her. At this time there was no other sail in sight, with the
exception of a small boat, apparently a fishing boat, which kept as
close as she could to the "Thisbe," possibly to watch what was going to
take place.
Captain Courtney's object was, of course, to obtain the weather gauge;
and in consequence of having to manoeuvre to obtain it, it was not till
past midnight that the two ships got within range of each other's guns.
Not a man of the "Thisbe's" crew had turned in. The drum beat to
quarters. The men flew to their stations with pistols in their belts
and cutlasses by their sides, eager to begin the fight.
The "Thisbe" was on the starboard tack, when the enemy, on the larboard
tack, slowly glided past her to windward, looking like some dark phantom
stalking over the surface of the deep.
Ronald, who stood on the forecastle with his father, watched her with
intense eagerness. Presently a sheet of flame burst from her side,
followed by the loud thunder of the guns and the whizzing of shot. A
few came near the English frigate, but none struck her.
"Return the compliment, my lads. Give it them!" exclaimed Captain
Courtney.
The crew, with a cheer, obeyed the order, the flashes of their guns
throwing a ruddy glow on the bulwarks and the figures of the crew, as
stern and grim they stood at their quarters.
"Hands about ship!" was the next order issued; and the "Thisbe," tacking
in the wake of her opponent, stood after her.
"Father," asked Ronald, as he stood by Morton's side on the forecastle,
"will the Frenchman try to escape us?"
"No fear of that, he would not have come out at first if he had intended
to play us that trick," was the answer. "He has made one slight
mistake, though; he fancies that he is going to take us; and it's my
firm belief that we are going to take him."
"I hope so, father," answered Ronald. "I would sooner die than be taken
by a Frenchman."
"That is the right spirit, my boy," exclaimed Rolf, warmly. "But little
fear of what will happen--our captain is not a man to throw away a
chance of victory."
While they were speaking, the "Thisbe" was rapidly coming up with the
enemy; and as her guns could be brought to bear they were fired in quick
succession--the French frigate returning them with right good will,
though as her shot flew high, the "Thisbe's" masts and spars suffered
more than her hull, and few of her men had hitherto been hit.
Morton looked anxiously aloft. "It will be a bad job if they go," he
muttered to himself. He then sent Ronald aft to ascertain the condition
of the main and mizenmast, which he believed had been struck.
His son soon returned with a very bad report. The masts were already
badly wounded.
Soon after this the "Thisbe" got within musket-shot of the starboard
quarter of her opponent; and the marines opened their fire, while the
firing of the great guns became warmer than ever.
Captain Courtney had never, for a moment, taken his eye off the French
ship, that he might watch for the least indication of any manoeuvre she
might be about to perform. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Up with the helm!--
square away the after yards!"
Quickly the manoeuvre was executed, though only just in time to prevent
the enemy who wore the instant before, from crossing the "Thisbe's"
bows, and pouring in a raking fire. The two frigates now ran on before
the wind, closely engaged, broadside to broadside. Fast came the round
shot, crashing on board. Splinters from the torn bulwarks were flying
about, from aloft some rattling blocks and shattered spars; while
showers of bullets were raining down death and wounds in every
direction.
Ronald Morton felt his spirits rise to an unnatural pitch as the fight
grew hotter and hotter. Not the remotest thought of death, not a shadow
of fear crossed his mind. Others were struck down, but those missiles
of destruction were not for him. Others might be hit, but he bore a
charmed life.
There is something far more terrific and trying to the nerves in a night
action than in one fought by day. The dark, mysterious form of the
enemy, the flashes of the guns, the irregular glare, the dim light of
the fighting lanterns, the cries and groans of the wounded, the
uncertainty as to who is hit or what damage has been done, all combine
to produce an effect which the most desperate fight by day can scarcely
exhibit.
The crew of the "Thisbe" could see that their shot was producing great
effect on their antagonist. Her masts still stood, but several of her
spars were shot away, and her rigging appeared a mass of wreck. The
English frigate was also much injured aloft, but her masts were still
standing.
By this time the "Thisbe" had shot ahead of her antagonist. "Starboard
the helm!" exclaimed Captain Courtney. "Cease firing, my lads! Be
ready to give her a raking broadside as we cross her hawse."
The frigate luffed up into the wind; and, as she did so, her larboard
guns were discharged in quick succession into the bows of the Frenchman;
but amid the roar of the guns a loud crash was heard, and the mizenmast,
unable to bear the additional strain on it, went by the board, but
falling to starboard, did not impede the working of the guns. As the
crew were running from under it, the tall mainmast was seen to totter,
and with all its yards and sails, over it went on the same side. With a
groan the boatswain saw what had occurred. He feared, too, that the
enemy might escape, as her masts were still standing; but as the
"Thisbe's" mainmast went, the French frigate ran stern on to her, on her
larboard quarter, her bowsprit passing directly across her deck over the
capstan.
"She is our own if we can but keep her," exclaimed the boatswain; and,
followed by Ronald, he hurried aft, calling to some of his mates to
assist him.
The officers and crew had enough to do at that moment, for the Frenchmen
trusting to their number, which appeared to be very great, were swarming
on the forecastle, and rushing along the bowsprit with the intention of
boarding the "Thisbe."
"Boarders! repel boarders!" shouted the captain, setting the example in
attacking the first Frenchmen who presented themselves as they sprang
forward.
Now the clash of steel, the sharp report of pistols, intermingled with
the roar of the great guns--those on the quarter and main-decks still
continuing to pour a destructive fire into the enemy's starboard bow as
they could be brought to bear the Frenchmen, from the position in which
their ship was placed, being only able to reply with musketry. Their
critical position made them rush on and on again with the greatest
frenzy, but each time they were driven back with heavy loss, many of
them falling overboard from off the bowsprit, or being cut down by the
British seamen. Meantime Rolf Morton and his followers were busily
engaged in lashing the enemy's bowsprit to their capstan with such ropes
as they could lay hands on. Captain Courtney looked round, and saw how
they were engaged.
"Admirably done, Mr Morton," he cried out. "Keep her there, and we
will give a good account of the Frenchmen in her."
At that moment the enemy, with loud shouts and _sacres_ and other oaths,
came rushing forward in greater numbers than before, intending to drop
down on the "Thisbe's" deck, and hoping to overwhelm her crew by their
numbers. Again they felt the effect of British cutlasses. Desperately
as they fought, they were once more driven back with diminished numbers
to the ship. In vain the Frenchmen endeavoured to free their ship from
the position in which they had placed her. The "Thisbe" stood on,
towing them after her. Scarcely one of their guns could be brought to
bear, but the marines, however, kept up a hot and destructive fire of
musketry on the deck of the frigate, from the tops as well as from some
of her quarter-deck guns which had been run in midships fore and aft.
Though the darkness prevented their taking good aim, no sooner was it
known that the bowsprit was being made fast to the capstan of the
English frigate, than the whole of their fire was turned in that
direction. The lashings were not yet completed. Showers of bullets
fell around the brave men engaged in the work. Several had fallen. The
boatswain did not think of himself, but he dreaded lest his son should
be hit. He was considering on what message he should send him to
another part of the ship, when he felt a sharp blow, his fingers relaxed
from the rope he was grasping, and he fell to the deck. He had the
feeling that he had received his death wound. Ronald saw what had
happened, and in an instant was on his knees supporting his father's
head.
What thought he then of the fierce contest raging? What did he care who
gained the victory? All his feelings were concentrated on his father.
Was he mortally wounded, or would he recover? He entreated some of the
men to carry him below, but they were at that moment too much occupied
to attend to him. Rolf recovered slightly.
"No, no, boy; let me remain here," he said in a firm voice. "All hands
have work enough to do; I am but hit in the leg, and if they would set
me on my feet again I could still be of use."
But Ronald did not heed him, and continued imploring the men to carry
the boatswain below. Just then the lashings were torn away, and the
French frigate floated clear of the "Thisbe." Cries of disappointment
escaped from the English crew, but they redoubled their efforts to
cripple their opponent, so as once more to get hold of her. Meantime
several of the men, being now at liberty, offered to take the boatswain
below, but he desired to be left on deck.
"I'll see the fight out, lads," he answered. "Help me up, some of you,
and pass this handkerchief round the limb. Cheer up, Ronald, I'm not so
badly hurt as you fancy, boy."
"Hurra, lads! here she comes again; we'll have her fast this time,"
shouted the captain at this juncture.
The "Thisbe," deprived of her after-sail, paid off before the wind, and
thus the French frigate ran directly into her, on the starboard quarter,
the enemy's bowsprit hanging over the stump of her mainmast. The
opportunity of securing the French ship was not lost, though her crew
attempted to rush on board, as before, to prevent the operation.
While the captain and most of the superior officers who had escaped
wounds or death were engaged in repelling them, Rolf caused himself to
be brought nearer to the mainmast, that he might superintend the crew in
lashing the bowsprit to it.
This time they took care that it should not again break away; and now
the "Thisbe," running directly off before the wind, dragged the
Frenchman after her.
The fight had been hot before, but it became hotter still. Again and
again the Frenchmen endeavoured to cut away those second lashings, but
the English marines kept up so hot a fire, that each time the attempt
was frustrated. Still the enemy showed no signs of yielding. Something
must be done. Wounded as he was, Morton dragged himself up to where the
captain was standing.
"I beg your pardon, Captain Courtney, but if we could get a couple of
guns run out abaft on the main-deck, we could silence that fellow pretty
quickly," he said, touching his hat with all due formality.
It was somewhat out of rule for the boatswain to offer his advice
unasked to the captain, but under the circumstances the irregularity was
easily overlooked by such a man as Captain Courtney.
"You are right, Mr Morton," he answered; "send the carpenter and his
crew aft, Mr Calder," to the second lieutenant. "Get the two after
guns on the main-deck ready to run out astern as soon as we have some
ports made for them."
Having given this order, the captain descended to the main-deck.
Mr Gimbol, the carpenter, soon made his appearance there from below,
where he had been going his rounds through the wings, to stop any
shot-holes which might have been made between wind and water.
With axes and saws he and his crew set to work, but the upper transom
beam resisted all their efforts.
"We must blow out some ports," exclaimed the captain. "Send the firemen
here."
A gang of men with buckets were quickly on the spot. The guns were
pointed aft. "Fire!" cried the captain. The two guns went off
together, and as the suffocating smoke blew off, two holes with jagged
edges were seen in the stern, but flames were bursting out around them.
These, however, the firemen with their buckets quickly extinguished, and
the guns, being again loaded, opened their fire through them on the deck
of the Frenchman. The effect produced from this unexpected quarter was
terrific. Fore and aft the shot flew crashing between the decks, seldom
failing to find some victims, and oftentimes carrying off the heads of
half-a-dozen men, as they stood at their guns, in its course from one
end of the ship to the other. Never were guns more rapidly worked than
were those two twelve-pounders on board the "Thisbe." The captain stood
by, encouraging the men.
Rolf Morton went about, badly wounded as he was, to ascertain where his
services were most required. Ronald followed his father, dreading every
moment to see him fall from the effects of his first wound, or to find
that he was again hit. Once more they returned to the upper deck.
Their numbers were falling, wounds were being received, and havoc was
being made aloft and on every side. The masts of the French ship were
still standing, but from the shrieks and cries which proceeded from her
decks, there seemed little doubt that she was suffering even more than
the "Thisbe." Ronald kept watching the enemy.
"See, father!--see!" he exclaimed. "Down, down they come!" He pointed
at the Frenchman's foremast. It bent on one side, the few ropes which
held it gave way, and crash it came down over the side. The mainmast
stood, but the mizenmast in an instant afterwards followed the foremast,
preventing the crew from working the greater number of the guns.
However, with those still unencumbered they continued to fire away with
the greatest desperation. The English seamen fought on with the same
determined courage as at first. They had made up their minds that they
would take the enemy, and there was not a man on board who would have
given in till they had done so, or till the ship sunk under them.
Half-an-hour passed away. It seemed surprising that either ship could
float with the pounding they gave each other, or that any human beings
could survive on their decks amid the storm of shot and bullets rushing
across them. At length a loud cheer burst from the throats of the
English seamen, the Frenchman's last remaining mast was seen to lean
over, and down it came with a tremendous crash, crushing many in its
fall, and completely preventing the crew from working any of their guns.
"They will give in now, father, to a certainty," exclaimed Ronald.
"Not so sure, boy; see, they are going to make a desperate attempt to
revenge themselves."
"Here they come!" he answered, and then the cry arose from the English
ship of, "Boarders! repel boarders!"
Once more the Frenchmen came on with the most determined courage.
Captain Courtney and some of his officers and men who were aft threw
themselves before the enemy, to stem the torrent which threatened to
pour down on the "Thisbe's" decks; but with such fury and desperation
did the Frenchmen come on, that many of the English were driven back,
and there seemed no little probability that the former would gain their
object. Rolf Morton, on perceiving this, and forgetting his wound,
seized a cutlass, and calling on all the men at hand, followed by
Ronald, sprang aft to the aid of his captain. His assistance did not
come a moment too soon. Captain Courtney was brought to his knee, and a
French officer, who had led the boarders, was on the point of cutting
him down, when Ronald sprang to his side, and thrusting his cutlass
before him, saved him from the blow intended for his head. Ronald would
have had to pay dearly for his gallantry, had not Rolf cut the Frenchman
down at the moment he was making, in return, a fierce stroke at his son.
More of the English crew, led by their officers, now came hurrying aft,
and the Frenchmen, disheartened by the loss of their leader, again
retreated to their ship, leaving eight or ten of their number dead or
dying behind them. Still no one cried for quarter; and though not a gun
was discharged, the marines and small-arm men kept up as hot a fire as
before.
All this time the "Thisbe's" two after-guns on the maindeck kept
thundering away at them, fearfully diminishing their numbers. And thus
the fight continued: they made, however, no signal of yielding.
The Frenchmen had scarcely retreated from their daring attempt to board
the frigate, when the lashings which secured their bowsprit to her began
to give way. The boatswain had, however, got a hawser ready ranged
along the deck, and this, in spite of the fire kept up at them, he, with
his mates and others of the crew, secured to the gammoning of the
Frenchmen's bowsprit.
"Now the lashings may go as soon as they like!" he exclaimed, almost
breathless with the exertion; "the Frenchmen will gain little by the
change."
So it proved: the enemy's ship, when the lashings gave way, dropped
astern a few fathoms, and there she hung, towed onwards, as before, by
the "Thisbe," whose crew were thus enabled to rake her decks with more
deadly effect. Still the battle raged as at first.
At length some voices were heard from the bowsprit of the French
frigate.
"Quarter! quarter!" was the cry. "We have struck! we yield!"
"Cease firing, my lads!" shouted the captain; "we have won the night!"
The order was obeyed. For an instant there was a perfect silence, a
contrast to the uproar which had so long continued; even the wounded
restrained the expression of their sufferings; and then there burst
forth one of those hearty cheers, which few but English seamen can give,
and which they so well know how to give with effect. And now many of
the brave fellows who had hitherto worked away at their guns without
flinching, sank down with fatigue, Rolf Morton even then would not go
below.
"I'll stay on deck and see the enemy secured, and get the ship put to
rights a little," he answered; "I am only just showing my boy how I wish
him to behave. While there is duty to do, and a man has strength to do
it, he should not shrink from it, whatever it may cost him."
Ronald listened to what his father was saying.
"That's it, father; I'll try and stick to that," he observed, looking up
in his father's face.
It was now necessary to board the French ship to take possession of her,
but how that was to be accomplished was the question, for not a boat
that could swim remained on board either of the combatants.
The second lieutenant--one of the few officers unwounded--volunteered to
work his way along the hawser, and a midshipman and several of the men
offered to accompany him; Ronald begged leave to go also.
In those days, strange as it may seem, many seamen could not swim.
The boarding-party commenced their somewhat hazardous passage from one
ship to the other. The "Thisbe" had but slight way on her; the hawser
was consequently somewhat slack, and the weight of the people on it
brought it down into the water. The lieutenant and several of the men
clung on, but the midshipman was by some means or other washed off.
Unable to swim, he cried out loudly for help, but no one could afford
it, till Ronald let go his own hold of the rope, and swam towards him.
Of course to regain the hawser was hopeless, and it was equally
difficult to swim back to the "Thisbe." Ronald had practised swimming
from his childhood, and was as much at home in the water as on shore.
He struck out with one hand while he supported the young midshipman with
the other. His first fear was that the French ship would run them down,
but a few strokes carried him and his charge clear of that danger. He
next attempted to get alongside her. He looked up, and saw her dark
hull rising up above him. There were plenty of ropes hanging overboard;
he found one that appeared secure above; he put it into the midshipman's
hands.
"There, Mr Glover," he exclaimed; "we shall be the first on the enemy's
deck after all."
He was not long in finding another rope for himself, and to the surprise
of the Frenchmen they found two stranger boys standing on their
quarter-deck.
"Have you come to take possession?" asked a lieutenant in tolerable
English. "What! are all your superior officers killed?"
"Oh, no, monsieur," answered the midshipman; "they will be on board
presently; but we are somewhat lighter craft, so made quicker work of
it."
The second lieutenant of the "Thisbe" and his companions soon made their
appearance, having clambered in over the bows; and the French frigate,
which was found to be the "Concorde"--one of the largest class in the
French navy--was formally taken possession of.