foretopsail and topgallantsail, already in tatters, blew clean out of
the bolt-ropes. This was a glorious sight for the privateer, but a sad
one for us poor prisoners; we thought that all chance of escape was at
an end, and that it was impossible for the brig to shift her sails
quickly enough to save her distance. But 'impossible' is a landsman's
word--there is none such on board a British man-of-war; her fore-rigging
was swarming with men in a moment, and in ten minutes more they were
_bringing_ a new topsail _to_ the yard, and the topgallantyard was on
its way to the mast-head again. In the meantime her bow guns had not
been silent; a pretty smart conversation was carried on between them and
our stern-chasers, and _their_ answers were most unpleasantly _true_ and
galling. Her guns must have had picked marksmen stationed at them, for
hardly a shot was thrown away.
"We were, however, leaving the brig rapidly, when a lucky shot from her
came through one of our quarter-ports, and knocked down the two men at
the helm. The privateer instantly flew up in the wind, and her
head-sails took aback; and though the helmsmen were instantly replaced,
and the vessel boxed off again skilfully and rapidly, yet the few
minutes that elapsed before she paid off and gathered way again, were
sufficient to make a great alteration in our relative positions.
"The English brig was now within half-a-mile on our weather quarter,
gaining steadily and slowly, and throwing her single shot into us with
the most unerring precision. At last an eighteen-pound shot struck our
weather maintopsail yardarm; and the spar snapped in two close outside
the slings. All chance of escape was now over; but the Frenchman, a
gallant fellow, was determined not to strike till the last; and all the
guns that could be brought to bear upon the brig were double-shotted,
and rattled into her. In answer to this salute, the man-of-war gave a
yaw to windward, and poured her starboard broadside into the privateer,
with deadly effect; and then, bearing suddenly up amid the clouds of
smoke, she ran close under our stern, and discharged her larboard guns,
sweeping our decks fore and aft, dismounting two of our guns, killing
five of our men, and carrying away our tiller-ropes. The privateer was
now perfectly unmanageable; her topmasts were hanging in splinters over
her sides; her brave captain was killed; there were three feet water in
the hold; and the active and indefatigable brig was playing round and
round, pouring in her remorseless fire. The French crew, seeing the
madness and inutility of further resistance, struck their colours; and
in a few minutes a boat came on board from H.M. brig Hawk, and the
officers of the privateer surrendered their swords to the lieutenant in
command; who, on receiving them, complimented the privateer's men highly
on their gallant defence. I was greatly grieved at the death of the
French captain, who, during our short sojourn with him, had endeared
himself to us by his handsome and gentlemanly behaviour. He had allowed
Gordon, the mate, and myself to dispose of ourselves as we thought
proper during the action, on our giving our parole that we would not in
any way interfere. As soon as the privateer ceased firing, the smothered
sound of three cheers came faintly up the hatchway from our poor fellows
in the hold, who rightly judged the result of the action. They were
immediately liberated; and a prize crew having been sent on board, the
French took up the quarters just vacated by the 'Dolphins.'
"After a few hours spent in repairing damages, and in vigorous exercise
at the pumps of the privateer, the Hawk, with her prize in tow, stood
to the northward and eastward; and in a few days the Hercule, with the
red ensign proudly floating above the flag of France, followed her
captor into Spithead. As soon as I possibly could, I hastened up to
town, where I found a letter lying for me at my agent's, to be delivered
as soon as the Dolphin arrived (my friends knew I had taken my passage
in that ship), begging me to hasten over to Ireland immediately, to
attend the death-bed of a maternal uncle. I arrived in Dublin in time to
attend the old gentleman's funeral, and to find, to my great surprise,
that he had left the whole of his Irish property and a large estate in
this country to his grateful nephew, on condition that I took his name.
Fortune was tired of plaguing me at last. I was obliged to remain nearly
three years in Ireland, in order to arrange matters satisfactorily with
my agent, and to put everything in train for making my tenants as
comfortable as possible. My other estate is in Perthshire, where I shall
be delighted to enjoy the pleasure of _your_ society, until you are
wearied of _ours_.--I say ours, because I have a new friend to introduce
to you in the person of my wife."
I accompanied Sandford home, and found his establishment such as I
should have expected from a man of his liberal and enlightened turn of
mind--handsome without ostentation--liberal without profusion. His lady
was a most amiable and agreeable person--unaffected and cheerful in her
manners. I was delighted with my first introduction to her. Coming
forward to meet me with all the graceful ease that distinguishes a
well-bred woman, and with all the warmth of manner of an old friend, she
shook me most cordially by the hand.
"Mr Douglas," said she, "I am delighted to see you; often and often has
Sandford talked over your mutual adventures, and regretted the evil
destiny that separated him from his earliest and dearest friend. Your
character is so familiar to me, that I feel as if, instead of
addressing a stranger, I were talking to an old friend. I hope you will
soon learn to look upon all here in the same light."
It was impossible not to feel instantly at home, where such genuine and
sincere cordiality was displayed; and in a few hours I was as completely
domesticated at Grant Hall, as if I had been its inmate for years. The
very servants seemed to feel that in pleasing me they were pleasing
their master and mistress; for whom, it was evident, they all felt the
greatest affection and respect. It is a good sign of the heads of a
house, when the servants grow grey at their posts; and most of those at
Grant Hall seemed in a fair way of doing so. But I am digressing. While
the ceremony of introduction between myself and Mrs Grant was in
progress, a young lady was seated at one of the open windows. She raised
her eyes on my entrance--and such eyes! However, I will say nothing more
about them; for, though so much has already been spoken and written
about ladies' eyes, one glance from such a pair as then beamed upon me
was worth volumes of description. There was nothing at first
particularly striking about the lady's appearance; at least nothing
sufficiently so for particular notice or description; but, on further
scrutiny, her features were faultlessly regular, and the expression of
her countenance was so placid and gentle, that, had it not been for the
lambent fire of her dark eyes, I might almost have fancied that some
pure, cold, faultless creation of the sculptor's fancy sat before me.
Hers was one of those faces which seldom _arrest_ admiration at first
sight, but which seem to display new beauties the longer they are gazed
upon. Sandford introduced her as his sister Alice.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Sandford," said I. "Your brother
wished to give me an agreeable surprise, I suppose; for he never told me
that you formed one of his family party."
"Sandford may have neglected to mention his sister to you, Mr Grant,"
said she, her bright eyes sparkling with animation, and giving life and
energy to her features; "but I assure you he has not been backward in
making you the theme of his discourse to us. I have often been inclined
to feel jealous of his brotherly regard for you."
"Upon my word, Ned Douglas," muttered I to myself, when I was
comfortably settled into my soft bed, "you're a lucky dog to have fallen
into such good quarters. A few weeks ago, you were afraid to move, lest
you should tumble out of your narrow cot, and break your invaluable head
upon a hard deck; and now you are afraid to move for fear of losing
yourself in this wilderness of a bed, or being smothered in an ocean of
feathers."
It was bright and beautiful July; all nature brightened in the smile of
the summer sun, and fair Alice smiled upon me. Could I be otherwise than
happy?
Sandford was a keen fisherman; and we used to wander together day after
day along the banks of the beautiful Tay--he to indulge in an amusement
which he enjoyed with enthusiastic relish, and I to gratify my love for
the beauties of nature, which are nowhere seen to greater perfection
than on the banks of that noble stream. We always returned home to a
late dinner, and the evenings were enlivened with music and song, in
which both the ladies excelled, and in talking over the adventures of
the day, and the stirring scenes of our past lives.
"What strange beings sailors must be!" said Alice to me one evening;
"such compounds of contradictions!--so lavish, yet so selfish--so
daring, yet so superstitious."
"Do you remember that strange old fellow, Rodney, the quartermaster,"
said Grant, "who used to be such a favourite of yours? What yarns, as he
called them, he used to spin!--enough to stagger the faith of the most
credulous; and yet I really think the old fellow had told them so often
that he believed them himself."
"Come, Mr Douglas," said Alice, "can you not revive your recollections
of the past sufficiently to favour us with a sample of his yarns, as you
call them? We have a long evening before us, and you know we ladies are
fond of novelty and excitement."
"Well, Miss Alice, I will endeavour to gratify your love of the novel
and marvellous; but, remember, the story I am about to tell is Rodney's,
not mine. You talked of the superstition of sailors--I will repeat you
one of his ghost stories, as it is less improbable than most of his
yarns; and I know for a fact that there were numbers besides Rodney who
firmly believed it."
"Well, but, Douglas," said Sandford, "let us have it in true Rodney
style--slang and all. Don't be alarmed, ladies, by slang I only mean the
peculiar phraseology of men of the Rodney stamp."
"Oh, do, Mr Douglas--now do! It will add so greatly to the effect of the
story; and I am sure you will not say anything to shock our ears."
"Well, Miss Alice, I will do my best to please you; but I must
endeavour, in the first place, to give you some notion of Rodney's
appearance. Do you remember him distinctly, Sandford? I have his figure
before my mind's eye--long, thin, and muscular; a kind of prototype of
that pink of all coxswains and quartermasters, 'Long Tom Coffin;' his
round, brightly-blackened hat flapped down upon his head, with an air of
careless indifference; his thin, iron-grey hair peeping out behind, as
if it was wondering where the queue was going to; and his face looking
out in front, as rough and unmoved as the surface of a weatherbeaten
rock.
"'Well, Rodney,' said I to him, one first-watch, when his spell at the
cunn was over, and he was taking what he called a fisherman's walk[2]
on the lee side of the poop--'well, Rodney, you really do believe in
Flying Dutchmen, ghosts, and all that kind of nonsense?'
[Footnote 2: "Fisherman's walk"--two steps and overboard.]
"'Believe!--Lord love your honour, to be sure I do! Didn't I sail with a
man once as had been in a ship where one of the lads had seen the Flying
Dutchman the voyage before, and swore to it, too? Believe! Why, axing
yer honour's pardon, and meaning no offence, there's none but fools and
long-shore chaps what doesn't believe them.'
"'Well, well; but ghosts, Rodney--did you ever see a ghost?'
"'Why, I can't say as how I ever seen one myself; but I knows them as
has.'
"'Ah! and what sort of ghost was it?'
"'Why, it's a longish yarn, yer honour; and ye're wanting to turn in.
You can't keep your eyes open like an old sailor; it's not naturable you
should, seeing you haven't had the same opportunity of larning. You
oodn't believe, now, I suppose, Mr Douglas, that I keeps watch and watch
with my peepers, and always goes to sleep with one eye open? And, for
the matter o' that, when I'm walking the deck by myself, I often takes
off one of my shoes, to give 'em spell and spell about.'
"'Why,' said I, 'I have seen you keeping your shoes at watch and watch;
but the eyes, Rodney--I can't swallow the eyes.'
"'Love yer honour, you hain't half a swally, then; when you've heerd as
many queer yarns as I've heerd, and seen as many deviltries as I've
seen, ye'll larn to swallow anything.'
"'But come, Rodney, let's have the ghost. I don't mean to turn in till
eight-bells.'
"The old man leaned back upon the hencoop on which I was sitting,
crossed his arms over the breast of his pea-jacket, and began:--
"'Well, yer honour, Jack Rodney never was the man to lay at his anchors
when the signal was made to get under weigh. I've been at sea, yer
honour, man and boy, five-and-thirty years come next quarter-day; and
there's ne'er a blue-jacket afloat as can say Jack Rodney ever sailed
under false colours, or stretched a yarn beyond its bearings. When once
old Jack gets his jawing-tacks aboard, his yarn runs off clear and
quick, like the line off a log-reel in a breeze. I hates them stuttering
beggars, axing yer honour's pardon, as boxes all the points of the
compass, and never steers no strait coorse after all. Their words come
creeping out as if they were afeerd the master-at-arms was a-going to
put them in limbo; but a steady helm and a straight coorse for old
Rodney, says I.'
"After the old man had talked himself into a proper opinion of his
merits, he began at once to steer a straight course, as he called it.
"'Ye've never been in Chainey, yer honour? Ah you long-togged gentry has
a vast to see! Why, you sits at home half your lives, and never knows
nothing. Why, now I'll make bould to say yer honour doesn't know how to
make a sea-pie or a dish of lobskous?'
"'Not I, Rodney.'
"'My eyes!' muttered the old man to himself, 'to think of a man coming
to his years, and not knowing how to make lobskous! Why, sir, axing yer
pardon, yer edication must have been sadly neglected.'
"'Oh, I shall improve under your tuition, Rodney; but now for the
ghost.'
"'Well, sir, you sees when I was aboard the old Bruisewater, East
Injeeman, we wor lying at our moorings in Wampoa Reach--that's in
Chainey, yer honour. There was a large fleet of us, all lying waiting
for a cargo, with nothing in the varsal world to do but to keep the
ships clean, and to play at race-horses with the boats. A grand sight it
was, yer honour, to see so many fine large craft lying at anchor, all
clean painted, and looking as gay as so many women rigged out for a
dance ashore, with their red and striped ensigns all fluttering in the
sunshine; and the lads all as neat and clean as shore-going gemmen.
Why, Lord love you, this here craft would look like a cockleshell
alongside o' them! 'Twas a sight to do an old sailor's heart good, to
see sich a show of merchantmen as no other country but Ould England
could produce. And then, for such an outlandish, out-o'-the-way place as
Chainey, the country wasn't so ill-looking neither. On each side of the
river were the level green paddy fields, with here and there a little
hill, with a joss-house peeping out from the bamboos; the green hills of
Dane's Island further up, and its valleys rich with orange-trees and
patches of sugar-cane. Further up still was the village of Wampoa, all
sticks and straw like, with a great thing like a lighthouse--what them
neggurs calls a pugodour--standing as stiff as a marine at attention, on
the opposite bank of the river. And then to see the outlandish-looking
mat sails--for devil a boat could you see belonging to them--cutting
across in all directions, as if they wor taking a walk in the paddy
fields! and the junks cocking up ahead and astern like nothing else in
the world, with eyes painted on their bows, because the natural fools
think they won't be able to see without them! Then, sir, there's the men
with tails like cows, and the women with feet like dolls, and the
children in the boats tied to calabashes, to prevent their drowning.
Why, bless ye, sir, if ye couldn't swally what I told you before, all
this 'll choke ye outright. Well, but to come to my story agen. I hates
all this here traverse sailing; I must take a fresh departure. The chief
mate of the Prince Royal, Mr Pattison, was a riglar out-an-outer, a man
as was well knowed in the fleet, and was a favoryte with high and low;
for he was a sailor every inch of him, and knowed right well how to keep
persons and things in their places. He was a taut hand, too; but none
the worse for that, for your true sailor, sir, loves an officer as is a
real officer, and gives every man his due, good or bad, without favour
or affection--one knows what one has to trust to with such a man. He was
quite a pet with the crew, though he made them fly whenever he spoke to
them; they were proud of old Charley, as they called him, and of their
ship--and high kelter[3] she was in. Well, sir, old Charley was taken
ill--then he got worse--then we heard he wasn't expected to live. There
wasn't a man or officer in the fleet but wor sorry for him; for them as
hadn't been shipmates with him knowed him by karacter. Of coorse, sir,
when the chief mate was in the doctor's hands, and hove down to repair,
the second did duty for him. One day, when Charley was very ill, the
second mate came on deck, and seed the carpenter a-standing in the sun
without his hat on; so says he--
[Footnote 3: Kelter--order.]
"'Mr Chips,' says he (the carpenters aboard them ships were all
warrant-officers, and so always had a handle put to their names)--'Mr
Chips, why are you standing in the sun without your hat? You'll be
getting a stroke of the sun.'
"'Oh, sir,' said the carpenter, with a face as long as the
maintop-bowline, 'it's of little consequence; my time's almost up; I
haven't much longer to live.'
"'What do you mean?' said the officer; 'what foolish notion have you
taken into yer head?'
"'Oh, sir, it's no foolish notion; _he_ told me so, and I never knowed
him deceive any one yet!'
"'Who told you so, Chips?' said the mate, kind and soothing like; for he
was afeerd that the sun really had got in at some little crack in his
upper works; '_who_ told you so?'
"'Mr Pattison himself told me so, sir, last night.'
"'Mr Pattison? Why, Chips, you're dreaming; he's regularly hove down,
can't stir hand or foot, poor fellow.'
"'No matter, sir, _he_ told me so; and if it wasn't him, it was his
ghost.'
"'But how was this, and when?'
"'Why, sir, as I was lying awake last night in my cot, I saw Mr Pattison
come into my cabin port. The cot shook under me, I trembled so with
fear, for I knew how ill he was; but I thought that, while the fever was
at its height, he might have got up and wandered to my cabin without
knowing what he was about; so I mustered courage to say to him, 'I am
glad to see you on your legs again, sir.' He shook his head mournfully,
and said, 'I shall never rise from my bed again; in two days' time my
eyes will be closed in death, and in three more you will follow me.' He
then disappeared, and left me with a weight upon my heart that will sink
me to the grave.'
"'Oh, nonsense, Chips,' said the officer; 'don't let your mind dwell
upon it. You must have been asleep--it was nothing but a dream.'
"'Dream or not, sir, I feel that I am a doomed man.'
"'Two days after this confab, yer honour, I saw the colours of the
Prince Royal slowly rise from the tafferel, as if they didn't like the
duty they were on; and then they hung mournfully half-way between deck
and the gaff-end: in three minutes, every ship in the fleet had her
colours hoisted half-mast, that well-known signal that some officer has
struck his flag to death. Poor Charley was no more! A circular was sent
from the commodore, to order two boats from every ship in the fleet to
attend the funeral--and a grand funeral it was. It was a beautiful sight
to see the procession, yer honour. There was the boat, with the coffin
in the starn-sheets, covered with a union-jack; and the mourners sitting
on each side of it, towed by one of the Prince's cutters; all her crew
in mourning, with black crape round their arms, and pulling
minute-strokes. Then came the Prince's launch, towed by another boat,
full of the ship's company, who had all asked leave to see the last of
their officer. Poor fellows! sincere mourners I believe they were.
Then, sir, there was a long line of boats from each quarter of the
long-boat, all following in each other's wake, and stretching from one
end of the reach to the other. As soon as the boat with the coffin in it
shoved off from the Prince, her bell began to toll slowly, and, as it
passed the gangway of the next ship, her bell took up the knell, and so
on all up the fleet. It was a beautiful sight, yer honour, to see the
long lines of boats, with their neat jacks fluttering half-mast from the
staffs; the men of each boat dressed alike; some crews in blue jackets;
others in white, but all with the crape round their arms: then the flags
of all the fleet--English, French, American, and Dutch--waving,
mournful-like, half-mast high; not a sound to be heard, yer honour, but
the dull sound of the minute-strokes, and the fluttering of the colours,
and the long clear tones of the bells, as they died away further and
further up the fleet:--oh, sir, it was a sad and a beautiful sight! He
was buried, where all the other English officers are buried, on French
Island. Well, yer honour, now comes the end of the business. Three days
afterwards I was quartermaster of the deck, and was standing on the
foksle, when I see'd three boats a-passing, with their jacks half-mast,
and a coffin in the starn-sheets of the foremost on 'em; so says I to
Tom Rattlin, the captain of the foksle--"Tom," says I, "what boats is
them?"--"The Prince's," says he; "I believe her carpenter is dead." And
sure enough it was the carpenter, sir; the ghost didn't tell him no lie;
his signal for sailing was made at the very time he named. Now, sir,
after that yarn, will you tell me that there are no such things as
ghosts? It was my old shipmate, Bill Buntling, that told me; and, if all
tales are true, that's no lie.'
"There was no answering such a truism; so I thanked the old man for his
yarn, and giving him a stiff'ner,[4] when the watch was over, turned
into my snug cot, little dreaming that I would ever repeat the story on
the banks of the Tay."
[Footnote 4: Strong glass of grog.]
"Thank ye, Mr Douglas, for your 'yarn,'" said Alice, "I really think you
would make as good a 'spinner of yarns,' as you call it, as old Rodney
himself."
"What became of old Rodney, did you ever hear?" said Sandford.
"Yes. He was lost from the Dundas Indiaman, poor fellow! some years ago.
I used often to be talking of him on board the Dolphin, and Captain
Driver told me that he knew the man, and that he had heard his fate. He
went out to put additional lashings on the sheet-anchor in a heavy gale
of wind, a sea struck the bow, and tore him away while clasping the
anchor in his arms. He was swept twenty yards from the ship, poor
fellow! at once, and all hopes of saving him were at an end. He was an
excellent swimmer, and was seen to take off his pea-jacket with the
greatest coolness, and, whenever he rose on the top of a sea, he was
seen waving his hat for assistance; at last he was seen on the crest of
a sea, but when it rose again Rodney was gone----"
"Where many a true heart has gone before him!" said Sandford, as the
ladies were rising to bid us good-night.
"How happy ought you and I to be, Douglas, enjoying all the comforts of
a cheerful home, while so many brave fellows are exposed to all the
storms and dangers of the deep!"