The _Waterwitch_ was commanded at this time by Captain Ward, a man
possessed of great energy and judgment, united to heroic courage. He
had received orders to join that portion of the British fleet which,
under Nelson, was engaged in searching for the French in the
Mediterranean, and had passed Cape St. Vincent on his way thither, when
he fell in with the French vessel.
During the morning a thick fog had obscured the horizon, concealing the
enemy from view. When the rising sun dispersed it he was suddenly
revealed. Hence the abrupt order on board the _Waterwitch_ to prepare
for action. As the fog lifted still more, another French vessel was
revealed, and it was soon found that the English frigate had two
Frenchmen of forty-four guns each to cope with.
"Just as it should be!" remarked Captain Ward, when this was
ascertained. "There would have been no glory in conquering one
Frenchman equal to my own ship in size!"
The _Waterwitch_ was immediately steered towards the ship that was
nearest, in the expectation that she would show fight at once, but the
French commander, probably wishing to delay the engagement until his
other vessel could join him, made sail, and bore down on her. Captain
Ward, on perceiving the intention, put on a press of canvas, and
endeavoured to frustrate the enemy's design. In this he was only
partially successful.
"Surely," said Bill Bowls to his friend Ben Bolter, with whom he was
stationed at one of the starboard guns on the main deck, "surely we are
near enough now to give 'em a shot."
"No, we ain't," said Tom Riggles, who was also stationed at the same
gun; "an' depend on it Cap'n Ward is not the man to throw away his shot
for nothin'."
Ben Bolter and some of the other men at the gun agreed with this
opinion, so our hero, whose fighting propensities were beginning to
rouse up, had to content himself with gazing through the port-hole at
the flying enemy, and restrained his impatience as he best could.
At last the order was given to fire, and for an hour after that a
running fight was maintained, but without much effect. When, however,
the two ships of the enemy succeeded in drawing sufficiently near to
each other, they hove to, and awaited the advance of the _Waterwitch_,
plying her vigorously with shot as she came on.
Captain Ward only replied with his bow chasers at first. He walked the
deck with his hands behind his back without speaking, and, as far as his
countenance expressed his feelings, he might have been waiting for a
summons to dinner, instead of hastening to engage in an unequal contest.
"Cap'n Ward niver growls much before he bites," said Patrick Flinn, an
Irishman, who belonged to Bowls's mess. "He minds me of a spalpeen of a
dog I wance had, as was uncommon fond o' fightin' but niver even showed
his teeth till he was within half a yard of his inemy, but, och! he
gripped him then an' no mistake. You'll see, messmates, that we won't
give 'em a broadside till we're within half pistol-shot."
"Don't take on ye the dooties of a prophet, Paddy," said Ben Bolter,
"for the last time ye tried it ye was wrong."
"When was that?" demanded Flinn.
"Why, no longer ago than supper-time last night, when ye said ye had
eaten such a lot that ye wouldn't be able to taste another bite for a
month to come, an' didn't I see ye pitchin' into the wittles this
mornin' as if ye had bin starvin' for a week past?"
"Git along wid ye," retorted Flinn; "yer jokes is as heavy as yerself,
an' worth about as much."
"An' how much may that be?" asked Ben, with a grin.
"Faix, it's not aisy to tell. I would need to work it out in a
algibrabical calkilation, but if ye divide the half o' what ye know by
the double o' what ye don't know, an' add the quarter o' what ye might
have know'd--redoocin' the whole to nothin', by means of a compound o'
the rule o' three and sharp practice, p'r'aps you'll--"
Flinn's calculation was cut short at that moment by the entrance of a
round shot, which pierced the ship's side just above his head, and sent
splinters flying in all directions, one of which killed a man at the
next gun, and another struck Bill Bowls on the left arm, wounding him
slightly.
The exclamations and comments of the men at the gun were stopped
abruptly by the orders to let the ship fall off and fire a broadside.
The _Waterwitch_ trembled under the discharge, and then a loud cheer
arose, for the immediate result was that the vessel of the enemy which
had hit them was partially disabled--her foretopmast and flying jibboom
having been shot away.
The _Waterwitch_ instantly resumed her course and while Bill Bowls was
busily employed in assisting to reload his gun, he could see that the
two Frenchmen were close on their lee bow.
Passing to windward of the two frigates, which were named respectively
_La Gloire_ and the _St. Denis_, Captain Ward received a broadside from
the latter, without replying to it, until he had crossed her bow within
musket range, when he delivered a broadside which raked her from stem to
stern. He then wore ship, and, passing between the two, fired his
starboard broadside into the _Gloire_, and, almost immediately after,
his port broadside into the _St. Denis_.
The effect on the two ships was tremendous.
Their sails and rigging were terribly cut up, and several of the yards
came rattling down on their decks. The _Gloire_, in particular, had her
rudder damaged. Seeing this, and knowing that in her crippled state she
could do him no further damage, Captain Ward passed on, sailed round the
stern of the _St. Denis_, and, when within six yards of her, sent a
broadside right in at her cabin windows. Then he ranged alongside and
kept up a tremendous fire.
The Frenchmen stuck to their guns admirably, but the British fired
quicker. At such close quarters every shot told on both sides. The din
and crash of such heavy artillery was terrific; and it soon became
almost impossible to see what was going on for smoke.
Up to this point, although many of the men in the _Waterwitch_ had been
killed or wounded, only one of those who manned the gun at which Bill
Bowls served had been hit.
"It's too hot to last long," observed Flinn, as he thrust home a ball
and drew out the ramrod; "run her out, boys."
The men obeyed, and were in the act of pulling at the tackle, when a
shot from the enemy struck the gun on the muzzle, tore it from its
fastenings, and hurled it to the other side of the deck.
Strange to say, only one of the men who worked it was hurt by the gun;
but in its passage across the deck it knocked down and killed three men,
and jammed one of the guns on the other side in such a way that it
became for a time unserviceable. Ben Bolter and his comrades were
making desperate efforts to clear the wreck, when they heard a shout on
deck for the boarders. The bowsprit of the _Waterwitch_ had by that
time been shot away; her rigging was dreadfully cut up, and her wheel
smashed; and Captain Ward felt that, if the _St. Denis_ were to get
away, he could not pursue her. He therefore resolved to board.
"Come along, lads," cried Tom Riggles, on hearing the order; "let's jine
'em."
He seized his cutlass as he spoke, and dashed towards the ladder,
followed by Bowls, Bolter, Flinn, and others; but it was so crowded with
men carrying the wounded down to the cockpit that they had to pause at
the foot.
At that moment a handsome young midshipman was carried past, apparently
badly wounded.
"Och!" exclaimed Flinn, in a tone of deep anxiety, "it's not Mister
Cleveland, is it? Ah! don't say he's kilt!"
"Not quite," answered the midshipman, rousing himself, and looking round
with flashing eyes as he endeavoured to wave his hand in the air. "I'll
live to fight the French yet."
The poor boy almost fainted from loss of blood as he spoke; and the
Irishman, uttering a wild shout, ran towards the stern, intending to
gain the deck by the companion-hatch, and wreak his vengeance on the
French. Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter followed him. As they passed the
cabin door Bowls said hastily to Bolter, "I say, Ben, here, follow me;
I'll show ye a dodge."
He ran into the cabin as he spoke and leaped out upon the quarter
gallery, which by that time was so close to the quarter of the _St.
Denis_ that it was possible to jump from one to the other.
Without a moment's hesitation he sprang across, dashed in one of the
windows, and went head foremost into the enemy's cabin, followed by
Bolter. Finding no one to oppose them there, they rushed upon deck and
into the midst of a body of marines who were near the after-hatchway.
"Down with the frog-eaters!" cried Ben Bolter, discharging his pistol in
the face of a marine with one hand, and cleaving down another with his
cutlass.
The "frog-eaters," however, were by no means despicable men; for one of
them clubbed his musket and therewith hit Ben such a blow on the head
that he fell flat on the deck. Seeing this, Bill Bowls bestrode his
prostrate comrade, and defended him for a few seconds with the utmost
fury.
Captain Ward, who had leaped into the mizzen chains of the enemy,
leading the boarders, beheld with amazement two of his own men on the
quarter-deck of the _St. Denis_ attacking the enemy in rear. Almost at
the same moment he observed the fall of one of them. His men also saw
this, and giving an enthusiastic cheer they sprang upon the foe and beat
them back. Bill Bowls was borne down in the rush by his friends, but he
quickly regained his legs. Ben Bolter also recovered and jumped up. In
five minutes more they were masters of the ship--hauled down the
colours, and hoisted the Union Jack at the Frenchman's peak.
During the whole course of this action the _Gloire_, which had drifted
within range, kept up a galling fire of musketry from her tops on the
deck of the _Waterwitch_. Just as the _St. Denis_ was captured, a ball
struck Captain Ward on the forehead, and he fell dead without a groan.
The first lieutenant, who was standing by his side at the moment, after
hastily calling several men to convey their commander below, ordered the
starboard guns of the prize to be fired into the _Gloire_. This was
done with such effect that it was not found necessary to repeat the
dose. The Frenchman immediately hauled down his colours, and the fight
was at an end.
It need scarcely be said that the satisfaction with which this victory
was hailed was greatly modified by the loss of brave Captain Ward, who
was a favourite with his men, and one who would in all probability have
risen to the highest position in the service, had he lived. He fell
while his sun was in the zenith, and was buried in the ocean, that wide
and insatiable grave, which has received too many of our brave seamen in
the prime of life.
The first lieutenant, on whom the command temporarily devolved,
immediately set about repairing damages, and, putting a prize crew into
each of the French ships, sailed with them to the nearest friendly port.
The night after the action Bill Bowls, Ben Bolter, and Tom Riggles sat
down on the heel of the bowsprit to have a chat.
"Not badly hit?" asked Ben of Bill, who was examining the bandage on his
left arm.
"Nothin' to speak of," said Bill; "only a scratch. I'm lucky to have
got off with so little; but I say, Ben, how does your head feel? That
Mounseer had a handy way o' usin' the handspike. I do believe he would
have cracked any man's skull but your own, which must be as thick as the
head of an elephant. I see'd it comin', but couldn't help ye.
Hows'ever, I saved ye from a second dose."
"It wos pritty hardish," said Ben, with a smile, an' made the stars
sparkle in my brain for all the world like the rory borailis, as I've
see'd so often in the northern skies; but it's all in the way o' trade,
so I don't grumble; the only thing as bothers me is that I can't git my
hat rightly on by reason of the bump.
"You've no cause to complain--neither of ye," said Tom Riggles, whose
left hand was tied up and in a sling, "for you've lost nothin' but a
little blood an' a bit o' skin, whereas I've lost the small finger o' my
right hand."
"Not much to boast of, that," said Ben Bolter contemptuously; "why, just
think of poor Ned Summers havin' lost an arm and Edwards a leg--not to
mention the poor fellows that have lost their lives."
"A finger is bad enough," growled Tom.
"Well, so it is," said Bowls. "By the way, I would advise you to try a
little of that wonderful salve invented by a Yankee for such cases."
"Wot salve wos that?" asked Tom gruffly, for the pain of his wound was
evidently pretty severe.
"Why, the growin' salve, to be sure," replied Bill. "Everybody must
have heard of it."
"_I_ never did," said Tom. "Did you, Ben?"
"No, never; wot is it?"
"It's a salve for growin' on lost limbs," said Bill. "The Yankee tried
it on a dog that had got its tail cut off. He rubbed a little of the
salve on the end of the dog, and a noo tail grow'd on next mornin'!"
"Gammon!" ejaculated Tom Riggles.
"True, I assure ye, as was proved by the fact that he afterwards rubbed
a little of the salve on the end of the tail, and a noo dog growed on it
in less than a week!"
"H'm! I wonder," said Tom, "if he was to rub some of it inside o' your
skull, whether he could grow you a noo set o' brains."
"I say, Bill," interposed Ben Bolter, "did you hear the first lieutenant
say where he intended to steer to?"
"I heard somethin' about Gibraltar, but don't know that he said we was
goin' there. It's clear, hows'ever, that we must go somewhere to refit
before we can be of any use."
"Ay; how poor Captain Ward would have chafed under this delay!" said
Bill Bowls sadly. "He would have been like a caged tiger. That's the
worst of war; it cuts off good and bad men alike. There's not a captain
in the fleet like the one we have lost, Nelson alone excepted."
"Well, I don't know as to that," said Ben Bolter; "but there's no doubt
that Admiral Nelson is the man to lick the French, and I only hope that
he may find their fleet, and that I may be there to lend a hand."
"Ditto," said Bill Bowls.
"Do," added Tom Riggles.
Having thus expressed their sentiments, the three friends separated.
Not long afterwards the _Waterwitch_ sailed with her prizes into
Gibraltar.
Here was found a portion of the fleet which had been forwarded by Earl
St. Vincent to reinforce Nelson. It was about to set sail, and as there
was every probability that the _Waterwitch_ would require a considerable
time to refit, some of her men were drafted into other ships. Among
others, our friends Bill Bowls, Ben Bolter, and Tom Riggles, were sent
on board the _Majestic_, a seventy-four gun ship of the line, commanded
by Captain Westcott, one of England's most noted captains.
This vessel, with ten line-of-battle ships, set sail to join Nelson, and
assist him in the difficult duty of watching the French fleet.