The Spanish frigate lay moored head and stern, with her ports open, and
the light from her fighting-lanterns streaming through them. The crew,
awakened by the firing, had hurried to their quarters, and were now
rapidly discharging their guns, sending their shot right and left,
though happily, it seemed, without any definite aim. A shot passed
close over the captain's head; so close that Paul expected for a moment
to see him fall, but he did not even notice the circumstance, and only
urged his men to pull up alongside the enemy. The pinnace was crossing
the frigate's bows. Suddenly her way was checked.
"She's aground, sir," cried the coxswain. "A rope has caught our
rudder--unship it, man," answered the captain, who was as cool as if
about to go on board his own ship.
In another instant the pinnace had hooked on to the Spaniard's bows; and
her crew, led by their brave captain, were climbing up to gain a footing
on their forecastle. Paul's heart beat quick--not with fear, but with
the belief that the moment for distinguishing himself had arrived. He
resolved to follow the captain closely. Captain Walford had hold of the
anchor which hung at the bows, when his foot slipped, and he would have
fallen back, had he not caught at the lanyard and hauled himself up.
The delay, though brief, enabled some of the men to be up before him.
Paul was among the number; and, finding a rope, he hove it to the
captain, which enabled him to gain the deck. Not an enemy was found;
but, looking down on the main-deck, the English discovered the Spaniards
at their quarters, not dreaming, it seemed, that the foe already stood
on the deck of their ship. There they stood, some loading, others
firing; fierce-looking fellows enough as the light of the lanterns fell
on their countenances. The foresail had been left laid across the deck
ready for bending, and the thick folds of the canvass served as a screen
to the first of the gallant hoarders while the rest were climbing up.
Not a moment was to be lost, and before the Spaniards had discovered
that the English were on board, a party of the latter, led by their
brave captain, were literally in the midst of them, fighting their way
towards the quarter-deck, where it had been arranged that all the
parties should rendezvous.
The Spaniards, taken by surprise, were cut down or leaped to the right
hand or to the left to escape the cutlasses of the boarders. At length,
however, some of the Spaniards rallied; and, led by one of their
officers, made so furious an attack on the captain's party that he and
most of his men were separated from each other. Paul had stuck by his
captain from the first. His arm was not very strong, but he was active;
and, while he managed to avoid the blows of his enemies, he bestowed
several as he leaped nimbly on. He, with the captain and Reuben Cole,
had nearly gained the quarter-deck when a Spaniard rushed at the latter,
and knocked him over with the butt-end of a musket. At the same moment
the captain's foot slipped, and another Spaniard striking him a furious
blow on the head, he fell senseless on the coaming of the hatchway, very
nearly going over below. Paul fully believed that his brave captain was
killed, and that his last moment was come. The Spaniard was about to
repeat the blow when Paul, springing in, regardless of consequences to
himself, cut him so severely under the arm with his sword that the man
missed his aim, and he himself fell headlong down the hatchway.
Paul then, while he laid about him with his weapon, did the best thing
he could by shouting at the top of his voice, "Help! help!--the captain
is down--help! help!" at the same time laying about him in so energetic
a way that none of the Spaniards seemed disposed to come within reach of
his weapon. His shouts quickly brought several of the crew of the
_Cerberus_ to the rescue; and, while some kept the Spaniards at bay, the
others assisted the captain, who was recovering from the effects of the
blow, to rise. Paul, as soon as he saw the captain on his feet, hurried
with two of his companions to the assistance of Reuben Cole, just in
time to prevent some Spaniards from giving him his quietus. Reuben's
head was a tolerably thick one; and, notwithstanding the severity of the
blow, he quickly came to himself; and, seizing his cutlass with right
good will, joined the party under the captain, who were employed in
preventing the Spaniards from regaining possession of the quarter-deck.
Meantime, several separate combats were going on in different parts of
the ship. The Spaniards, as they recovered from their first surprise,
rallied in considerable numbers; and, attacking the boatswain's party,
which had been separated from that of the captain's, fought their way
forward and re-took the forecastle. Paul could only discern what was
going forward by the flashes of the pistols of the combatants on deck,
and of the great guns which those below still continued to fire. As
yet, however, the English mustered but few hands, considering the
magnitude of the enterprise. Paul anxiously looked for the arrival of
the other boats. Now some dark forms were seen rising above the hammock
nettings. The Spaniards rushed to repel them, but at the same moment
the cry was raised that others were appearing on the opposite side.
Others came swarming over the bows, another party climbed up on the
quarter. The shouts and cries of the combatants increased. On every
side was heard the clashing of steel and the sharp crack of pistols.
The British marines now formed on deck, and, led by their officers,
charged the Spaniards. The bravest of the latter, who had been
attacking the captain, threw down their arms and cried for mercy or
leaped below. They were quickly followed by Bruff and Devereux, who
drove them into the after-cabin, where some sixty of them lay down their
weapons and begged for quarter. Others, however, still held out. The
game was not won; reinforcements might come from the shore, and the
gun-boats might pull up and prove awkward customers. The deck was,
however, literally strewed with the bodies of the Spaniards, while as
yet not an Englishman was killed, though many were badly wounded. Many
of the Spaniards still held out bravely under the forecastle, and others
on the main-deck; but the gunner and two men, though severely wounded,
had got possession of the wheel. The seamen who had gone aloft loosed
the foretop sail, the carpenters cut the stern cable, the best bower was
cut at the same moment, just in time to prevent the ship from canting
the wrong way.
The boats took the frigate in tow, and though as yet those on deck were
scarcely in possession of the ship, directly she was seen to be moving,
the batteries on either side opened a hot fire on her, but, undaunted,
the brave crews rowed on in spite of the shot whizzing over their heads,
and the efforts of the yet unsubdued portion of the Spaniards to regain
the ship. Those of the latter who attempted to defend the forecastle
suffered most, and were nearly all killed or driven overboard. Still
the victory was not assured; a cry was raised that the Spaniards
retreating below were forcing open the magazine for the purpose of
blowing up the ship.
Devereux was the first to hear the report, and calling on Paul, who was
near him, and a few others to follow, he leaped down the hatchway, and
sword in hand dashed in among the astonished Spaniards, who with
crowbars had just succeeded in breaking open the door of the magazine.
One man grasped a pistol ready to fire into it. Paul, who felt his
spirits raised to the highest pitch, and ready to dare and do any deed,
however desperate, sprang into the midst of the group and struck up the
Spaniard's arm, the pistol going off and the bullet lodging in the deck
above. Several of the others were cut down by Devereux and his men, and
the rest, strange as it may seem, fell on their knees and begged for
quarter; though an instant before they were preparing to send themselves
and their foes suddenly into eternity.
"Quarter! Pretty sort of quarter you deserve, ye blackguards, for
wishing to blow up the ship after all the trouble we've had to take
her," cried Reuben, giving one of the Spaniards, who still stood at the
door of the magazine, a kick which lifted him half-way up the ladder
leading to the deck above.
All opposition after this ceased below, but there was work enough to
secure the prisoners and prevent them from making any similar attempt to
that which had just been so happily frustrated. The hands on deck were
meantime employed in making sail with all speed; and good reason had
they for so doing, for the shot from a hundred guns were flying above
and around them, some crashing on board and others going through the
sails and cutting the running and standing rigging; but in spite of the
iron shower not a man aloft shrank from his duty. As soon as a brace
was cut, or a shroud severed, eager hands were ready to repair the
damage. The gallant captain, though bleeding from more than one wound,
stood by the mizen shrouds conning the ship, and not till she was clear
of the harbour and no shot came near her did he relinquish his post.
The triumphant moment was, however, when the two frigates neared each
other, and the victors shouted out, "We have got her--we have got her,
without the loss of a man, though we have some pretty severe scratches
among us. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"
Loud and hearty were the cheers; but there was too little time for
making speeches. Most of the prisoners were removed to the _Cerberus_.
A prize-crew, under the command of the second lieutenant, was put on
board the re-captured frigate, and a course was immediately shaped for
Jamaica. When Paul at length was able to turn into his hammock he felt
very low-spirited. Not a word had been said of anything that had been
done. He felt that he had certainly saved the captain's life, and had
in all probability prevented the ship from being blown up. Yet he would
not be his own trumpeter, and he thought that very likely no one had
observed what he had done, and that it would be entirely overlooked.
"Well, I should not care so much for myself," he thought, "but dear
mother--how she would rejoice to hear that I had made my own way up to
the quarter-deck. It can't be helped, I must wait for another
opportunity."
The fate Paul dreaded has been that of many who have struggled on year
after year in the hopes of winning fame, and have after all missed the
object at which they aimed.
It was reported that the captain was suffering severely from his wounds,
and for some days he did not appear on deck. Devereux, however, had not
forgotten Paul, and took the first occasion to tell him that he would
mention him to the captain as having preserved the ship and all their
lives from destruction. Paul, on this, felt very much inclined to say
that he had been the means also of preserving the captain's life. "No,
I won't, though," he thought; "the captain will make inquiries as to
what happened when he was struck down, and the men who saw me defending
him will surely tell him the truth."
He therefore simply thanked Devereux for his kind intentions.
"You know, sir, that what I did was to save my own life as well as that
of others," he added.
"Very true, but still I think that the captain will consider your
conduct worthy of reward," answered Devereux.
To Reuben, Paul was more communicative.
"But do you know which were the men who came when you called for help?"
asked the former.
Paul could not be positive as to one of them, on account of the darkness
and confusion.
"Then I must find out, my lad, and make all things square," muttered
Reuben, as he walked away.
The victors had plenty of hard work in putting the prize to rights, in
manning her and their own ship, and in looking after the prisoners.
However, not long after they had lost sight of land, a sail hove in
sight. Chase was made, and the stranger proved to be a Spanish
schooner. She quickly hauled down her colours, and a boat was sent to
bring her captain on board. The Don stood, hat in hand, trembling in
every joint, at the gangway, his long sallow face drawn down to twice
its usual length, expecting to be carried off a prisoner, and to have
his vessel destroyed. As Captain Walford was unable to come on deck,
Mr Order received him. If it had been possible for a Don to throw up
his hat and to shout for joy, the Spanish skipper would have done it
when the first-lieutenant told him, that if he would undertake to carry
the prisoners back to Puerto Cabello in his schooner, he might go free.
He did not skip, or throw up his hat, or sing, but advancing with a deep
bow, one hand holding his hat, and the other pressed on his heart, he
gave the lieutenant an embrace and then retired to the gangway. Mr
Order did not exhibit any sign of satisfaction at this proceeding, but
it was too ridiculous to make him angry; so he told him to get on board
and prepare for the reception of his countrymen. The Spanish prisoners
were soon tumbled into the boats, and heartily glad were the English
seamen to be rid of them.
"Their habits are filthy, and as to manners, they have none," was the
opinion generally formed of them on board.
"Now, if we'd have had as many mounseers, they'd have been fiddling and
singing away as merry as crickets, and been good sport to us--long afore
this," observed Reuben to Paul, as the schooner made sail to the
southward.
Although the captain's hurts were severe, he was, after some days, able
to come on deck. He looked pale and weak, but there was fire in his eye
and a smile on his lip as he glanced at the captured frigate sailing at
a few cables' length abeam.
"Let the people come aft, Mr Order," he said in a cheerful voice.
The crew were soon assembled, hat in hand, looking up to their captain
with eager countenances as he opened his lips.
"My lads," he said, "I have been unable before to thank you, as I do
from my heart, for the gallant way in which you carried out my wishes
the other night when you re-took yonder frigate, so disgracefully held
by the Spaniards. Where all did well, it is difficult to select those
most deserving of praise, yet to the second-lieutenant and the boatswain
and gunner my thanks are especially due, as they are to the surgeon for
the able support he gave me. They will, I trust, receive the reward
they merit in due time; but there is another person to whom I am most
grateful, and whom I have it in my power to reward, as he fully
deserves, immediately. To his presence of mind I find the preservation
of the lives of all on board the prize is due, and I fully believe, that
had it not been for his courage, I should not have been conscious of the
glorious achievement we have accomplished. Paul Gerrard, come up here.
Accept this dirk from me as a slight token of gratitude, and from
henceforth consider yourself a quarter-deck officer--a midshipman."
Paul, his eyes sparkling, his countenance beaming, and his heart
beating, sprang forward, helped on by the arms of the crew, all
sympathising with his feelings. The captain shook him warmly by the
hand before giving him his dirk--an example followed by all the officers
and midshipmen, and by none more cordially than by Devereux and O'Grady.
They then took him by the arm and hurried him below, where he found a
suit of uniform, in which they speedily clothed him and returned with
him in triumph on deck. Their appearance was the signal for the crew to
give three as hearty cheers as ever burst from the throats of a
man-of-war's crew. Paul's heart was too full to speak, and he could
with difficulty stammer out his thanks to his captain. He felt indeed
as if he had already reached the summit of his ambition. The captain
reminded him, however, that he had a long way yet to climb, by observing
that he had only just got his foot on the lower ratline, but that, if he
went on as he had begun, he would certainly, if he lived, get to the
top. The advice was indeed, from beginning to end, very good, but need
not be repeated. Paul was so cordially received in the midshipmen's
berth, that he soon felt himself perfectly at home, though he did not
forget that he had a short time before served at the table at which he
now sat.
The frigates arrived without accident at Jamaica, where the officers and
crew received all the honours and marks of respect they so justly
merited. The _Cerberus_ required no repairs, and the prize was quickly
got ready for sea. Captain Walford, however, suffered so severely from
his wounds, that he was ordered home to recruit his strength. Devereux
and O'Grady had never entirely recovered from their illness, and they
also obtained leave to go home. Paul was very sorry to lose them, not
being aware how much he was himself knocked up by the hardships he had
gone through. Three or four days before the ship was to sail, the
doctor came into the berth, and looking hard at him, desired to feel his
pulse.
"I thought so," he remarked. "You feel rather queer, my boy, don't
you?"
"Yes, sir, very ill," said Paul; "I don't know what is the matter with
me."
"But I do," answered the doctor. "A fever is coming on, and the sooner
you are out of this the better. I'll speak to the captain about you."
The fever did come on. Paul was sent to the hospital on shore, where he
was tenderly nursed by Devereux, aided by O'Grady; the _Cerberus_,
meantime, having sailed on a cruise under the command of Mr Order. As
no ship of war was going home, Captain Walford took his passage in a
sugar-laden merchantman, having Devereux and O'Grady with him, and he
got Paul also invalided home. Paul's chief source of delight was the
thought that he should present himself to his mother and sisters as a
real veritable midshipman, in the uniform he so often in his dreams had
worn, and of the happiness he should afford them. Their ship was not a
very fast one, though she could carry a vast number of hogsheads of
sugar, and was remarkably comfortable. The captain was more like a kind
father and a good-natured tutor than most skippers, and they all had a
very pleasant time of it. Paul had had no time for study while he was a
ship-boy, and so the captain advised him to apply himself to navigation
and to general reading; and he did so with so much good will, that,
during the voyage, he made considerable progress. They were nearing the
mouth of the Channel.
"In another week we shall be at home," said Paul.
"Yes, it will be jolly," answered Devereux. "You must come and see me,
you know, at the Hall, and I'll introduce you to my family, and they'll
make you amends somehow or other, if they can; they must, I am
determined."
"Thank you heartily, Devereux," answered Paul; "but the short time I am
likely to be at home I must spend with my mother, and though I know your
kind wishes, people generally will not look with much respect on a
person who was till lately a mere ship-boy."
"No fear of that, Gerrard; but we'll see, we'll see," answered Devereux.
"A sail on the weather bow," shouted the look-out from aloft, "standing
across our course."
The West Indiaman, the _Guava_ was her name, went floundering on as
before; the master, however, who had gone aloft, kept his glass on the
stranger. After some time he came down, his countenance rather paler
than usual.
"She has tacked and is standing towards us," he said, addressing Captain
Walford.
"Sorry to hear it, Mr Turtle. Is she big or little?"
"Why, sir, she has very square yards, and has much the look of a foreign
man-of-war," answered the master.
"Umph! If she is Spanish we may beat her off, but if she proves French,
she may be a somewhat tough customer; however, you will try, of course,
Mr Turtle."
"If you advise resistance, we'll make it, sir, and do our best," said
Captain Turtle, who, though fat, had no lack of spirit.
"By all means. Turn the hands up, load the guns, and open the
arm-chest," was the answer.
The crew of the _Guava_, which was rather of a mixed character--blacks,
mulattoes, Malays, Portuguese, and other foreigners,--were not very
eager for the fight, but when they saw the spirit of the naval officers,
especially of the young midshipmen, they loaded the guns, stuck the
pistols in their belts, and girded on their cutlasses to prepare for the
fight.
The _Guava_, of course, could not hope to escape by flight, so the
safest course was to put a bold face on the matter, and to stand on.
The stranger rapidly approached. There could no longer be any doubt as
to her nationality, though no colours flew from her peak. She was
pronounced to be French, though whether a national ship or a privateer
was doubtful.
"If she is a privateer and we are taken, our chances of fair treatment
are very small," observed Captain Walford.
"It will be hard lines for the skipper, after performing so gallant an
action, to fall into the hands of the enemy," observed O'Grady. "For my
part, I'd sooner blow up the ship."
"Not much to be gained by that," answered Devereux. "Let us fight like
men and yield with dignity, if we are overmatched."
"The right sentiment," said Captain Walford. "There is no disgrace in
being conquered by a superior force."
"As I fear that we shall be," muttered the master of the _Guava_. "Now,
if I'd been left alone, I'd have knocked under at once. We've not the
shadow of a chance."
"Then it's not like Captain Turtle's own shadow," whispered O'Grady, who
could even at that moment indulge in a joke.
Matters were indeed becoming serious. The stranger was, it was soon
seen, a powerful vessel, cither a large corvette or a small frigate,
against which the heavily-rigged, ill-manned and slightly-armed merchant
ship, had scarcely a chance. Still, such chance as there was, the
English resolved to try. The order was given to fire high at the
enemy's rigging, and the rest of the crew stood prepared to make all
possible sail directly any of the Frenchman's spars were knocked away.
Paul had been so accustomed to believe that whatever his captain
undertook he would succeed in doing, that he had no fears on the
subject. The _Guava_ rolled on, the stranger approached, close-hauled.
Captain Turtle, with a sigh, pronounced her to be a privateer, and a
large frigate-built ship. She would have to pass, however, some little
way astern of the _Guava_, if she continued steering as she was then
doing. Suddenly she kept away, and fired a broadside from long guns,
the shot flying among the _Guava's_ rigging and doing much damage. The
merchantman's guns could not reply with any effect, her shot falling
short. The Frenchman saw his advantage. His shot came rattling on
board the _Guava_, her spars and blocks falling thickly from aloft. At
length the former was seen drawing near, evidently to range up
alongside; and many of the crew, fancying that resistance was hopeless,
ran below to secure their best clothes and valuables, while the
officers, with heavy hearts, throwing their swords overboard, saw
Captain Turtle haul down the colours. The Frenchmen were soon on board.
They proved to be, not regular combatants, but rascally privateers;
fellows who go forth to plunder their fellow-men, not for the sake of
overcoming the enemies of their country and obtaining peace, but for the
greed of gain, careless of the loss and suffering they inflict. These
were of the worst sort. Their delight was unbounded, when they found
that they had not only taken a rich prize, for sugar at that time
fetched a high price in France, but had taken at one haul a post-captain
and several officers, for besides the three midshipmen, there were two
lieutenants, a surgeon, and master, going home for their health. The
privateer's-men began by plundering the vessel and stripping the crew of
every article they possessed about them, except the clothes they stood
in. They took the property of the officers, but did not, at first, take
anything from their persons. Captain Walford retained his coolness and
self-possession, notwithstanding the annoyances he suffered, and the
insults he received. The other officers imitated him. They were all
transferred to the privateer.
"To what French port are we to be carried?" he asked of his captain.
"To Brest--and it will be a long time before you see salt-water after
that," was the answer.
"Probably never--if we are not to be liberated till France conquers
England," said Captain Walford, quietly.
"Sa-a-a, you may be free, then, sooner than you expect," cried the
Frenchman.
In about five days, the privateer, with her rich prize, entered Brest
harbour. The prisoners were treated on landing with very scant
ceremony, and were thrust into the common prison--the officers in one
small room and the men in another. In those days the amenities of
warfare were little attended to. It was all rough, bloody, desperate,
cruel work. In truth, it is seldom otherwise. The prisoners were not
kept long at Brest, but one fine morning in spring, after a not over
luxurious breakfast of black bread, salt fish, and thin coffee, were
mustered outside the prison to begin their march into the interior. The
midshipmen kept together and amused themselves by singing, joking, and
telling stories, keeping up their spirits as well as they could. Their
guards were rough, unfeeling fellows, who paid no attention to their
comforts, but made them trudge on in rain or sunshine, sometimes
bespattered with mud, and at others covered with dust, parched with
thirst, and ready to drop from the heat. The country people, however,
looked on them with compassion, and many a glass of wine, a cup of
coffee, and a handful of fruits and cakes, were offered to them as they
passed through the villages on their road.
"Och, if some of those pretty little villagers who are so kind with
their cakes would just increase their compassion and help us to get out
of the claws of these ugly blackguards, I'd be grateful to them from the
bottom of my soul to the end of my days," said O'Grady to Paul, as they
approached a hamlet in a hilly, thickly-wooded part of the country.
It was in the afternoon, and, although they generally marched on much
later, to their surprise, the captain of their guard, for some reason
best known to himself, called a halt. Instead of being placed in
prison, as there was none in the village, they were billeted about in
different houses, with one or two guards over each. Paul and O'Grady
found themselves, together with Reuben Cole and two other men, in a neat
house on the borders of the village. They were the first disposed of,
so that where their companions were lodged they could not tell. The
people of the house did not appear to regard their guards with friendly
eyes, so that they concluded that they were not attached to the present
order of things.
"See that you render them up safe to us to-morrow morning," said the
captain to an old gentleman, who appeared to be the master of the house.
"I am not a gaoler, and can be answerable for no one," was the reply, at
which the captain shook his fist and rode off, exclaiming, "Take care,
take care!"
Though very unwilling to receive the prisoners, the old gentleman
treated them with a courtesy which seemed to arise rather from respect
to himself than from any regard he entertained for them. The two
midshipmen were shown into one small room, and the seamen, with their
guards, into another. In the room occupied by O'Grady and Paul, there
was a table and chairs and a sofa, while the view from the window
consisted of a well-kept garden and vineyard, a green meadow and wooded
hills beyond. As far as accommodation was concerned, they had little of
which to complain; but they were very hungry, and O'Grady began to
complain that the old Frenchman intended to starve them.
"I'll go and shout and try to get something," he cried out, but he found
that the door was locked outside.
The window was too high from the ground to allow them to jump out, and
as they would probably be caught, and punished for attempting to run
away, they agreed to stay where they were. At length the door opened,
and a bright-eyed, nicely-dressed girl came in with a tray covered with
edibles, and a bottle of wine in her hands. They stood up as she
entered, and bowed. She smiled, and expressed her sympathy for their
misfortunes. Paul had, hitherto, not let the Frenchmen know that he
understood French.
"I think that I may venture to speak to her," he said to O'Grady. "She
would not have said that if she didn't wish to assist us."
O'Grady agreed that it would be perfectly safe, and so Paul addressed
her in the choicest French he could command, and told her how they had
been coming home in a merchantman, and had been captured, and robbed of
all they possessed, instead of being, as they had hoped, in a few days
in the bosom of their families, with their mothers and brothers and
sisters.
"And you both have brothers and sisters, and they long to see you,
doubtless," said the little girl.
"Oh yes, and we long to see them," exclaimed Paul, believing that he had
moved her heart.
She sighed. "Ah, I once had many, but they are all now in the world of
spirits; they cannot come to me, but for their sakes I will try to serve
you," answered the girl.
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" said Paul. "If you could help us to get out
of this house, and to hide away till the pursuit is over, we should be
eternally grateful."