There is a time of life when a person feels that he has left for ever
his boyish days and stepped into manhood. I felt that I had passed that
boundary when I found myself rated as an able seaman on board the
_Syren_ sloop of war. I was now under a far stricter system of
discipline than I had been accustomed to. At first I felt it somewhat
galling; but I soon saw that without the greatest regularity it would be
impossible to keep order among the crew of a ship even of the size of
the _Syren_.
My early days I had spent on board a merchantman, and had met with many
adventures somewhat strange and exciting. I did not expect to meet with
fewer in my new career, though they would probably be of a different
character. The result of my last, in which I had aided in rescuing two
of my countrymen from captivity, had proved most satisfactory. Jacob
Lyal, one of them, was now with me, and I knew he would speak well of me
among my new shipmates. The other, Captain Stenning, late master of the
_Dolphin_, was on board that vessel, and, I hoped, would soon be enabled
to rejoin his wife and family in Halifax. Captain Gale, her present
master, would also, I knew, speak favourably of me to my first commander
in the _Rainbow_, Captain Helfrich, whenever he should fall in with him.
I pity the man who does not desire to be thought well of by those who
know him, and who does not feel that he deserves their good wishes. I
certainly had not made many friends, but those I had found were true and
fast ones; and a great source of satisfaction to me was the having with
me Peter Poplar, my first and best friend--that true-hearted seaman who
had saved me from starvation--who had tended me as a father in my
boyhood and youth--who had given me a profession which would enable me
to support myself while health and strength remained--and who had ever
endeavoured to instil into me those true principles which would enable
me to steer clear of the rocks and quicksands to be found in my course
through life.
The wind had fallen and become fair; the helm of the corvette was put
down, the sails were trimmed, and, under a crowd of canvas such as few
merchantmen can attempt to set, we quickly ran the coast of Africa out
of sight--the last we saw of its sandy shores being over our starboard
quarter. The commander of the _Syren_, Captain Hudson, was, I found,
very much liked by the crew, as, although he was a strict officer, he
was a just one, and known to be a thorough seaman. He was a gentleman
also in all respects, a brave man, and kind-hearted; and these are the
qualities which sailors with good reason respect. Without possessing
them, no man is fit to be placed in command over his fellow-men. My old
ship, the _Dolphin_, continued in our company for several days, during
which we made the best of our way to the northward, the wind, though
scant, enabling us, close-hauled, to keep a course in that direction.
When somewhere about the latitude of Lisbon, a ship hove in eight,
standing towards us under all sail. As her courses rose above the
water, she was pronounced to be a frigate; and as her hull appeared,
such was found to be the case. Then commenced such a hauling up and
down of flags as I had never before seen. What it all meant I could not
tell, but it seemed to produce a great commotion among the officers; and
soon the news ran along the deck that war was declared--war with France.
It was the beginning of a long and bloody struggle.
Meantime, we hove-to, as the frigate had done, and Captain Hudson went
on board her. When he returned, we found that we were ordered into the
British Channel. The frigate, a new ship, just fitted out, with her
officers in glittering uniforms, and her white wide-spread of canvas,
and her fresh paint, and her brightly burnished sides looked, I thought,
the very picture of a gay and gallant craft, as, passing close to us,
she glided by through the sparkling sea. I could not help comparing her
with the weather-beaten, wall-sided, ill-formed, slow-sailing
merchantmen I had been accustomed to see, and I began to feel a pride in
belonging to a man-of-war which I had not hitherto experienced.
Before proceeding on our course, Captain Hudson signalled the _Dolphin_,
which had been hove-to, and informed Captain Gale that war had broken
out, advising him to make the best of his way to Halifax. It was not
till some years afterwards that I heard she reached that place in
safety, and that Captain Stenning had had the happiness of being
re-united to his wife and family.
No sooner was the news of war received on board the _Syren_, than
everybody seemed to wake up into activity. No one had time for a moment
to be idle fore or aft. The armourer's crew were employed in polishing
up muskets, and pistols, and sharpening cutlasses. For hours together
we were practised at the small-arms and great-guns, which had never
before been thought of. The gunners were busy making cartridges; the
carpenters, plugs for shot-holes; indeed, we all felt that people should
always feel that there was work to do. We had good reason to rejoice
before the cruise was up that we had not been idle.
We reached Plymouth without meeting with an enemy or taking a prize.
What a state of bustle and excitement the place was in!
Carriages-and-four dashing through the streets at all hours of the day;
troops marching here and there, with drums and fifes playing--some
coming in, others embarking for foreign lands; artisans of all sorts
hurrying in, certain to get work at high wages; men-of-war, and
merchantmen, and store-ships, and troop-ships sailing in and out every
day; boats laden with men and chests pulling across the harbour; seamen
crowding every quay; pressgangs at work catching men to fight England's
battles; and then such hurrying to and fro, and shrieking of women, and
shouting of men, and crying of children, and revelling, and laughter,
and scenes of extravagance, and debauchery, and vice I had never before
beheld, and did not think could exist in a civilised part of the globe.
Having refitted with as little delay as possible, and again put to sea,
we found ourselves off the north coast of Spain, far into the Bay of
Biscay. For some time we were employed in looking along the coast of
France, and picking up all the small coasters we could lay eyes on. We
did a great deal of damage to a number of poor people, and taught them
that war was a very disagreeable thing, so that they must heartily have
wished it over, or rather, that it never had begun; but I doubt if we
did ourselves any good in the way of collecting prize-money; at all
events, I know that I never got any. At length, one morning, when we
could just make out the French coast like a thin wavy blue line on the
horizon, beyond which a rich yellow glow was bursting forth, the
forerunner of the glorious sun, a sail was seen, hull down, to the
northward, and apparently standing in on a bowline for the land. The
ship, as was usual when cruising, had been quietly jogging on under her
topsails during the night. "All hands, make sail in chase!" was the
cheerful sound which made us spring on deck to our stations; and in a
few minutes the corvette, with royals and studding-sails alow and aloft,
was kept away after the stranger. The latter, which was pronounced to
be a large topsail schooner, was soon seen to bear up, and to set all
the canvas she could carry, in an endeavour to escape. The chase was a
large and fast vessel of her class, for it was not till some time after
breakfast that we could see half-way down her mainsail from the deck.
Still, we were gaining on her. She, meantime, was edging away in for
the land, so that there was little doubt that she was an enemy's
vessel--probably, from the way she made sail, a privateer with a number
of hands on board, if not a man-of-war. Hour after hour we continued
the chase, till the French coast rose clear and distinct on our
starboard-bow.
Jacob Lyal and I were at this time stationed in the foretop, of which
Peter Poplar was captain, though he was shortly afterwards made a
quarter-master. We thus saw every movement of the chase. She, by
degrees, edged away again more to the northward, as if wishing to avoid
the coast thereabout. We had begun the chase soon after daylight, and
the evening was now drawing on, when, close in with the land, we made
out a large ship standing along-shore, the rays of the sinking sun
shining brilliantly on her snowy canvas. The schooner hauled up towards
her, and then kept away again, as if she did not like her appearance.
"What do you make her out to be?" said I to Peter, pointing to the ship.
"Why, Jack, from the squareness of her yards and the whiteness of her
canvas, I should say she is a man-of-war--probably a frigate, and a
thundering big frigate, too, if I am not much mistaken."
"I suppose, from the French schooner keeping away from her, she is an
English frigate," said I.
"Not so sure of that either, Jack," he answered. "We don't know that
the schooner is French, in the first place; and even if she is, she may
be mistaken as to the character of the frigate, or she may have altered
her course just to deceive us, so as to let the frigate come up with us
without our taking alarm about her. Never fancy that you have made a
right guess and neglect to take precautions, in case you should be
wrong."
"Why, if she is an enemy's frigate, she'll sink us," said Lyal. "We
shall have to up stick and run for it!"
"Never do you fear that, lad," answered Peter, somewhat sternly, I
thought. "Run?--no! If that is a French frigate it will just give us
an opportunity of showing what British pluck can do. Our lads know how
to handle their guns and small-arms--thanks to the practice some of the
grumblers complained of--and if we don't give a good account of that
ship out there, my name is not Peter Poplar."
The spirit with which Peter spoke soon animated both Lyal and me, and
when we were relieved from our watch, and repeated his words, they were
responded to by all the crew, and their great wish was that the frigate
in sight should prove an enemy, that they might show how they would
treat her.
What the officers thought about the matter we could not tell, but as it
grew dark the chase of the schooner was abandoned, studding-sails were
taken in, and the ship was hauled on a wind and stood off-shore. As may
be supposed, no one turned in that night; the hammocks remained in the
nettings, and the ship was got ready for action.
From the way the frigate was steering at nightfall, there could be
little doubt that she was following in our track. Anxiously we looked
out for her lights astern. Hour after hour passed away, and no sign of
her appeared, and we began to fear that she had missed us altogether.
At last a small glimmer was soon twinkling away in the darkness, and by
degrees it grew larger and larger; and then out of the dense obscurity--
for no moon nor stars were visible--there glided a dark towering mass,
like some phantom giant talking over the deep. The drum beat to
quarters, and the crew sprung eagerly to their guns. Every man was
stripped to the waist, round which he had fastened a handkerchief, with
another round his head, and had his cutlass ready to board or to repel
boarders.
In spite of the wish for battle we had all expressed, I could not help
feeling a sensation of awe, if not of dread, creep over me, as we
stood--thus in silence and darkness at our guns, expecting the attack of
an enemy of vastly superior force. The muscular forms of our sturdy
crew could just be distinguished grouped round their guns, the pale
light of the ship's lanterns falling here and there upon them in fitful
flashes, as the officers went their rounds to see that every one was at
his station, or as the boys handed up shot and powder from below. We
were prepared, I say, but still, I believe, the general impression aft
was, that the stranger would prove a friend.
As she drew nearer, the order was given to make the private
night-signal. Up went the lanterns to the mast-head. It was a moment
of breathless suspense. No answering signal of friendship was made in
return. In another instant, however, that unmistakable one of hatred
and defiance--a shot--came whistling over our heads. It was replied to
by one of our stern-chasers; and we then went about, that we might keep
the weather-gauge--a most important point under present circumstances.
The enemy, to avoid being raked, had to do the same. "Give it them now,
my lads!" shouted the captain. "Let every shot tell, and show the big
one what a little craft can do when her crew have the will to make her
speak!" Loud cheers were the reply to the address, and instantly every
gun sent forth its flame of fire; and I believe that not a shot failed
to take some effect on the hull or rigging of our opponent. Now hotly
broadside to broadside, at the distance of half-gun-shot from each
other, we stood in towards the land. As fast as they could be run in
loaded, our guns discharged their deadly showers. All the time we were
edging closer towards each other, and as we got within hail we could see
that considerable damage had already been suffered by the frigate. This
gave fresh encouragement to us, and we blazed away with more hearty
good-will than before. The enemy's shot had, however, been telling not
a little on us. Several of our men had lost the number of their mess,
and more had been wounded; but no damage of consequence had been
received aloft, and any the hull had received had been quickly repaired
by our carpenter and his active crew.
Amid the roar of the guns a loud shout burst from our people. I looked
up. The frigate's mizzen-topmast had been shot away, and came tumbling
down on deck. Our fore-topgallant-topmast, however, soon followed, cut
through by a round-shot; but that was of little consequence, as our
topsail-yard was uninjured, and the topsail still stood. We were not
long in clearing the wreck, but for a moment there was a cessation of
firing. Just then a hail came across the dark waters from the
Frenchman's deck.
"Do you strike, Sare? Do you strike?" was asked through a
speaking-trumpet. Our captain seized his trumpet in return.
"Certainly, monsieur, certainly. We have been and intend to go on
striking, just in the way Englishmen have the fashion of doing."
A loud laugh burst from our crew at this answer. It just suited our
tastes, and then such a hearty cheer was uttered as could not have
failed to convince the Frenchman that our captain was likely to be
backed by his people to the utmost. Our guns were not long silent, and
once more the darkness of night was illuminated by the bright sheets of
flame which burst forth in almost a continuous stream from their mouths.
What a contrast to the previous awful silence was there in the report of
the guns, the rattle of musketry, the shouts of the officers, the cheers
of the men, the crashing of spars and timber as the shot struck home,
and the shrieks, and cries, and groans of the wounded! To these
expressions of pain even the bravest cannot help giving way, when
wounded where the nerves are most sensitive.
Several times the enemy attempted to close, when her greatly
prepondering force of men would have told with fearful effect on our
decks; but each time the attempt was made it was dexterously avoided by
our captain. We had, however, begun to suffer considerably in spars and
rigging, and the number of our killed and wounded was increasing. Our
second lieutenant had been severely injured by the fall of the
foretop-gallant-mast. A midshipman, a young lad who had just come to
sea, was struck down close to me. I lifted him up in my arms for a
moment, to get him carried below out of harm's way; but the terrible
injury he had received convinced me that no help could avail him. I put
my hand on his heart: it had ceased to beat. Yet what voice sounded
more full of life and spirit than his as we cheered at the captain's
answer to the Frenchman's hail? On the other side of me a fine young
fellow fell mortally wounded. He was just my own age, but not, like me,
left alone in the world--he had many dear ones in his humble home. He
felt that he had not many moments to live, though his mind was as active
as ever.
"Williams!" he faintly cried. "Stoop down, lad! Don't let them take me
below: I want to die here! And I say--you know my poor mother, and
Sally, and George: just tell them that you saw the last of me; that I
thought of them, and prayed for them, and that I hope we may meet in
that far, far-off port to which we are all bound! I haven't forgot the
prayers mother taught me, tell her. It will comfort her to know that!
Good-bye, Jack!"
He pressed my hand as he uttered these words, but instantly afterwards
his fingers relaxed. His spirit had fled, and I returned to my duty at
my gun!
There were not many seamen, unhappily, in those days, like poor James
Martin. Another shipmate was killed not far from me, and he died
uttering fearful curses on our enemies, utterly ignorant of the future
world into which he was entering.
Thus we fought on. Although we were severely punishing our big
opponent, we could not feel that we were getting the best of the fight.
"Do you think we shall take her?" said I to Peter, during another short
cessation of firing.
"I scarcely expect that," he answered. "But I am pretty certain that he
won't take us. See, hurrah! He's been hit again pretty hard!"
As he spoke, the frigate's mizzen-mast, which must have been before
badly wounded, went by the board, and at the same time her main-yard
came down by the run on deck, no doubt doing further damage by the fall.
To show the enemy that our spirits were as high as ever, we cheered
again; but, as if in retaliation, several shots, in quick succession,
struck our foretopmast, and it, and the yard, and all our headsail, came
thundering down on deck, in a confused mass of wreck, disabling several
of our people, and rendering our foremost gun useless for a time. I was
thankful that I had been stationed at a gun instead of being aloft.
Some of the officers hurried forward to get the wreck cleared away,
while others encouraged the men to persevere in the strife--not that any
encouragement was necessary, for we were all eager to continue it, still
hoping to make prize of our antagonist.
What had become of the schooner meantime we could not tell. We could
only suppose that she was an unarmed vessel. Had she been armed, she
might have proved a very disagreeable addition to the force with which
we had to contend.
While we were clearing the wreck of the foretopmast, another broadside
was poured into us, which we returned with our after-guns. It appeared
to me, as I looked up again at her after loading, that the frigate was
increasing her distance from us. There could be no mistake about it.
Her helm had been put up, and she was running off before the wind.
Didn't we cheer heartily! but then we remembered that, deprived of our
headsail, we could not follow--so we cheered again, and sent a few shots
flying after her, like a dog's farewell bark, just to show her that we
claimed the victory, and would be ready for her if she chose to come
back; and then we set to work with a will to repair damages.
Our couple of hours' night work had produced not a few, and sadly
changed the appearance of our trim little sloop. Still, as our foremast
was standing, we were able to make headsail on the ship, and we hoped by
the following morning to get matters sufficiently to rights to be able
to renew the engagement should our opponent again venture to attack us.
I, in common with many of the younger men, was very much disappointed at
not having captured the frigate; but Peter and others who had fought in
the last war, told us that we were very fortunate in not having
ourselves been obliged to strike, as our opponent could not have mounted
less than six-and-thirty, if not forty guns--more than twice as many as
we carried. Notwithstanding this, we only hoped to see her again in the
morning; and as soon as daylight appeared several eager pairs of eyes
were aloft looking out for her. There, hull down to the northward,
appeared a sail, which was most probably our opponent; but she was
running directly before the wind.
At first we supposed that our captain would follow her; but though as
brave a man as need be, as he had proved himself, he saw that the
probability of capturing the frigate was too small to justify him in
making the attempt--in doing which he was much more likely to lose his
own ship. Shattered, indeed, did we look when the sun shone down on our
blood-stained decks; and still more sad were the scenes which the
wounded and dying presented below. I will not, however, now dwell on
them. Several shot had gone through the ship's sides, some between wind
and water; but the holes had been quickly plugged by the carpenter's
crew. Altogether, so shattered was the sloop, that, unwilling as our
captain was to give up the cruise, he had no resource but to make the
best of his way to Plymouth. We arrived there ten days after the
engagement; but the pumps had to be kept going all the time, and the
ship was ordered into dock to undergo a thorough repair.
It is impossible for me to describe all the scenes of which I was
witness during that interesting period of England's naval history; but
there was one I must not omit, as it shows what presence of mind and
courage can do, in rescuing people even from the greatest difficulties.
At that time the French revolutionary party, so well named Red
Republicans, were inflicting, with unsparing barbarity, the most
dreadful atrocities on any of their unhappy countrymen who were even
suspected of entertaining monarchical principles. The inhabitants of
Toulon, as well as of several other places, were known to be favourable
to the cause of their sovereign; and to afford them support, Lord Hood--
then commander-in-chief in the Mediterranean--landed a body of English
and Spanish troops, and took possession of the town and forts while his
own fleet, with one sent by Spain to join him, entered the harbour.
At this time a number of supernumeraries, of whom I was one, sailed from
Plymouth to join various ships in the Mediterranean, and, in course of
time, I found myself on board the _Juno_, a fine 32-gun frigate,
commanded by Captain Samuel Hood. We sailed from Malta early in the
year 1794, with some officers and a few troops, to reinforce the scanty
garrison at Toulon, then besieged, as was reported, by a formidable army
of the Republicans, amounting to thirty-three thousand men, under
Generals Kellerman and Carteaux.
The _Juno_ was just the sort of dashing frigate a young fellow of spirit
would wish to belong to, and her Captain was just the man he would wish
to serve under. Strict discipline was kept up on board, and all hands
were made to know their duty, and to do it. Her officers, too, were as
smart a set as ever stepped. I was very fortunate in this, because for
the first time since I came to sea I was among strangers, with the
exception of Jacob Lyal, who had joined her with me. Peter Poplar was
far away in another ship, and I own I missed him sorely. Still. I had
learned my duty, and I hoped to continue to do it.
We had a quick passage from Malta, and made the French coast just before
nightfall. We had carried on all sail, in the hope of getting in while
daylight lasted, as the captain was anxious to deliver his despatches
and land his passengers, and be out again in search of any stray
cruisers of the enemy. The wind, however, fell so light that we were
unable to do as he hoped. But he was not a man to be turned from his
purpose. Accordingly, rather than lose a day, he stood boldly in for
the harbour-mouth, which is not a difficult one to make. We expected
that a pilot would have come out to us, but none appeared; and as no
signal was made for one, it was then known that the captain intended to
find his way in in the dark.
Trusty men were placed in the chains with the lead; all hands were at
their stations; those with the sharpest eyes were placed as look-outs;
the captain stood, trumpet in hand, on the quarter-deck, ready to issue
his orders. Not a word was spoken fore or aft. The wind was light, and
nearly abeam. Thus, with a dead silence reigning on board, the gallant
frigate entered the harbour of Toulon. The officers, with their
night-glasses in hand, were anxiously looking out for the British fleet,
that they might ascertain where the frigate was to bring-up. In vain
they swept them round in every direction; no fleet was to be seen. The
circumstance was reported to the captain.
"The easterly winds we have had have sent a heavy sea rolling in here.
They must have run into the inner harbour to avoid it. We must follow
them there," was his answer. "Shorten sail! Let the ship stand in
under her topsails."
The courses were accordingly brailed up, and the top-gallant-sails
furled, and under easy sail we stood up the inner harbour. Still
nothing could we see of the fleet--not a light did any of the ships
show.
On we glided through the calm water. "A brig ahead, sir!" shouted the
third lieutenant from forward.
"Shall we weather her?" asked the captain.
The answer was in the negative. "Set the foresail and spanker! Ready,
about-ship!"
Scarcely had the boatswain's shrill pipe uttered the appropriate call,
than the sails were let fall and sheeted home; and as soon as the
frigate felt the effect they produced, the helm was put a-lee, and she
went about close under the stern of the brig, which lay in her course.
A loud hail came from the brig, but I for one could not make out what
was said.
"That's not an English brig," observed one of the officers near me. She
lay off what is called the Grand Tour Point.
"He is inquiring our name," said another officer.
"His Britannic Majesty's frigate _Juno_," shouted the first lieutenant.
"Wah--wah--wah!" or sounds something like that, came from the brig.
Some one also shouted, "Viva!"
"Whereabouts is the English fleet?" asked the captain. "Have they
sailed? Is the admiral still here?"
"Wah--wah--wah!" was the only answer we got. The questions were
repeated in French.
"Yes--yes; oui--oui; wah--wah--wah!" was again the reply.
"That's a French merchant-brig. They cannot make out what we say. The
fleet must have gone over to the other side of the harbour."
Directly afterwards, the words, "Luff--luff!" reached our ears.
"They are afraid we shall be ashore, sir," said the first lieutenant.
"Then down with the helm!" shouted the captain. The order was promptly
obeyed, and the frigate came up almost head to wind; but scarcely a
minute had passed when we felt that she had run stem on to the ground;
but so light was the wind, and so slight was the way on her, that no
damage of any sort was done.
Of course the order was immediately given to clew-up and hand the sails;
and in another minute or so the _Juno_ lay with all sails furled right
up in the centre of the harbour of Toulon, with a line of heavy
batteries between her and the sea. While we were handing sails, a boat
was seen to put off from the brig; but instead of coming aboard us, she
pulled away rapidly in the direction of the town.
Before, however, we were even off the yards, a flaw of wind took the
ship's head, and happily drove it off the bank, when the anchor was let
go, and she lay with her head up the harbour. Still, however, she hung
on the bank by the stern, while her rudder remained immovable and
useless. Seeing this, the captain ordered a kedge to be carried out to
warp her off; which, as she hung very lightly, could easily be done. To
perform this operation the launch was lowered; but being a heavy boat,
it took some time to get her into the water. Warps and the kedge-anchor
were then placed in her, and her crew pulled away with the kedge in the
proper direction to haul her off. While we were thus engaged, a boat
was seen coming down the harbour.
"What boat's that?" hailed the sentry from forward.
"Ay, ay," was the answer.
"Officers coming alongside!" cried the sentry--such being the answer
given by naval officers when hailed by a ship-of-war. A captain repeats
the name of his ship.
The gangway was manned to receive the visitors. Every one was puzzled
to know the meaning of a visit at so unusual an hour, and anxious to
know what it meant. A well-manned boat came alongside, and two French
officers, with several other people, scrambled up on deck.
"Be smart, then, my lads, with the kedge," sung out Mr Webley, third
lieutenant, from forward. "We must get the ship afloat before the wind
drives her further on."
The French officers looked about the decks for an instant, and then,
followed by their people, went aft to the captain, who was standing on
the quarter-deck ready to receive them.
"Monsieur le Capitaine," said one of them, taking off his hat and bowing
politely, "I am sent by the chief of the port to compliment you on the
way you have brought your ship into this loyal port, but to express
regret that the regulations he has been compelled to issue make it
necessary for you to go over to the southern side of the harbour, there
to perform a quarantine for a short ten days or so, as you come from
Alexandria, an infected place."
"But we don't come from Alexandria; we come from Malta, which is not an
infected place," answered the captain.
"Then, monsieur, Malta is an infected place," returned the officer,
quickly.
"I cannot understand that," answered Captain Hood. "I have to deliver
my despatches, and some supernumeraries for the army here, and then to
be away again as fast as possible. I beg, gentlemen, you will inform me
where the _Victory_, Lord Hood's ship, is. I must be guided by his
orders."
"Certainly, monsieur, certainly," said the Frenchman, bowing with a
bland smile. "We will pilot you to him."
I remember thinking, as the Frenchmen walked along the deck, that there
was a good deal of swagger in their manner, but I only set it down to
Gallic impudence. While this conversation was going on, one of our
midshipmen, a smart youngster--Mowbray, I think, was his name--had been
inquisitively examining the Frenchmen, and he now hurried up to the
captain, and drew him aside.
"Just look, sir--those are Republican cockades!" he whispered. "As the
light of a lantern fell on their hats, I observed it. There's some
trick put upon us."
"In truth you are right, my lad, I greatly fear," answered the captain,
in an agitated voice. "Where do you say Lord Hood is?" he asked,
turning abruptly to the Frenchman.
"My Lord Hood! He is not here. He has long ago departed. We have no
lords here," answered the French officer in a sneering tone. "You have
made a great mistake, and are like a rat in a hole. The truth is,
Monsieur le Capitaine, you and your ship's company are prisoners! But
make yourself easy--the English are good people--we will treat them
kindly."
"Prisoners!" exclaimed Captain Hood and the officers standing near, in
tones of dismay. "Prisoners! impossible!" But the assertion was too
true.
Lord Hood had been compelled to evacuate Toulon some time before, with
all the forces under his command, after blowing up, by the aid of Sir
Sidney Smith, several of the forts, and destroying or carrying away
every ship in the harbour; while the unfortunate inhabitants were
exposed to all the cruelties which their sanguinary opponents could
inflict on them.
As may be supposed, the Republican Frenchmen exulted in the idea of
having so easily captured an English frigate, and a large number of
Englishmen on whom they might retaliate for some of the losses their
party had sustained. As ill news travels quickly, so in an instant the
words in everybody's mouth were, "We are prisoners! we are prisoners!"
Some would scarcely believe it, and the officers and many of the men
hurried aft in a body to ascertain the fact. Mr Webley had remained
forward, and before we had been able to haul on the warp she had laid
out, he promptly recalled the launch, and ordered the people out of her
up the side. The boatswain was standing near him.
"See," he exclaimed, "there's a flaw of wind just come down the harbour.
If it holds, the Frenchmen, even should this report be true, need not
be quite so sure as they think that they have caught us."
Saying this, he hurried aft to the captain, while the boatswain, not to
lose time, made all the necessary preparations for making sail and
cutting the cable.
"I believe, sir, that we shall be able to fetch out, if we can get her
under sail," said the lieutenant in the captain's ear. The words made
him start, and restored vigour to his heart.
"Thank you, Webley, thank you," exclaimed the captain, when the third
lieutenant told him that the wind had come ahead. "We'll make the
attempt, and may Heaven prosper it!"
Without a moment's delay, the first lieutenant issued the order to make
sail, while Mr Webley hurried forward to see the cable cut, as she
tended the right way. Like larks we sprang aloft to loose the topsails,
and all was done so silently and so rapidly, that the Frenchmen could
not make out what was occurring.
"Gentlemen," said the captain, politely addressing the officers, "I must
trouble you to step below. We have duty in this ship to carry on which
will not require your presence."
"But," exclaimed the Frenchmen, uttering all the oaths in their ample
vocabulary, "you are our prisoners. We do not choose to obey your
orders."
"You mistake; you are ours! Englishmen do not yield unless to greatly
superior force," exclaimed our captain. "Gentlemen, you must go below."
The Frenchmen laughed scornfully. "Treason! mutiny!" they exclaimed,
drawing their sabres, and attempting to make a rush to the gangway; but
as they turned, they found themselves confronted by a file of marines,
with fixed bayonets presented at them!
Rage, and fury, and disappointed revenge were in the tones of their
voices, as they gave vent to their feelings in oaths and execrations
while they were being handed below. Not a man of their boat's crew
escaped, for all had come on board to witness the capture, as they
supposed, of a British frigate.
During this time the topsails had been let fall, and in less than three
minutes were sheeted home. The headsails filled. At the very moment
they did so, a stronger puff of wind came right down the harbour. "Cut,
cut!" was the word. Round swung her head towards the open sea. Almost
with a bound it seemed her stern lifted off the ground. "Hurrah!
hurrah! We are free! we are free!" was the joyful cry. Now, come shot
or shell, or whatever our foemen choose to send. We have our brave ship
under command, and if our stout sticks do but stand, we may yet escape
the trap into which we have so unwarily fallen.
Such were the sentiments which were felt, if not expressed, by all on
board the frigate. Plenty of sharp eyes were on shore, watching through
the gloom of night, as far as they were able, the movements of the
English frigate, expecting to see her every moment glide up the harbour,
where, of course, troops had been rapidly collected to take possession
of the prize, and conduct us within the precincts of a French prison.
The Republicans must soon have discovered that their plan to capture us
had not been altogether successful. As we sailed down the harbour,
instead of up, as they had expected, lights began to gleam from the
various strong forts which lined each side of the harbour below us, and
also from the deck of our friend the brig, off Great Tower Point. Then,
as we glided on, every moment gathering fresh way, from all directions a
hot fire was opened on us. As with the light wind there was blowing it
was necessary to be rid of every obstruction, both our barge and the
Frenchmen's boat were cut adrift, though we would gladly have prevented
even them from falling into their hands.
There was now no longer any necessity for concealment. The drums beat
to quarters, the guns were cast loose, and as we passed down the harbour
we began to return the compliments our enemies were so liberally
bestowing on us. We had our guns ready in time to give our friend the
brig a good dose, but what mischief we inflicted we could not tell; and,
to do her justice, she was not slack in her attempts to cripple us.
Thus in an instant the harbour, so lately sleeping in silence, and, as
it were, shrouded in the solemn gloom of night, was rudely awaked and
lighted up with the roar and bright flashes of a hundred guns, which,
fast as they could be discharged, sent forth a continuous fire at our
seemingly devoted ship. Thus far all had proceeded well; but we were
far from free of danger. Shot after shot struck us, several times we
were hulled, but not a man had yet been hit, when, to our dismay, the
wind grew very scant, and seemed about to head us.
"If it shifts a couple of points more to the southward, we shall have to
beat out of this place!" exclaimed the captain of the gun at which I was
stationed. "Never mind, lads; we'll teach these Frenchmen what a
British frigate can do in spite of all that."
Still the _Juno_ steadily held on her course. The wind backed once more
and came down the harbour, and on she glided. The enemy's guns were,
however, telling on us with fearful effect--our topsails were riddled
with shot, and our rigging much cut up; but as the damage occurred, our
active crew flew here and there to repair it, as well as time and the
darkness would allow. Now the harbour opened out broadly before us, and
the line of open sea could be perceived ahead. Our masts and spars
stood unharmed, the firing from the forts grew fainter and fainter.
Scarcely a shot reached us. On we stood. The shot began to drop
astern. For several minutes not one had struck us. The Frenchmen tried
in their rage, but all in vain.
"We are free! we are free indeed! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" burst with
one voice from all our crew, and the gallant _Juno_ bounded forward on
the wide ocean, to show what British daring, judgment, and promptitude
will effect, even although the most fearful odds are ranged against
success.
I trust that some on board that ship felt also that a merciful
Providence had preserved us from a galling and painful lot, which would
have endured for many a long year, to do our duty to Heaven and our
country. I trust that the example set by the crew of the _Juno_ will
serve as an example to all British seamen--never to yield while there is
a possibility of escape.
Well, it was amusing to see how the Frenchmen did stamp and rage when
they found that, instead of capturing us, they had been taken prisoners;
but we treated them very civilly, and after a few shrugs and grimaces,
like people having to take physic, we soon had the men singing and
jigging away as merry as crickets.
I remained for some time on board the _Juno_, and left her on a very
short notice, and very much also against my own will.
One dark night, as, with a convoy of merchantmen under our charge, we
were standing for Gibraltar, the watch below were roused up with the cry
of, "All hands shorten sail!" I and others, tossing on our clothes,
sprang aloft through the darkness, with a fierce wind blowing in our
faces, to reef topsails. Scarcely had I reached the lee foretop-sail
yard-arm, and had, as I believed, the earing in my hand, when, how I
cannot tell, I found myself jerked off the yard; and ere I could secure
a firm grasp of the rope I held, I found myself hurled through the
midnight air, clutching emptiness, till I reached the foam-covered
water, through which the ship was hurriedly ploughing her way. I heard
the cry, "A man overboard! a man overboard!" but the ship had been
carrying too much sail, and without shortening it, it was impossible to
round-to in order to pick me up. From the frigate, therefore, I knew
that I could expect no help. I do not believe that for a moment after I
fell I lost my consciousness, though I suspect that before I fell I was
more asleep than awake. I had on only my shirt and light duck-trousers,
so I threw myself on my back, to consider what was best to be done.
There were plenty of vessels, I knew, astern of the frigate, but there
was little chance of being seen by any of them, or of their being able
to pick me up if they did see me.
How long I could have remained floating on my back I don't know--some
hours, I suppose, in smooth water; but as it was, the squall had blown
up a sea, and the spray kept dashing over my head and half drowned me.
On a sudden I found my head strike against something with so much force
as almost to stun me, and, turning round, I found myself in contact with
a large object. I caught hold of it. Ropes were hanging down from it
into the water; I climbed up by them, and found that it was the top and
parts of the topmast of a ship of large size. I felt thankful that I
was not likely to die for some time, unless the weather grew worse; and
I did not allow myself to reflect that even a worse death might be in
store for me--that of starvation. I had my knife secured by a lanyard
round my neck, so I began to haul up the ropes, and endeavoured to form
as secure a resting-place for myself as circumstances would allow. When
I had done all I could, I looked round through the darkness for the
chance of discovering a sail; but none could I see, so I sat down, and,
strange to say, fell asleep.