II.

The "Marlborough," though victorious, had received so tremendous a

battering from her numerous opponents, that it was very clear the stout

craft could not again go to sea without a thorough repair. Her officers

and crew were therefore distributed among other ships then fitting out,

and thus Pearce, for the first time in his life, was separated from his

father, to whom he had always been accustomed to look up for guidance

and advice. In some respects this might have been an advantage to the

young midshipman, but the parting cost both more pains than either

confessed. "I am no great preacher, my boy, but remember there's One

ever watching over you, and He'll be true to you if you try honestly to

be true to Him," said the boatswain, as he wrung his son's hand, and

stepped down the side of the fine frigate to which Pearce through the

interest of his late captain had been appointed. The crew went tramping

round the capstan to the sound of the merry fife, the anchor was away,

and under a wide spread of snowy canvas the dashing "Blanche" of

thirty-two guns, commanded by the gallant Captain Faulkner, stood

through the Needle passage between the Isle of Wight and the main, on

her way down channel, bound out to the West Indies. It was a station

where hurricanes, yellow fever, and sicknesses, and dangers of all sorts

were to be encountered, but it was also one where enemies were to be met

with, battles to be fought, prizes to be captured, and prize-money to be

made, glory, honour, and promotion to be obtained, and who on board for

a moment balanced one against the other?

Several of Pearce's old shipmates were on board the "Blanche," and two

of his messmates, from one of whom, Harry Verner, he would rather have

been separated; the other, David Bonham, he was very glad to see.

Between Bonham and Verner the contrast was very great; for the former,

though of excellent family, was the most unpretending fellow possible,

free from pride, vanity, and selfishness, and kind-hearted, generous,

good-tempered, and the merriest of the merry. The first A.B. who

volunteered for the "Blanche," when he knew Mr Pearce had been

appointed to her, was Dick Rogers, an old friend of his father's, with

whom he had served man and boy the best part of his life; and if there

was one thing more strongly impressed on Dick's mind than another, it

was that John Ripley, the boatswain, ought to have been a post-captain.

For his father's sake Dick had at first loved Pearce, and now loved him

for his own. "Though his father isn't what he should be, he shall be,

that he shall, or it won't be my fault," he said to himself. Dick was

no scholar, and had not many ideas beyond those connected with his

profession, except that particular one in favour of Pearce which might

or might not be of any service to him, and yet let us never despise a

friend, however humble. Pearce did not, though he possibly had not read

the fable of the lion and the mouse.

Dick Rogers was short and broad in the shoulders, though not fat, with a

huge, sandy beard, a clear blue eye, and an honest smile on his lips,

and saying that he was a seaman every inch of him, he needs no further

description. Verner let it be known, among their new messmates, that

Pearce Ripley was only the boatswain's son; and hearing this, Bonham

took great care to recount to them his gallant act on the 1st of June,

and to speak otherwise in his praise. Dick forward did not fail to make

the young midshipman his theme, and there the fact of his parentage was

undoubtedly in his favour. "We shall be, no doubt, alongside an enemy

some day soon, and then will be seen what stuff the youngsters are made

of," was the remark of several on board. They were not wrong in their

prognostications. The Island of Desiderade, near Guadeloupe, was in

sight to windward. "A sail on the weather bow!" was shouted by the

look-out at the mast's head, always the keenest sighted of the seamen on

board in those days.

The frigate made all sail in pursuit of the stranger, a large schooner

under French colours. The chase stood into a bay defended by a fort,

where she was seen to anchor with springs to her cables. Along the

shore a body of troops were also observed to be posted. The drum beat

to quarters as the "Blanche" worked up towards the fort, when, the water

shoaling, she anchored and opened her fire in return for that which the

fort, the schooner, and the soldiers were pouring in on her. Captain

Faulkner's first object was to silence the fort. This was soon done.

The schooner, which it was clear was heavily armed, must be brought out.

The boats were called away, under command of the second lieutenant.

Pearce leaped into the one to which he belonged. A master's mate,

Fitzgibbon, had charge of her, and Dick Rogers formed one of her crew.

Harry Verner was in another. Away the boats dashed, at a rate boats

always do move pulled by British seamen when a prize is to be taken.

The Frenchmen worked their guns bravely. A shot disabled the leading

boat. Pearce, sitting by Fitzgibbon's side, heard a deep groan, and

before he could even look up the master's mate fell forward, shot

through the head. His boat took the lead. "Now's your time," cried

Dick Rogers; "we'll be the first aboard, lads." The crew were not slack

to follow the suggestion. In another moment they were up to the

schooner, and, leaping on her deck, led by Pearce, laid on them so

fiercely with their cutlasses that the Frenchmen, deserting their guns,

sprang over the bulwarks into their boats on the other side nearest the

shore, and, before another boat reached the vessel, pulled away towards

where the troops were marching down to their support. The cables were

quickly cut, and amid a shower of ballets sail was made, and the prize

carried out. "I said as how he'd do it--I said he wouldn't be wanting,"

exclaimed Dick Rogers, as he gave his account of the cutting out

expedition to his chums on board. "He'll do more too come another

occasion." That occasion did occur before many days were over. Two

days afterwards the "Blanche" was joined by the "Quebec" frigate, and

together, when sailing by Guadeloupe, they discovered the French

thirty-six-gun frigate "Pique" lying at anchor in the harbour of

Pointe-a-Pitre, ready for sea. Not to deprive his brother captain of

the honour he might obtain by engaging an antagonist so worthy of him,

Captain Carpenter parted company, and the "Quebec," steering westward,

was soon out of sight. The next thing to be done was to get the French

frigate to come out from under her protecting batteries to fight. This

seemed no easy matter, for prizes were captured and sent away under her

very nose, and still she did not venture forth. At length, however, on

the memorable evening of the 4th of January, the "Blanche," towing off

another prize in triumph, the "Pique" was seen to follow. The sun went

down. It was the last many a brave man was destined to see. Darkness

had come on, when the French frigate was observed through the gloom

astern. The "Blanche" tacked in chase.

In the solemn hour of midnight, while darkness covered the face of the

deep, the two vessels approached each other, their relative positions

clearly distinguished by the light from the fighting-lanterns which

streamed from their ports. The British crew, mostly stripped to the

waist, stood at their quarters, grim and determined, with the

gun-tackles in hand, eager for the moment to open fire. Pearce was on

the quarterdeck. Young as he was, the whizzing of shots and the

whistling of bullets scarcely made his heart beat quicker than usual,

and yet, as in gloom and silence he waited for the signal when the

bloody strife must commence, he felt an awe creep over him he had never

before experienced. Nearer and nearer the combatants drew to each

other. The "Pique" commenced the fight. The "Blanche" returned her

distant fire; and, after various manoeuvres, the two frigates ranged up

alongside each other and hotly engaged, broadside to broadside, in the

fashion in which British tars have ever delighted. Fiercely the two

crews fought; the French, once having began, proved themselves no

unworthy antagonists. The main and mizen-masts of the "Blanche" fell,

and the French, seizing the moment, ran alongside and attempted to

board. The British crew sprang up to repel them. Among the foremost

was Pearce, with Dick Rogers by his side. With their sharp cutlasses

they drove the Frenchmen back. Again the guns roared as before. Once

more the French ship fell aboard the "Blanche," her bowsprit touching

the latter's capstan. Captain Faulkner hurried to secure it there, for

the "Pique," thus held, was exposed to the raking fire of his frigate.

Among those who flew to assist him were Pearce Ripley and Dick Rogers,

the Frenchman's musketry playing hotly on them. "This is something like

what you did in the old `Marlborough,' sir," said Dick to Pearce, so

loud that all might hear him--so many did, and noted the words. Death

was busy around them. While he was passing the lashing the young and

gallant Captain Faulkner fell to the deck--a musket ball had pierced his

heart. That was no time for grieving, even for one well-beloved as the

captain. A hawser was being got up from below to secure the enemy's

ship; but before it could be used she broke adrift, to the

disappointment of the British tars. A cheer, however, burst from their

throats as, directly afterwards, the "Blanche," paying off for want of

after-sail, the "Pique," while attempting to cross her stern, fell once

more aboard her. This time they took good care to secure the bowsprit

to the stump of their mainmast; and now, running before the wind, the

"Blanche" towing her opponent, the fight was continued with greater fury

than ever. In vain the Frenchmen strove to free themselves by cutting

the lashings--each time they made the attempt the marines drove them

back with their musketry. Still it seemed doubtful with whom victory

would side. The "Blanche" had no stern ports through which guns could

be fought; the carpenters were unable to aid them. A bold expedient was

proposed. The guns must make ports for themselves through the transom.

Firemen with buckets were stationed ready to extinguish the fire which

the discharge would create. With a thundering roar the guns sent their

shot through the stem, and, the fire being extinguished, they began to

play with terrific effect into the bows of the French frigate. Her

foremast was immediately shot away; her mizen-mast was seen to fall.

Still her crew, getting their quarter-dock guns trained aft, fought on;

but what were they to the "Blanche's" heavy guns, which mercilessly

raked her, the shot entering her bow and tearing up her deck fore and

aft, sweeping away numbers of her crew at each discharge. "If those

Mounseers are not made of iron, they'll not stand this battering much

longer," cried Dick Rogers, who was working one of the after-guns.

Pearce was standing near him. The space between the decks was filled

with smoke, through which the twinkling light of the lanterns could

scarcely penetrate, the flashes at each, discharge showing the men,

begrimed with powder, with sponge and rammers ready to load, or with

their tackles to run in their guns. A cheer from the deck told them

that the Frenchman's remaining mast had fallen, and now another and

another that the foe had struck. The "Pique" was totally dismasted; the

"Blanche" had but her foremast standing. Every boat was knocked to

pieces, and how to get on board the prize, still towed by the hawser,

was the question. "The hawser must form our bridge," cried Mr Milne,

the second lieutenant of the ship, springing on to it, followed by

Pearce, Rogers, and several men. Their weight brought the rope down

into the water. For some distance they had to swim till they could

climb up by it on board. What havoc and destruction a few short hours

had wrought. Of a crew not far short of three hundred men, one-third

lay dead or wounded, the deck covered with gore and the wrecks of the

masts and spars; guns lay dismounted, bulwarks knocked away, all telling

the tale of the bravery and hardihood of both the combatants. When the

sun arose there lay the victor and the conquered almost equally

helpless. Such was one of the scenes through which young Ripley fought

his way upwards, and gained a name and fame.