Our friends on board the Indiaman were thrown into high spirits on
hearing of the prospect of being released. They advised us, however, to
get on shore again as fast as we could, and hide ourselves, lest the
soldiers, hoping to be ultimately successful, should ill-treat us for
having run away from them. We told them that our intention had been to
release all the English prisoners, and to overpower the Frenchmen.
"Blood will be shed if you do, to no purpose," observed the judge;
"should the frigate be successful and come back here, as I have no doubt
she will, we shall be released; if the _Mignonne_ escapes and returns,
her crew would quickly again overpower us and obtain what they wish, a
good excuse for ill-treating us, of which they will not fail to avail
themselves."
The judge's opinion carried the day, and we hurried on shore, and
returned by a circuitous route to the spot whence we had witnessed the
engagement between the two vessels. William eagerly swept the dark
well-defined line of the horizon with his telescope.
"Hurrah! there is one--yes, there are two sails! Here, O'Carroll, see
what you can make out of them," he exclaimed, handing him the glass.
It was some time before O'Carroll would pronounce an opinion. He then
declared positively that there were two ships, and that they were
approaching the land. There was a strong breeze. We sat down on the
ground, watching anxiously. They came nearer and nearer. We had no
longer any doubt that the _Phoebe_ had captured the privateer. The
midshipmen declared positively that the largest was their ship.
"We ought to know her, though, to be sure, it is more of the inside than
the out we see of her," observed Toby.
All our doubts were set at rest at length, when the British ensign was
seen flying proudly over that of the French.
Three cheers burst almost involuntarily from our throats, which could
hardly have failed to have shown our whereabouts to the French soldiers;
but if they guessed the cause, they thought it prudent to take no notice
of our proceedings, but, as we supposed, hurried back to their abodes,
to conceal any property of value which they might possess. William and
Trundle meantime were unable to resist the temptation of going on board
the Indiaman, to give our new friends the joyful news. They said that
they should be back in plenty of time to see the ships enter the
harbour. O'Carroll and I preferred waiting to watch proceedings. At
length the frigate and privateer got close in with the land, when both
hove-to. What was now to happen? Boats were seen passing between the
two vessels, and then the _Mignonne's_ head came slowly round towards
the mouth of the harbour, and on she glided towards it. The flags
remained as they were, and men, we saw, were stationed at the guns.
Some opposition was probably expected. There was a fort at the entrance
of the harbour--not a very formidable-looking affair--with five ship's
guns mounted in it. Round them we saw the greater part of the mongrel
garrison clustering as if they were going to show fight, but if so, they
thought better of it, for, after a short consultation, they sneaked
away, leaving the fort to take care of itself. The _Mignonne_ came
gliding on, bearing evident traces in her masts and rigging of the
punishment she had received, and of the obstinacy--or what would have
been valour in a better cause--with which she had been defended. We met
the midshipmen running down towards the landing-place, and jumping into
the first boat we could find, we got alongside her directly she dropped
anchor.
"Why, Braithwaite, Trundle! where have you come from?" exclaimed several
voices, as the midshipmen clambered up the side.
They soon gave an account of themselves, and I need scarcely say that we
were heartily welcomed by the officers of the _Phoebe_ in charge of the
prize, who were in high spirits at having captured a vessel which had
proved one of the greatest pests to British commerce in the Eastern
seas. The Frenchmen had not yielded till more than a third of their
number lay dead or desperately wounded on her decks. Among them were
several of the seamen of the unfortunate _Kangaroo_, including her
wretched captain and mate. The survivors of the Englishmen declared
that they had been forced on board and compelled to fight. We declined
to express any opinion on the subject. All we could say was that we had
missed them from the encampment, and had every reason to suppose that
they had fallen into the hands of the French. They thus escaped
hanging, which I certainly believe they deserved. The chief offenders
had already paid the penalty of their crimes. I need scarcely describe
the delight of the passengers of the Indiaman on finding that they could
now proceed on their voyage, or of the prisoners who were released from
the different hulks. They were the officers and seamen taken in
different prizes by the _Mignonne_. The excuse the Frenchmen gave for
treating them thus barbarously was that the French taken by English
cruisers were shut up on board hulks in English harbours without good
food or any exercise. They pretended not to understand that, in one
instance, the prisoners would inevitably have escaped had they been left
at liberty, while in the present they had had no opportunity of
escaping. The mouth of the harbour having been surveyed, the frigate
came in the next day, that her crew might assist in repairing the
_Mignonne_ and getting the Indiaman and the other vessels ready for sea.
I was curious to ascertain what O'Carroll would say to finding La Roche
at length a prisoner. I asked him if he would go on board the frigate
with me to see the French captain.
"I would not do so to triumph over a fallen foe, but perhaps if I was to
set eyes on him again for a few times I might get over the intense
dislike--even more, the dread, I feel for him," he answered. "I have
reason to feel dislike. He ruined my prospects, he killed my
companions, and he treated me with every indignity and cruelty he could
devise while I remained on board his ship. He made me serve him as a
menial--wait behind his chair, clean his shoes, arrange his cabin, and
if I displeased him he ordered his men to flog me. Ay! I never told
you that before, I was ashamed to do so. He well-nigh broke my spirit.
Had I remained much longer with him he would have done so, or I should
have gone mad and jumped overboard. Still I will see him."
We went on board the frigate and enquired for the privateer captain.
Having already, it appeared, broken his parole in England when he had
once before been taken, Captain Young had refused to receive it, and he
was therefore confined below in a cabin, with a sentry placed over him.
It was naturally supposed that he would otherwise take some opportunity
of getting on shore, and, knowing the locality, might remain concealed
till he could escape from the island altogether. Accompanied by the
master-at-arms, we entered the cabin. La Roche was seated in an
easy-chair reading a book when the door opened. He did not rise, but,
looking up, nodded to O'Carroll, whom he seemed instantly to recognise.
"Ah, mon ami! it's the fortune of war, you see. Once I had you in my
power, now your countrymen have me," he said, in a cool, unconcerned
manner. "It is pleasant, is it not?--pleasanter for you than for me.
However, my turn may come next, and then--"
"I hope not. I hope while I live that I may never again be in your
hands!" exclaimed O'Carroll, interrupting him. "You remember how you
treated me?"
"Oh, well! and it is in your power to inform the captain of this
frigate, and probably he will treat me in the same way."
"No, indeed! Englishmen never treat their prisoners as you treated me,"
answered O'Carroll; "Monsieur knows that well enough. I did not come
here to insult you; I did not come to triumph over you. You had
inspired me with a horror I could not get over. I came here to be
cured. I am so, thoroughly. You have done much injury to the commerce
of my country, and the only ill I wish you is that you may be kept a
close prisoner till the termination of the war, and never again be able
to do an injury to Englishmen."
La Roche shrugged his shoulders at this address, and smiled. "Well, you
Irishmen are indeed curious. I should have thought that you would have
liked to see me hung up to the yard-arm," he observed, in the same cool
tone as before. "However, your moderate wishes may be gratified, or I
may make my escape; and if I do, and ever capture you again, I promise
you that I will remember your moderation, and treat you to the best of
everything I have on board."
We soon after this brought our interview with the famous privateer
captain to an end, and O'Carroll assured me that all his unpleasant
monomaniacal feelings with regard to him had been, as he hoped,
completely dissipated. As we were about to leave the ship Captain Young
politely invited us to remain and dine with him. He showed much
interest in O'Carroll's account of his misfortunes, and finally arranged
that he should take the command of one of the vessels in the harbour to
convey the emigrants to New South Wales. I, of course, received no
direct communication from Captain Hassall, but from the information
Captain Young gave me I had great hopes that the _Barbara_, instead of
sailing immediately for the east, had gone to the coast of Madagascar,
in which direction the _Phoebe_ herself was bound. Captain Young
offered me a passage should I wish to rejoin my ship. The Indiaman
being refitted for sea by the united exertions of all the crews, we all
sailed out of the harbour in succession, the _Phoebe_ leading. The
_Mignonne_, with her prize crew and some of the prisoners on board, was
bound for the Mauritius, to give information of the capture of the
island; the emigrant ship was bound for New South Wales, the Indiaman
for Calcutta, we for Madagascar. I went on board the _Argo_, the ship
commanded by O'Carroll. I found him well satisfied with his change of
circumstances. There was only one thing about which he was concerned.
La Roche, though still a captive, was alive, and might soon regain his
liberty.
"If he does I'm sure that he will cause me trouble again," he observed.
"I don't know what causes it, but I even now cannot think of the
venomous little man without a feeling of dread--a creeping sensation,
Braithwaite. Do you know what it is?"
"Not exactly," said I. "But the remedy I suggest is not to think of
him. Whenever his image appears banish him with a kick. Or, let me be
serious, O'Carroll. Is it not our own fault if we go on living in fear
of death all our life long! Put your trust in God, and fear not what
man can do to you."
"You are right! you are right!" exclaimed O'Carroll, warmly; "it is just
the want of doing that has made me--no coward, as you know--constantly
tremble at unseen dangers. Henceforward I will try to follow your
advice."
"Do," said I; "and depend on it your dread of the little Frenchman will
completely and for ever vanish."
I parted from O'Carroll--as honest a man as ever broke a biscuit--with
the sincere hope that we should meet again. The crews of our respective
ships gave three hearty cheers as we separated on our respective
courses. We accompanied the _Mignonne_ for some distance towards the
Mauritius, when several sails were reported in sight from the mast-head.
"I hope that they are enemies!" I heard Trundle thoughtlessly exclaim.
"Glorious fun to have a fight. We, too, should soon give a good account
of them."
Both ships were speedily got ready for action, for in those days it was
difficult to sail far without meeting an enemy. It might be one to be
captured--snapped up in an instant; it might be one of equal or not of
vastly superior size, to be fought bravely, and taken in the end; or,
mayhap, one so much larger that it would be necessary to make all sail
and run away, a proceeding not very often practised in those days by
British naval commanders. It was rather doubtful, however, from the
number and size of the ships in sight, whether we should not find it
necessary to have recourse to the last expedient. We continued,
however, steering as before, and rapidly nearing the strangers, when, to
the relief of the less pugnaciously disposed, first one and then the
others made their number, and we discovered, as we got sufficiently near
to exchange telegraph signals, that they were three frigates--the
_Galatea, Racehorse_, and _Astrea_--on their way to the coast of
Madagascar to look after a French squadron, which, having been driven
away from the Mauritius, had gone in that direction. We should now be a
fair match for the Frenchmen whenever we should meet them. Having put
most of our prisoners well guarded on board the _Mignonne_, we parted
from her, she to continue her passage to the Mauritius, we to accompany
our consorts in search of the enemy.
A bright look-out was now kept for the enemy, and from sunrise to its
setting the mastheads were adorned with eager watchers, each wishing to
be the first one to espy the Frenchmen. However, the lofty mountain
ridges of Madagascar hove in sight before any of them were seen. I had
become very anxious about the fate of the _Barbara_. Had she prosecuted
her voyage to this coast, and fallen in with the enemy? If so, she must
have been captured, and too probably sent away to one of the
settlements. In spite of my advice to O'Carroll, this idea took
complete possession of my mind, and I felt convinced that the voyage
from which so much had been expected would come to nought.
Night closed in on us, and the usual answer was given to the watch below
by those who had come off deck, "Not a sign of a sail in sight." The
next morning the sun arose out of his ocean bed brighter even than is
his wont in that bright clime, first lighting up the topmost heights of
the mountains with a roseate tinge, while a purple hue still lay spread
over the calm ocean. As usual, officers and men were going aloft, with
telescopes over their shoulders, to take a look round for the enemy,
when, as the sun rose higher, a shout of satisfaction burst from many a
throat, for there lay, well in with the land, their white canvas shining
brightly in his beams, the French frigates of which we were in search.
The wind came off the land, and we were far to leeward. They thus had
greatly the advantage of us. We did our utmost, however, to beat up to
them. Every sail that could draw was set, and we continued to tack and
tack hour after hour, hoping to reach them, and that some fortunate
shift of wind would give us the weather gauge and enable us to choose
our own time for action. As I went along the decks I was struck by the
bold and determined appearance of the men as they stood at their
quarters, stripped to the waist, and mostly with handkerchiefs of many
colours tied round their heads. The costume was appropriate, for the
heat was excessive, besides which, sailors know well that the suffering
is much less, should they be wounded, if no pieces of cloth are carried
into the body with the shot. They were chatting and laughing, and many
of them were cutting all sorts of jokes. I had volunteered to serve as
the captain's aide-de-camp, to carry messages for him to any part of the
ship, or to assist the surgeons in the cockpit.
"You would do good service on deck, and I respect your feeling in
offering to be there," he answered; "but you are a non-combatant. You
have nothing to gain by exposing your life. You will therefore oblige
me by performing the far more painful task of assisting the surgeons."
I bowed with a feeling of disappointment at my heart, which I probably
exhibited.
He smiled and said, "It is possible, after all, that there may be very
little employment for your talents."
There was a shout on the upper deck, taken speedily up by the men on the
main deck. The enemy were seen bearing down on us. On they came,
nearer and nearer. Where we lay it had fallen a perfect calm, and our
sails kept flapping against the masts. Still the breeze favoured them.
I felt very queer, I confess. I had no intention of going below till I
was wanted, and it did not occur to me that I might be turned into a
patient myself. The delight of the sailors at seeing the French thus
boldly approaching was excessive, nor did they fail to praise them for
their courage.
"Bravo! Johnny Crapaud. That's more than I thought of you. Come
along! Don't leave us again. We won't hurt ye more than we can help.
You are brave fellows, that you are; we always thought so. Now you show
it. Bear a hand, though."
I heard such and similar expressions from most of the men as I passed
along the decks. Suddenly there was a gloom from one end of the ship to
the other. The breeze which had been bringing the Frenchmen along
suddenly dropped. It had served, them, however, well enough to bring
them pretty close up to us.
"Now," I thought to myself, "I shall see what a regular stand-up
sea-fight is like."
Still I could not help feeling all the time that my vocation was one of
peace, and that I had no business to be where I was. That is not a
pleasant sensation. The great thing for a man to feel in time of danger
is that he is at his post and doing his duty. As I was in for it, I
determined to do my best to be of me, and to trust to the God of mercy
for protection. The enemy soon showed us that they had no intention of
being idle. A shot came whistling over our heads, and fell a
considerable distance on the other side of us. This showed them that we
were within gunshot range of each other, and immediately they opened
fire in earnest. Some of the shot flew over our heads, others on one
side or the other, but hitherto none had struck us. I had a hope that,
after all, there would be no bloodshed. We meantime had commenced
firing, but either the Frenchmen's powder was better or their guns
longer, for our shot mostly appeared to fall short, greatly to the
vexation of our crew. The enemy also having had the last of the wind,
while we were becalmed, were able to take up a better position than we
had, and continued warmly engaging us, we often being scarcely able to
return a shot.
As I had nothing to do below, I remained on deck. More than once,
however, I could not help ducking my head as a shot whistled above it.
Possibly it might have been too high to have struck me. However, I soon
got accustomed to that, and as no one had as yet been hurt, I began to
fancy that after all a sea-fight was not so terrible an affair as I had
supposed, and that possibly we and the Frenchmen might part without
doing much harm to each other. I had been standing near a fine young
fellow, Jem Martin by name, captain of a gun, who had for some time past
been cutting, with more than ordinary humour, numbers of jokes on the
enemy. I was struck by his bold attitude and thoroughly sailor-like
look. His bright blue eye beamed with life and animation. I had turned
my head away from him when a shot whistled by, and I heard a piercing
shriek, such as a strong man utters but once, wrung from his bosom by
mortal agony. I looked round, and on the deck lay the shattered body of
a human being. There were a few spasmodic movements of the limbs, and
all that remained of Jem Martin was the mangled corpse at my feet. I
shuddered, for I could not help feeling that such as he was I might now
have been.
The event seemed to affect his shipmates but little; another seaman took
his place, and the gun was loaded, run out, and fired. The fact was
that they had no time just then for thought or the indulgence of
feeling. The enemy's shot now came thicker and thicker; many went
through the sails, others wounded the masts and spars and cut away the
rigging, and several more of our men were hit. As soon as they were
carried below, I followed, to assist the surgeon in attending to their
wounds. I had long before this forgotten all about the danger to which
I was myself exposed, but I could not forget that I had a young brother
on board who might any moment be numbered among the killed or wounded.
It seemed to me, indeed, that we were getting so much the worst of it,
that I began to dread that the flag of England might have to strike to
that of France. The idea was not a pleasant one; it was not, however,
shared in by others on board.
After we had received a pretty severe battering for the space of two
hours, the breeze got up, and the Frenchmen hauled off to repair
damages. On seeing this the rage of our men became very great, and they
cried out to the officers that they might be allowed to go after them.
As the enemy were to windward this was not easily to be done, and we had
to wait patiently in the hope that the enemy would choose to renew the
fight, while in the meantime our top-men were knotting and splicing
rigging, and the carpenter's crew were strengthening the wounded yards
and stopping shot-holes. At length the breeze reached us, and as it
filled our sails the crew cheered in anticipation of being able soon to
get to closer quarters with the enemy. After making numerous tacks, two
of our squadron got up to two of the French ships, which seemed in no
way disposed to refuse battle. While our gallant commodore closed with
the _Renomme_ we engaged the _Clorinde_. The fight soon gave work for
our surgeons, and I went below, as I had undertaken to do, to help them.
As I left the deck I cast a glance at my young brother, who had charge
of a division of the guns, and was standing on the deck cheering on the
men, full of life and animation. The shots were thickly flying about
his head; any moment one might lay him low. I could but offer up a
prayer for his safety.
The surgeon and his mates were already at work. I hung up my coat and
tucked up my sleeves, prepared to assist them. I will not describe the
scene of suffering I witnessed. Most of the poor fellows bore their
agony with wonderful fortitude. Two officers had been brought below
wounded. I kept looking up anxiously every time I saw the feet of men
descending the ladder, dreading that they might be bringing down my
young brother. Still I kept praying for his safety while I followed the
surgeons' directions. A young seaman had been brought down fearfully
wounded. I had remarked him on several occasions among the most active
and zealous of the crew. The surgeon examined him. He did not groan--
indeed, he did not appear to suffer much pain.
The surgeon shook his head. "I can do nothing for him," he whispered to
me. "You may be able, perhaps, to speak a word of comfort, and there is
nothing just now for you to do."
I was rather surprised at the surgeon saying even thus much. Perhaps
the light of the lantern, which at that moment fell on my countenance,
revealed my thoughts, for he added, "I was asked to look after the lad,
whose mother is a widow, and, God help me! I have done little for him,
and now it is too late."
The young seaman was placed on a hammock opened out on the deck of the
cockpit. I knelt down by his side, and, after repeating such passages
out of the Word of life as occurred to me, I engaged in prayer. He
followed me in a low voice. Suddenly he was silent. I looked toward
him; the immortal spirit had taken its flight from his frail body.
Still the battle raged; more of our poor fellows were brought down, and
I once more was called on to assist the surgeons in their painful task.