As We Sweep Through The Deep Page 4

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE BATTLE AND THE BREEZE.

  "The deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave."

  "Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed; The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast."

  The good ship _Ocean Pride_ was a twenty-gun frigate, with a crew ofnearly three hundred as brave fellows as ever waved cutlass or pulledlanyard for the honour and defence of their native land. In January1793, when the great war broke out between Britain and France, she washomeward bound from the West Indies and South America, where she hadbeen cruising, and had hardly reached Portsmouth ere she received ordersto take in additional stores and proceed forthwith to sea again. Noleave was granted to men or officers. The sick were simply bundled onshore, additional men shipped, and she was off again withineight-and-forty hours of her arrival in port.

  For the _Ocean Pride_ was a crack cruiser for those brave days, in whichseamen were sailors and seamanship a fine art.

  Sir Sidney Salt was not only brave, but daring almost to a fault. Hebelieved most thoroughly and completely in the supremacy of Britishseamen to French; but discipline and drill he looked upon as hismainstays, fore and aft. His success had proved that he was correct insystem, not once but often during the past twelve months; for more thanone of the enemy's ships, larger even than his own, had been destroyedor taken by the _Ocean Pride_ and her gallant crew. Boat actions hadbeen fought also: she had been engaged with batteries; her men had cutout prizes from under the very guns of these; and they had fought onshore too, side by side with marines and soldiers.

  "It would be but the fortune of war," said Sir Sidney to his commanderas they stood together on the quarter-deck, "were this frigate, that isnow bearing down so boldly on us, to destroy us."

  The commander grasped his sword with his left hand, and his featureswere grimly set as he made reply,--

  "True, sir, true. It would be but the fortune of war. Well, she maydestroy us; she shall never take us."

  "Boldly spoken, Miller. It would indeed be a disgrace to lower our flagto a ship of about our own size, and that ship a Frenchman. But see howboldly she carries herself. Top-gallant sails down; all trim fore andaft; guns run out; and hark! was that a cheer?"

  "Yes, sir; a French one."

  "Ha, ha, ha! Well, they shall hear a British one anon. Depend upon it,Miller, that frigate has a consort, and she is not far off at thismoment, and--"

  A puff of white smoke, with a point of fire in its centre, was now seencurling round the enemy's bows, and the roar of the cannon interruptedthe captain's speech, and next moment a shot came ricochetting acrossfrom wave-top to wave-top, and passed harmlessly by on the starboardside.

  "The fellow is beginning to be afraid already," said Miller, laughing.

  "Yes; and depend upon it that shot was meant to keep his courage up.But if he thinks we are to have a long-range duel he is miserablymistaken. Set the fore-soldier, Miller. We'll walk to windward of him ifwe can."

  The _Ocean Pride_ was now more closely hauled, and seemed for a time tobear away from the foe. The movement evidently puzzled the Frenchman.Was John Bull sheering off? Would he presently put round on the othertack and show them a clean pair of heels?

  Shot after shot came tearing over the water, and when one went cleanthrough the _Pride's_ rigging and was not even responded to, theexcitement on board the Frenchman grew frantic.

  The two vessels were now barely a quarter of a mile from each other,when suddenly round came the _Pride_ till she was almost dead before thewind, and began bearing down upon the _Desespere_--for that proved to beher name--like a whirlwind, and almost right before the wind. The battlewas about to begin in deadly earnest.

  And none too soon; for at that moment a cry of sail in sight was heardfrom the maintop-mast cross-trees.

  "That's her consort," cried Sidney Salt. "Now, men," he shouted, "besteady and cool; I need not say be brave. We may soon be engaged againsttwo, unless we gain the day before that frigate's consort puts in anappearance."

  A brave British cheer was the only reply to the captain's short butpithy speech. The cheer was feebly answered by the enemy, who from heruncertain movements was evidently puzzled at the apparent change in SirSidney Salt's tactics. It seemed to those on board the _Pride_ thatcontrary orders had been issued; for she first luffed, as if to beat towindward and fight the British frigate beam to beam. Perhaps the courageof her commander suddenly failed him, and he came to the conclusion thathe ought to ward off the real tug of war till his consort came up.Anyhow, just as a shot carried away a piece of her jib-boom sheattempted to wear and fill, and in doing so missed stays.

  Now came Sir Sidney's chance, and quick as arrow from bow he tookadvantage of it. In less time almost than it takes me to describe it, hehad cut across the enemy's stern, and the well-aimed broadside thatraked the _Desespere_ from aft to fore, almost completely placed her atthe mercy of the British frigate. The wheel was shot away, the rudder awreck, the mainmast went by the board, and both dead and wounded layupon the decks.

  There were still men on board her, however, and brave ones too, to manand fight her guns; and as the _Desespere_ paid off, seemingly of herown accord, the _Pride_ received her starboard broadside just as she putabout to close with her assailant. This broadside was fairly effective:it silenced a gun, killed three men, and wounded five.

  The _Desespere_ had got round far enough to save herself from beingraked a second time. Broadsides were given and received; but as soon asthe _Pride_ had tacked again, it was evident she meant forcing thefighting in the good old English fashion first introduced by bold Hubertde Burgh.

  Down came the _Pride_. She would not be denied. One wild cheer, one moreterrible broadside as her guns almost touched those of the enemy, thengrappling irons were thrown, and the vessels literally lashed together.

  "Away, boarders!"

  "Hurrah, lads!"

  The last shout came from bold young Grant Mackenzie, as sword in hand,and followed by the men who had so bravely fought his guns, he sprangnimbly across the bulwarks and leaped down amongst the foe. To describethe _melee_ that followed would be impossible--the shouts of victory andshrieks of pain, the cracking of pistols, the clashing of sword andcutlass, the shivering of pikes, the rattle of musketry from the tops.It was all like a terrible dream to every one concerned in it; for eachBritish sailor or marine seemed to fight but for himself. Then therewere the final stampede, the hauling down of the flag, and the surrenderof the wounded captain to Sir Sidney Salt. All must have passed in sevenminutes or less.

  The loss on both sides was terrible to contemplate. Twenty of our bravelads would never fight again, thirty more were wounded, while in killedand wounded the enemy's loss was well-nigh one hundred.

  There was no time to lose now, however. The enemy's consort was but fiveor six miles off, and coming down hand over hand. So the Frenchmen werespeedily disarmed. The dead were left where they lay, the wounded andprisoners hurried on board the _Pride_. Then a train was laid to the_Desespere's_ magazine, and just as all sail was hoisted on board theBritish frigate, the time fuse was lighted. The _Pride_ must fly now; tofight another ship, lumbered as she was with wounded and prisoners,would have been insanity.

  On comes the enemy's consort. Away flies the _Ocean Pride_. The men onthe British ship still stand to their guns; for if they are overhauled,they mean to fight and fall.

  But see, the two French frigates are now abreast, and the consort haulsher main-yard aback, and an armed boat leaves her side.

  Nearer and nearer she rows. Those that behold her on board the _Pride_hold their breath. They know she is rowing to destruction.

  It is awful, and even brave Sir Sidney turns a little as the boatreaches the doomed ship, and the men are seen clambering up her sides.At that dreadful moment a huge cloud of smoke, balloon shaped, riseshigh above the _Desespere_, a sheet of flame shoots into the air, andyards, and masts, and spars, and men are seen h
igh above all. A soundfar louder than thunder shakes the _Pride_ from stern to stern. SirSidney presses his hand to his eyes and holds it there for a time. Whenhe takes it away at last the _Desespere_ has gone. A few blackened sparsbob here and there on the waves, and the cloud rolls far to leeward, butthe silence of death is over all the scene.

  * * * * *

  Tom Fairlie sat late that night beside poor Jack's couch. Jack's browwas bound in blood-wet bandages, his eyes were closed.

  "O doctor," said Tom anxiously, as his eyes sought those of SurgeonM'Hearty, "is there _no_ hope? Surely Jack will live?"

  "Jack's in God's good hands, lad," was the solemn reply, "and I am buthis servant."

  The surgeon went slowly away, nor turned to look again.

  "Poor Jack! poor Jack!" cried Tom; "and on his birthday too!"

  He bent over the hardly breathing form, and tears welled through hisfingers. He had never known till now how much he loved his shipmate.

  Would Jack die? His wounds were very grievous. "He is in God's goodhands," the doctor had said.

  Tom Fairlie was a thorough English sailor--no better and no worse thanthe average. He attended church on Sunday, and was always on thequarter-deck when the bell rang for prayers; but the actual praying, Ifear, he usually left to the parson himself. If asked, Tom would havetold you that it was the parson's duty to make it all right with theGreat Commander above in behalf of himself and shipmates; but now itoccurred to Tom that he might himself personally address the Being inwhose hands poor Jack lay. God was good. Dr. M'Hearty had said so, andthe doctor knew almost everything. He hesitated for a few moments,though. It seemed like taking the parson's duty out of his hands. Was itimpertinence? He looked at Jack's poor, white, still face--looked justonce, then knelt and prayed--prayed a simple sailor's prayer that isn'tto be found anywhere in a book, but may be none the less effectual onthat account.

  When Tom rose from his knees Jack's eyes were open.

  "I've been sort of praying for you, Jack. I feel relieved. Seems to methe Great Commander is going to throw you a rope and pull you throughthe surf."

  Jack's lips were moving as if in feeble reply. But his mind waswandering.

  "The blue flower, Gerty--cull that. Oh, not the other! How dark it is!Gerty, I cannot find you. Dark, dark, dark!"

  And poor Jack relapsed once more into insensibility.

  "_I've been sort of praying for you, Jack._" Page 43.]