From Powder Monkey to Admiral Part 3

"What's going to happen?" cried Tom Fletcher. "We are going down! we are going down!"

CHAPTER THREE.

BILL DOES GOOD SERVICE.

The _Foxhound_ appeared indeed to be in a perilous position. The water washed higher and higher over the deck. "We are going down! we are going down!" again cried Tom, wringing his hands.

"Not if we can help it," said Jack. "We must get the ports closed, and stop the water from coming in."

"It's no use crying out till we are hurt. We can die but once," said Bill. "Cheer up, Tom; if we do go to the bottom, it's where many have gone before;" though Bill did not really think that the s.h.i.+p was sinking. Perhaps, had he done so, he would not have been so cool as he now appeared.

"That's a very poor consolation," answered Tom to his last remark. "Oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish that I had stayed on sh.o.r.e."

Though there was some confusion among the landsmen, a few of whom began to look very white, if they did not actually wring their hands and cry out, the crews of the guns remained at their stations, and hauled away l.u.s.tily at the tackles to run them in. The captain, though on the quarter-deck, was fully aware of the danger. There was no time to shorten sail.

"Port the helm!" he shouted; "hard a-port, square away the yards;" and in a few seconds the s.h.i.+p, put before the wind, rose to an even keel, the water, in a wave, rus.h.i.+ng across the deck, some escaping through the opposite ports, though a considerable portion made its way below.

The starboard ports were now speedily closed, when once more the s.h.i.+p hauled up in chase.

The _Foxhound_, sailing well, soon got up again with the _Menager_, and once more opened her fire, receiving that of the enemy in return.

The port of Ferrol could now be distinguished about six miles off, and it was thought probable that some Spanish men-of-war lying there might come out to the a.s.sistance of their friends. It was important to make the chase a prize before that should happen.

For some minutes Captain Waring reserved his fire, having set all the sail the _Foxhound_ could carry.

"Don't fire a shot till I tell you," he shouted to his men.

The crews of the starboard guns stood ready for the order to discharge the whole broadside into the enemy. Captain Waring was on the point of issuing it, the word "Fire" was on his lips, when down came the Frenchman's flag, and instead of the thunder of their guns the British seamen uttered three joyful cheers.

The _Foxhound_ was hove-to to windward of the prize, while three of the boats were lowered and pulled towards her. The third lieutenant of the _Foxhound_ was sent in command, and the _Menager's_ boats being also lowered, her officers and crew were transferred as fast as possible on board their captor.

As the _Menager_ was a large s.h.i.+p, she required a good many people to man her, thus leaving the _Foxhound_ with a greatly diminished crew.

It took upwards of an hour before the prisoners with their bags and other personal property were removed to the _Foxhound_. Captain Waring and Lieutenant Saltwell turned their eyes pretty often towards the harbour. No s.h.i.+ps were seen coming out of it. The English frigate and her two prizes consequently steered in the direction the other vessels had gone, the captain hoping to pick up one or more of them during the following morning. Her diminished crew had enough to do in attending to their proper duties, and in looking after the prisoners.

The commanders of the two s.h.i.+ps were received by the captain in his cabin, while the gun-room officers invited those of similar rank to mess with them, the men taking care of the French and American crews. The British seamen treated them rather as guests than prisoners, being ready to attend to their wants and to do them any service in their power.

Their manner towards the Frenchmen showed the compa.s.sion they felt, mixed perhaps with a certain amount of contempt. They seemed to consider them indeed somewhat like big babes, and several might have been seen feeding the wounded and nursing them with tender care.

During the night neither the watch below nor any of the officers turned in, the greater number remaining on deck in the hopes that they might catch sight of one of the s.h.i.+ps which had hitherto escaped them.

Note: This action and the subsequent events are described exactly as they occurred.

The American commander, Captain Gregory, sat in the cabin, looking somewhat sulky, presenting a great contrast to the behaviour of the Frenchman, Monsieur Saint Julien, who, being able to speak a little English, allowed his tongue to wag without cessation, laughing and joking, and trying to raise a smile on the countenance of his brother captive, the American skipper.

"Why! my friend, it is de fortune of war. Why you so sad?" exclaimed the volatile Frenchman. "Another day we take two English s.h.i.+p, and then make all right. Have you never been in England? Fine country, but not equal to 'la belle France;' too much fog and rain dere."

"I don't care for the rain, or the fog, Monsieur; but I don't fancy losing my s.h.i.+p, when we five ought to have taken the Englishman,"

replied the American.

"Ah! it was bad fortune, to be sure," observed Monsieur Saint Julien.

"Better luck next time, as you say; but what we cannot cure, dat we must endure; is not dat your proverb? Cheer up! cheer up! my friend."

Nothing, however, the light-hearted Frenchman could say had the effect of raising the American's spirits.

A handsome supper was placed on the table, to which Monsieur Saint Julien did ample justice, but Captain Gregory touched scarcely anything.

At an early hour he excused himself, and retired to a berth which Captain Waring had courteously appropriated to his use.

During the night the wind s.h.i.+fted more to the westward, and then round to the south-west, blowing pretty strong. When morning broke, the look-outs discovered two sail to the south-east, which it was evident were some of the squadron that had escaped on the previous evening.

They were, however, standing in towards the land.

Captain Waring, after consultation with his first lieutenant and master, determined to let them escape. He had already three hundred and forty prisoners on board, while his own crew amounted to only one hundred and ninety. Should he take another prize, he would have still further to diminish the number of the s.h.i.+p's company, while that of the prisoners would be greatly increased. The French and American captains had come on deck, and were standing apart, watching the distant vessels.

"I hope these Englishmen will take one of those fellows," observed Captain Gregory to Monsieur Saint Julien.

"Why so, my friend?" asked the latter.

"They deserve it, in the first place, and then it would be a question who gets command of this s.h.i.+p. We are pretty strong already, and if your people would prove staunch, we might turn the tables on our captors," said the American.

"Comment!" exclaimed Captain Saint Julien, starting back. "You forget dat we did pledge our honour to behave peaceably, and not to interfere with the discipline of the s.h.i.+p. French officers are not accustomed to break their parole. You insult me by making the proposal, and I hope dat you are not in earnest."

"Oh, no, my friend, I was only joking," answered the American skipper, perceiving that he had gone too far.

Officers of the U.S. Navy, we may here remark, have as high a sense of honour as any English or French officer, but this s.h.i.+p was only a privateer, with a scratch crew, some of them renegade Englishmen, and the Captain was on a level with the lot.

The Frenchman looked at him sternly. "I will be no party to such a proceeding," he observed.

"Oh, of course not, of course not, my friend," said Captain Gregory, walking aside.

It being finally decided to allow the other French vessels to escape, the _Foxhound's_ yards were squared away, and a course shaped for Plymouth, with the two prizes in company.

Soon after noon the wind fell, and the s.h.i.+ps made but little progress.

The British crew had but a short time to sleep or rest, it being necessary to keep a number of men under arms to watch the prisoners.

The Frenchmen were placed on the lower deck, where they sat down by themselves; but the Americans mixed more freely with the English. As evening approached, however, they also drew off and congregated together. Two or three of their officers came among them.

Just before dusk Captain Gregory made his appearance, and was seen talking in low whispers to several of the men.

Among those who observed him was Bill Rayner. Bill's wits were always sharp, and they had been still more sharpened since he came to sea by the new life he was leading. He had his eyes always about him to take in what he saw, and his ears open whenever there was anything worth hearing. It had struck him as a strange thing that so many prisoners should submit quietly to be kept in subjection by a mere handful of Englishmen. On seeing the American skipper talking to his men, he crept in un.o.bserved among them. His ears being wide open, he overheard several words which dropped from their lips.

"Oh, oh!" he thought. "Is that the trick you're after? You intend to take our s.h.i.+p, do you? You'll not succeed if I have the power to prevent you."

But how young Bill was to do that was the question. He had never even spoken to the boatswain or the boatswain's mate. It seemed scarcely possible for him to venture to tell the first lieutenant or the captain; still, if the prisoners' plot was to be defeated, he must inform them of what he had heard, and that without delay.

His first difficulty was how to get away from among the prisoners.

Should they suspect him they would probably knock him on the head or strangle him, and trust to the chance of shoving him through one of the ports un.o.bserved. This was possible in the crowded state of the s.h.i.+p, desperate as the act might seem.