Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume XX Part 22

THE SEA SKIRMISH.

"The boatswain, piping, loudly thunders-- To your quarters fore and aft!

The great guns sponge, prepare for wonders, While, my lads, the wind's abaft.

With grape we can nine-pounders rattle-- Naval heroes, fight and sing-- He that bravely falls in battle, n.o.bly serves his prince or king."

_Sea Song._

The days of war are now gone by, and the events consequent upon them have now become but as "the tales of other years;" while those who were then the princ.i.p.al agents in carrying on hostile operations, have either gone the way of all the earth, or remain as the connecting links between the last race and the present. But the time will never come when the naval history of Great Britain shall not be that on which Britons look with the greatest interest; and certainly if there is one page in our history more than another calculated to afford pleasure, and, we may add, profit to the reader, it is that which records the matchless achievements of our daring tars during the last French war. How many are the accounts of storms and battles, of hards.h.i.+ps and perils undergone, which, in the days of our boyhood, we were accustomed to hear from the mouths of old tars, now no more, and whose memories are preserved only in the recollections of a few of their old a.s.sociates! There still stands on the east side of the village of T----, a whitewashed house, at the door of which hangs a huge s.h.i.+p, indicating that this is the village ale-house. This house, in our early days, was the resort of some half-dozen old sailors, who had retired, after their best years had been spent in their country's service, to spend their days in their native village. At the door of "The s.h.i.+p," as the ale-house was called, stood an immense ash-tree, the wide-spreading branches of which, covered with foliage, afforded, in summer, an agreeable shade from the heat of the sun. Under this tree, a long seat was placed, in front of which stood a white fir-table, upon which rested the jugs of foaming ale with which those who chose were wont to regale themselves. That seat is still there, and we hope it will remain for ages. It was the constant resort of the old tars already mentioned; and there, with their jug of ale, and their never-failing pipe, were they wont to fight all their battles o'er again. Many of the yarns which we then heard, we have since forgotten; some of them, however, still survive in our recollection. One of these we shall communicate, if not in the very words in which it was delivered, yet in substance, to the reader.

If a spectator were to stand on almost any part of the seacoast of Great Britain, and cast his eyes over the sea, he would behold numerous white specks upon the ocean, pa.s.sing in every direction; these specks he knows to be vessels, freighted with stores of various descriptions, and destined to various ports, to supply the deficiency in certain articles existing in one place, from the superabundance of another. These vessels, in our day, creep along their respective ways, without fear of molestation. The case was different, however, at the time in which our story begins. Then it was necessary for several vessels bound for the same port, to be armed for defence, and to sail in company, for the sake of mutual protection from the a.s.saults of French privateers, who frequently attacked and captured merchantmen, consigning their crews to the horrors of a French prison.

It was on a beautiful morning in June, that three of the smacks which ply between London and Berwick, were lying in the Thames, with the signal for sailing at their topmast heads. The sails were all loosed from the las.h.i.+ngs which had bound them down whilst in harbour, whilst the sailors were all busily employed in preparations for hoisting them to the breeze. At the command of the masters, the mainsails rose slowly from the large folds into which they had been compressed; the gaffs were alternately elevated and depressed, as the strength of the seamen was applied to the peak or main haulyards, whilst the tars, employed in such operations, bellowed out, in guttural sounds, their favourite song of "O cheerily." At length, the command to "belay" was given, and the mainsails were stretched to their full dimensions; whilst the cry of "Clear away the gaff topsail there!" was responded to by the cheerful "Ay, ay, sir!" of the sailors. A couple of younkers flew up the rigging of each smack, with the agility of monkeys, to execute the order.

"All clear!" shouted out a voice from the crosstrees.

"Then, hoist away, my lads!" cried the master. And the long, tapering sails rose up to their places.

"Sheet them home! and belay all!" bawled out the captain. And the topsailsheet was fastened to the belaying pins.

"Clap on the jib-out-haul!" was the next order, which was as speedily obeyed. And the ample jib was also extended to the breeze, whilst some of the sailors were, at the same time, employed in bousing down the bobstay, which secured the bowsprit from yielding too far to the influence of the jib.

All now seemed ready for starting; the ropes were coiled up out of the way, and the smacks held to the wharf by a single rope; the pilot was also on board; and the sailors were wondering what could be the reason why the word was not given to cast off. Minute after minute, however, rolled on, and still no order, whilst the sailors, leaning against the bulwarks, were whiling away the time in trying to divine the cause of delay. At last, voices were heard from the two sternmost smacks, hailing the one a-head--"_Tweed_, ahoy!"

"Hillo!" sung out the master of the _Tweed_, a fine, hard-a-weather looking old seaman, who was pacing up and down his deck, and ever and anon casting an impatient glance at the corner of the wharf.

"Aren't your pa.s.sengers coming yet, Mr Jones? We are losing this fine air of wind down the river."

"They promised to be down at half-past three," responded the old tar; "and you see it is scarcely that yet; but we must wait no longer. Tom,"

continued he, addressing his son, a fine young man of five-and-twenty, "run up, my boy, and see if they aren't coming yet."

Tom, obeying his father, sprung over the s.h.i.+p's side; and, in a few minutes, returned, accompanied by an old gentleman dressed in black, on whose arm leaned a young lady, closely wrapped up in a cloak, which defended her from the morning air. The old man seemed worn down by years and infirmities; but, though over his head more than seventy winters had shed their snows, yet in his eye, at times, there shone a slight spark of animation, shewing the fire which had lightened up his face in other days. His daughter seemed to lean on his arm for support; but she, in reality, afforded him a.s.sistance. Under the guidance of old Jones, they proceeded to the cabin of the _Tweed_, which was fitted up in a style of neatness, and what, in those days, might be reckoned splendour. After seeing them seated, old Jones mounted the companion, and proceeded on deck, to get his vessel under way. On reaching the deck, he overheard two of the seamen and his son Tom, who was also his mate, in close conversation.

"I tell you what it is, Tom," said one of them, hitching up his trowsers--"I tell you what it is, the leddy may be as bonny as Molly Jackson, but the old man is a priest; and there is never luck when a priest is on board."

"I have sailed the salt sea," said the other sailor--a fine-looking, upright figure--"for thirty years now, man and boy, and never yet sailed with a priest without some misfortune or other happening--I suppose, 'cause the ould fellow's so spiteful at sight of them holy men, that he tries to do all the mischief he can; but we, poor devils! are sure to bear it all."

"That's all in my eye and Betty Martin," replied Tom. "There was no later than the voyage before last, we took up half-a-dozen priests; and the only thing which happened was, that, when they came on board, a fresh hand was sent to the bellows, to blow more wind; but it was fair; so, instead of doing us ill, the ould fellow only cheated himself, as we made our pa.s.sage in forty-eight hours. But what significates talking?

Didn't you see his pretty little daughter?"

"I couldn't get a right look at her," replied Bill Mossman, the seaman who spoke last; "but as she was stepping over the hauser, I got a squint at a prettty little foot--that was all I could see."

"Oh, Bill," interrupted Tom, "had you seen her as I did, last night, when I went, with old dad, to call at their lodgings. My eye, what a beautiful run!--a pair of cheeks fit for the bow of a frigate--a waist as fine and tapering as the royal of a gun brig--and a quarter fit for a man-of-war. But her eyes"----

"Have burned a hole in your heart," interrupted Mossman.

"Well, it's of no use denying it," replied Tom. "I will defy any one, to see her and not fall in love with her; but what struck me more than her beauty, was her kindness and attention to her old father, who, poor man, seems to need it all. The tears trickled down the old man's face as he related all his sufferings and trials, and his daughter's affection; and, s.h.i.+ver my timbers, if I could help piping my eye to keep him company!"

"That's always the way with you," replied Jem Ward, the other sailor; "you're always taken in tow by some girl or other; but you can never be true to one. I had never but one sweetheart--Peggy Dawson, the prettiest girl in Berwick."

"Your Peggy Dawson," replied Tom, "is no more to be compared to Miss Keveley, than a keelman's barge is fit to be compared with the _Royal George_."

"Well, well," said Bill Mossman, "the girl is well enough; but I wish, as the priest is aboard, that the voyage were well over. But, let me see--this is Friday too--worse and worse!"

"Keep yourself easy," replied Tom. "As long as Miss Keveley's on board, you needn't fear. Such a kind creature as she is, will be in the place of 'the sweet little cherub which,' as the song says, 'sits up aloft, and takes care of the life of poor Jack.'"

"But," asked Bill Mossman, "do you know anything of their history?"

"Very little," answered Tom, "except what the old gentleman himself told us last night: That he has been a missionary abroad for many years, and that his wife has died in a foreign country, leaving him and his only daughter, who accompanies him; and that, worn out with the fatigues which he has undergone, and his const.i.tution broken down by an unhealthy climate, he is returning to his native village, to lay his bones, as he expressed it, beside the ashes of his fathers."

Their conversation was here interrupted by old Jones, who gave the word to cast off the warp which held them to the quay--an order which was speedily obeyed by the seamen; and the vessel soon _paid off_, under the influence of the jib. The same orders were given on board of the _Princess Charlotte_ and the _Olive_, the other two smacks; and, in a few minutes more, all the three vessels were holding their course, smoothly and peaceably, down the river. It was a beautiful morning. A slight breath of wind was stirring, just sufficient to fill the sails of the vessels: light, however, as it was, it was fresh and invigorating.

The sun was just rising; and his upper limb only was as yet visible, peering above the cloud with which his body was enveloped, as if to take a peep at the ocean and the land before rising from his couch.

Gradually, however, the king of day emerged from the cloud, and again his upper limb was concealed in another cloud higher up in the heavens, leaving a broad band of light alone visible. These alternations of light and shade continued for a short time, till the sun ascended higher in the sky, and then the middle of his body was covered by a dark vapour, which was pa.s.sed round him like a ribbon. This also pa.s.sed off; and the "father of ten thousand days" burst forth in a flood of glory--of bright, effulgent light--making the gentle undulations of the waves to glitter as if studded with millions of gems; whilst the dewdrops of the morning, hanging from the sails and cordage of the vessels, glistening in the sun, a.s.sumed various fantastic forms, as the head of the vessel dipped and rose at intervals, upon the gentle waves. Miss Keveley had left her father reclining upon a sofa in the cabin of the _Tweed_, and had come upon deck to enjoy the beauty of the scene; and, as she gazed upon the rising luminary and the silent waters of the Thames, the queen of rivers, she felt that elevation of spirits, and that devotion, which such a scene is calculated to inspire. Catherine Keveley had been peculiarly the child of misfortune. Her mother was of a n.o.ble family, and her alliance had been sought by many rich and n.o.ble youths.

Preferring, however, the hand of a man, who, though much her inferior in birth, yet in high and lofty feeling was, at least, her equal, she chose Mr Keveley as her companion for life--a licensed minister of the Church of Scotland, and at that time appointed as superintendent of a missionary station in a distant country. Happy in each other's love, they lived in a foreign land till the birth of Catherine; which event was succeeded by her mother's death.

Catherine, though from childhood a delicate flower, and though deprived of the fostering care of a mother's love, yet, under the tender management of her doting father, rose up to be the prop and staff of his declining years. Her form was of the slightest kind; her eyes, of that light, heavenly blue, which is the sure index of deep feeling, were protected by high, arched eyebrows; her forehead was broad rather than lofty, but of an alabaster whiteness; her clear brown hair was parted over her brow in graceful curls, whilst her long tresses hung in flowing ringlets down her shoulders. Her air was usually of that pensive cast which never fails to interest the beholder; but, of late, a shade of deeper melancholy had been seated on her features, called up by anxiety for her father's declining health, and the sad prospect which then lay before her, an unprotected orphan.

It was impossible to look upon that lovely creature without emotion, as she stood leaning against the bulwark of the vessel, and beholding the glories of the rising sun, and the places upon the river, as the vessel pa.s.sed them, one after another, in its course. Nor was she un.o.bserved; for Tom Jones, seated upon the windla.s.s, with his hands crossed upon his breast, was silently beholding her. She was here joined by her father, who had come upon deck, and without speaking, took her hand. Catherine silently pointed to the sun.--"This, indeed," said her father, breaking silence, "is a glorious spectacle. I have travelled in many lands, and beheld many splendid sights--I have seen the most gorgeous spectacles of eastern magnificence, where everything was combined that could please the eye or captivate the fancy--but all of these fall short, very far short, of this display. How many people," continued the old gentleman, "travel into other countries, for the sake of seeing fine sights, who are ignorant that they might behold, at home, a sight grander than the finest of these!"

"I don't wonder," said Catherine, "that the Persians, and many other Eastern nations, wors.h.i.+p the sun--contributing, as he does, so much to our comfort and happiness; in so doing, they are thankful for the blessings conferred, and only mistake the secondary, for the first cause of their enjoyment."

They continued thus talking to each other for some time, while Tom Jones was devouring every word which was uttered. After enjoying the coolness of the morning breeze, they again descended to the cabin, where they continued till breakfast-time, when they were joined by the old captain and his son Tom. The old tar was full of spirits--told them some of his best yarns--and, by his kindness, endeavoured to make his guests as comfortable as possible. Tom was engaged in the same labour of love; and, by several little acts of attention to the old gentleman, he gained what, to him, was the sweetest reward on earth--an approving smile from Catherine.

"Are we your only pa.s.sengers?" asked Mr Keveley.

"Yes," replied Tom. "People now-a-days prefer going by land, to running the risk of being taken by the French privateers, which swarm along the coast."

"I hope there is no danger of being attacked?" asked Catherine, turning pale with alarm.

"Why, as to that," replied old Bill, "one can't say for sartin--I have seed such sights as that before now; but never fear, my bonny Miss--if they were to attack three smacks armed as we are, they might mayhap catch a Tar-tar--that's all."

"I am not afraid for myself," said Catherine, casting an affectionate look at her father--"but my father"----

"Is now under that protecting Power which has preserved his life in the midst of so many perils by land."

When they again ascended to the deck, the vessels were going with a fine breeze, which was taking them quickly down the river. After pa.s.sing the Nore, they stood out to the open sea; and, the wind continuing fair, they proceeded speedily on their voyage, which promised to be pleasant and expeditious. On the second morning after sailing, the _Tweed_ was pa.s.sing Yarmouth Roads. In the roadstead was lying a large vessel, whose taunt, raking masts, and square, lightly-rigged yards, proved her to be a man-of-war. The seamen of the _Tweed_ were pointing out to each other the various fair properties of the vessel as they pa.s.sed; and Tom, thinking that Miss Keveley would be pleased with the sight, went below, to ask her if she wished to see a man-of-war.

Catherine thanked him for his attention, and followed him upon deck.

"What a beautiful vessel!" exclaimed Catherine, unable to contain her delight--"what exquisite symmetry!--what neatness in the arrangements of the various ropes, which appear as complicated as the gossamer's web, and, at this distance, almost as fine! What an intricate maze do all these appear to an ignorant spectator!--and yet, I dare say," continued she, addressing Tom, "there is not one amongst the number which has not its use."

"Not one," said Tom; "and, however confused they may appear to your eye, yet there is not one which, at a moment's notice, may not be laid hold of by the seamen."

During this conversation, Tom asked the name of the village in which Miss Keveley was going to reside. She informed him that they proposed settling, for some time at least, in Norham.

"That's lucky," replied Tom; "my old aunt, Mrs Burton, lives there, who may be of service to you in settling, and who will be the most pleasant companion in the world. Her husband was the curate of the village, but he has been dead this many a day; she is, however, in most comfortable circ.u.mstances, and can afford you accommodation for a short time, till you get settled."

"You are very kind, indeed," said Catherine, with emotion, "and I trust that my father and I will both feel grateful for the offer. However, we shall be guided by circ.u.mstances."