The Battle and the Breeze Part 7

Up to this point none of those who are princ.i.p.ally concerned in this tale had received any hurt, beyond a few insignificant scratches, but soon after the death of the little boy, Tom Riggles received a severe wound in the leg from a splinter. He was carried below by Bill and Ben.

"It's all over with me," he said in a desponding tone as they went slowly down the ladders; "I knows it'll be a case o' ampitation."

"Don't you go for to git down-hearted, Tom," said Ben earnestly.

"You're too tough to be killed easy."

"Well, I _is_ tough, but wot'll toughness do for a feller agin iron shot. I feels just now as if a red-hot skewer wos rumblin' about among the marrow of my back-bone, an' I've got no feelin' in my leg at all.

Depend upon it, messmates, it's a bad case."

His comrades did not reply, because they had reached the gloomy place where the surgeons were engaged at their dreadful work. They laid Tom down on a locker.

"Good-bye, lads," said Tom, as they were about to turn away, "p'r'aps I'll not see ye again, so give us a shake o' yer flippers."

Bill and Ben silently squeezed their comrade's hand, being unable to speak, and then hastened back to their stations.

It was about this time that the _L'Orient_ caught fire, and when Bill and his friend reached the deck, sheets of flame were already leaping out at the port-holes of the gigantic s.h.i.+p. The sides of the _L'Orient_ had been recently painted, and the paint-buckets and oil-jars which stood on the p.o.o.p soon caught, and added brilliancy to the great conflagration which speedily followed the first outbreak of fire. It was about nine o'clock when the fire was first observed. Before this the gallant French Admiral had perished. Although three times wounded, Brueys refused to quit his post. At length a shot almost cut him in two, but still he refused to go below, and desired to be left to die on his quarter-deck. He was spared the pain of witnessing the destruction of his vessel.

Soon the flames got the mastery, and blazing upward like a mighty torch, threw a strong and appropriate light over the scene of battle. The greater part of the crew of the _L'Orient_ displayed a degree of courage which could not be surpa.s.sed, for they stuck to their guns to the very last; continuing to fire from the lower deck while the fire was raging above them, although they knew full well the dire and instantaneous destruction that must ensue when the fire reached the magazine.

The position and flags of the two fleets were now clearly seen, for it was almost as light as day, and the fight went on with unabated fury until about ten o'clock, when, with a terrific explosion, the _L'Orient_ blew up. So tremendous was the shock that it seemed to paralyse the combatants for a little, for both fleets ceased to fire, and there ensued a profound silence, which continued for some time. The first sound that broke the solemn stillness was the splash of the falling spars of the giant s.h.i.+p as they descended from the immense height to which they had been shot!

Of the hundreds of human beings who manned that s.h.i.+p, scarcely a t.i.the were saved. About seventy were rescued by English boats. The scattered and burning fragments fell around like rain, and there was much fear lest these should set some of the neighbouring vessels on fire. Two large pieces of burning wreck fell into the _Swiftsure_, and a port fire into the _Alexander_, but these were quickly extinguished.

On board the _Majestic_ also, some portions of burning material fell.

While these were being extinguished, one of the boats was ordered out to do all that was possible to save the drowning Frenchmen. Among the first to jump into this boat were Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter. Bill took the bow oar, Ben the second, and in a few moments they were pulling cautiously amid the debris of the wreck, helping to haul on board such poor fellows as they could get hold of. The work was difficult, because comparative darkness followed the explosion, and as the fight was soon resumed, the thunder of heavy guns, together with the plunging of ball, exploding of sh.e.l.l, and whizzing of chain-shot overhead, rendered the service one of danger as well as difficulty.

It was observed by the men of the _Majestic's_ boat that several French boats were moving about on the same errand of mercy with themselves, and it was a strange as well as interesting sight to see those who, a few minutes before, had been bent on taking each other's lives, now as earnestly engaged in the work of saving life!

"Back your starboard oars," shouted Ben, just as they pa.s.sed one of the French boats; "there's a man swimming on the port bow--that's it; steady; lend a hand, Bill; now then, in with him."

A man was hoisted over the gunwale as he spoke, and the boat pa.s.sed onward. Just then a round shot from one of the more distant s.h.i.+ps of the fleet--whether English or French they could not tell--struck the water a few yards from them, sending a column of spray high into the air. Instead of sinking, the shot ricochetted from the water and carried away the bow of the boat in pa.s.sing, whirling it round and almost overturning it. At the same moment the sea rushed in and swamped it, leaving the crew in the water.

Our hero made an involuntary grasp at the thing that happened to be nearest him. This was the head of his friend Ben Bolter, who had been seated on the thwart in front of him. Ben returned the grasp promptly, and having somehow in the confusion of the plunge, taken it into his head that he was in the grasp of a Frenchman, he endeavoured to throttle Bill. Bill, not being easily throttled, forthwith proceeded to choke Ben, and a struggle ensued which might have ended fatally for both, had not a piece of wreck fortunately touched Ben on the shoulder. He seized hold of it, Bill did the same, and then they set about the fight with more precision.

"Come on, ye puddock-eater!" cried Ben, again seizing Bill by the throat.

"Hallo, Ben!"

"Why, wot--is't you, Bill? Well, now, if I didn't take 'e for a Mounseer!"

Before more could be said a boat was observed rowing close past them.

Ben hailed it.

"Ho!" cried a voice, as the men rested on their oars and listened.

"Lend a hand, s.h.i.+pmates," cried Ben, "on yer port bow."

The oars were dipped at once, the boat ranged up, and the two men were a.s.sisted into it.

"It's all well as ends well, as I've heerd the play-actors say,"

observed Ben Bolter, as he shook the water from his garments. "I say, lads, what s.h.i.+p do you belong to?"

"Ve has de honair to b'long to _Le Guillaume Tell_," replied one of the men.

"Hallo, Bill!" whispered Ben, "it's a French boat, an' we're nabbed.

Prisoners o' war, as sure as my name's BB! Wot's to be done?"

"I'll make a bolt, sink or swim," whispered our hero.

"You vill sit still," said the man who had already spoken to them, laying a hand on Bill's shoulder.

Bill jumped up and made a desperate attempt to leap overboard, but two men seized him. Ben sprang to the rescue instantly, but he also was overpowered by numbers, and the hands of both were tied behind their backs. A few minutes later and they were handed up the side of the French s.h.i.+p.

When day broke on the morning of the 2nd of August, the firing still continued, but it was comparatively feeble, for nearly every s.h.i.+p of the French fleet had been taken. Only the _Guillaume Tell_ and the _Genereux_--the two rear s.h.i.+ps of the enemy--had their colours flying.

These, with two frigates, cut their cables and stood out to sea. The _Zealous_ pursued, but as there was no other British s.h.i.+p in a fit state to support her, she was recalled; the four vessels, therefore, escaped at that time, but they were captured not long afterwards. Thus ended the famous battle of the Nile, in regard to which Nelson said that it was a "conquest" rather than a victory.

Of thirteen sail of the line, nine were taken and two burnt; and two of their four frigates were burnt. The British loss in killed and wounded amounted to 896; that of the French was estimated at 2000.

The victory was most complete. The French fleet was annihilated. As might be supposed, the hero of the Nile was, after this, almost wors.h.i.+pped as a demiG.o.d. It is worthy of remark here that Nelson, as soon as the conquest was completed, sent orders through the fleet that thanksgiving should be returned, in every s.h.i.+p, to Almighty G.o.d, for the victory with which He had blessed His Majesty's arms.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

OUR HERO AND HIS MESSMATE GET INTO TROUBLE.

On the night after the battle, Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter were sent on board a French transport s.h.i.+p.

As they sat beside each other, in irons, and securely lodged under hatches, these stout men of war lamented their hard fate thus--

"I say, Bill, this is wot I calls a fix!"

"That's so, Ben--a bad fix."

There was silence for a few minutes, then Ben resumed--

"Now, d'ye see, this here war may go on for ever so long--years it may be--an' here we are on our way to a French prison, where we'll have the pleasure, mayhap, of spendin' our youth in twirlin' our thumbs or bangin' our heads agin the bars of our cage."

"There ain't a prison in France as'll hold me," said Bill Bowls resolutely.

"No? how d'ye 'xpect to git out--seein' that the walls and doors ain't made o' b.u.t.ter, nor yet o' turnips?" inquired Ben.

"I'll go up the chimbley," said Bill savagely, for his mind had reverted to Nelly Blyth, and he could not bear to think of prolonged imprisonment.

"But wot if they've got no chimbleys?"

"I'll try the winders."