 | CHAPTER VI. The two admirals |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin—his control
Stops with the shore;—upon the wat'ry plain
The wrecks are all thy deed.”
Childe Harold.
It was broad day-light, when Sir Gervaise Oakes next
appeared on deck. As the scene then offered to his view, as
well as the impression it made on his mind, will sufficiently
explain to the reader the state of affairs, some six hours later
those for his own impressions. The wind now blew a real
gale, though the season of the year rendered it less unpleasant
to the feelings than is usual with wintry tempests. The
air was even bland, and still charged with the moisture of
the ocean; though it came sweeping athwart sheets of foam,
with a fury, at moments, which threatened to carry the
entire summits of waves miles from their beds, in spray.
Even the aquatic birds seemed to be terrified, in the instants
of the greatest power of the winds, actually wheeling suddenly
on their wings, and plunging into the element beneath
to seek protection from the maddened efforts of that to which
they more properly belonged.
Still, Sir Gervaise saw that his ships bore up nobly
against the fierce strife. Each vessel showed the same canvass;
viz.—a reefed fore-sail; a small triangular piece of
strong, heavy cloth, fitted between the end of the bowsprit
and the head of the fore-top-mast; a similar sail over the
quarter-deck, between the mizzen and main masts, and a
close-reefed main-top-sail. Several times that morning,
Captain Greenly had thought he should be compelled to substitute
a lower surface to the wind than that of the sail last
mentioned. As it was an important auxiliary, however, in
steadying the ship, and in keeping her under the command
of her helm, on each occasion the order had been delayed,
until he now began to question whether the canvass could
be reduced, without too great a risk to the men whom it
would be necessary to send aloft. He had decided to let it
stand or blow away, as fortune might decide. Similar reasoning
left nearly all the other vessels under precisely the
same canvass.
The ships of the vice-admiral's division had closed in the
night, agreeably to an order given before quitting the anchorage,
which had directed them to come within the usual
sailing distance, in the event of the weather's menacing a
separation. This command had been obeyed by the ships
astern carrying sail hard, long after the leading vessels had
been eased by reducing their canvass. The order of sailing
was the Plantagenet in the van, and the Carnatic, Achilles,
Thunderer, Blenheim, and Warspite's following, in the order
named; some changes having been made in the night, in
in a line ahead, the vice-admiral leading. The
superiority of the Plantagenet was a little apparent, notwithstanding;
the Carnatic alone, and that only by means of the
most careful watching, being able to keep literally in the
commander-in-chief's wake; all the other vessels gradually
but almost imperceptibly setting to leeward of it. These
several circumstances struck Sir Gervaise, the moment his
foot touched the poop, where he found Greenly keeping an
anxious look-out on the state of the weather and the condition
of his own ship; leaning at the same time, against the
spanker-boom to steady himself in the gusts of the gale.
The vice-admiral braced his own well-knit and compact
frame, by spreading his legs, and then he turned his handsome
but weather-beaten face towards the line, scanning
each ship in succession, as she lay over to the wind, and
came wallowing on, shoving aside vast mounds of water
with her bows, her masts describing short arcs in the air,
and her hull rolling to windward, and then lurching, as if
boring her way through the ocean. Galleygo, who never
regarded himself as a steward in a gale of wind, was the
only other person on the poop, whither he went at pleasure
by a sort of imprescriptible right.
“Well done, old Planter!” cried Sir Gervaise, heartily,
as soon as his eye had taken in the leading peculiarities of
the view. “You see, Greenly, she has everybody but old
Parker to leeward, and she would have him there, too, but
he would carry every stick he has, out of the Carnatic,
rather than not keep his berth. Look at Master Morganic;
he has his main course close-reefed on the Achilles, to luff
into his station, and I 'll warrant you will get a good six
months' wear out of that ship in this one gale; loosening
her knees, and jerking her spars like so many whip-handles;
and all for love of the new fashion of rigging an English
two-decker like an Algerine xebec! Well, let him tug his
way up to windward, Bond-street fashion, if he likes the fun.
What has become of the Chloe, Greenly?”
“Here she is, sir, quite a league on our lee-bow, looking
out, according to orders.”
“Ay, that is her work, and she 'll do it effectually.—But
I don't see the Driver!”
“She 's dead ahead, sir,” answered Greenly, smiling;
“her orders being rather more difficult of execution. Her
station would be off yonder to windward, half a league ahead
of us; but it 's no easy matter to get into that position, Sir
Gervaise, when the Plantagenet is really in earnest.”
Sir Gervaise laughed, and rubbed his hands, and then he
turned to look for the Active, the only other vessel of his
division. This little cutter was dancing over the seas, half
the time under water, notwithstanding, under the head of
her mainsail, broad off, on the admiral's weather-beam;
finding no difficulty in maintaining her station there, in the
absence of all top-hamper, and favoured by the lowness of
her hull. After this he glanced upward at the sails and
spars of the Plantagenet, which he studied closely.
“No signs of de Vervillin, hey, Greenly!” the admiral
asked, when his survey of the whole fleet had ended. “I
was in hopes we might see something of him, when the light
returned this morning.”
“Perhaps it is quite as well as it is, Sir Gervaise,” returned
the captain. “We could do little besides look at
each other, in this gale, and then Admiral Bluewater ought
to join before I should like even to do that.”
“Think you so, Master Greenly!—There you are mistaken,
then; for I 'd lie by him, were I alone in this ship,
that I might know where he was to be found as soon as the
weather would permit us to having something to say to him.”
These words were scarcely uttered, when the look-out in
the forward cross-trees, shouted at the top of his voice,
“sail-ho!” At the next instant the Chloe fired a gun, the
report of which was just heard amid the roaring of the gale,
though the smoke was distinctly seen floating above the
mists of the ocean; and she set a signal at her naked mizzen-top-gallant-mast-head.
“Run below, young gentleman,” said the vice-admiral,
advancing to the break of the poop and speaking to a midshipman
on the quarter-deck; “and desire Mr. Bunting to
make his appearance. The Chloe signals us—tell him not
to look for his knee-buckles.”
A century since, the last injunction, though still so much
in use on ship-board, was far more literal than it is to-day,
nearly all classes of men possessing the articles in question,
midshipman dove below, however, as soon as the words
were out of his superior's mouth; and, in a very few minutes,
Bunting appeared, having actually stopped on the
main-deck ladder to assume his coat, lest he might too unceremoniously
invade the sacred precincts of the quarter-deck,
in his shirt-sleeves.
“There it is, Bunting,” said Sir Gervaise, handing the
lieutenant the glass; “two hundred and twenty-seven—`a
large sail ahead,' if I remember right.”
“No, Sir Gervaise, `sails ahead;' the number of them
to follow. Hoist the answering flag, quarter-master.”
“So much the better! So much the better, Bunting!
The number to follow?—Well, we 'll follow the number,
let it be greater or smaller. Come, sirrah, bear a hand up
with your answering flag.”
The usual signal that the message was understood was
now run up between the masts, and instantly hauled down
again, the flags seen in the Chloe descending at the same
moment.
“Now for the number of the sails, ahead,” said Sir Gervaise,
as he, Greenly, and Bunting, each levelled a glass at
the frigate, on board which the next signal was momentarily
expected. “Eleven, by George!”
“No, Sir Gervaise,” exclaimed Greenly, “I know better
than that. Red above, and blue beneath, with the distinguishing
pennant beneath, make fourteen, in our books,
now!”
“Well, sir, if they are forty, we 'll go nearer and see of
what sort of stuff they are made. Show your answering
flag, Bunting, that we may know what else the Chloe has to
tell us.”
This was done, the frigate hauling down her signals in
haste, and showing a new set as soon as possible.
“What now, Bunting?—what now, Greenly?” demanded
Sir Gervaise, a sea having struck the side of the ship and
thrown so much spray into his face as to reduce him to the
necessity of using his pocket-handkerchief, at the very moment
he was anxious to be looking through his glass.
“What do you make of that, gentlemen?”
“I make out the number to be 382,” answered Greenly;
“but what it means, I know not.”
“`Strange sails, enemies,” read Bunting from the book.
“Show the answer, quarter-master.”
“We hardly wanted a signal for that, Greenly, since
there can be no friendly force, hereaway; and fourteen sail,
on this coast, always means mischief. What says the Chloe
next?”
“`Strange sails on the larboard tack, heading as follows.”'
“By George, crossing our course!—We shall soon see
them from deck. Do the ships astern notice the signals?”
“Every one of them, Sir Gervaise,” answered the captain;
“the Thunderer has just lowered her answering flag,
and the Active is repeating. I have never seen quarter-masters
so nimble!”
“So much the better — so much the better — down he
comes; stand by for another.”
After the necessary pause, the signal to denote the point
of the compass was shown from the Chloe.
“Heading how, Bunting?” the vice-admiral eagerly inquired.
“Heading how, sir?”
“North-west-and-by-north,” or as Bunting pronounced it,
“nor-west-and-by-noathe, I believe sir,—no, I am mistaken,
Sir Gervaise; it is nor-nor-west.”
“Jammed up like ourselves, hard on a wind! This gale
comes directly in from the broad Atlantic, and one party is
crossing over to the north and the other to the south shore.
We must meet, unless one of us run away—hey! Greenly?”
“True enough, Sir Gervaise; though fourteen sail is
rather an awkward odds for seven.”
“You forget the Driver and Active, sir; we've nine;
nine hearty, substantial British cruisers.”
“To wit: six ships of the line, one frigate, a sloop, and a
cutter,” laying heavy emphasis on the two last classes of
vessels.
“What does the Chloe say now, Bunting? That we 're
enough for the French, although they are two to one?”
“Not exactly that, I believe, Sir Gervaise. `Five more
sail, ahead.' They increase fast, sir.”
“Ay, at that rate, they may indeed grow too strong for
“nineteen to nine are rather heavy odds. I wish we had
Bluewater here?”
“That is what I was about to suggest, Sir Gervaise,” observed
the captain. “If we had the other division, as some
of the Frenchmen are probably frigates and corvettes, we
might do better. Admiral Bluewater cannot be far from us;
somewhere down here, towards north-east—or nor-nor-east.
By waring round, I think we should make his division in
the course of a couple of hours.”
“What, and leave to Monsieur de Vervillin the advantage
of swearing he frightened us away! No—no—Greenly;
we will first pass him fairly and manfully, and that, too,
within reach of shot; and then it will be time enough to go
round and look after our friends.”
“Will not that be putting the French exactly between our
two divisions, Sir Gervaise, and give him the advantage of
dividing our force. If he stand far, on a nor-nor-west
course, I think he will infallibly get between us and Admiral
Bluewater.”
“And what will he gain by that, Greenly?—What, according
to your notions of matters and things, will be the
great advantage of having an English fleet on each side of
him!”
“Not much, certainly, Sir Gervaise,” answered Greenly,
laughing; “if these fleets were at all equal to his own. But
as they will be much inferior to him, the Comte may manage
to close with one division, while the other is so far off as to
be unable to assist; and one hour of a hot fire may dispose
of the victory.”
“All this is apparent enough, Greenly, and yet I could
hardly brook letting the enemy go scatheless. So long as
it blows as it does now, there will not be much fighting;
and there can be no harm in taking a near look at Mr. de
Vervillin. In half an hour, or an hour at most, we must
get a sight of him from off deck, even with this slow headway
of the two fleets. Let them heave the log, and ascertain
how fast we go, sir.”
“Should we engage the French in such weather, Sir Gervaise,”
answered Greenly, after giving the order just mentioned;
“it would be giving them the very advantage they
do more mischief, with such a strain on the masts, than
half-a-dozen in a moderate blow.”
“That will do, Greenly—that will do,” said the vice-admiral,
impatiently; “if I didn't so well know you, and
hadn't seen you so often engaged, I should think you were
afraid of these nineteen sail. You have lectured long enough
to render me prudent, and we 'll say no more.”
Here Sir Gervaise turned on his heel, and began to pace
the poop, for he was slightly vexed, though not angered.
Such little dialogues often occurred between him and his
captain, the latter knowing that his commander's greatest
professional failing was excess of daring, while he felt that
his own reputation was too well established to be afraid to
inculcate prudence. Next to the honour of the flag, and
his own perhaps, Greenly felt the greatest interest in that
of Sir Gervaise Oakes, under whom he had served as midshipman,
lieutenant, and captain; and this his superior
knew, a circumstance that would have excused far greater
liberties. After moving swiftly to and fro several times, the
vice-admiral began to cool, and then he forgot this passing
ebullition of quick feelings. Greenly, on the other hand,
satisfied that the just mind of the commander-in-chief would
not fail to appreciate facts that had been so plainly presented
to it, was content to change the subject. They conversed
together, in a most friendly manner, Sir Gervaise being even
unusually frank and communicative, in order to prove he
was not displeased, the matter in discussion being the state
of the ship and the situation of the crew.
“You are always ready for battle, Greenly,” the vice-admiral
said, smilingly, in conclusion; “when there is a
necessity; and always just as ready to point out the inexpediency
of engaging, where you fancy nothing is to be
gained by it. You would not have me run away from a
shadow, however; or a signal; and that is much the same
thing: so we will stand on, until we make the Frenchmen
fairly from off-deck, when it will be time enough to determine
what shall come next.”
“Sail-ho!” shouted one of the look-outs from aloft, a cry
that immediately drew all eyes towards the mizzen-top-mast-cross-trees,
whence the sound proceeded.
The wind blew too fresh to render conversation, even by
means of a trumpet, easy, and the man was ordered down
to give an account of what he had seen. Of course he first
touched the poop-deck, where he was met by the admiral
and captain, the officer of the watch, to whom he properly
belonged, giving him up to the examination of his two superiors,
without a grimace.
“Where-away is the sail you 've seen, sir?” demanded
Sir Gervaise a little sharply, for he suspected it was no
more than one of the ships ahead, already signalled. “Down
yonder to the southward and eastward—hey! sirrah?”
“No, Sir Jarvy,” answered the top-man, hitching his
trowsers with one hand, and smoothing the hair on his forehead
with the other; “but out here, to the nor'ard and
west'ard, on our weather-quarter. It's none o' them French
chaps as is with the County of Fairvillian,”—for so all the
common men of the fleet believed their gallant enemy to be
rightly named,—“but is a square-rigged craft by herself,
jammed up on a wind, pretty much like all on us.”
“That alters the matter, Greenly! How do you know
she is square-rigged, my man?”
“Why, Sir Jarvy, your honour, she 's under her fore
and main-taw-sails, close-reefed, with a bit of the mainsail
set, as well as I can make it out, sir.”
“The devil she is! It must be some fellow in a great
hurry, to carry that canvass in this blow! Can it be possible,
Greenly, that the leading vessel of Bluewater is heaving
in sight?”
“I rather think not, Sir Gervaise; it would be too far to
windward for any of his two-deckers. It may turn out to
be a look-out ship of the French, got round on the other
tack to keep her station, and carrying sail hard, because
she dislikes our appearance.”
“In that case she must claw well to windward to escape
us! What's your name, my lad—Tom Davis, if I 'm not
mistaken?”
“No, Sir Jarvy, it 's Jack Brown; which is much the
same, your honour. We 's no ways partic'lar about names.”
“Well, Jack, does it blow hard aloft? So as to give you
any trouble in holding on?”
“Nothing to speak on, Sir Jarvy. A'ter cruising a winter
nor a puff. Half a hand will keep a fellow in his berth,
aloft.”
“Galleygo— take Jack Brown below to my cabin, and
give him a fresh nip in his jigger—he 'll hold on all the
better for it.”
This was Sir Gervaise's mode of atoning for the error
in doing the man injustice, by supposing he was mistaken
about the new sail, and Jack Brown went aloft devoted to
the commander-in-chief. It costs the great and powerful so
little to become popular, that one is sometimes surprised to
find that any are otherwise; but, when we remember that
it is also their duty to be just, astonishment ceases; justice
being precisely the quality to which a large portion of the
human race are most averse.
Half an hour passed, and no further reports were received
from aloft. In a few minutes, however, the Warspite signalled
the admiral, to report the stranger on her weather-quarter,
and, not long after, the Active did the same. Still
neither told his character; and the course being substantially
the same, the unknown ship approached but slowly, notwithstanding
the unusual quantity of sail she had set. At
the end of the period mentioned, the vessels in the south-eastern
board began to be visible from the deck. The ocean
was so white with foam, that it was not easy to distinguish
a ship, under short canvass, at any great distance; but, by
the aid of glasses, both Sir Gervaise and Greenly satisfied
themselves that the number of the enemy at the southward
amounted to just twenty; one more having hove in sight,
and been signalled by the Chloe, since her first report.
Several of these vessels, however, were small; and, the
vice-admiral, after a long and anxious survey, lowered his
glass and turned to his captain in order to compare opinions.
“Well, Greenly,” he asked, “what do you make of
them, now?—According to my reckoning, there are thirteen
of the line, two frigates, four corvettes, and a lugger; or
twenty sail in all.”
“There can be no doubt of the twenty sail, Sir Gervaise,
though the vessels astern are still too distant to speak of
their size. I rather think it will turn out fourteen of the
line and only three frigates.”
“That is rather too much for us, certainly, without Bluewater.
His five ships, now, and this westerly position,
would make a cheering prospect for us. We might stick by
Mr. de Vervillin until it moderated, and then pay our respects
to him. What do you say to that, Greenly?”
“That it is of no great moment, Sir Gervaise, so long as
the other division is not with us. But yonder are signals
flying on board the Active, the Warspite, and the Blenheim.”
“Ay, they 've something to tell us of the chap astern and
to windward. Come, Bunting, give us the news.”
“`Stranger in the northwest shows the Druid's number;”'
the signal-officer read mechanically from the book.
“The deuce he does! Then Bluewater cannot be far off.
Let Dick alone for keeping in his proper place; he has an
instinct for a line of battle, and I never knew him fail to be
in the very spot I could wish to have him, looking as much
at home, as if his ships had all been built there! The
Druid's number! The Cæsar and the rest of them are in a
line ahead, further north, heading up well to windward even
of our own wake. This puts the Comte fairly under our
lee.”
But Greenly was far from being of a temperament as
sanguine as that of the vice-admiral's. He did not like the
circumstance of the Druid's being alone visible, and she,
too, under what in so heavy a gale, might be deemed a press
of canvass. There was no apparent reason for the division's
carrying sail so hard, while the frigate would be
obliged to do it, did she wish to overtake vessels like the
Plantagenet and her consorts. He suggested, therefore, the
probability that the ship was alone, and that her object might
be to speak them.
“There is something in what you say, Greenly,” answered
Sir Gervaise, after a minute's reflection; “and we
must look into it. If Denham doesn't give us anything new
from the Count to change our plans, it may be well to learn
what the Druid is after.”
Denham was the commander of the Chloe, which ship,
a neat six-and-thirty, was pitching into the heavy seas that
now came rolling in heavily from the broad Atlantic, the
water streaming from her hawse-holes, as she rose from
each plunge, like the spouts of a whale. This vessel, it
the Plantagenet, and consequently so much nearer to the
French, who were approaching from that precise quarter of
the ocean, in a long single line, like that of the English; a
little relieved, however, by the look-out vessels, all of which,
in their case, were sailing along on the weather-beam of
their friends. The distance was still so great, as to render
glasses necessary in getting any very accurate notions of the
force and the point of sailing of Monsieur de Vervillin's
fleet, the ships astern being yet so remote as to require long
practice to speak with any certainty of their characters. In
nothing, notwithstanding, was the superior practical seamanship
of the English more apparent, than in the manner in
which these respective lines were formed. That of Sir Gervaise
Oakes was compact, each ship being as near as might
be a cable's-length distant from her seconds ahead and
astern. This was a point on which the vice-admiral prided
himself; and by compelling his captains rigidly to respect
their line of sailing, and by keeping the same ships and
officers, as much as possible, under his orders, each captain
of the fleet had got to know his own vessel's rate of speed,
and all the other qualities that were necessary to maintain
her precise position. All the ships being weatherly, though
some, in a slight degree, were more so than others, it was
easy to keep the line in weather like the present, the wind
not blowing sufficiently hard to render a few cloths more or
less of canvass of any very great moment. If there was
a vessel sensibly out of her place, in the entire line, it was
the Achilles; Lord Morganic not having had time to get all
his forward spars as far aft as they should have been; a
circumstance that had knocked him off a little more than
had happened to the other vessels. Nevertheless, had an
air-line been drawn at this moment, from the mizzen-top of
the Plantagenet to that of the Warspite, it would have been
found to pass through the spars of quite half the intermediate
vessels, and no one of them all would have been a pistol-shot
out of the way. As there were six intervals between the
vessels, and each interval as near as could be guessed at
was a cable's-length, the extent of the whole line a little
exceeded three-quarters of a mile.
On the other hand, the French, though they preserved a
and by no means as methodical in their manner of sailing.
Some of their ships were a quarter of a mile to leeward of
the line, and the intervals were irregular and ill-observed.
These circumstances arose from several causes, neither of
which proceeded from any fault in the commander-in-chief,
who was both an experienced seaman and a skilful tactician.
But his captains were new to each other, and some of them
were recently appointed to their ships; it being just as much
a matter of course that a seaman should ascertain the qualities
of his vessel, by familiarity, as that a man should learn
the character of his wife, in the intimacy of wedlock.
At the precise moment of which we are now writing, the
Chloe might have been about a league from the leading
vessel of the enemy, and her position to leeward of her own
fleet threatened to bring her, half an hour later, within
range of the Frenchmen's guns. This fact was apparent to
all in the squadron; still the frigate stood on, having been
placed in that station, and the whole being under the immediate
supervision of the commander-in-chief.
“Denham will have a warm berth of it, sir, should he
stand on much longer,” said Greenly, when ten minutes
more had passed, during which the ships had gradually
drawn nearer.
“I was hoping he might get between the most weatherly
French frigate and her line,” answered Sir Gervaise; “when
I think, by edging rapidly away, we could take her alive,
with the Plantagenet.”
“In which case we might as well clear for action; such
a manœuvre being certain to bring on a general engagement.”
“No—no—I 'm not quite mad enough for that, Master
Telemachus; but, we can wait a little longer for the chances.
How many flags can you make out among the enemy,
Bunting?”
“I see but two, Sir Gervaise; one at the fore, and the
other at the mizzen, like our own. I can make out, now,
only twelve ships of the line, too; neither of which is a
three-decker.”
“So much for rumour; as flagrant a liar as ever wagged
a tongue! Twelve ships on two decks, and eight frigates,
this.”
“I think not, Sir Gervaise; their commander-in-chief is
in the fourth ship from the head of the line. His flag is just
discernible, by means of our best glass. Ay, there goes a
signal, this instant, up at the end of his gaff!”
“If one could only read French now, Greenly,” said the
vice-admiral, smiling; “we might get into some of Mr. de
Vervillin's secrets. Perhaps it 's an order to go to quarters
or to clear; look out sharp, Bunting, for any signs of such
a movement. What do you make of it?”
“It 's to the frigates, Sir Gervaise; all of which answer,
while the other vessels do not.”
“We want no French to read that signal, sir,” put in
Greenly; “the frigates themselves telling us what it means.
Monsieur de Vervillin has no idea of letting the Plantagenet
take anything he has, alive.”
This was true enough. Just as the captain spoke, the
object of the order was made sufficiently apparent, by all
the light vessels to windward of the French fleet, bearing up
together, until they brought the wind abaft their beams,
when away they glided to leeward, like floating objects that
have suddenly struck a swift current. Before this change
in their course, these frigates and corvettes had been struggling
along, the seas meeting them on their weather-bows,
at the rate of about two knots, or rather less; whereas, their
speed was now quadrupled, and in a few minutes, the whole
of them had sailed through the different intervals in their
main line, and had formed as before, nearly half a league to
leeward of it. Here, in the event of an action, their principal
duties would have been to succour crippled ships that might
be forced out of their allotted stations during the combat.
All this Sir Gervaise viewed with disgust. He had hoped
his enemy might have presumed on the state of the elements,
and suffered his light vessels to maintain their original positions.
“It would be a great triumph to us, Greenly,” he said,
“if Denham could pass without shifting his berth. There
would be something manly and seamanlike in an inferior
fleet's passing a superior, in such a style.”
“Yes, sir, though it might cost us a fine frigate. The
guns, and a discharge from two or three of his leading
vessels might cut away some spar that Denham would miss
sadly, just at such a moment.”
Sir Gervaise placed his hands behind his back, paced the
deck a minute, and then said decidedly—
“Bunting, make the Chloe's signal to ware—tacking in
this sea, and under that short canvass, is out of the question.”
Bunting had anticipated this order, and had even ventured
clandestinely to direct the quarter-masters to bend on the
necessary flags, and Sir Gervaise had scarcely got the words
out of his mouth, before the signal was abroad. The Chloe
was equally on the alert; for she too each moment expected
the command, and ere her answering flag was seen, her
helm was up, the mizzen-staysail down, and her head falling
off rapidly towards the enemy. This movement seemed to
be expected all round—and it certainly had been delayed to
the very last moment—for the leading French ship fell off
three or four points, and as the frigate was exactly end-on
to her, let fly the contents of all the guns on her forecastle,
as well as of those on her main-deck, as far aft as they could
be brought to bear. One of the top-sail-sheets of the frigate
was shot away by this rapid and unexpected fire, and some
little damage was done to the standing rigging; but, luckily,
none of immediate moment. Captain Denham was active,
and the instant he found his topsail flapping, he ordered it
clewed up, and the mainsail loosed. The latter was set,
close-reefed, as the ship came to the wind on the larboard
tack, and by the time everything was braced up and hauled
aft, on that tack, the main-top-sail was ready to be sheeted
home, anew. During the few minutes that these evolutions
required, Sir Gervaise kept his eye riveted on the vessel;
and when he saw her fairly round, and trimmed by the
wind, again, with the mainsail dragging her ahead, to own
the truth, he felt mentally relieved.
“Not a minute too soon, Sir Gervaise,” observed the
cautious Greenly, smiling. “I should not be surprised if
Denham hears more from that fellow at the head of the
French line. His weather chase-guns are exactly in a range
with the frigate, and the two upper ones might be worked,
well enough.”
“I think not, Greenly. The forecastle gun, possibly;
scarcely anything below it.”
Sir Gervaise proved to be partly right and partly wrong.
The Frenchman did attempt a fire with his main-deck gun;
but, at the first plunge of the ship, a sea slapped up against
her weather-bow, and sent a column of water through the
port, that drove half its crew into the lee-scuppers. In the
midst of this water-spout, the gun exploded, the loggerhead
having been applied an instant before, giving a sort of chaotic
wildness to the scene in-board. This satisfied the party
below; though that on the forecastle fared better. The last
fired their gun several times, and always without success.
This failure proceeded from a cause that is seldom sufficiently
estimated by nautical gunners; the shot having swerved
from the line of sight, by the force of the wind against which
it flew, two or three hundred feet, by the time it had gone
the mile that lay between the vessels. Sir Gervaise anxiously
watched the effect of the fire, and perceiving that all the shot
fell to leeward of the Chloe, he was no longer uneasy about
that vessel, and he began to turn his attention to other and
more important concerns.
As we are now approaching a moment when it is necessary
that the reader should receive some tolerably distinct
impressions of the relative positions of the two entire fleets,
we shall close the present chapter, here; reserving the
duty of explanation for the commencement of a new one.
| CHAPTER VI. The two admirals | |