 | CHAPTER VIII. The two admirals |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there,)
Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery—
Their various arms that glitter in the air!”
Childe Harold.
The little conflict between the English ships and the head
of the French line, the evolutions that had grown out of it,
the crippling of le Foudroyant, and the continuance of the
gale, contributed to produce material changes in the relative
positions of the two fleets. All the English vessels kept their
stations with beautiful accuracy, still running to the southward
in a close line ahead, having the wind a trifle abaft
the beam, with their yards braced in. Under the circumstances,
it needed but some seven or eight minutes for these
ships to glide a mile through the troubled ocean, and this was
about the period the most exposed of them all had been
under the random and slow fire that the state of the weather
permitted. The trifling damages sustained were already
repaired, or in a way soon to be so. On the other hand,
considerable disorder prevailed among the French. Their
line had never been perfect, extending quite a league; a
few of the leading vessels, or those near the commander-in-chief,
sustaining each other as well as could be desired,
while long intervals existed between the ships astern.
Among the latter, too, as has been stated, some were much
farther to windward than the others; an irregularity that
proceeded from a desire of the comte to luff up as near as
possible to the enemy—a desire, which, practised on, necessarily
threw the least weatherly vessels to leeward. Thus
the two ships in the extreme rear, as has been hinted at
already, being jammed up unusually hard upon the wind,
had weathered materially on their consorts, while their way
through the water had been proportionably less. It was
these combined circumstances which brought them so far
astern and to windward.
At the time Sir Gervaise pointed out their positions to
mile to the westward of their nearest consort, and more than
that distance to the southward. When it is remembered
that the wind was nearly due west, and that all the French
vessels, these two excepted, were steering north, the relative
positions of the latter will be understood. Le Foudroyant,
too, had kept away, after the loss of her top-masts,
until fairly in the wake of the ships ahead of her, in her
own line, and, as the vessels had been running off with the
wind abeam, for several minutes, this manœuvre threw the
French still farther to leeward. To make the matter worse,
just as the Warspite drew out of the range of shot from the
French, M. de Vervillin showed a signal at the end of his
gaff, for his whole fleet to ware in succession; an order,
which, while it certainly had a gallant semblance, as it was
bringing his vessels round on the same tack as his enemy,
and looked like a defiance, was singularly adapted to restoring
to the latter all the advantage of the wind they had
lost by keeping away. As it was necessary to take room
to execute this evolution, in order to clear the ships that
were now crowded in the van, when le Téméraire came to
the wind again on the starboard tack, she was fully half a
mile to leeward of the admiral, who had just put his helm
up. As a matter of course, in order to form anew, with the
heads of the ships to the southward, each vessel had to get
into her leader's wake, which would be virtually throwing
the whole French line, again, two miles to leeward of the
English. Nevertheless, the stragglers in the rear of the
French continued to hug the wind, with a pertinacity that
denoted a resolution to have a brush with their enemies in
passing. The vessels were le Scipion and la Victoire, each
of seventy-four guns. The first of these ships was commanded
by a young man of very little professional experience,
but of high court influence; while the second had a
captain who, like old Parker, had worked his way up to his
present station, through great difficulties, and by dint of
hard knocks, and harder work. Unfortunately the first
ranked, and the humble capitaine de frégate, placed by
accident in command of a ship of the line, did not dare to
desert a capitaine de vaisseau, who had a duc for an elder
brother, and called himself comte. There was perhaps a
Comte de Chélincourt to incur the risk of passing so near
six vessels with only two, that might throw a veil over the
indiscretion; more especially as his own fleet was near
enough to support him in the event of any disaster, and it
was certainly possible that the loss of a material spar on
board either of his foes, might induce the capture of the
vessel. At all events, thus reasoned M. de Chélincourt;
who continued boldly on, with his larboard tacks aboard,
always hugging the wind, even after the Téméraire was
round; and M. Comptant chose to follow him in la Victoire.
The Plantagenet, by this time, being not a mile distant from
the Scipio, coming on with steady velocity, these intentions
and circumstances created every human probability that she
would soon be passing her weather beam, within a quarter
of a mile, and, consequently, that a cannonade, far more
serious than what had yet occurred, must follow. The few
intervening minutes gave Sir Gervaise time to throw a
glance around him, and to come to his final decision.
The English fleet was never in better line than at that
precise moment. The ships were as close to each other as
comported with safety, and every thing stood and drew as
in the trade winds. The leading French vessels were waring
and increasing their distance to leeward, and it would
require an hour for them to get up near enough to be at all
dangerous in such weather, while all the rest were following,
regardless of the two that continued their luff. The
Chloe had already got round, and, hugging the wind, was
actually coming up to windward of her own line, though
under a press of canvass that nearly buried her. The Active
and Driver were in their stations, as usual; one on the
weather beam, and the other on the weather bow; while the
Druid had got so near as to show her hull, closing fast,
with square yards.
“That is either a very bold, or a very obstinate fellow;
he, who commands the two ships ahead of us,” observed
Greenly, as he stood at the vice-admiral's side, and just as
the latter terminated his survey. “What object can he possibly
have in braving three times his force in a gale like
this?”
“If it were an Englishman, Greenly, we should call him
the loss of the ship, or compel us to engage double our force.
Do not blame him, but help me, rather, to disappoint him.
Now, listen, and see all done immediately.”
Sir Gervaise then explained to the captain what his intentions
really were, first ordering, himself, (a very unusual
course for one of his habits,) the first lieutenant, to keep the
ship off as much as practicable, without seeming to wish to
do so; but, as the orders will be explained incidentally, in
the course of the narrative, it is not necessary to give them
here. Greenly then went below, leaving Sir Gervaise,
Bunting, and their auxiliaries, in possession of the poop. A
private signal had been bent on some little time, and it was
now hoisted. In about five minutes it was read, understood,
and answered by all the ships of the fleet. Sir Gervaise
rubbed his hands like a man who was delighted, and he
beckoned to Bury, who had the trumpet on the quarter-deck,
to join him on the poop.
“Did Captain Greenly let you into our plot, Bury,” asked
the vice-admiral, in high good-humour, as soon as obeyed.
“I saw he spoke to you in going below?”
“He only told me, Sir Gervaise, to edge down upon the
Frenchmen as close as I could, and this we are doing, I
think, as fast as mounsheer”—Bury was an Anglo-Gallican
—“will at all like.”
“Ah! there old Parker sheers bravely to leeward! Trust
to him to be in the right place. The Carnatic went fifty
fathoms out of the line at that one twist. The Thunderer
and Warspite too! Never was a signal more beautifully
obeyed. If the Frenchmen don't take the alarm, now, everything
will be to our minds.”
By this time, Bury began to understand the manœuvre.
Each alternate ship of the English was sheering fast to leeward,
forming a weather and a lee line, with increased intervals
between the vessels, while all of them were edging
rapidly away, so as greatly to near the enemy. It was apparent
now, indeed, that the Plantagenet herself must pass
within a hundred fathoms of the Scipio, and that in less
than two minutes. The delay in issuing the orders for this
evolution was in favour of its success, inasmuch as it did
not give the enemy time for deliberation. The Comte de
foresee the consequences; though both were quite apparent
to the more experienced capitaine de frégate astern. It
was too late, or the latter would have signalled his superior
to put him on his guard; but, as things were, there remained
no alternative, apparently, but to run the gauntlet, and
trust all to the chances of battle.
In a moment like that we are describing, events occur
much more rapidly than they can be related. The Plantagenet
was now within pistol-shot of le Scipion, and on
her weather-bow. At that precise instant, when the bowguns,
on both sides, began to play, the Carnatic, then nearly
in a line with the enemy, made a rank sheer to leeward, and
drove on, opening in the very act with her weather-bow
guns. The Thunderer and Warspite imitated this manœuvre,
leaving the Frenchman the cheerless prospect of being
attacked on both sides. It is not to be concealed that M.
de Chélincourt was considerably disturbed by this sudden
change in his situation. That which, an instant before, had
the prospect of being a chivalrous, but extremely hazardous,
passage in front of a formidable enemy, now began to assume
the appearance of something very like destruction.
It was too late, however, to remedy the evil, and the young
Comte, as brave a man as existed, determined to face it
manfully. He had scarcely time to utter a few cheering
sentiments, in a dramatic manner, to those on the quarter-deck,
when the English flag-ship came sweeping past in a
cloud of smoke, and a blaze of fire. His own broadside
was nobly returned, or as much of it as the weather permitted,
but the smoke of both discharges was still driving
between his masts, when the dark hamper of the Carnatic
glided into the drifting canopy, which was made to whirl
back on the devoted Frenchman in another torrent of flame.
Three times was this fearful assault renewed on the Scipio,
at intervals of about a minute, the iron hurricane first coming
from to windward, and then seeming to be driven back
from to leeward, as by its own rebound, leaving no breathing
time to meet it. The effect was completely to silence
her own fire; for what between the power of the raging elements,
and the destruction of the shot, a species of wild and
blood-fraught confusion took the place of system and order.
the latter of whom was the Comte de Chélincourt, while orders
were given and countermanded in a way to render them
useless, if not incoherent. From the time when the Plantagenet
fired her first gun, to that when the Warspite fired
her last, was just five minutes by the watch. It seemed an
hour to the French, and but a moment to their enemies.
One hundred and eighty-two men and boys were included
in the casualties of those teeming moments on board the
Scipion alone; and when that ship issued slowly from the
scene of havoc, more by the velocity of her assailants in
passing than by her own, the foremast was all that stood,
the remainder of her spars dragging under her lee. To cut
the last adrift, and to run off nearly before the wind, in order
to save the spars forward, and to get within the cover
of her own fleet, was all that could now be done. It may
as well be said here, that these two objects were effected.
The Plantagenet had received damage from the fire of
her opponent. Some ten or fifteen men were killed and
wounded; her main-top-sail was split by a shot, from clew
to earing; one of the quarter-masters was carried from the
poop, literally dragged overboard by the sinews that connected
head and body; and several of the spars, with a
good deal of rigging, required to be looked to, on account
of injuries. But no one thought of these things, except as
they were connected with present and pressing duties. Sir
Gervaise got a sight of la Victoire, some hundred and
twenty fathoms ahead, just as the roar of the Carnatic's
guns was rushing upon his ears. The French commander
saw and understood the extreme jeopardy of his consort,
and he had already put his helm hard up.
“Starboard — starboard hard, Bury!” shouted Sir Gervaise
from the poop. “Damn him, run him aboard, if he
dare hold on long enough to meet us.”
The lieutenant signed with his hand that the order was
understood, and the helm being put up, the ship went whirling
off to leeward on the summit of a hill of foam. A cheer
was heard struggling in the tempest, and glancing over his
left shoulder, Sir Gervaise perceived the Carnatic shooting
out of the smoke, and imitating his own movement, by
making another and still ranker sheer to leeward. At the
to outstrip her antagonist, and maintain her station.
None but a prime seaman could have done such a thing so
steadily and so well, in the midst of the wild haste and confusion
of such a scene. Sir Gervaise, now not a hundred
yards from the Carnatic, waved high his hat in exultation
and praise; and old Parker, alone on his own poop, bared
his grey hairs in acknowledgment of the compliment. All
this time the two ships drove madly ahead, while the crash
and roar of the battle was heard astern.
The remaining French ship was well and nimbly handled.
As she came round she unavoidably sheered towards
her enemies, and Sir Gervaise found it necessary to countermand
his last order, and to come swiftly up to the wind,
both to avoid her raking broadside, and to prevent running
into his own consort. But the Carnatic, having a little
more room, first kept off, and then came to the wind again,
as soon as the Frenchman had fired, in a way to compel him
to haul up on the other tack, or to fall fairly aboard. Almost
at the same instant, the Plantagenet closed on his
weather quarter and raked. Parker had got abeam, and
pressing nearer, he compelled la Victoire to haul her bowlines,
bringing her completely between two fires. Spar went
after spar, and being left with nothing standing but the lower
masts, the Plantagenet and Carnatic could not prevent themselves
from passing their victim, though each shortened sail;
the first being already without a topsail. Their places, however,
were immediately supplied by the Achilles and the
Thunderer, both ships having hauled down their staysails
to lessen their way. As the Blenheim and Warspite were
quite near astern, and an eighteen-pound shot had closed
the earthly career of the poor capitaine de frégate, his successor
in command deemed it prudent to lower his ensign;
after a resistance that in its duration was unequal to the
promise of its commencement. Still the ship had suffered
materially, and had fifty of her crew among the casualties.
Of course, this submission terminated the combat, for the
moment.
Sir Gervaise Oakes had now leisure, and, as the smoke
soon cleared before the gale, opportunity, to look about him.
Most of the French ships had got round; but, besides being
himself to remain where he was, they would be at
very long gun-shot dead to leeward. To remain where he
was, however, formed no part of his plan, for he was fully
resolved to maintain all his advantages. The great difficulty
was to take possession of his prize, the sea running so high
as to render it questionable if a boat would live. Lord Morganic,
however, was just of an age and a temperament to
bring that question to a speedy issue. Being on the weather-beam
of la Victoire, as her flag came down, he ordered his
own first lieutenant into the larger cutter, and putting half-a-dozen
marines, with the proper crew, into the boat, it was
soon seen dangling in the air over the cauldron of the ocean;
the oars on-end. To lower, let go, and unhook, were the
acts of an instant; the oars fell, and the boat was swept
away to leeward. A commander's commission depended on
his success, and Daly made desperate efforts to obtain it.
The prize offered a lee, and the French, with a national benevolence,
courtesy, and magnanimity, that would scarcely
have been imitated had matters been reversed, threw ropes
to their conquerors, to help to rescue them from a very awkward
dilemma. The men did succeed in getting into the
prize; but the boat, in the end, was stove and lost.
The appearance of the red flag of England, the symbol
of his own professional rank, and worn by most under his
own orders, over the white ensign of France, was the sign
to Sir Gervaise that the prize-officer was in possession. He
immediately made the signal for the fleet to follow the motions
of the commander-in-chief. By this time, his own
mainsail, close-reefed, had taken the place of the torn topsail,
and the Plantagenet led off to the southward again, as
if nothing unusual had occurred. Daly had a quarter of an
hour of extreme exertion on board the prize, before he could
get her fairly in motion as he desired; but, by dint of using
the axe freely, he cut the wreck adrift, and soon had la Victoire
liberated from that incumbrance. The fore-sail and
fore and mizzen staysails were on the ship, and the mainsail,
close-reefed also, was about to be set, to drag her from the
mêlée of her foes, when her ensign came down. By getting
the tack of the latter aboard, and the sheet aft, he would have
all the canvass set the gale would allow, and to this all-essential
of a two-decked ship, in a gale of wind, or what fell
little short of a real gale, was not to be undertaken with
twenty men, the extent of Daly's command; and he had
recourse to the assistance of his enemies. A good-natured,
facetious Irishman, himself, with a smattering of French, he
soon got forty or fifty of the prisoners in a sufficient humour
to lend their aid, and the sail was set, though not without
great risk of its splitting. From this moment, la Victoire
was better off, as respected the gale and keeping a weatherly
position, than any of the English ships; inasmuch as she
could carry all the canvass the wind permitted, while she
was relieved from the drift inseparable from much hamper
aloft. The effect, indeed, was visible in the first hour, to
Daly's great delight and exultation. At the end of that
period, he found himself quite a cable's-length to windward
of the line, and this simply because he had not made the
customary set to leeward. But in relating this last particular,
events have been a little anticipated.
Greenly, who had gone below to attend to the batteries,
which were not worked without great difficulty in so heavy
a sea, and to be in readiness to open the lower ports should
occasion offer, reappeared on deck just as the commander-in-chief
showed the signal for the ships to follow his own
motions. The line was soon formed, as mentioned, and ere
long it became apparent that the prize could easily keep in
her station. As most of the day was still before him, Sir
Gervaise had little doubt of being able to secure the latter,
ere night should come to render it indispensable.
The vice-admiral and his captain shook hands cordially
on the poop, and the former pointed out to the latter, with
honest exultation, the result of his own bold manœuvres.
“We 've clipped the wings of two of them,” added Sir
Gervaise, “and have fairly bagged a third, my good friend;
and, God willing, when Bluewater joins, there will not be
much difficulty with the remainder. I cannot see that any
of our vessels have suffered much, and I set them all down
as sound. There 's been time for a signal of inability, that
curse to an admiral's evolutions, but no one seems disposed
to make it. If we really escape that nuisance, it will be the
first instance in my life!”
“Half-a-dozen yards may be crippled, and no one the
worse for it, in this heavy weather. Were we under a press
of canvass, it would be a different matter; but, now, so long
as the main sticks stand, we shall probably do well enough.
I can find no injury in my own ship that may not be remedied
at sea.”
“And she has had the worst of it. 'T was a decided
thing, Greenly, to engage such an odds in a gale; but we
owe our success, most probably, to the audacity of the
attack. Had the enemy believed it possible, it is probable
he would have frustrated it. Well, Master Galleygo, I 'm
glad to see you unhurt! What is your pleasure?”
“Why, Sir Jarvy, I 've two opportunities, as a body
might say, on the poop, just now. One is to shake hands,
as we always does a'ter a a brush, you knows, sir, and to look
a'ter each other's health; and the other is to report a misfortin
that will bear hard on this day's dinner. You see,
Sir Jarvy, I had the dead poultry slung in a net, over the
live stock, to be out of harm's way; well, sir, a shot cut the
lanyard, and let all the chickens down by the run, in among
the gun-room grunters; and as they never half feeds them
hanimals, there isn't as much left of the birds as would
make a meal for a sick young gentleman. To my notion,
no one ought to have live stock but the commanders-in-chief.”
“To the devil with you and the stock! Give me a shake
of the hand, and back into your top—how came you, sir, to
quit your quarters without leave?”
“I didn't, Sir Jarvy. Seeing how things was a going
on, among the pigs, for our top hoverlooks the awful scene,
I axed the young gentleman to let me come down to condole
with your honour; and as they always lets me do as
I axes, in such matters, why down I come. We has had
one rattler in at our top, howsever, that came nigh to clear
us all out on it!”
“Is any spar injured?” asked Sir Gervaise, quickly.
“This must be looked to — hey! Greenly?”
“Not to signify, your honour; not to signify. One of
them French eighteens aboard the prize just cocked its nose
up, as the ship lurched, and let fly a round 'un and a grist
of grape, right into our faces. I see'd it coming and sung
time, and the round 'un cleared everything, but a handful
of the marbles are planted in the head of the mast, making
the spar look like a plum-pudding, or a fellow with the
small-pox.”
“Enough of this. You are excused from returning to
the top;—and, Greenly, beat the retreat. Bunting, show
the signal for the retreat from quarters. Let the ships pipe
to breakfast, if they will.”
This order affords a fair picture of the strange admixture
of feelings and employments that characterize the ordinary
life of a ship. At one moment, its inmates find themselves
engaged in scenes of wild magnificence and fierce confusion,
while at the next they revert to the most familiar duties of
humanity. The crews of the whole fleet now retired from
the guns, and immediately after they were seated around
their kids, indulging ravenously in the food for which the
exercise of the morning had given keen appetites. Still
there was something of the sternness of battle in the merriment
of this meal, and the few jokes that passed were seasoned
with a bitterness that is not usual among the light-hearted
followers of the sea. Here and there, a mess-mate
was missed, and the vacancy produced some quaint and
even pathetic allusion to his habits, or to the manner in
which he met his death; seamen usually treating the ravages
of this great enemy of the race, after the blow has been
struck, with as much solemnity and even tenderness, as
they regard his approaches with levity. It is when spared
themselves, that they most regard the destruction of battle.
A man's standing in a ship, too, carries great weight with
it, at such times; the loss of the quarter-master, in particular,
being much regretted in the Plantagenet. This man
messed with a portion of the petty officers, a set of men
altogether more thoughtful and grave than the body of the
crew; and who met, when they assembled around their
mess-chest, that morning, with a sobriety and even sternness
of mien, that showed how much in the management
of the vessel had depended on their individual exertions.
Several minutes elapsed in the particular mess of the dead
man, before a word was spoken; all eating with appetites
that were of proof, but no one breaking the silence. At
generally led the discourse, said in a sort of half-inquiring,
half-regretting, way —
“I suppose there 's no great use in asking why Jack
Glass's spoon is idle, this morning. They says, them fore-castle
chaps, that they see'd his body streaming out over
the starboard quarter, as if it had been the fly of one of his
own ensigns. How was it, Ned? you was thereaway, and
ought to know all about it.”
“To be sure I does,” said Ned, who was Bunting's remaining
assistant. “I was there, as you says, and see'd as
much of it as a man can see of what passes between a poor
fellow and a shot, when they comes together, and that not
in a very loving manner. It happened just as we come up
on the weather beam of that first chap—him as we winged
so handsomely among us. Well, Sir Jarvy had clapped a
stopper on the signals, seeing as we had got fairly into the
smoke, and Jack and I was a looking about us for the muskets,
not knowing but a chance might turn up to chuck a
little lead into some of the parly-woods; and so says Jack,
says he, `Ned, you 's got my musket; — (as I had, sure
enough) — and says he, `Ned, you 's got my musket; but
no matter arter all, as they 're much of a muchness.' So
when he 'd said this, he lets fly; but whether he hit anybody,
is more than I can say. If he did, 'twas likely a
Frenchman, as he shot that-a-way. `Now,' says Jack, says
he, `Ned, as this is your musket, you can load it, and hand
over mine, and I 'll sheet home another of the b—s. Well,
at that moment the Frenchman lifted for'ard, on a heavy
swell, and let drive at us, with all his forecastle guns, fired
as it might be with one priming—”
“That was bad gunnery,” growled Tom Sponge, “as it
racks a ship woundily.”
“Yes, they'se no judgment in ships in general. Well,
them French twelves are spiteful guns; and a little afore
they fired, it seemed to me I heard something give Jack a
rap on the cheek, that sounded as if a fellow's ear was boxed
with a clap of thunder. I looked up, and there was Jack
streaming out like the fly of the ensign, head foremost, with
the body towing after it by strings in the neck.”
“I thought when a fellow's head was shot off,” put in
was left in the ship while only the truck went!”
“That comes of not seeing them things, Ben,” rejoined
the eye-witness. “A fellow's head is stayed in its berth
just like a ship's mast. There 's for'ard and back-stays,
and shrouds, all 's one as aboard here; the only difference
is that the lanyards are a little looser, so as to give a man
more play for his head, than it might be safe to give to a
mast. When a fellow makes a bow, why he only comes
up a little aft, and bowses on the fore-stay, and now and
then you falls in with a chap that is stayed altogether too
far for'ard, or who 's got a list perhaps from having the
shrouds set up too taut to port, or to starboard.”
“That sounds reasonable,” put in the quarter-gunner,
gravely; “I 've seen such droggers myself.”
“If you 'd been on the poop an hour or too ago, you 'd
ha' seen more on it! Now, there 's all our marines, their
back-stays have had a fresh pull since they were launched,
and, as for their captain, I 'll warrant you, he had a luff
upon luff!”
“I 've heard the carpenter overhauling them matters,”
remarked Sam Wad, another quarter-gunner, “and he
chalked it all out by the square and compass. It seems
reasonable, too.”
“If you 'd seen Jack's head dragging his body overboard
just like the Frenchman dragging his wreck under his lee,
you'd ha' thought it reasonable. What 's a fellow's shoulders
for, but to give a spread to his shrouds, which lead
down the neck and are set up under the arms somewhere.
They says a great deal about the heart, and I reckons it 's
likely everything is key'd there.”
“Hearkee, Ned,” observed a quarter-master, who knew
little more than the mess generally, “if what you say is
true, why don't these shrouds lead straight from the head to
the shoulders, instead of being all tucked up under a skin
in the neck? Answer me that, now.”
“Who the devil ever saw a ship's shrouds that wasn't
cat-harpened in!” exclaimed Ned, with some heat. “A
pretty hand a wife would make of it, in putting her arms
around a fellow's neck if the rigging spread in the way you
a chap's keel 's laid.”
This last argument seemed to dispose of the matter, the
discourse gradually turning on, and confining itself to the
merits of the deceased.
Sir Gervaise had directed Galleygo to prepare his breakfast
as soon as the people were piped to their own; but he
was still detained on deck in consequence of a movement in
one of his vessels, to which it has now become necessary
more particularly to recur.
The appearance of the Druid to the northward, early in
the morning, will doubtless be remembered by the reader.
When near enough to have it made out, this frigate had
shown her number; after which she rested satisfied with
carrying sail much harder than any vessel in sight. When
the fleets engaged, she made an effort to set the fore-top-sail,
close-reefed, but several of the critics in the other ships,
who occasionally noticed her movements, fancied that some
accident must have befallen her, as the canvass was soon
taken in, and she appeared disposed to remain content with
the sail carried when first seen. As this ship was materially
to windward of the line, and she was running the whole
time a little free, her velocity was much greater than that
of the other vessels, and by this time she had got so near
that Sir Gervaise observed she was fairly abeam of the
Plantagenet, and a little to leeward of the Active. Of course
her hull, even to the bottom, as she rose on a sea, was
plainly visible, and such of her people as were in the tops
and rigging could be easily distinguished by the naked eye.
“The Druid must have some communication for us from
the other division of the fleet,” observed the vice-admiral to
his signal-officer, as they stood watching the movements of
the frigate; “it is a little extraordinary Blewet does not signal!
Look at the book, and find me a question to put that
will ask his errand?”
Bunting was in the act of turning over the leaves of his
little vocabulary of questions and answers, when three or
four dark balls, that Sir Gervaise, by the aid of the glass,
saw suspended between the frigate's masts, opened into flags,
effectually proving that Blewet was not absolutely asleep.
“Four hundred and sixteen, ordinary communication,”
“Look up that, Bunting, and let us know what it means.”
“The commander-in-chief — wish to speak him!” read
Bunting, in the customary formal manner in which he announced
the purport of a signal.
“Very well—answer; then make the Druid's number
to come within hail! The fellow has got cloth enough spread
to travel two feet to our one; let him edge away and come
under our lee. Speaking will be rather close work to-day.”
“I doubt if a ship can come near enough to make herself
heard,” returned the other, “though the second lieutenant
of that ship never uses a trumpet in the heaviest weather,
they tell me, sir. Our gents say his father was a
town-crier, and that he has inherited the family estate.”
“Ay, our gents are a set of saucy fellows, as is usually
the case when there isn't work enough aboard.”
“You should make a little allowance, Sir Gervaise, for
being in the ship of a successful commander-in-chief. That
makes us all carry weather-helms among the other messes.”
“Up with your signal, sir; up with your signal. I shall
be obliged to order Greenly to put you upon watch-and-watch
for a month, in order to bring you down to the old
level of manners.”
“Signal answered, already, Sir Gervaise. By the way,
sir, I 'll thank you to request Captain Greenly to give me
another quarter-master. It 's nimble work for us, when
there is anything serious to do.”
“You shall have him, Bunting,” returned the vice-admiral,
a shade passing over his face for the moment.
“I had missed poor Jack Glass, and from seeing a spot
of blood on the poop, guessed his fate. I fancied, indeed, I
heard a shot strike something behind me.”
“It struck the poor fellow's head, sir, and made a noise
as if a butcher were felling an ox.”
“Well—well—let us try to forget it, until something can
be done for his son, who is one of the side boys. Ah!
there 's Blewet keeping away in earnest. How the deuce he
is to speak us, however, is more than I can tell.”
Sir Gervaise now sent a message to his captain to say
that he desired his presence. Greenly soon appeared, and
was made acquainted with the intention of the Druid, as
the rent main-top-sail was mended, and the captain suggested
it should be set again, close-reefed, as before, and that the
mainsail should be taken in. This would lessen the Plantagenet's
way, which ship was sensibly drawing ahead of her
consorts. Sir Gervaise assenting, the change was made,
and the effects were soon apparent, not only in the movement
of the ship, but in her greater ease and steadiness of
motion.
It was not long before the Druid was within a hundred
fathoms of the flag-ship, on her weather-quarter, shoving
the bring before her in a way to denote a fearful momentum.
It was evidently the intention of Captain Blewet to cross the
Plantagenet's stern, and to luff up under her lee-quarter; the
safest point at which he could approach, in so heavy a swell,
provided it were done with discretion. Captain Blewet had
a reputation for handling his frigate like a boat, and the occasion
was one which would be likely to awaken all his
desire to sustain the character he had already earned. Still
no one could imagine how he was to come near enough to
make a communication of any length. The stentorian lungs
of the second lieutenant, however, might effect it; and, as
the news of the expected hail passed through the ship, many
who had remained below, in apathy, while the enemy was
close under their lee, came on deck, curious to witness what
was about to pass.
“Hey! Atwood?” exclaimed Sir Gervaise, for the little
excitement had brought the secretary up from the commander-in-chief's
cabin;—“what is Blewet at? The fellow
cannot mean to set a studding-sail!”
“He is running out a boom, nevertheless, Sir Gervaise,
or my thirty years' experience of nautical things have been
thrown away.”
“He is truly rigging out his weather fore-topmast-studding-sail-boom,
sir!” added Greenly, in a tone of wonder.
“It is out,” rejoined the vice-admiral, as one would give
emphasis to the report of a calamity. “Hey!—what? Isn't
that a man they 're running up to the end of it, Bunting?
Level your glass, and let us know at once.”
“A glass is not necessary to make out that much, Sir
at the boom-end, as if sentenced by a general court-martial.”
Sir Gervaise now suppressed every expression of surprise,
and his reserve was imitated, quite as a matter of course, by
the twenty officers, who, by this time, had assembled on the
poop. The Druid, keeping away, approached rapidly, and
had soon crossed the flag-ship's wake. Here she came by
the wind, and favoured by the momentum with which she
had come down, and the addition of the mainsail, drew
heavily but steadily up on her lee-quarter. Both vessels
being close-hauled, it was not difficult steering; and by
watching the helms closely, it would have been possible,
perhaps, notwithstanding the heavy sea, to have brought the
two hulls within ten yards of each other, and no harm should
come of it. This was nearer, however, than it was necessary
to approach; the studding-sail-boom, with the man
suspended on the end of it, projecting twice that distance
beyond the vessel's bows. Still it was nice work; and
while yet some thirty or forty feet from the perpendicular,
the man on the boom-end made a sign for attention, swung
a coil of line he held, and when he saw hands raised to
catch it, he made a cast. A lieutenant caught the rope, and
instantly hauled in the slack. As the object was now understood,
a dozen others laid hold of the line, and, at a common
signal, when those on board the Plantagenet hauled in
strongly, the people of the Druid lowered away. By this
simple, but united movement, the man descended obliquely,
leaping out of the bowline in which he had sat, and casting
the whip adrift. Shaking himself to gain his footing, he
raised his cap and bowed to Sir Gervaise, who now saw
Wycherly Wychecombe on his poop.
| CHAPTER VIII. The two admirals | |