 | CHAPTER XII. The two admirals |  |
12. CHAPTER XII.
In those bright days of glory fled,
When triumph so prevailed o'er grief,
We scarce would mourn the dead.”
Mrs. Hemans.
The eventful day opened with most of the glories of a
summer's morning. The wind alone prevented it from being
one of the finest sun-risings of July. That continued fresh,
at north-west, and, consequently, cool for the season. The
seas of the south-west gale had entirely subsided, and were
already succeeded by the regular but comparatively trifling
swell of the new breeze. For large ships, it might be called
smooth water; though the Driver and Active showed by
their pitching and unsteadiness, and even the two-deckers,
by their waving masts, that the unquiet ocean was yet in
motion. The wind seemed likely to stand, and was what
seamen would be apt to call a good six-knot breeze.
To leeward, still distant about a league, lay the French
vessels, drawn up in beautiful array, and in an order so
close and a line so regular, as to induce the belief that M.
de Vervillin had made his dispositions to receive the expected
attack, in his present position. All his main-top-sails lay
flat aback; the top-gallant-sails were flying loose, but with
buntlings and clew-lines hauled up; the jibs were fluttering
to leeward of their booms, and the courses were hanging in
festoons beneath their yards. This was gallant fighting-canvass,
and it excited the admiration of even his enemies.
To increase this feeling, just as Sir Gervaise's foot reached
the poop, the whole French line displayed their ensigns, and
le Foudroyant fired a gun to windward.
“Hey! Greenly?” exclaimed the English commander-in-chief;
“this is a manly defiance, and coming from M. de
Vervillin, it means something! He wishes to take the day
for it; though, as I think half that time will answer, we will
wash up the cups before we go at it. Make the signals,
Bunting, for the ships to heave-to, and then to get their
breeze, Greenly, and all we want!”
Five minutes later, while Sir Gervaise was running his
eye over the signal-book, the Plantagenet's calls were piping
the people to their morning meal, at least an hour earlier
than common; the people repaired to their messes, with a
sort of stern joy; every man in the ship understanding the
reason of a summons so unusual. The calls of the vessels
astern were heard soon after, and one of the officers who
was watching the enemy with a glass, reported that he
thought the French were breakfasting, also. Orders being
given to the officers to employ the next half hour in the
same manner, nearly everybody was soon engaged in eating;
few thinking that the meal might probably be their last. Sir
Gervaise felt a concern, which he succeeded in concealing,
however, at the circumstance that the ships to windward
made no more sail; though he refrained from signalling the
rear-admiral to that effect, from tenderness to his friend, and
a vague apprehension of what might be the consequences.
While the crews were eating, he stood gazing, thoughtfully,
at the noble spectacle the enemy offered, to leeward, occasionally
turning wistful glances at the division that was constantly
drawing nearer to windward. At length Greenly,
himself, reported that the Plantagenet had “turned the
hands-to,” again. At this intelligence, Sir Gervaise started,
as from a reverie, smiled, and spoke. We will here remark,
that now, as on the previous day, all the natural excitability
of manner had disappeared from the commander-in-chief,
and he was quiet, and exceedingly gentle in his deportment.
This, all who knew him, understood to denote a serious determination
to engage.
“I have desired Galleygo to set my little table, half an
hour hence, in the after-cabin, Greenly, and you will share
the meal with me. Sir Wycherly will be of our party, and
I hope it will not be the last time we may meet at the same
board. It is necessary everything should be in fighting-order
to-day!”
“So I understand it, Sir Gervaise. We are ready to
begin, as soon as the order shall be received.”
“Wait one moment until Bunting comes up from his
breakfast. Ah! here he is, and we are quite ready for him,
Bunting; for the day advances.”
The little flags were fluttering at the main-top-gallant-mast-head
of the Plantagenet in less than one minute, and in
another it was repeated by the Chloe, Driver, and Active,
all of which were lying-to, a quarter of a mile to windward,
charged in particular with this, among other duties. So
well was this signal known, that not a book in the fleet was
consulted, but all the ships answered, the instant the flags
could be seen and understood. Then the shrill whistles
were heard along the line, calling “All hands” to “clear
ship for action, ahoy!”
No sooner was this order given in the Plantagenet, than
the ship became a scene of active but orderly exertion. The
top-men were on the yards, stoppering, swinging the yards
in chains, and lashing, in order to prevent shot from doing
more injury than was unavoidable; bulwarks were knocked
down; mess-chests, bags, and all other domestic appliances,
disappeared below,[1]
and the decks were cleared of every
thing which could be removed, and which would not be necessary
in an engagement. Fully a quarter of an hour was
thus occupied, for there was no haste, and as it was no moment
of mere parade, it was necessary that the work should
be effectually done. The officers forbade haste, and nothing
important was reported as effected, that some one in authority
did not examine with his own eyes, to see that no proper
care had been neglected. Then Mr. Bury, the first lieutenant,
went on the main-yard, in person, to look at the
manner in which it had been slung, while he sent the boatswain
up forward, on the same errand. These were unusual
precautions, but the word had passed through the ship
“that Sir Jarvy was in earnest;” and whenever it was
known that “Sir Jarvy” was in such a humour, every one
understood that the day's work was to be hard, if not long.
“Our breakfast is ready, Sir Jarvy,” reported Galleygo,
“and as the decks is all clear, the b'ys can make a clean
serve it, your honour.”
“Serve it now, my good fellow. Tell the Bowlderos to
be nimble, and expect us below. Come, Greenly—come,
Wychecombe—we are the last to eat—let us not be the last
at our stations.”
“Ship 's clear, sir,” reported Bury to his captain, as the
three reached the quarter-deck, on their way to the cabin.
“Very well, Bury; when the fleet is signalled to go to
quarters, we will obey with the rest.”
As this was said, Greenly looked at the vice-admiral to
catch his wishes. But Sir Gervaise had no intention of
fatiguing his people unnecessarily. He had left his private
orders with Bunting, and he passed down without an answer
or a glance. The arrangements in the after-cabin were as
snug and as comfortable as if the breakfast-table had been
set in a private house, and the trio took their seats and commenced
operations with hearty good will. The vice-admiral
ordered the doors thrown open, and as the port-lids were up,
from the place where he sat he could command glimpses,
both to leeward and to windward, that included a view of
the enemy, as well as one of his own expected reinforcements.
The Bowlderos were in full livery, and more active
and attentive than usual even. Their station in battle—for
no man on board a vessel of war is an “idler” in a combat
—was on the poop, as musketeers, near the person of their
master, whose colours they wore, under the ensign of their
prince, like vassals of an ancient baron. Notwithstanding
the crisis of the morning, however, these men performed
their customary functions with the precision and method of
English menials, omitting no luxury or usage of the table.
On a sofa behind the table, was spread the full dress-coat
of a vice-admiral, then a neat but plain uniform, without
either lace or epaulettes, but decorated with a rich star in
brilliants, the emblem of the order of the Bath. This coat
Sir Gervaise always wore in battle, unless the weather rendered
a “storm-uniform,” as he used to term a plainer
attire, necessary.
The breakfast passed off pleasantly, the gentlemen eating
as if no momentous events were near. Just at its close,
however, Sir Gervaise leaned forward, and looking through
of pleasure illuminated his countenance, as he said —
“Ah! there go Bluewater's signals, at last! — a certain
proof that he is about to put himself in communication with
us.”
“I have been a good deal surprised, sir,” observed Greenly,
a little drily, though with great respect of manner, “that
you have not ordered the rear-admiral to make more sail.
He is jogging along like a heavy wagon, and yet I hardly
think he can mistake these five ships for Frenchmen!”
“He is never in a hurry, and no doubt wishes to let his
crews breakfast, before he closes. I 'll warrant ye, now,
gentlemen, that his ships are at this moment all as clear as
a church five minutes after the blessing has been pronounced.”
“It will not be one of our Virginian churches, then, Sir
Gervaise,” observed Wycherly, smiling; “they serve for an
exchange, to give and receive news in, after the service is
over.”
“Ay, that 's the old rule — first pray, and then gossip.
Well, Bunting, what does the rear-admiral say?”
“Upon my word, Sir Gervaise, I can make nothing of
the signal, though it is easy enough to make out the flags,”
answered the puzzled signal-officer. “Will you have the
goodness to look at the book yourself, sir. The number is
one hundred and forty.”
“One hundred and forty! Why, that must have something
to do with anchoring! — ay, here it is. `Anchor, I
cannot, having lost my cables.' Who the devil asked him
to anchor?”
“That 's just it, sir. The signal-officer on board the
Cæsar must have made some mistake in his flags; for,
though the distance is considerable, our glasses are good
enough to read them.”
“Perhaps Admiral Bluewater has set the private, personal,
telegraph at work, sir,” quietly observed Greenly.
The commander-in-chief actually changed colour at this
suggestion. His face, at first, flushed to crimson; then it
became pale, like the countenance of one who suffered under
acute bodily pain. Wycherly observed this, and respectfully
inquired if Sir Gervaise were ill.
“I thank you, young sir,” answered the vice-admiral,
smiling painfully; “it is over. I believe I shall have to go
into dock, and let Magrath look at some of my old hurts,
which are sometimes troublesome. Mr. Bunting, do me the
favour to go on deck, and ascertain, by a careful examination,
if a short red pennant be not set some ten or twelve
feet above the uppermost flag. Now, Greenly, we will take
the other cup of tea, for there is plenty of leisure.”
Two or three brooding minutes followed. Then Bunting
returned to say the pennant was there, a fact he had quite
overlooked in his former observations, confounding the narrow
flag in question with the regular pennant of the king.
This short red pennant denoted that the communication was
verbal, according to a method invented by Bluewater himself,
and by means of which, using the ordinary numbers,
he was enabled to communicate with his friend, without any
of the captains, or, indeed, without Sir Gervaise's own signal-officer's
knowing what was said. In a word, without
having recourse to any new flags, but, by simply giving
new numbers to the old ones, and referring to a prepared
dictionary, it was possible to hold a conversation in sentences,
that should be a secret to all but themselves. Sir
Gervaise took down the number of the signal that was flying,
and then he directed Bunting to show the answering
flag, with a similar pennant over it, and to continue this
operation so long as the rear-admiral might make his signals.
The numbers were to be sent below as fast as received.
As soon as Bunting disappeared, the vice-admiral
unlocked a secretary, the key of which was never out of his
own possession, took from it a small dictionary, and laid it by
his plate. All this time the breakfast proceeded, signals of
this nature frequently occurring between the two admirals.
In the course of the next ten minutes, a quarter-master
brought below a succession of numbers written on small
pieces of paper; after which Bunting appeared himself to
say that the Cæsar had stopped signalling.
Sir Gervaise now looked out each word by its proper
number, and wrote it down with his pencil as he proceeded,
until the whole read—“God sake—make no signal. Engage
not.” No sooner was the communication understood,
than the paper was torn into minute fragments, the book
countenance to Greenly, ordered him to beat to quarters
as soon as Bunting could show a signal to the fleet to
the same effect. On this hint, all but the vice-admiral went
on deck, and the Bowlderos instantly set about removing the
table and all the other appliances. Finding himself annoyed
by the movements of the servants, Sir Gervaise walked
out into the great cabin, which, regardless of its present
condition, he began to pace as was his wont when lost
in thought. The bulk-heads being down, and the furniture
removed, this was in truth walking in sight of the crew.
All who happened to be on the main-deck could see what
passed, though no one presumed to enter a spot that was
tabooed to vulgar feet, even when thus exposed. The aspect
and manner of “Sir Jarvy,” however, were not overlooked,
and the men prognosticated a serious time.
Such was the state of things, when the drums beat to
quarters, throughout the whole line. At the first tap, the
great cabin sunk to the level of an ordinary battery; the
seamen of two guns, with the proper officers, entering within
the sacred limits, and coolly setting about clearing their
pieces, and making the other preparations necessary for an
action. All this time Sir Gervaise continued pacing what
would have been the centre of his own cabin had the bulk-heads
stood, the grim-looking sailors avoiding him with
great dexterity, and invariably touching their hats as they
were compelled to glide near his person, though everything
went on as if he were not present. Sir Gervaise might have
remained lost in thought much longer than he did, had not
the report of a gun recalled him to a consciousness of the
scene that was enacting around him.
“What 's that?” suddenly demanded the vice-admiral—
“Is Bluewater signalling again?”
“No, Sir Gervaise,” answered the fourth lieutenant,
looking out of a lee port; “it is the French admiral giving
us another weather-gun; as much as to ask why we don't
go down. This is the second compliment of the same sort
that he has paid us already to-day!”
These words were not all spoken before the vice-admiral
was on the quarter-deck; in half a minute more, he was on
the poop. Here he found Greenly, Wychecombe and Bunting,
enemy.
“Monsieur de Vervillin is impatient to wipe off the disgrace
of yesterday,” observed the first, “as is apparent by
the invitations he gives us to come down. I presume Admiral
Bluewater will wake up at this last hint.”
“By Heaven, he has hauled his wind, and is standing to
the northward and eastward!” exclaimed Sir Gervaise, surprise
overcoming all his discretion. “Although an extraordinary
movement, at such a time, it is wonderful in what
beautiful order Bluewater keeps his ships!”
All that was said was true enough. The rear-admiral's
division having suddenly hauled up, in a close line ahead,
each ship followed her leader as mechanically as if they
moved by a common impulse. As no one in the least doubted
the rear-admiral's loyalty, and his courage was of proof,
it was the general opinion that this unusual manœuvre had
some connection with the unintelligible signals, and the
young officers laughingly inquired among themselves what
“Sir Jarvy was likely to do next?”
It would seem, however, that Monsieur de Vervillin suspected
a repetition of some of the scenes of the preceding
day; for, no sooner did he perceive that the English rear
was hugging the wind, than five of his leading ships filled,
and drew ahead, as if to meet that division, manœuvring to
double on the head of his line; while the remaining five,
with the Foudroyant, still lay with their top-sails to the
mast, waiting for their enemy to come down. Sir Gervaise
could not stand this long. He determined, if possible, to
bring Bluewater to terms, and he ordered the Plantagenet to
fill. Followed by his own division, he wore immediately,
and went off under easy sail, quartering, towards Monsieur
de Vervillin's rear, to avoid being raked.
The quarter of an hour that succeeded was one of intense
interest, and of material changes; though not a shot was
fired. As soon as the Comte de Vervillin perceived that
the English were disposed to come nearer, he signalled his
own division to bear up, and to run off dead before the wind,
under their top-sails, commencing astern; which reversed
his order of sailing, and brought le Foudroyant in the rear,
or nearest to the enemy. This was no sooner done, than
mistaking this manœuvre. It was a direct invitation to Sir
Gervaise to come down, fairly alongside; the bearing up at
once removing all risk of being raked in so doing. The
English commander-in-chief was not a man to neglect such
a palpable challenge; but, making a few signals to direct
the mode of attack he contemplated, he set foresail and main-top-gallant
sail, and brought the wind directly over his own
taffrail. The vessels astern followed like clock-work, and
then no one doubted that the mode of attack was settled for
that day.
As the French, with Monsieur de Vervillin, were still half
a mile to the southward and eastward of the approaching
division of their enemy, the Comte collected all his frigates
and corvettes on his starboard hand, leaving a clear approach
to Sir Gervaise on his larboard beam. This hint
was understood, too, and the Plantagenet steered a course
that would bring her up on that side of le Foudroyant, and
at the distance of about one hundred yards from the muzzles
of her guns. This threatened to be close work, and
unusual work in fleets, at that day; but it was the game our
commander-in-chief was fond of playing, and it was one,
also, that promised soonest to bring matters to a result.
These preliminaries arranged, there was yet leisure for
the respective commanders to look about them. The French
were still fully a mile ahead of their enemies, and as both
fleets were going in the same direction, the approach of the
English was so slow as to leave some twenty minutes of
that solemn breathing time, which reigns in a disciplined
ship, previous to the commencement of the combat. The
feelings of the two commanders-in-chief, at this pregnant instant,
were singularly in contradiction to each other. The
Comte de Vervillin saw that the rear division of his force,
under the Contre-Amiral le Vicomte des Prez, was in the
very position he desired it to be, having obtained the advantage
of the wind by the English division's coming down,
and by keeping its own luff. Between the two French officers
there was a perfect understanding as to the course each
was to take, and both now felt sanguine hopes of being
able to obliterate the disgrace of the previous day, and that,
incurred. On the other hand, Sir Gervaise was beset with
doubts as to the course Bluewater might pursue. He could
not, however, come to the conclusion that he would abandon
him to the joint efforts of the two hostile divisions; and so
long as the French rear-admiral was occupied by the English
force to windward, it left to himself a clear field and no
favour in the action with Monsieur de Vervillin. He knew
Bluewater's generous nature too well, not to feel certain his
own compliance with the request not to signal his inferior
would touch his heart, and give him a double chance with
all his better feelings. Nevertheless, Sir Gervaise Oakes did
not lead into this action without many and painful misgivings.
He had lived too long in the world not to know that
political prejudice was the most demoralizing of all our
weaknesses, veiling our private vices under the plausible
concealment of the public weal, and rendering even the well-disposed
insensible to the wrongs they commit to individuals,
by means of the deceptive flattery of serving the community.
As doubt was more painful than the certainty of his
worst forebodings, however, and it was not in his nature to
refuse a combat so fairly offered, he was resolved to close
with the Comte at every hazard, trusting the issue to God,
and his own efforts.
The Plantagenet presented an eloquent picture of order
and preparation, as she drew near the French line, on this
memorable occasion. Her people were all at quarters, and,
as Greenly walked through her batteries, he found every
gun on the starboard side loose, levelled, and ready to be
fired; while the opposite merely required a turn or two of
the tackles to be cast loose, the priming to be applied, and
the loggerhead to follow, in order to be discharged, also.
A death-like stillness reigned from the poop to the cockpit,
the older seamen occasionally glancing through their ports
in order to ascertain the relative positions of the two fleets,
that they might be ready for the collision. As the English
got within musket-shot, the French ran their topsails to the
mast-heads, and their ships gathered fresher way through
the water. Still the former moved with the greatest velocity,
carrying the most sail, and impelled by the greater momentum.
the order to reduce the canvass of his own ship.
“That will do, Greenly,” he said, in a mild, quiet tone.
“Let run the top-gallant-halyards, and haul up the foresail.
The way you have, will bring you fairly alongside.”
The captain gave the necessary orders, and the master
shortened sail accordingly. Still the Plantagenet shot ahead,
and, in three or four minutes more, her bows doubled so
far on le Foudroyant's quarter, as to permit a gun to bear.
This was the signal for both sides, each ship opening as it
might be in the same breath. The flash, the roar, and the
eddying smoke followed in quick succession, and in a period
of time that seemed nearly instantaneous. The crash of
shot, and the shrieks of wounded mingled with the infernal
din, for nature extorts painful concessions of human weaknesses,
at such moments, even from the bravest and firmest.
Bunting was in the act of reporting to Sir Gervaise that no
signal could yet be seen from the Cæsar, in the midst of this
uproar, when a small round-shot discharged from the Frenchman's
poop, passed through his body, literally driving the
heart before it, leaving him dead at his commander's feet.
“I shall depend on you, Sir Wycherly, for the discharge
of poor Bunting's duty, the remainder of the cruise,” observed
Sir Gervaise, with a smile in which courtesy and
regret struggled singularly for the mastery. “Quarter-masters,
lay Mr. Bunting's body a little out of the way, and
cover it with those signals. They are a suitable pall for so
brave a man!”
Just as this occurred, the Warspite came clear of the
Plantagenet, on her outside, according to orders, and she
opened with her forward guns, taking the second ship in
the French line for her target. In two minutes more these
vessels also were furiously engaged in the hot strife. In
this manner, ship after ship passed on the outside of the
Plantagenet, and sheered into her berth ahead of her who
had just been her own leader, until the Achilles, Lord Morganic,
the last of the five, lay fairly side by side with le
Conquereur, the vessel now at the head of the French line.
That the reader may understand the incidents more readily,
we will give the opposing lines in the precise form in which
they lay, viz.
Plantagenet le Foudroyant
Warspite le Téméraire
Blenheim le Dugay Trouin
Thunderer l' Ajax
Achilles le Conquereur.
The constantly recurring discharges of four hundred
pieces of heavy ordnance, within a space so small, had the
effect to repel the regular currents of air, and, almost immediately,
to lessen a breeze of six or seven knots, to one
that would not propel a ship more than two or three. This
was the first observable phenomenon connected with the action,
but, as it had been expected, Sir Gervaise had used the
precaution to lay his ships as near as possible in the positions
in which he intended them to fight the battle. The
next great physical consequence, one equally expected and
natural, but which wrought a great change in the aspect of
the battle, was the cloud of smoke in which the ten ships
were suddenly enveloped. At the first broadsides between
the two admirals, volumes of light, fleecy vapour rolled
over the sea, meeting midway, and rising thence in curling
wreaths, left nothing but the masts and sails of the adversary
visible in the hostile ship. This, of itself, would
have soon hidden the combatants in the bosom of a nearly
impenetrable cloud; but as the vessels drove onward they
entered deeper beneath the sulphurous canopy, until it
spread on each side of them, shutting out the view of ocean,
skies, and horizon. The burning of the priming below contributed
to increase the smoke, until, not only was respiration
often difficult, but those who fought only a few yards
apart frequently could not recognise each other's faces.
In the midst of this scene of obscurity, and a din that might
well have alarmed the caverns of the ocean, the earnest and
well-drilled seamen toiled at their ponderous guns, and remedied
with ready hands the injuries received in the rigging,
each man as intent on his own particular duty as if he
wrought in the occupations of an ordinary gale.
“Sir Wycherly,” observed the vice-admiral, when the
cannonading had continued some twenty minutes, “there is
little for a flag-officer to do in such a cloud of smoke. I
of our two rear-admirals?”
“There is but one mode of ascertaining that, Sir Gervaise—if
it be your pleasure, I will attempt it. By going
on the main-top-gallant-yard, one might get a clear view,
perhaps.”
Sir Gervaise smiled his approbation, and presently he saw
the young man ascending the main-rigging, though half
concealed in smoke. Just at this instant, Greenly ascended
to the poop, from making a tour of observation below. Without
waiting for a question, the captain made his report.
“We are doing pretty well, now, Sir Gervaise, though
the first broadside of the Comte treated us roughly. I think
his fire slackens, and Bury says, he is certain that his fore-top-mast
is already gone. At all events, our lads are in
good spirits, and as yet all the sticks keep their places.”
“I'm glad of this, Greenly; particularly of the latter,
just at this moment. I see you are looking at those signals
—they cover the body of poor Bunting.”
“And this train of blood to the ladder, sir—I hope our
young baronet is not hurt?”
“No, it is one of the Bowlderos, who has lost a leg. I
shall have to see that he wants for nothing hereafter.”
There was a pause, and then both the gentlemen smiled,
as they heard the crashing work made by a shot just beneath
them, which, by the sounds and the direction, they
knew had passed through Greenly's crockery. Still neither
spoke. After a few more minutes of silent observation, Sir
Gervaise remarked that he thought the flashes of the French
guns more distant than they had been at first, though, at
that instant, not a trace of their enemy was to be discovered,
except in the roar of the guns, and in these very flashes, and
their effect on the Plantagenet.
“If so, sir, the Comte begins to find his berth too hot for
him; here is the wind still directly over our taffrail, such
as it is.”
“No—no—we steer as we began—I keep my eye on that
compass below, and am certain we hold a straight course.
Go forward, Greenly, and see that a sharp look-out is kept
ahead. It is time some of our own ships should be crippled;
thing happen, sheer hard to starboard, and pass inside.”
“Ay—ay—Sir Gervaise; your wishes shall be attended
to.”
As this was said, Greenly disappeared, and, at the next
instant, Wycherly stood in his place.
“Well, sir—I am glad to see you back safe. If Greenly
were here, now, he would inquire about his masts, but I wish
to know the position of the ships.”
“I am the bearer of bad news, sir. Nothing at all could
be seen from the top; but in the cross-trees, I got a good
look through the smoke, and am sorry to say the French
rear-admiral is coming down fast on our larboard-quarter,
with all his force. We shall have him abeam in five
minutes.”
“And Bluewater?” demanded Sir Gervaise, quick as
lightning.
“I could see nothing of Admiral Bluewater's ships; but
knowing the importance of this intelligence, I came down
immediately, and by the back-stay.”
“You have done well, sir. Send a midshipman forward
for Captain Greenly; then pass below yourself, and let
the lieutenants in the batteries hear the news. They must
divide their people, and by all means give a prompt and well-directed
first broadside.”
Wycherly waited for no more. He ran below with the
activity of his years. The message found Greenly between
the knight-heads, but he hurried aft to the poop to ascertain
its object. It took Sir Gervaise but a moment to explain it
all to the captain.
“In the name of Heaven, what can the other division be
about,” exclaimed Greenly, “that it lets the French rear-admiral
come upon us, in a moment like this!”
“Of that, sir, it is unnecessary to speak now,” answered
the commander-in-chief, solemnly. “Our present business
is to get ready for this new enemy. Go into the batteries
again, and, as you prize victory, be careful not to throw
away the first discl arge, in the smoke.”
As time pressed, Greenly swallowed his discontent, and
departed. The five minutes that succeeded were bitter
minutes to Sir Gervaise Oakes. Beside himself there were
tended the signals, and three of the Bowlderos. All of these
were using muskets as usual, though the vice-admiral never
permitted marines to be stationed at a point which he wished
to be as clear of smoke, and as much removed from bustle
as possible. He began to pace this comparatively vacant
little deck with a quick step, casting wistful glances towards
the larboard-quarter; but though the smoke occasionally
cleared a little in that direction, the firing having much slackened
from exhaustion in the men, as well as from injuries
given and received, he was unable to detect any signs of a
ship. Such was the state of things when Wycherly returned
and reported that his orders were delivered, and part of the
people were already in the larboard-batteries.
In the action of the Nile, many of the French ships, under the impression
that the enemy must engage on the outside, put their lumber,
bags, &c., into the ports, and between the guns, in the larboard or inshore
batteries; and when the British anchored inshore of them, these
batteries could not be used!
| CHAPTER XII. The two admirals | |