 | CHAPTER XIII. The two admirals |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,
The hoarse command, the busy humming din,
When at a word, the tops are manned on high:
Hark to the boatswain's call, the cheering cry!
While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides,
Or school-boy midshipman, that, standing by,
Strains his shrill pipe, as good or ill betides,
And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides.”
Byron.
“Are you quite sure, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, that
there is not some mistake about the approach of the rear division
of the French?” inquired the vice-admiral, endeavouring
to catch some glimpse of the water, through the smoke
on the larboard hand. “May not some crippled ship of our
own have sheered from the line, and been left by us, unknowingly,
on that side?”
“No, Sir Gervaise, there is no mistake; there can be
none, unless I may have been deceived a little in the distance.
vessel, but of three ships; and one of them wore the
flag of a French rear-admiral at the mizzen. As a proof
that I was not mistaken, sir, there it is this minute!”
The smoke on the off side of the Plantagenet, as a matter
of course, was much less dense than that on the side engaged,
and the wind beginning to blow in eddies, as ever happens
in a heavy cannonade, there were moments in which it cast
aside the “shroud of battle.” At that instant an opening
occurred through which a single mast, and a single sail
were visible, in the precise spot where Wycherly had stated
the enemy might be looked for. It was a mizzen-top-sail,
beyond a question, and above it was fluttering the little
square flag of the rear-admiral. Sir Gervaise decided on
the character of the vessel, and on his own course, in an
instant. Stepping to the edge of the poop, with his natural
voice, without the aid of a trumpet of any sort, he called out
in tones that rose above the roar of the contest, the ominous
but familiar nautical words of “stand by!” Perhaps a call
from powerful lungs (and the vice-admiral's voice, when he
chose to use it, was like the blast of a clarion) is clearer and
more impressive, when unaided by instruments, than when
it comes disguised and unnatural through a tube. At any
rate, these words were heard even on the lower deck, by
those who stood near the hatches. Taking them up, they
were repeated by a dozen voices, with such expressions as
“Look out, lads; Sir Jarvy's awake!” “Sight your guns!”
“Wait till she 's square!” and other similar admonitions
that it is usual for the sea-officer to give, as he is about to
commence the strife. At this critical moment, Sir Gervaise
again looked up, and caught another glimpse of the little flag,
as it passed into a vast wreath of smoke; he saw that the
ship was fairly abeam, and, as if doubling all his powers,
he shouted the word “fire!” Greenly was standing on the
lower-deck ladder, with his head just even with the coamings
of the hatch, as this order reached him, and he repeated
it in a voice scarcely less startling. The cloud on
the larboard side was driven in all directions, like dust scattered
by wind. The ship seemed on fire, and the missiles
of forty-one guns flew on their deadly errand, as it might be
at a single flash. The old Plantagenet trembled to her keel,
relieved from a burthen, righted and went on her way none
the less active. That timely broadside saved the English
commander-in-chief's ship from an early defeat. It took the
crew of le Pluton, her new adversary, by surprise; for they
had not been able to distinguish the precise position of their
enemy; and, besides doing vast injury to both hull and people,
drew her fire at an unpropitious moment. So uncertain
and hasty, indeed, was the discharge the French ship
gave in return, that no small portion of the contents of her
guns passed ahead of the Plantagenet, and went into the larboard
quarter of le Téméraire, the French admiral's second
ahead.
“That was a timely salute,” said Sir Gervaise, smiling,
as soon as the fire of his new enemy had been received without
material injury. “The first blow is always half the
battle. We may now work on with some hopes of success.
Ah! here comes Greenly again, God be praised! unhurt.”
The meeting of these two experienced seamen was cordial,
but not without great seriousness. Both felt that the
situation of not only the ship, but of the whole fleet, was
extremely critical, the odds being much too great, and the
position of the enemy too favourable, not to render the result,
to say the very least, exceedingly doubtful. Some
advantage had certainly been obtained, thus far; but there
was little hope of preserving it long. The circumstances
called for very decided and particularly bold measures.
“My mind is made up, Greenly,” observed the vice-admiral.
“We must go aboard of one of these ships, and
make it a hand-to-hand affair. We will take the French
commander-in-chief; he is evidently a good deal cut up by
the manner in which his fire slackens, and if we can carry
him, or even force him out of the line, it will give us a better
chance with the rest. As for Bluewater, God only
knows what has become of him! He is not here, at any
rate, and we must help ourselves.”
“You have only to order, Sir Gervaise, to be obeyed. I
will lead the boarders, myself.”
“It must be a general thing, Greenly; I rather think we
shall all of us have to go aboard of le Foudroyant. Go,
give the necessary orders, and when everything is ready,
a-port, and give the ship a rank sheer to starboard. This
will bring matters to a crisis at once. By letting the fore-sail
fall, and setting the spanker, you might shove the ship
ahead a little faster.”
Greenly instantly left the poop on this new and important
duty. He sent his orders into the batteries, bidding the
people remain at their guns, however, to the last moment;
and particularly instructing the captain of marines, as to
the manner in which he was to cover, and then follow the
boarding-party. This done, he gave orders to brace forward
the yards, as directed by Sir Gervaise.
The reader will not overlook the material circumstance
that all we have related occurred amid the din of battle.
Guns were exploding at each instant, the cloud of smoke
was both thickening and extending, fire was flashing in the
semi-obscurity of its volumes, shot were rending the wood
and cutting the rigging, and the piercing shrieks of agony,
only so much the more appalling by being extorted from
the stern and resolute, blended their thrilling accompaniments.
Men seemed to be converted into demons, and yet
there was a lofty and stubborn resolution to conquer mingled
with all, that ennobled the strife and rendered it heroic.
The broadsides that were delivered in succession down the
line, as ship after ship of the rear division reached her station,
however, proclaimed that Monsieur des Prez had imitated
Sir Gervaise's mode of closing, the only one by means
of which the leading vessel could escape destruction, and
that the English were completely doubled on. At this moment,
the sail-trimmers of the Plantagenet handled their
braces. The first pull was the last. No sooner were the
ropes started, than the fore-top-mast went over the bows,
dragging after it the main with all its hamper, the mizzen
snapping like a pipe-stem, at the cap. By this cruel accident,
the result of many injuries to shrouds, back-stays and
spars, the situation of the Plantagenet became worse than
ever; for, not only was the wreck to be partially cleared, at
least, to fight many of the larboard guns, but the command
of the ship was, in a great measure, lost, in the centre of
one of the most infernal mêlées that ever accompanied a
combat at sea.
At no time does the trained seaman ever appear so great,
as when he meets sudden misfortunes with the steadiness
and quiet which it is a material part of the morale of discipline
to inculcate. Greenly was full of ardour for the assault,
and was thinking of the best mode of running foul
of his adversary, when this calamity occurred; but the masts
were hardly down, when he changed all his thoughts to a
new current, and called out to the sail-trimmers to “lay
over, and clear the wreck.”
Sir Gervaise, too, met with a sudden and violent check
to the current of his feelings. He had collected his Bowlderos,
and was giving his instructions as to the manner in
which they were to follow, and keep near his person, in the
expected hand-to-hand encounter, when the heavy rushing
of the air, and the swoop of the mass from above, announced
what had occurred. Turning to the men, he calmly ordered
them to aid in getting rid of the incumbrances, and was
in the very act of directing Wycherly to join in the same
duty, when the latter exclaimed—
“See, Sir Gervaise, here comes another of the Frenchmen
close upon our quarter. By heavens, they must mean
to board!”
The vice-admiral instinctively grasped his sword-hilt
tighter, and turned in the direction mentioned by his companion.
There, indeed, came a fresh ship, shoving the
cloud aside, and, by the clearer atmosphere that seemed to
accompany her, apparently bringing down a current of air
stronger than common. When first seen, the jib-boom and
bowsprit were both enveloped in smoke, but his bellying fore-top-sail,
and the canvass hanging in festoons, loomed grandly
in the vapour, the black yards seeming to embrace the
wreaths, merely to cast them aside. The proximity, too,
was fearful, her yard-arms promising to clear those of the
Plantagenet only by a few feet, as her dark bows brushed
along the admiral's side.
“This will be fearful work, indeed!” exclaimed Sir Gervaise.
“A fresh broadside from a ship so near, will sweep
all from the spars. Go, Wychecombe, tell Greenly to call
in—Hold!—'T is an English ship! No Frenchman's bowsprit
stands like that! Almighty God be praised! 'T is the
out of the smoke!”
This was said with a yell, rather than a cry, of delight,
and in a voice so loud that the words were heard below, and
flew through the ship like the hissing of an ascending rocket.
To confirm the glorious tidings, the flash and roar of guns
on the off-side of the stranger announced the welcome tidings
that le Pluton had an enemy of her own to contend
with, thus enabling the Plantagenet's people to throw all their
strength on the starboard guns, and pursue their other necessary
work without further molestation from the French
rear-admiral. The gratitude of Sir Gervaise, as the rescuing
ship thrust herself in between him and his most formidable
assailant was too deep for language. He placed his
hat mechanically before his face, and thanked God, with a
fervour of spirit that never before had attended his thanksgivings.
This brief act of devotion over, he found the bows
of the Cæsar, which ship was advancing very slowly, in
order not to pass too far ahead, just abreast of the spot
where he stood, and so near that objects were pretty plainly
visible. Between her knight-heads stood Bluewater, conning
the ship, by means of a line of officers, his hat in his
hand, waving in encouragement to his own people, while
Geoffrey Cleveland held the trumpet at his elbow. At that
moment three noble cheers were given by the crews of the
two friendly vessels, and mingled with the increasing roar
of the Cæsar's artillery. Then the smoke rose in a cloud
over the forecastle of the latter ship, and persons could no
longer be distinguished.
Nevertheless, like all that thus approached, the relieving
ship passed slowly ahead, until nearly her whole length protected
the undefended side of her consort, delivering her fire
with fearful rapidity. The Plantagenets seemed to imbibe
new life from this arrival, and their starboard guns spoke out
again, as if manned by giants. It was five minutes, perhaps,
after this seasonable arrival, before the guns of the
other ships of the English rear announced their presence on
the outside of Monsieur des Prez's force; thus bringing the
whole of the two fleets into four lines, all steering dead before
the wind, and, as it were, interwoven with each other.
By that time, the poops of the Plantagenet and Cæsar became
principally off from the vessels. There again were our two
admirals each anxiously watching to get a glimpse of his
friend. The instant the place was clear, Sir Gervaise applied
the trumpet to his mouth, and called out—
“God bless you—Dick! may God for ever bless you—
your ship can do it—clap your helm hard a-starboard, and
sheer into M. des Prez; you 'll have him in five minutes.”
Bluewater smiled, waved his hand, gave an order, and
laid aside his trumpet. Two minutes later, the Cæsar
sheered into the smoke on her larboard beam, and the crash
of the meeting vessels was heard. By this time, the wreck
of the Plantagenet was cut adrift, and she, too, made a rank
sheer, though in a direction opposite to that of the Cæsar's.
As she went through the smoke, her guns ceased, and when
she emerged into the pure air, it was found that le Foudroyant
had set courses and top-gallant-sails, and was drawing
so fast ahead, as to render pursuit, under the little sail
that could be set, unprofitable. Signals were out of the
question, but this movement of the two admirals converted
the whole battle scene into one of inexplicable confusion.
Ship after ship changed her position, and ceased her fire
from uncertainty what that position was, until a general
silence succeeded the roar of the cannonade. It was indispensable
to pause and let the smoke blow away.
It did not require many minutes to raise the curtain on
the two fleets. As soon as the firing stopped, the wind increased,
and the smoke was driven off to leeward in a vast
straggling cloud, that seemed to scatter and disperse in the
air spontaneously. Then a sight of the havoc and destruction
that had been done in this short conflict was first
obtained.
The two squadrons were intermingled, and it required
some little time for Sir Gervaise to get a clear idea of the
state of his own ships. Generally, it might be said that
the vessels were scattering, the French sheering towards
their own coast, while the English were principally coming
by the wind on the larboard tack, or heading in towards
England. The Cæsar and le Pluton were still foul of each
other, though a rear-admiral's flag was flying at the mizzen
of the first, while that which had so lately fluttered at the
Lord Morganic, was still among the French, more to leeward
than any other English ship, without a single spar standing.
Her ensigns were flying, notwithstanding, and the Thunderer
and Dublin, both in tolerable order, were edging away rapidly
to cover their crippled consort; though the nearest French
vessels seemed more bent on getting out of the mêlée, and
into their own line again, than on securing any advantage
already obtained. Le Téméraire was in the same predicament
as the Achilles as to spars, though much more injured
in her hull, besides having thrice as many casualties. Her
flag was down; this ship having fairly struck to the Warspite,
whose boats were already alongside of her. Le Foudroyant,
with quite one-third of her crew killed and wounded,
was running off to leeward, with signals flying for her consorts
to rally round her; but, within less than ten minutes
after she became visible, her main and mizzen-masts both
went. The Blenheim had lost all her top-masts, like the
Plantagenet, and neither the Elizabeth nor the York had a
mizzen-mast standing, although engaged but a very short
time. Several lower yards were shot away, or so much injured
as to compel the ships to shorten sail; this accident
having occurred in both fleets. As for the damage done to
the standing and running rigging, and to the sails, it is only
necessary to say that shrouds, back and head-stays, braces,
bowlines and lifts, were dangling in all directions, while the
canvass that was open exhibited all sorts of rents, from that
which had been torn like cloth in the shopman's hands, to
the little eyelet holes of the canister and grape. It appeared,
by the subsequent reports of the two parties, that, in this
short but severe conflict, the slain and wounded of the
English amounted to seven hundred and sixty-three, including
officers; and that of the French, to one thousand four
hundred and twelve. The disparity in this respect would
probably have been greater against the latter, had it not
been for the manner in which M. des Prez succeeded in
doubling on his enemies.
Little need be said in explanation of the parts of this battle
that have not been distinctly related. M. des Prez had manœuvred
in the manner he did, at the commencement of the
affair, in the hope of drawing Sir Gervaise down upon the
see the first fairly enveloped in smoke, than he wore short
round, and joined in the affair, as has been mentioned. At
this sight, Bluewater's loyalty to the Stuarts could resist no
longer. Throwing out a general signal to engage, he squared
away, set everything that would draw on the Cæsar, and
arrived in time to save his friend. The other ships followed,
engaging on the outside, for want of room to imitate
their leader.
Two more of the French ships, at least, in addition to
le Téméraire and le Pluton, might have been added to
the list of prizes, had the actual condition of their fleet been
known. But, at such moments, a combatant sees and feels
his own injuries, while he has to conjecture many of those
of his adversaries; and the English were too much occupied
in making the provisions necessary to save their remaining
spars, to risk much in order to swell an advantage that was
already so considerable. Some distant firing passed between
the Thunderer and Dublin, and l'Ajax, le Dugay
Trouin, and l'Hector, before the two former succeeded in
getting Lord Morganic out of his difficulties; but it led to no
material result; merely inflicting new injuries on certain
spars that were sufficiently damaged before, and killing and
wounding some fifteen or twenty men quite uselessly. As
soon as the vice-admiral saw what was likely to be the
effects of this episode, he called off Captain O'Neil of the
Dublin, by signal, he being an officer of a “hot temper,” as
the soldier said of himself at Waterloo. The compliance
with this order may be said to have terminated the battle.
The reader will remember that the wind, at the commencement
of the engagement, was at north-west. It was
nearly “killed,” as seamen express it, by the cannonade;
then it revived a little, as the concussions of the guns gradually
diminished. But the combined effect of the advance of
the day, and the rushing of new currents of air to fill the
vacuums produced by the burning of so much powder, was
a sudden shift of wind; a breeze coming out strong, and as
it might be, in an instant, from the eastward. This unexpected
alteration in the direction and power of the wind, cost
the Thunderer her foremast, and did other damage to different
ships; but, by dint of great activity and careful
the northward, while the French filled the other way, and
went off free, steering nearly south-east, making the best of
their way for Brest. The latter suffered still more than
their enemies, by the change just mentioned; and when they
reached port, as did all but one the following day, no less
than three were towed in without a spar standing, bowsprits
excepted.
The exception was le Caton, which ship M. de Vervillin
set fire to and blew up, on account of her damages, in the
course of the afternoon. Thus of twelve noble two-decked
ships with which this officer sailed from Cherbourg only
two days before, he reached Brest with but seven.
Nor were the English entirely without their embarrassments.
Although the Warspite had compelled le Téméraire to
strike, she was kept afloat herself with a good deal of difficulty,
and that, too, not without considerable assistance
from the other vessels. The leaks, however, were eventually
stopped, and then the ship was given up to the care of
her own crew. Other vessels suffered of course, but no
English ship was in as much jeopardy as this.
The first hour after the action ceased, was one of great
exertion and anxiety to our admiral. He called the Chloe
alongside by signal, and, attended by Wycherly and his
own quarter-masters, Galleygo, who went without orders,
and the Bowlderos who were unhurt, he shifted his flag to
that frigate. Then he immediately commenced passing from
vessel to vessel, in order to ascertain the actual condition of
his command. The Achilles detained him some time, and
he was near her, or to leeward, when the wind shifted; which
was bringing him to windward in the present state of things.
Of this advantage he availed himself, by urging the different
ships off as fast as possible; and long before the sun
was in the meridian, all the English vessels were making
the best of their way towards the land, with the intention of
fetching into Plymouth if possible; if not, into the nearest
and best anchorage to leeward. The progress of the fleet
was relatively slow, as a matter of course, though it got
along at the rate of some five knots, by making a free wind
of it.
The master of the Chloe had just taken the sun, in order
Denham to set top-gallant-sails, and go within hail of the
Cæsar. That ship had got clear of le Pluton half an hour
after the action ceased, and she was now leading the fleet,
with her three topsails on the caps. Aloft she had suffered
comparatively little; but Sir Gervaise knew that there must
have been a serious loss of men in carrying, hand to hand,
a vessel like that of M. des Prez. He was anxious to see
his friend, and to hear the manner in which his success had
been obtained, and, we might add, to remonstrate with Bluewater
on a course that had led the latter to the verge of a
most dangerous abyss.
The Chloe was half an hour running through the fleet,
which was a good deal extended, and was sailing without
any regard to a line. Sir Gervaise had many questions to
ask, too, of the different commanders in passing. At last
the frigate overtook le Téméraire, which vessel was following
the Cæsar under easy canvass. As the Chloe came up
abeam, Sir Gervaise appeared in the gangway of the frigate,
and, hat in hand, he asked with an accent that was
intelligible, though it might not have absolutely stood the
test of criticism,—
“Le Vice-Admiral Oakes demande comment se porte-il,
le contre-amiral, le Vicomte des Prez?”
A little elderly man, dressed with extreme care, with a
powdered head, but of a firm step and perfectly collected
expression of countenance, appeared on the verge of le Téméraire's
poop, trumpet in hand, to reply.
“Le Vicomte des Prez remercie bien Monsieur le Chevalier
Oake, et désire vivement de savoir comment se porte
Monsieur le Vice-Amiral?”
Mutual waves of the trumpets served as replies to the
questions, and then, after taking a moment to muster his
French, Sir Gervaise continued—
“J'espère voir Monsieur le Contre-Amiral à diner, à
cinq heures, précis.”
The vicomte smiled at this characteristic manifestation of
good-will and courtesy; and after pausing an instant to
choose an expression to soften his refusal, and to express
his own sense of the motive of the invitation, he called out—
“Veuillez bien recevoir nos excuses pour aujourd'hui,
si noble reçu à vos mains comme déjeuner.”
The Chloe passing ahead, bows terminated the interview.
Sir Gervaise's French was at fault, for what between the
rapid, neat, pronunciation of the Frenchman, the trumpet,
and the turn of the expression, he did not comprehend the
meaning of the contre-amiral.
“What does he say, Wychecombe?” he asked eagerly
of the young man. “Will he come, or not?”
“Upon my word, Sir Gervaise, French is a sealed language
to me. Never having been a prisoner, no opportunity
has offered for acquiring the language. As I understood,
you intended to ask him to dinner; I rather think,
from his countenance, he meant to say he was not in spirits
for the entertainment.”
“Pooh! we would have put him in spirits, and Bluewater
could have talked to him in his own tongue, by the fathom.
We will close with the Cæsar to leeward, Denham; never
mind rank on an occasion like this. It 's time to let the top-gallant-halyards
run; you 'll have to settle your top-sails
too, or we shall shoot past her. Bluewater may take it as
a salute to his gallantry in carrying so fine a ship in so
handsome a manner.”
Several minutes now passed in silence, during which the
frigate was less and less rapidly closing with the larger vessel,
drawing ahead towards the last, as it might be, foot by
foot. Sir Gervaise got upon one of the quarter-deck guns,
and steadying himself against the hammock-cloths, he was
in readiness to exchange the greetings he was accustomed
to give and to receive from his friend, in the same heartfelt
manner as if nothing had occurred to disturb the harmony
of their feelings. The single glance of the eye, the waving
of the hat, and the noble manner in which Bluewater interposed
between him and his most dangerous enemy, was still
present to his mind, and disposed him even more than common
to the kindest feelings of his nature. Stowel was already
on the poop of the Cæsar, and, as the Chloe came slowly
on, he raised his hat in deference to the commander-in-chief.
It was a point of delicacy with Sir Gervaise never to interfere
with any subordinate flag-officer's vessel any more than
duty rigidly required; consequently his communications
nature, verbal orders and criticisms being studiously
avoided. This circumstance rendered the commander-in-chief
even a greater favourite than common with Stowel,
who had all his own way in his own ship, in consequence of
the rear-admiral's indifference to such matters.
“How do you do, Stowel?” called out Sir Gervaise, cordially.
“I am delighted to see you on your legs, and hope
the old Roman is not much the worse for this day's treatment.”
“I thank you, Sir Gervaise, we are both afloat yet, though
we have passed through warm times. The ship is damaged,
sir, as you may suppose; and, although it stands so bravely,
and looks so upright, that foremast of ours is as good as a
condemned spar. One thirty-two through the heart of it,
about ten feet from the deck, an eighteen in the hounds, and
a double-header sticking in one of the hoops! A spar cannot
be counted for much that has as many holes in it as
those, sir!”
“Deal tenderly with it, my old friend, and spare the canvass;
those chaps at Plymouth will set all to rights, again,
in a week. Hoops can be had for asking, and as for holes
in the heart, many a poor fellow has had them, and lived
through it all. You are a case in point; Mrs. Stowel not
having spared you in that way, I 'll answer for it.”
“Mrs. Stowel commands ashore, Sir Gervaise, and I
command afloat; and, in that way, we keep a quiet ship
and a quiet house, I thank you, sir; and I endeavour to
think of her at sea, as little as possible.”
“Ay, that 's the way with you doting husbands;—always
ashamed of your own lively sensibilities. But what has
become of Bluewater?—Does he know that we are alongside?”
Stowel looked round, cast his eyes up at the sails, and
played with the hilt of his sword. The rapid eye of the
commander-in-chief detected this embarrassment, and quick
as thought he demanded what had happened.
“Why, Sir Gervaise, you know how it is with some admirals,
who like to be in everything. I told our respected
and beloved friend, that he had nothing to do with boarding;
that if either of us was to go, I was the proper man, but
about lost honour and duty, and you know, sir, what
legs he has, when he wishes to use them! One might as
well think of stopping a deserter by a halloo; away he went,
with the first party, sword in hand, a sight I never saw
before, and never wish to see again! Thus you see how it
was, sir.”
The commander-in-chief compressed his lips, until his
features, and indeed his whole form was a picture of desperate
resolution, though his face was as pale as death, and the
muscles of his mouth twitched, in spite of all his physical
self-command.
“I understand you, sir,” he said, in a voice that seemed
to issue from his chest; “you wish to say that Admiral
Bluewater is killed.”
“No, thank God! Sir Gervaise, not quite as bad as that,
though sadly hurt; yes, indeed, very sadly hurt!”
Sir Gervaise Oakes groaned, and for a few minutes he
leaned his head on the hammock-cloths, veiling his face
from the sight of men. Then he raised his person erect, and
said steadily—
“Run your top-sails to the mast-head, Captain Stowel,
and round your ship to. I will come on board of you.”
An order was given to Denham to take room, when the
Chloe came to the wind on one tack and the Cæsar on the
other. This was contrary to rule, as it increased the distance
between the ships; but the vice-admiral was impatient
to be in his barge. In ten minutes he was mounting the
Cæsar's side, and in two more he was in Bluewater's main-cabin.
Geoffrey Cleveland was seated by the table, with
his face buried in his arms. Touching his shoulder, the boy
raised his head, and showed a face covered with tears.
“How is he, boy?” demanded Sir Gervaise, hoarsely.
“Do the surgeons give any hopes?”
The midshipman shook his head, and then, as if the question
renewed his grief, he again buried his face in his arms.
At this moment, the surgeon of the ship came from the rear-admiral's
state-room, and following the commander-in-chief
into the after-cabin, they had a long conference together.
Minute after minute passed, and the Cæsar and Chloe still
lay with their main-top-sails aback. At the end of half an
in the proper direction. Ship after ship came up, and went
on to the northward, fast as her crippled state would allow,
and yet no sign of movement was seen in the Cæsar. Two
sail had appeared in the south-eastern board, and they, too,
approached and passed without bringing the vice-admiral
even on deck. These ships proved to be the Carnatic and
her prize, le Scipion, which latter ship had been intercepted
and easily captured by the former. The steering of M. de
Vervillin to the south-west had left a clear passage to the
two ships, which were coming down with a free wind at a
handsome rate of sailing. This news was sent into the
Cæsar's cabin, but it brought no person and no answer out
of it. At length, when everything had gone ahead, the
barge returned to the Chloe. It merely took a note, however,
which was no sooner read by Wycherly, than he summoned
the Bowlderos and Galleygo, had all the vice-admiral's
luggage passed into the boat, struck his flag, and
took his leave of Denham. As soon as the boat was clear
of the frigate, the latter made all sail after the fleet, to
resume her ordinary duties of a look-out and a repeating-ship.
As soon as Wycherly reached the Cæsar, that ship hoisted
in the vice-admiral's barge. A report was made to Sir Gervaise
of what had been done, and then an order came on
deck that occasioned all in the fleet to stare with surprise.
The red flag of Sir Gervaise Oakes was run up at the fore-royal-mast-head
of the Cæsar, while the white flag of the
rear-admiral was still flying at her mizzen. Such a thing
had never before been known to happen, if it has ever happened
since; and to the time when she was subsequently
lost, the Cæsar was known as the double flag-ship.
| CHAPTER XIII. The two admirals | |