"From Powder Monkey to Admiral" (continued 5)

“Do you know, Mr Rayner, I like midshipmen very much?” she said, in her artless way. “My brother Oliver is a midshipman, and as I am very fond of him, I like all midshipmen for his sake. At first I was inclined to like you because you were a midshipman, but now I like you for yourself.”

“I am much obliged to you,” said Bill; “and I like you for yourself, I can tell you. I didn’t know before that you had a brother Oliver. Where is he serving?”

“On board the Ariel corvette in the West Indies,” answered Mary.

“Perhaps some day we may fall in with each other,” said Bill; “and I am very sure, from what you say about him, we shall become good friends, for I shall be inclined to like him for your sake.”

“Then I’m sure he will like you; he could not help doing so. He is only three years older than I am; just about your age I suppose. He went to sea when he was a very little fellow with poor dear papa, who was killed in action. Oliver was by his side at the time, and wrote us home an account of the sad, sad event, saying how brokenhearted he was. The people were very kind to him. Papa was lieutenant of the ship, and was loved by all the men, as I am sure he would have been, remembering how good and kind and gentle he was with us.”

The tears came into Mary’s bright eyes as she spoke of her father.

“Whenever we hear of a battle out there, poor mamma is very anxious until the particulars come home, and she knows that Oliver is safe,” said Mary. “We are nearly sure to get a letter from him, for he always writes when he can, and I hope that you’ll write also when you are away, and tell us all that you are doing; then we shall receive two letters instead of one, and we shall always be so very, very glad to hear from you.”

Bill promised that he would write constantly, saying that he should be pleased to do so, especially as he had not many correspondents; indeed, he might have said that he had none, as he was, in truth, not acquainted with anybody on shore. Mary and her mother were the first friends he had ever possessed, so that he very naturally valued them the more. They were of very great service to him in many respects, for Mrs Crofton was a ladylike and refined person, though her means were small, and she was able to give him instruction in the ways and manners of people of education; though Bill was so observant, and anxious to imitate what was right, that he only required the opportunity to fit himself thoroughly for his new station in life.

Mr Saltwell lent him books, and he read during every spare moment, to make amends for his want of early education.

When he came on shore, Mrs Crofton assisted him, and as she knew French very well, helped him to study it with a grammar and dictionary, which he found very easy, as he already understood so much of the language, and he was able to practise speaking with Pierre.

The young Frenchman slowly recovered, but the doctor, who came to visit him from the hospital every day, said that it would be a long time before he would regain strength and be able to return to France.

Bill had written, at Pierre’s dictation, to Madame Turgot, to tell her where he was, what had happened to him, and how well he was treated. It was rather a funny composition, as Pierre was no great scholar, and could not say how the words should be spelt, but Bill showed it to Mrs Crofton, who assured him that it would be understood perfectly well, which was the great object required, and that Madame Turgot would be satisfied, from the tone and expression, that it came from her son.

There was no regular post in those days between the two countries. Pierre, however, at length got an answer from his mother, directed to the care of Mrs Crofton, expressing her heartfelt thanks to Lieutenant Saltwell and Bill, and the kind lady who had befriended him. She sent also many messages from Captain Turgot and Jeannette.

The letter arrived just as the Thisbe was ready for sea. Mary could not help bursting into tears when Bill took his leave for the last time.

“It’s just like Oliver going away,” she said. Indeed, it was evident that she looked upon Bill as another Oliver, and even Mrs Crofton showed how sincerely sorry she was to part with her young visitor, who had so greatly won on her affections.

She promised to write again to Madame Turgot to let her know how Pierre was getting on; but there appeared no probability of his being able to move until the frigate came back, when Mr Saltwell would be able to make arrangements for his return to France.

Though sorry to leave his kind friends, Bill was very glad to be at sea again, and engaged in the active duties of his profession. His messmates treated him with much kindness, and remarked among themselves the improvement in his manners, while two or three fresh members of the mess, when they heard how he had gained his promotion, looked upon him with evident respect. He did not, however, forget his old friends, and Jack was always pleased when he came forward to talk to him, and did not appear at all jealous, which could not be said of Tom, who, though he did not venture to show his feelings, was inclined to keep out of his way, and sometimes answered in rather a surly tone when spoken to, always taking care to bring in the “sir” after every sentence, and touching his hat with mock respect, of which Bill, though he could not fail to observe, took no notice.

The Thisbe had been several weeks at sea, and had during that time captured, without firing a shot, three of the enemy’s merchantmen, which she had sent into Plymouth, the more pugnacious of the crew grumbling at not having encountered an enemy worthy of their prowess, and which would have afforded them a larger amount of prize-money.

Captain Martin was about to return to port to take on board his officers and men when he was joined by the Venus frigate. Her captain told him that he had just before made out two French frigates to the south-east, and the Thisbe bore up with the Venus in chase, with every stitch of canvas they could carry set.

A stern chase is proverbially a long chase, and the French frigates, which had been seen to the eastward, had a considerable start of their pursuers. Still, as they had been under moderate canvas, it was hoped that they would set no more sail, and might thus be overtaken.

A sharp look-out was kept, and the officers were continually going aloft with their glasses, and sweeping the horizon from north to south, in the hopes of espying the enemy.

“I say, Jack, do you think if we come up with those two Frenchmen we are chasing they’ll turn round and fight us?” asked Tom, who thought it much pleasanter to capture unarmed merchant vessels than to have to fight an enemy which sent round shots and bullets on board in return.

“No doubt about that, youngster,” answered Ben Twinch, the boatswain’s mate, who overheard Tom’s remark. “What do you think we come to sea for? If we can take a man-of-war of our own size she’s worth half a dozen merchant craft, though, to be sure, some of us may lose the number of our mess; but we all know that, and make no count of it. Maybe you’ll have your head taken off one of these days, and if you do, you’ll only share the fate of many another fine fellow.”

“I hope not!” cried Tom, mechanically putting up his hand to his head as if to hold it on, and turning from Ben.

“Never fear!” said Jack, wishing to console him; “the chances are that you will escape and live to fight another day.”

If Tom had any fear, it was not the time to show it. He heard all around him speak of fighting as if it were fun, and of death with seeming levity. It is the way of the young and the thoughtless. Old sailors and old soldiers seldom talk thus, and think more of duty than of glory. For young or for old the loss of life is not a matter for light talk, as if death were only the end of it. Those that cause war will have much to reckon for hereafter. But there is no time for such thoughts in sight of the enemy. So we must go on with our story.

The midshipmen aft were universally anxious to come up with the vessels of which they were in chase. It was supposed that they were frigates of the same size as their own and the Venus; but should they prove much larger, they were equally ready to engage them.

Still, hour after hour went by, and no enemy appearing, they began to fear that the Frenchmen would get into port before they could be overtaken. At length, just before the sun reached the horizon, his rays fell on the royals and topgallantsails of two ships right ahead. As the sun sank lower they were again lost to view, but their appearance revived the hopes of all on board. It was not likely that they would alter their course during the night, and it was hoped, therefore, that before morning they would be overtaken. It was not likely that the Thisbe and Venus, being in the shadow, would have been perceived.

“The chances are that we shall be upon them in the dark,” said Jack to Tom; “and we’ll surprise them, I’ve a notion. The captain thinks so, or he wouldn’t have given the order to prepare for action.”

“I would rather fight in daylight,” said Tom, “and I hope they’ll manage to keep ahead till then.”

Jack laughed, for he suspected that Tom would rather not fight at all.

The watch below were ordered to turn in as usual, but most of the officers kept on deck, too eager for the work to be able to sleep.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Action between the “Thisbe” and a French frigate.

Rayner—for such he ought now to be called—who was in the middle watch, was standing forward on the look-out, and, as may be supposed, he did not allow an eye to wink. Several times he thought that he could see two dark objects rising above the horizon, but his imagination might have deceived him, for they, at all events, grew no larger. When his watch was over, he came aft into the midshipmen’s berth, where several of his messmates were collected. He might have turned in, for the night was drawing on, but there were still two hours to daylight. He, as well as others, dropped asleep with their heads on the table.

They were aroused from their uncomfortable slumbers by the boatswain’s call, piping the hammocks up, and on coming on deck the first thing they saw were the two ships they had been chasing all night directly ahead, their topsails just rising above the water. Their hopes revived that they would come up with them before the day was many hours older; still the strangers were a long way out of range of their bow chasers.

As the sun rose and shone on their own canvas they knew that they must be clearly seen, and it was hoped that the two ships would, if their captains were inclined to fight, heave to and await their coming.

Such, however, it was evidently the intention of the Frenchman not to do, for it was seen that studding-sails were being set below and aloft.

“Still they may not have the heels of us,” observed Captain Martin to the first lieutenant; “and before they get into Cherbourg we may be up to them.”

It was thought that as the day advanced the wind might increase, but in this Captain Martin was disappointed. At length, towards evening, Cape La Hogue and the coast of France, to the westward of Cherbourg, appeared in sight. In a few hours it was too probable that the French ships would get safe into port.

Remarks not over complimentary to the valour of the Frenchmen were made by the crews of the English frigates, when they saw that the enemy had escaped them; but as Jack observed, “There’s no use grumbling; the mounseers have got away from us because they knew the tremendous drubbing we would have given them.”

“Perhaps we may see them again before long,” said Tom, his courage returning now that all danger of an encounter had passed. “Depend on it, our captain will do his best to give them a taste of our quality.”

Tom was right; for although the Thisbe and Venus had to haul their wind, and stand off shore, a bright look-out was kept, in the hopes that the French frigates might again put to sea.

Day after day passed, and at length the Venus parted company from the Thisbe. The latter frigate was standing across Channel when a lugger was sighted, to which she gave chase. The stranger at first made all sail, as if to escape. She was at length seen to heave to. On coming up with her, it was at first doubtful whether she was English or French, but as the frigate approached she hoisted English colours and lowered a boat, which in a short time came alongside, and a fine, intelligent-looking man stepping upon deck, announced himself as master of the lugger. He had, he said, at first taken the Thisbe for a French frigate which was in the habit of coming out of Cherbourg every evening, picking up any prizes she could fall in with, and returning next morning with them into port. He had, indeed, narrowly escaped once before.

This was valuable information, and Captain Martin determined to act upon it, in the hopes of capturing the marauder. Being engaged in particular service, the master of the lugger was allowed to proceed on his way, and the Thisbe stood back towards Cherbourg.

The day passed, and no enemy appeared. Next morning, however, a sail was seen to the northward. Captain Martin immediately bore up to ascertain her character. As the daylight increased, all felt confident that she was a frigate, and probably French. The stranger was seen to be carrying a press of canvas, and apparently steering for Cherbourg. To re-enter that port she must encounter the Thisbe, on board which preparations were made for the expected engagement. The stranger, too, continuing her course, hauled her wind, and stood down Channel, as if anxious to escape. Why she did so it was difficult to say, except on the possibility that she had seen another English ship to the northward, and was unwilling to encounter two enemies at once.

It was the general opinion that she was a powerful frigate, considerably larger than the Thisbe; but even if such were the case, Captain Martin was not the man to be deterred from engaging her. The stranger sailed well, and there appeared every probability that she would distance the Thisbe, and if she wished it, get back to port without coming to action.

In a short time the weather became very thick, and, to the disappointment of all, the stranger was lost sight of. Still the Thisbe continued her course, and many a sharp pair of eyes were employed in looking out for the Frenchman, it being difficult to say, should the fog lift, in what direction she might next be seen. She might tack and run back to Cherbourg, or she might, trusting to her superior sailing, stand across the Thisbe’s bows to the southward.

A couple of hours passed. As at any moment the fog might clear away, and the stranger might appear close aboard her, the Thisbe prepared for immediate action. The men had been sent below to dinner, and the prospect of a fight did not damp their appetites.

The midshipmen had finished theirs, and Rayner, who had just relieved one of his messmates on deck, was on the look-out when he espied, away on the larboard bow, a sail through the fog, which had somewhat dispersed in that quarter. A second glance convinced him that she was a large ship. He instantly shouted out the welcome intelligence. Every one hoped that she was the vessel they were in search of. The drum beat to quarters, and scarcely were the guns run out than the fog clearing still more discovered a large frigate standing under all sail to the eastward, about half a mile away. If she were the one they had before seen, she had evidently acted as Captain Martin had supposed might be the case, and having crossed the Thisbe’s course, had then kept away, hoping to get in shore of her and back to Cherbourg. At once the Thisbe was put about, and then stood so as to cross the stranger’s bows. The latter, on seeing this, hoisting French colours, rapidly shortened sail and hauled up to the northward, the two ships crossing each other on contrary tacks. The Thisbe fired her starboard broadside, receiving one in return, and then going about, endeavoured to get to windward of her antagonist. This, however, she was unable to do, and was compelled to continue the engagement to leeward. Her crew fought with the usual courage of British seamen, but the enemy’s shot were making fearful havoc on her masts and rigging. Her three lower masts and bowsprit were in a short time wounded in several places, most of her stays were shot away, and much damage was done to the main rigging.

At length her main-topsail yard was shot away in the slings by a double-headed shot, and the yard-arms came down in front of the mainyard, the leech ropes of the mainsail were cut to pieces and the sail riddled. All the time, also, whenever the ships were within musket-range, showers of bullets came rattling on board, and several of the men were laid low.

Still Captain Martin did not attempt to escape from his opponent, which was seen to have twenty guns on a side, besides quarter-deck guns, and a number of men armed with muskets. He hoped, by perseverance, to knock away her masts or inflict such other serious injury as might compel her to give in.

This was Rayner’s first action since he had attained his present rank. He endeavoured to maintain his character, and though it was trying work to see his shipmates struck down on either side of him, he did not for a moment think of himself or the risk he ran of meeting the same fate. All the time spars, rigging, and blocks were falling from aloft, shot away by the hot fire of the enemy. He endeavoured to keep himself cool and composed, and to execute the orders he received.

Jack and Tom were employed as powder-monkeys on the maindeck, when Rayner was sent by the captain to ascertain what was going on. As he went along it he passed his two friends.

Jack was as active as ever, handing up the powder required; poor Tom looked the picture of misery.

“Ain’t the enemy going to strike yet, Mr Rayner?” he asked, in a melancholy tone; “we’ve been a long time about it, and I thought they would have given in long ago.”

“I hope they soon will have enough of it and give in, and we must blaze away at them until they do,” answered the midshipman, hurrying on.

Just then a shot came crashing in through the side, passing just where Rayner had been standing, sending the splinters flying about in all directions. He had not time to look round, but thought he heard a cry as if some one had been hit, and he hurried on to deliver his message to the second lieutenant.

On his way back he took a glance to see how it fared with his two friends. Tom was seated on his tub, but poor Jack lay stretched on deck. Rayner, hastening to him, lifted him up.

“I’m only hit in the leg,” answered Jack to his inquiries. “It hurt me very much, and I fell, but I’ll try to do my duty.” How barbarous is war!

Rayner, however, saw that this was impossible, as the blood was flowing rapidly from the wounded limb, and calling one of the people appointed to attend those who were hurt, he ordered him to carry Jack below. “Tell the surgeons he’s badly wounded, and get them to attend to him at once,” he said.

He longed to be able to go himself, but his duty compelled him to return to the upper deck. Scarcely had he got there than he saw, to his grief, that the enemy had dropped under the stern, and the next instant, discharging her broadside, she raked the Thisbe fore and aft. In vain the latter tried to escape from her critical position; before she could do so she was a second time raked, the gaff being shot away, the mizenmast injured, and the remaining rigging cut through and through. Fortunately, the Thisbe still answered her helm, and the crew were endeavouring to make sail, when the enemy ranged up on the starboard quarter, her forecastle being covered with men, evidently intending to board.

Captain Martin, on seeing this, sent Rayner below with orders to double shot the after-maindeck guns, and to fire them as the enemy came close up. The next he shouted the cry which British seamen are always ready to obey, “Boarders, repel boarders;” and every man not engaged at the guns hurried aft, cutlass in hand, ready to drive back the foe as soon as the ships should touch; but ere that moment arrived, an iron shower issued from the guns beneath their feet, crashing through the Frenchman’s bows and tearing along her decks. Instead of coming on, she suddenly threw all her sails aback, and hauled off out of gunshot. On seeing this, the British crew uttered three hearty cheers, and Rayner, with others who had hurried from below, fully believed that the enemy had hauled down her flag, but instead of that, under all the sail she could carry, she continued standing away until she had got two miles off. Here she hove-to, in order, it was evident, to repair damages. These must have been very severe, for many of her men were seen over the sides engaged in stopping shot-holes, while the water, which issued forth in cascades, showed that the pumps were being worked with might and main to keep her from sinking.

The Thisbe was in too crippled a condition to follow. Several shot had passed between wind and water on both sides. One gun on the quarter-deck and two on the maindeck were dismounted, and almost all the tackles and breachings were cut away. The maindeck before the mainmast was torn up from the waterway to the hatchways, and the bits were shot away, as was the chief part of the gangways. Not an officer had been killed, but two midshipmen, the master, and gunner, were wounded. Twenty men were wounded and eleven lost the number of their mess.

The wind, which had been moderate when the action began, had now greatly increased. Not a moment was lost in commencing the repair of damages. The sky indicated the approach of bad weather, and a westerly or south-westerly gale might be expected. Before all the shot-holes could be stopped it came on to blow very hard. Plymouth being too far to the westward, the nearest shelter the Thisbe could reach was Portland, towards which she steered.

The moon coming forth, she had light sufficient to run in and anchor, protected by the projecting headland from the furious gale now blowing.

Many a brave man on board besides the captain breathed more freely than they had done for some hours when the anchor was dropped and the torn canvas furled. Still the Thisbe would be in a critical position should the wind shift more to the southward, as she would be exposed to the seas rolling into the bay.

Chapter Twenty Five.

The shipwreck.

As soon as Rayner could obtain a spare moment, he hastened below to visit poor Jack. He met Tom on the way.

“Jack’s very bad, Mr Rayner,” answered Tom to his inquiries. “He didn’t know me just now; he’s talking about his mother, and fancying she’s nursing him.”

This news made our hero feel very sad, and he hurried on to the lower deck, where the wounded lay in their hammocks, sheltered by a canvas screen.

He inquired of one of the attendants where Jack Peek was, and soon found him, the surgeon being by his side dressing his wound.

“I’m much afraid that he will slip through our fingers unless we can manage to quell the fever. He requires constant watching, and that is more than he can well obtain, with so many men laid up, and so much to do,” said the doctor as he finished his task. “However, Rayner, if you can stay by him, I’ll be back in a few minutes to see how he’s getting on. In the meantime give him this medicine; if he comes to his senses, a word or two from you may do him good.”

Though Rayner himself could scarcely stand from fatigue, he undertook to do as the doctor requested. He waited until he saw, by the light of the lantern hung up from a beam overhead, that Jack had come somewhat to himself, when he got him to take the draught he held in his hand.

“How do you feel, Jack?” he asked in a low tone; but poor Jack did not reply. After waiting a little time longer, Rayner again spoke. “We’ve beaten off the enemy, you know, and are safe under shelter of the land. Cheer up now, you’ll soon get round.”

“Is that you, Bill?” asked Jack, in a faint voice. “I thought mother was with me, and I was on shore, but I’m glad she’s not, for it would grieve her to see me knocked about as I am.”

“You’ll do well now, the doctor said so, as you’ve come to yourself,” observed Rayner, much cheered at hearing Jack speak. “I’ll stay by you while it is my watch below, and then I’ll get Tom to come. Now go to sleep, if the pain will let you.”

“The pain isn’t so very great, and I don’t mind it since we have licked the enemy,” answered Jack; “but I hope you won’t be angry at me calling you Bill; I quite forgot, Mr Rayner, that you were a midshipman.”

“No, I didn’t remark that you called me Bill,” answered Rayner; “if I had, I shouldn’t have thought about it. I just feel as I did when I was your messmate. However, I must not let you be talking, so now shut your eyes and get some sleep; it will do you more good than the doctor’s stuff.”

Rayner was very glad when the doctor came back, accompanied by Tom, and having observed that Jack was going on as well as he expected, told him to go to his hammock. This he gladly did, leaving Tom in charge of their friend.

Rayner felt that he greatly needed rest; but as he had expended part of his watch below, he could not have three hours’ sleep.

On coming on deck he found the gale was blowing harder than ever, though the frigate lay sheltered by the land.

Almost immediately the sound of a distant gun reached his ear. It was followed rapidly by others, and the sound appeared to come down on the gale.

“There’s a ship in danger on the other side of Portland,” observed the second lieutenant, who was the officer of the watch. “Rayner, go and tell the captain. He desired to be called if anything happened.”

Captain Martin, who had only thrown himself down on his bed in his clothes, was on his feet in a moment, and followed Rayner on deck.

After listening a minute. “It’s more than possible she’s our late antagonist,” he observed. “If the gale caught her unprepared, her masts probably went by the board, and, unable to help herself, she is driving in here. Get a couple of boats ready with some coils of rope, and spars, and rockets, and we’ll try and save the lives of the poor fellows.”

Rayner was surprised to hear this, supposing that the captain intended to pull out to sea, whereas he had resolved to go overland to the part of the coast which probably the ship in distress was approaching. Although where the frigate lay was tolerably smooth water, yet, from the white-crested seas which broke outside, and the roaring of the wind as it swept over the land, it was very evident that no boat could live when once from under its shelter.

The captain, accompanied by three gun-room officers, Rayner and another midshipman, and twenty men, landed at the nearest spot where the boats could put in, and proceeded overland in the direction from which the sound of the guns had come.

Again and again they boomed forth through the midnight air. Solemnly they struck on the ear, telling of danger and death. Scarcely, however, had the party proceeded a quarter of a mile than they ceased. In vain they were listened for. It was too evident that the ship had struck the fatal rocks, and if so, there was not a moment to be lost, or too probably the whole of the hapless crew would be lost.

The western shore was reached at last. As they approached the cliffs they saw a number of people moving about, and as they got to the bay and looked down over the foaming ocean, they could see a dark object some fifty fathoms off, from which proceeded piercing shrieks and cries for help. It was the hull of a large ship, hove on her beam-ends, her masts gone, the after-part already shattered and rent by the fierce seas which dashed furiously against her, threatening to sweep off the miserable wretches clinging to the bulwarks and stanchions. To form a communication with her was Captain Martin’s first object. As yet it was evident that no attempt of the sort had been made, most of the people who had collected being more eager apparently to secure the casks, chests, and other things thrown on shore than to assist their perishing fellow-creatures. It was vain to shout and direct the people on the wreck to attach a line to a cask and let it float in towards the beach. The most stentorian voices could not make themselves heard when sent in the teeth of the gale now blowing. On descending the cliffs, Captain Martin and his party found a narrow strip of beach, on which they could stand out of the power of the seas, which, in quick succession, came foaming and roaring in towards them. He immediately ordered a couple of rockets to be let off, to show the strangers that there were those on shore who were ready to help them. No signal was fired in return, not even a lantern shown, but the crashing, rending sounds which came from the wreck made it too evident that she could not much longer withstand the furious assaults of the raging ocean. Captain Martin inquired whether any of his crew were sufficiently good swimmers to reach the wreck.

Rayner longed to say that he would try, but he had never swum in a heavy sea, and felt that it would be madness to make the attempt.

“I’ll try it, sir,” cried Ben Twinch, the boatswain’s mate, one of the most powerful men in the ship. “I’d like, howsomdever, to have a line round my waist. Do you stand by, mates, and haul me back if I don’t make way; there are some ugly bits of timber floating about, and one of them may give me a lick on the head, and I shan’t know what’s happening.”

Ben’s offer was accepted. While the coil of line was being got ready, a large spar, to which a couple of men were clinging, was seen floating in towards the beach, but it was still at some distance, and there was a fearful probability that before it touched the shore the reflux of the water might drag them off to destruction.

“Quick, lads, quick, and I’ll try to get hold of one or both of them, if I can,” cried Ben, fastening the rope round his body. His example was followed by another man, who, in the same way, secured a rope round himself, when both plunged in and seized the well-nigh drowning strangers, just as, utterly exhausted, they had let go their hold. They were able, however, to speak, and Rayner discovered that they were French.

By the captain’s directions he inquired the name of the ship.

“The Zenobie frigate, of forty guns and three hundred and forty men,” was the answer. “We had an action yesterday with an English frigate, which made off while we were repairing damages, but truly she so knocked us about that when we were caught by the gale our masts went over the side, and we were driven utterly helpless on this terrible coast.”

Rayner did not tell the Thisbe’s men, who were trying to assist the hapless strangers, that they were their late antagonists. He merely said, “They are Frenchmen, lads; but I’m sure that will make no difference to any of us.”

“I should think not, whether they’re Mynheers or Mounseers,” cried Ben. “They’re drowning, and want our help; so, whether enemies or friends, we’ll try to haul as many of the poor fellows ashore as we can get hold of, and give them dry jackets, and a warm welcome afterwards. Slack away, mates!” And he plunged into the foaming billows.

His progress was anxiously watched as he rose now on the top of a roaring sea, now concealed as he sank into the hollow to appear again on the side of another, all the time buffeting the foaming breakers, now avoiding a mass of timber, now grasping a spar, and making it support him as he forced his way onward, until he was lost to sight in the gloom.

After a considerable time of intense anxiety it was found that the line was taut. Ben had, it was supposed, reached the forechains of the frigate. Then the question rose, whether he would be able to make himself understood by the Frenchmen. One of the men, however, who had been washed on shore said that he believed one or two people on board understood English; but it was doubtful whether they were among those who had already perished.

Some more minutes passed, and then they felt the line shaken. It was the signal for them to haul in. Rapidly pulling away, they at length had the satisfaction of finding the end of a stout hawser, with a smaller line attached to it. The hawser was made fast round a rock, then, knowing the object of the line, they hauled away at it until they saw a cradle coming along with a couple of boys in it. The moment they were taken out the cradle was hauled back, and then a man appeared, and thus, one after another, about sixty of the French crew were dragged on shore.

Every time the cradle appeared, his shipmates hoped to see Ben in it; but Rayner learned from one of the persons in it that he had remained on the wreck, assisting those who were too benumbed or bewildered with fear to secure themselves.

As the poor Frenchmen were landed, they were placed under charge of some of the men appointed for the purpose, while two of the officers supplied the most exhausted with such restoratives as they required.

Many, they said, had already been washed off the wreck and been lost, while others were too much paralysed by fear even to make their way to where Ben was standing, lashed to a stanchion, ready to help them into the cradle.

Great fears were now entertained lest he should suffer by his noble exertions to save others. The crashing and rending sounds increased in frequency. Every instant some huge portion of the wreck was rent away, and the whole intervening mass of seething waters was covered by dark fragments of timber, tossing and rolling as they approached the beach, or were floated out to sea, or cast against the rocks. Still the Frenchmen kept arriving. Now one more daring than the others would crawl along the cable in spite of the risk of being washed off by the hungry breakers into which it was occasionally plunged.

Rayner, who stood on the rock with a party engaged in assisting the people as they arrived in the cradle, inquired whether there were many more to come.

“I think so, monsieur,” was the answer; “we mustered nearly four hundred souls, but of those, alas! numbers have already been washed away.”

Again and again those fearful crashings, mingled with despairing shrieks, were heard above the roar of wild breakers. Rayner felt serious apprehensions about the safety of brave Ben.

At any moment the wreck might break up, and then it would be scarcely possible for a human being to exist amidst the masses of timber which would be hurled wildly about.

Again the cradle was to be hauled in. In came with greater difficulty than before, as if it carried a heavier weight. It seemed as if the cable would not bear the additional strain.

The British seamen exerted all their strength, for at any moment, even if the cable did not break, it might be torn from its holdfast on the wreck. As the cradle came in, two men were seen seated in it, one holding another in his arms. Rayner heard the words, “Vite, vite, mon ami, ou nous sommes perdu.”

“Haul away, lads, haul away!” he shouted out, though his men required no urging.

Just as the cradle was reaching the rock, a crash, even louder than its predecessors, was heard. Several men sprang forward to grasp the occupants of the cradle. The outer end of the rope had given way, and in another instant they would have been too late.

Again the wild shrieks of despair of the helpless wretches who still remained on the wreck echoed along the cliffs.

“Poor Ben! has he gone?” exclaimed Rayner. “No, sir, he’s one of those we’ve just got ashore,” answered a quarter-master who, with several others, had rushed down to help the two men taken out of the cradle, and who were now bearing the apparently inanimate body of the boatswain’s mate up the rock; “the other’s a Frenchman by his lingo.”

Rayner hurried to the spot, when what was his surprise, as the light of the lantern fell on the countenance of the Frenchman last landed, to see Pierre’s father, Captain Turgot!

Putting out his hand, he warmly shook that of his old friend, who opened his eyes with a look of astonishment, naturally not recognising him.

“Don’t you know me, Captain Turgot?” said Rayner. “I am one of the boys you saved when our frigate was blown up.”

“What! are you little Bill?” exclaimed the honest fisherman. “That is wonderful. Then you escaped after all. I am indeed glad.”

There was no time just then, however, for explanations. Rayner thanked his old friend for saving Ben’s life.

“I could do nothing else,” was the answer. “He was about to place another man in the cradle who had not the courage to get into it by himself, when a piece of timber surging up struck both of them, the other was swept away, and the brave English sailor would have suffered the same fate had I not got hold of him; and then, though I had made up my mind to remain to the last, I saw that the only way to save him was to bring him myself in the cradle to the shore, and I am thankful that I did so. But my poor countrymen! There are many still remaining who must perish if we cannot get another hawser secured to the wreck.”

This was what Captain Martin was now endeavouring to do, but there was no one found willing or able to swim back to the wreck. The danger of making the attempt was, indeed, far greater than at first.

Ben was regaining his consciousness; but even had he been uninjured, after the exertions he had gone through, he would have been unfit to repeat the dangerous exploit.

Captain Turgot offered to try; but when he saw the intermediate space through which he would have to pass covered with masses of wreck, he acknowledged that it would be impossible to succeed.

The final catastrophe came at last. A tremendous wave, higher than its predecessors, rolled in, apparently lifting the wreck, which, coming down again with fearful force upon the rocks, split into a thousand fragments.

As the wave, after dashing furiously on the shore, rolled back again, a few shattered timbers could alone be perceived, with not a human being clinging to them.

Shrieks of despair, heard above the howling tempest, rose from the surging water, but they were speedily hushed, and of the struggling wretches two men alone, almost exhausted, were thrown by a succeeding wave on the shingly beach, together with the bodies of several already numbered among the dead.

When Captain Martin came to muster the shipwrecked men saved by his exertions, he found that upwards of three hundred of the crew of his late antagonist had perished, seventy alone having landed in safety. Leaving a party on the beach to watch lest any more should be washed on shore, he and the magistrate led the way up the cliff. The Frenchmen followed with downcast hearts, fully believing that they were to be treated as prisoners of war. Some of them, aided by the British seamen, carried those who had been too much injured to walk.

After they had arrived at a spot where some shelter was found from the fury of the wind, Captain Martin, calling a halt, sent for Rayner, and told him to assure the Frenchmen that he did not look upon them as enemies or prisoners of war, but rather as unfortunate strangers who, having been driven on the English coast by the elements, had a right to expect assistance and kind treatment from the inhabitants, and that such it was his wish to afford them.

Expressions of gratitude rose from the lips of the Frenchmen when Rayner had translated what Captain Martin had said. The magistrate then offered to receive as many as his own house could accommodate, as did two gentlemen who had accompanied him, their example being followed by other persons, and before morning the whole of the shipwrecked seamen were housed, including three or four officers, the only ones saved. The poor fellows endeavoured by every way in their power to show how grateful they were for the kindness they were receiving.

Captain Martin’s first care was to write an account of the occurrence to the Admiralty, stating what he had done, and expressing a hope that the shipwrecked crew would be sent back as soon as possible to France.

By return of post, which was not, however, until the end of three or four days, Captain Martin had the satisfaction of receiving a letter from the king himself, highly approving of his conduct, and directing that the Frenchmen should each receive as much clothing and money as they required, and as soon as a cartel could be got ready, sent back to Cherbourg or some other French port.

News of the battered state of the Thisbe having been received at the Admiralty, a frigate was ordered round to escort her into port, as she was not in a position to put to sea safely by herself. The Frenchmen having been received on board the two frigates, and a light northerly breeze springing up, they sailed together for Plymouth. The pumps were kept going on board the Thisbe during the whole passage, when the Frenchmen, at the instigation of Captain Turgot, volunteered to work them.

Rayner had many a talk about Pierre with his old friend, who longed to embrace his son, and was profuse in his expressions of gratitude for the kindness he had received.

Directly he returned on board, Rayner went to Jack, whom he found going on well. Captain Turgot, on hearing that Jack had been wounded, begged permission to see him, and from that moment spent every instant he could by his side, tending him as if he had been his own son.

It was curious to see the way the English sailors treated their French guests who had so lately been engaged with them in a desperate fight. Several were suffering from bruises and exposure on the wreck. These were nursed with a tender care, as if they had been women or children, the sailors carrying those about whose legs had been hurt, and feeding two or three, whose hands or arms had been injured, just as if they had been big babies.

The rest of the Frenchmen who had escaped injury quickly recovered their spirits, and might have been seen toeing and heeling it at night to the sound of Bob Rosin’s fiddle; and Bob, a one-legged negro, who performed the double duty of cook’s second mate and musician-general of the ship, was never tired of playing as long as he could get any one to dance. The style of performance of the two nationalities was very different, but both received their share of applause from one another. The Frenchmen leapt into the air, whirled, bounded and skipped, while the British tars did the double-shuffle and performed the various evolutions of the hornpipe, to the admiration of their Gallic rivals.

By the time they had reached Plymouth they had won each other’s hearts, and hands were wrung, and many of the Frenchmen burst into tears as they took their leave of their gallant entertainers, all protesting that they should always remember their kindness, and expressing the hope that they should never meet again except as friends.

Sad it is that men, who would be ever ready to live on friendly terms and advance their mutual interests, should, by the ambition and lust of power of a few, be compelled to slaughter and injure each other, as has unhappily been the case for so many centuries throughout the whole civilised portion of the world.

As soon as the anchor was dropped, Rayner asked for leave to go on shore with Captain Turgot, to visit Mrs Crofton, and learn how Pierre was getting on.

“You may go, but you must return on board at night, as there is plenty of work to be done,” answered the first lieutenant.

“Thank you, sir,” said Rayner; and he hurried below to tell Captain Turgot to get ready.

They shoved off by the first boat going on shore. They walked on quickly through the streets of Plymouth, Rayner anticipating the pleasure of seeing Mrs Crofton and Mary, and of witnessing the meeting between the honest Frenchman and his son.

“I hope that we shall find Pierre recovered; but the doctor said his wound would take long to heal, and you must not be surprised if he is still unable to move,” he said to Captain Turgot. “Our friends will take very good care of him, and perhaps you would like to remain behind until he is well.”

“I would wish to be with him, but I am anxious to relieve the anxiety of Madame Turgot and Jeannette, who, if they do not see me, will suppose that I am lost,” answered the Captain. “I shall grieve to leave my boy behind, but I know that he will be well cared for, and I cannot tell you, my young friend, how grateful I am. Little did I think, when I picked you up out of the water, how amply you would return the service I did you.”

“I certainly did not expect in any way to be able to repay it,” said Rayner, “or, to say the truth, to feel the regard for Frenchmen which I do for you and your son.”

Rayner found Mrs Crofton and her daughter seated in the drawing-room. After the first greetings were over, and he had introduced Captain Turgot, he inquired after Pierre, expecting, through not seeing him, that he was still unable to leave his room.

“He has gone out for a short walk, as the doctor tells him to be in the fresh air as much as possible, and he is well able to get along with the help of a stick,” answered Mrs Crofton. “I hope his father has not come to take him away, for we shall be very sorry to lose him?”

“I don’t know whether he will be allowed to go without being exchanged,” answered Rayner; and he gave an account of the wreck of the Zenobie and the arrangement which had been made for sending the survivors of her crew back to France.

“That is very kind and generous of our good king. No wonder that his soldiers and sailors are so ready to fight for him,” remarked Mrs Crofton.

While they were speaking, Pierre entered the house. His joy at seeing his father almost overcame him. They threw themselves into each other’s arms and embraced as Frenchmen are accustomed to embrace—somewhat, it must be confessed, to Mary’s amusement. After they had become more tranquil they sat down and talked away at such a rate that even Rayner could scarcely understand what they were saying. He meantime had a pleasant conversation with Mary and her mother, for he had plenty to tell them, and they evidently liked to listen to him.

After some time, during a pause in the conversation, Captain Turgot desired Pierre to tell Mrs Crofton and her daughter how grateful he felt for their kindness, his own knowledge of English being insufficient to express his wishes.

They, hearing him, replied in French, and soon the whole party was talking away in that language, though Mary’s French, it must be admitted, was not of a very choice description; but she laughed at her own mistakes, and Rayner helped her out when she was in want of a word.

The afternoon passed pleasantly away, and Rayner, looking at his watch, was sorry to find it was time to return. He told Pierre that he must report his state to the Captain and Mr Saltwell, who would decide what he was to do.

Captain Turgot went back with him, having nowhere else to go.

Captain Martin lost no time in carrying out the wishes of the kind king. A brig was chartered as a cartel, on board of which the Frenchmen were at once sent. Rayner was not aware that Mr Saltwell had obtained permission for Pierre to go back with his father, and was much surprised on being directed to go to Mrs Crofton’s, and to escort him on board the brig.

Pierre seemed scarcely to know whether to laugh or cry at regaining his liberty as he took leave of his kind hostess and her daughter; but his desire to see his mother and sister and la belle France finally overcame his regret at parting from them, and he quickly got ready to set off.

“We shall be happy to see you as soon as you can come again, Mr Rayner,” said Mrs Crofton.

“Oh yes,” added Mary, in a sweet voice, with a smile, which made our hero at once promise that he would lose no opportunity of paying them a visit. Rayner’s first duty was to see Captain Turgot and Pierre on board the cartel. They embraced him with tears in their eyes as they wished him farewell, and many of the grateful Frenchmen gathered round him, several expressing their hopes that France and England would soon make up their quarrel.

“What it’s all about, ma foi, is more than I or any of us can tell,” exclaimed a boatswain’s mate, wringing Rayner’s hand, which all were eager to grasp. “We are carried on board ship and told to fight, and so we fight—more fools we! If we were wise, we should navigate our merchant vessels, or go fishing, or stay at home and cultivate our fields and gardens. We all hope that there’ll be peace when we next meet, messieurs.”

Many others echoed the sentiment, and cheered Rayner, who, after he had sent many kind messages to Madame Turgot and Jeannette, hurried down the side and returned on board the frigate.

Chapter Twenty Six.

The ship on fire.

Jack, with the rest of those who had been wounded, had been sent to the hospital. Rayner the next day obtained leave to visit him. He was sorry for Tom, who was thus left very much to his own resources, and he tried to find an opportunity of speaking a kind word to his former companion; but Tom, as before, sulkily kept aloof, so that he was compelled to leave him to himself. He was very sorry, soon after, to see him being led along the deck by the master-at-arms. Tom looked dreadfully downcast and frightened.

Rayner inquired what he had been doing.

“Attempting to desert, sir,” was the answer. “He had got on shore and had dressed himself in a smock-frock and carter’s hat, and was making his way out of the town.”

Tom could not deny the accusation, and he was placed in irons, awaiting his punishment, with two other men who had also run from the ship and had been caught.

Rayner felt a sincere compassion for his old messmate, and obtained leave to pay him a visit, anxious to ascertain if there were any extenuating circumstances by which he might obtain a remission of his punishment.

“What made you try to run, Fletcher?” he asked, as he found Tom and his two companions seated in “durance vile,” on the deck.

“I wanted to go back to my father and to try and persuade him to get me made a midshipman as you are,” answered Tom. “It’s a shame that a gentleman’s son should be treated as I have been, and made a powder monkey of, while you have been placed on the quarter-deck.”

“I thought that you had applied to your father before, and that he had refused to interfere,” said Rayner, taking no notice of Tom’s remark in regard to himself.

“I know that, well enough; but it was my brother who answered the letter; and, as my father is a clever man, I daresay by this time he has become rich again, and, for very shame at having a son of his a common ship’s boy, would do as I wish. Can’t you tell the captain that, and perhaps he’ll excuse me the flogging? It’s very hard to be prevented seeing my family, and to be flogged into the bargain. It’s more than I can bear, and I’ve a great mind to jump overboard and drown myself when I get my wrists out of these irons.”

“You’ll not do that,” answered Rayner, knowing very well that Tom did not dream of putting his threat into execution; “but I’ll tell the first lieutenant what you say about your wish to see your family, though I fear it will not influence him in recommending the captain to remit your punishment. I would advise you, whatever happens, to submit, and to try, by doing your duty, to gain a good name for yourself,” said Rayner, who gave him some other sound advice before he returned on deck.

Mr Saltwell shook his head when he heard what Rayner had to say.

“The captain won’t forgive him, you may depend upon that, Rayner,” he answered; “desertion must be punished, were it only as a warning to others.”

Rayner, fortunately for himself, was on shore when Tom underwent his punishment, so that he was saved the pain of seeing it inflicted.

The frigate had been surveyed, but what opinion had been formed about her was not known for some time. At length the captain, who had gone on shore, returned, and, mustering the ship’s company, informed them that, according to the surveyor’s report, it would take some months to put her in thorough repair, and that in the meantime he had been appointed to the command of the store-ship Bombay Castle, of sixty-four guns, bound for the Mediterranean, and he should take his officers and crew with him. “We all of us might wish for more active service, my lads, but we shall not be long absent, and I hope by the time we come back that we shall find our tight little frigate as ready for any duty she may be sent on, as you all, I am sure, will be.”

A cheer was the reply to this address, and the next day the officers and crew of the Thisbe went on board their new ship. They had, however, first to get her ready for sea, and then to receive the stores on board, by which time several of the wounded men, including Jack Peek, had sufficiently recovered to join her.

The Bombay Castle was rolling her away across the Bay of Biscay with a northerly breeze. She was a very different craft from the Thisbe, and though more than twice her size, not nearly so comfortable. Captain Martin had received orders to avoid an engagement, except attacked, and then to do his best to escape, as the stores she carried were of great value, and were much required by the fleet. Though several sail were sighted supposed to be an enemy’s squadron, she managed to escape from them, and arrived safe at Gibraltar. Here she was joined by the Ione frigate, and the two ships sailed together, expecting to fall in with the fleet off Toulon.

The two ships lay almost becalmed in the Gulf of Lyons. Several officers of the Ione, which was only a short distance off, had come on board, when Captain Martin advised them, somewhat to their surprise, to get back to the frigate.

“I don’t quite like the look of the weather,” he remarked. “I’ve seen the masts of a ship whipped out of her, when not five minutes before there was no more wind than we have at present.”

The frigate’s boat left the side and was seen pulling rapidly towards her. Suddenly the cry was heard, “All hands on deck to save ship!”

Those who were below, springing up, found the ship heeling over till her yard-arms almost touched the foaming water, which came rushing over the deck, while the watch were engaged in letting fly tacks and sheets, lowering topsails, clewing up, and hauling down, blocks were rattling, sails shivering, the wind roaring, the sea leaping, hissing, and foaming. The helm was put up, the ship righted, and away she flew before the furious blast, not having suffered any material damage.

The Ione, however, could nowhere be seen. Struck by the squall, she might either have been dismasted or have capsized. In the former case it was very probable that she might fall into the hands of the enemy; but, much as the captain desired it, he could not return to her assistance.

Night came on, and the gale increased, the big ship tumbling and rolling about almost as much as she would have done in the Atlantic, so rapidly did the sea get up. It took some time to get everything snug, but as the ship was at a considerable distance from the land, no great anxiety was felt for her safety.

In the morning the master reported that by his calculation they were about thirteen leagues south-east of Cape Saint Sebastian, on the Spanish coast.

The wind had fallen with almost the same rapidity with which it had risen, but there was still a good deal of sea on. It had now shifted. The first lieutenant was officer of the watch, and was superintending the operation of washing decks.

Rayner, and another midshipman, also with bare feet and trousers tucked up, were paddling about, directing the men in their various duties.

Our hero had just came aft, and was addressing Mr Saltwell, when the latter looking forward, suddenly exclaimed, “What can that smoke be? Run and see where it comes from!”

As Rayner hurried forward he observed a thick volume of smoke rising out of the fore-hatchway, and immediately afterwards a similar ominous cloud ascended from the main hatchway. Before he had made a step aft to report this he saw Mr Saltwell hastening forward.

The next moment the cry of “Fire!” was raised, and the people came rushing up the hatchway in the midst of volumes of smoke ascending from the orlop deck.

“Rayner, go and inform the captain what has occurred,” said Mr Saltwell, in a calm tone. “Let the drum beat to quarters!” he shouted.

The rolling sound of the drum was soon heard along the decks, and the men, springing from all parts of the ship, hurried to their respective stations, where they stood, ready for their orders.

Not a cry was heard. Not an expression of alarm escaped from one of the men. Scarcely a word was spoken as they stood prepared to do their duty.

Summoning the gunner and the boatswain, the first lieutenant ordered the former to open the ports, to give light and air below, and the latter to pipe up the hammocks. He then ascended to the orlop deck, made his way first into one tier, then into another, in both of which he found the smoke issuing exceedingly thick from forward. He was now joined by the second lieutenant and Rayner.

“We’ll just go into the sail-room and ascertain if the fire is there,” he said.

On reaching it, there was no appearance of fire or smoke. It was thus evident that the seat of the fire was farther forward. He and his companions next proceeded to the hold, but the dense smoke compelled them to beat a retreat, as their throats became affected as if from the fumes of hot tar. A second attempt to reach the hold was equally unsuccessful. The entire absence of heat, however, convinced them that the fire could not be in that part of the ship, but that the smoke found its way through the bulkheads.

They were returning on deck, when a cry was raised that the fire was down forward.

“I alone will go!” said Mr Saltwell. “Not a life must be risked without necessity. Remain, and render me any assistance I may require.”

Having descended to the orlop deck, he was attempting to go down into the cockpit, when several men rushed by him, crying out that the fire was increasing. He endeavoured to retreat, but would have fallen before he reached the deck, had not the second lieutenant and Rayner, springing forward, assisted him up, and the next moment he sank down, apparently lifeless.

It was some minutes before the fresh air revived him.

Two poor fellows were suffocated by the smoke rolling in dense volumes along the lower deck, and others were rescued half dead by their shipmates.

Some short time was of necessity lost while the captain and master and the lieutenants were holding a consultation as to what was to be done.

In the meantime, Rayner, seeing the importance of discovering the seat of the fire, resolved at every risk to make the attempt. Without telling any of the officers of his intention, he called on Ben Twinch and Jack and Tom, whom he met on his way, to accompany him, and to bring a long rope with him. On reaching the hatchway he fastened the end round his waist.

“Haul me up if you find it becomes slack,” he said. “You’ll know then that I am not able to get on.”

“Don’t go, sir! don’t go!” cried Jack. “It won’t matter to any one if I get choked, but so many would be sorry if anything happened to you.”

“I’ll tell you what it is, Mr Rayner,” exclaimed Ben; “no man who hasn’t been down to the bottom of Stromboli or down Etna will be able to live two minutes in the cockpit, and I cannot help you, sir, to throw your life away. The ship’s on fire somewhere forward, and what we’ve got to do is to pump the water over it, and try and put it out. If we can’t do that, we must shut down the hatches, and see if we can’t smother it.”

Rayner was not inclined to listen to this well-meant and really judicious advice, but rushing forward, was attempting to make his way down the ladder. Scarcely, however, had he descended three or four steps, when the smoke filling his mouth and nostrils, he would have fallen headlong down had not Ben and Jack hauled him up again, almost in the same condition as Mr Saltwell had been.

“I told you so, sir,” said Ben, as he carried him out of the way of the hose, which now began to play over the spot, under the direction of Mr Saltwell. The water, however, seemed to make no impression on the fire, or in any way to lessen the volumes of smoke, which, on the contrary, became thicker and thicker.

The men who were directing the hose were compelled to retire. The carpenters had, in the meantime, been engaged in scuttling the orlop deck, so that water might be poured down in great quantities. All their efforts were of no avail, however.

In a short time the first lieutenant was heard issuing his orders to cover in the hatchways, and to close the ports, so as to prevent the circulation of air.

With a sad heart Mr Saltwell now went on deck to report to the captain what had been done. He spoke in a low and earnest tone.

“I am afraid, Captain Martin, that we cannot hope to save the ship,” he said; “the fire may be kept under for an hour or perhaps two hours, but if it once makes its way through the hatchways and gets to the lower decks, there is nothing to stop it. I would strongly advise that the boats should at once be got ready, so that as many lives as possible may be preserved.”

“Were we to do that, the people would immediately fancy that the destruction of the ship is certain, and abandon themselves to despair,” said the captain.

“I know our men, and can answer for their doing their duty,” replied Mr Saltwell, with confidence. “If we delay getting out the boats, we may find it impossible to do so at last, and the lives of all on board may be sacrificed. We can trust to the marines, and give them directions to prevent any of the men getting into the boats until you issue the order for them to do so.”

“You are right, Saltwell; send the sergeant of marines here,” said the captain.

The sergeant quickly appeared and stood bolt upright, with his hand to the peak of his hat, as if on parade, ready to receive any orders which might be given.

“Call out your men, and understand that they are to load with ball and shoot any of the seamen who get into the boats without orders.”

The sergeant, saluting, faced about, as if going to perform some ordinary routine of duty, and, quickly mustering his marines, stationed them as directed. The first lieutenant now gave orders to the boatswain to turn the hands up, and as soon as they appeared on deck, he shouted, “Out boats! but understand, my lads, that not one of you is to enter them without leave. The marines have received orders to shoot the first man who attempts to do so, though you do not require to be told that.”

The crew hastened to the tackles and falls, and with the most perfect regularity the boats were lowered into the water when they were veered astern and secured for towing. The helm was now put down, the yards braced up, and the ship’s head directed to the north-west, in which direction the land lay, though not visible from the deck.

The crew knew by this that the captain and officers considered the ship to be in great danger, and at the same time it encouraged them to persevere in their attempts to keep the fire under. They had some hopes also of falling in with the Ione or by firing the guns to attract her attention, should she be within hearing of them.

As the boats, however, would not carry the whole ship’s company, the captain directed the carpenter and his mates to get the booms overboard for the purpose of constructing a raft large enough to support those whom the boats could not carry.

As it was now evident, from the increasing volumes of smoke which ascended through the hatchways, that the fire was working its way aft, although the flames had not yet burst out, it became of the greatest importance to get the powder out of the magazine. For this purpose the second lieutenant descended with a party of men, and succeeded in bringing up a considerable quantity, which was stowed in the stern gallery. All the other hands, not otherwise employed, were engaged under the different officers in heaving water down the hatchways; but the smoke increased to such a degree that they were compelled to desist, several who persevered falling senseless on the deck. The powder which had been got up being hove into the sea, the captain gave the order to drown the magazine. The difficulty of accomplishing this task was, however, very great, and the second lieutenant and gunner, with several of the men, were drawn up, apparently lifeless, after making the attempt. Lieutenant Saltwell now again descended to the after cockpit, where he found one man alone still persevering in the hazardous duty—Ben Twinch, boatswain’s mate.

“A few more buckets, and we’ll do it, sir!” cried Ben; but almost immediately afterwards he sank down exhausted.

The lieutenant, singing out for a rope, fastened it round him, though feeling that he himself would be overpowered before the gallant seaman could be drawn up. He succeeded, however, and once more returned to the deck above. Still, he knew that a large quantity of powder remained dry, and that should the fire reach the magazine, the destruction of all on board would be inevitable. Although gasping for breath, he was about again to descend, when a light, active figure, with a rope round his waist, darted passed him, and he recognised Rayner. He was about to follow, when he heard the voice of the midshipman shouting, “Haul me up, quick!”

The next instant Rayner was drawn up, too much exhausted to speak. He had succeeded in drowning a portion of the powder; but a quantity remained, sufficient at any moment to blow the ship into the air.

Although no human being could exist between the decks forward, the after-part of the lower deck remained free from smoke. In the hopes of getting at the magazine, the carpenter was directed to cut scuttles through the ward-room, and gun-room, so as to get down right above it. By keeping all the doors closed, the smoke was prevented from entering, and at length it was found that the powder could be drawn, up and hove overboard out of the gallery windows. Several of the officers volunteered for this dangerous duty. Rayner, notwithstanding that he had just before escaped suffocation, again twice descended, and was each time drawn up more dead than alive. Several hours had now gone by, and the wind providentially holding fair, the ship was nearing the land. Meantime, the fire was fast gaining on them, and might at any moment triumph over all the heroic efforts of the crew to subdue it. The heat below was intense. The first lieutenant, going forward, found that the hatches had been blown off, as also the tarpaulins placed over the gratings. As it was of the greatest importance to keep them on, he directed the carpenter, with as many men as could be obtained, to replace them, while he returned once more aft, to superintend the operation of getting up the powder.

Although hitherto none of the men had attempted to shirk their duty, greatly to his annoyance he saw, on looking out of the ward-room windows, the stern ladders covered with people, who fancied that they would there be more secure, and escape discovery.

At once bursting open a window he ordered them all up, and directed Rayner to go and see that they made their appearance on deck. Among one of the first who came creeping up, our hero discovered his former messmate Tom Fletcher.

“You people have disgraced yourselves. Fletcher, I am sorry to have to say the same to you,” he exclaimed.

It was the first time he had ever openly found fault with his former companion, but his feelings compelled him to utter the words.

Tom, and the whole of the men who had been on the ladders, sneaked away on either side, ashamed, at all events, of being found out, and still looking with longing eyes at the boats astern. Every now and then a seaman was brought aft and placed under the doctor’s care, but of the number four were found to be past recovery, and it seemed doubtful whether several others would revive.

The greater portion of the crew, under the direction of the officers, were vieing with each other, trying to keep down the flames.

The wind shifted a point or two more in their favour. The captain immediately ordered the hands aloft, to set the topgallant sails and royals.

Seven anxious hours had passed, when while the men were still aloft, the cry arose, “Land, land, on the weather bow!”

The men on deck cheered at the announcement. In a short time it could be observed through the haze right ahead. The sight, though the land was still five leagues distant, revived the sinking spirits of the crew, and spurred them on to greater exertions. Still, notwithstanding all their efforts, the fire rapidly increased. Again and again efforts were made to clear the magazine, but the smoke as often drove the men back. By this time the whole of the fore part of the lower deck was on fire, but owing to the ports being closed and all circulation of air prevented, the flames did not rise with the rapidity which would otherwise have been the case. The fear was that, the heels of the masts being consumed by the fire, the masts themselves might fall.

Still they stood right gallantly, carrying their widespread canvas, and urging on the ship to the wished-for shore.

By this time all communication with the fore part of the ship was cut off. The crew were gathered aft, still actively employed in fighting the flames by heaving down water. But foot by foot they were driven towards the stern.

At length the devouring element burst through all control, and rushed up the fore-hatchway, rising triumphantly as high as the foreyard. Yet the ship kept on her way.

The men remained firm to their duty. Now, not only from the fore, but from the main hatchway, the flames were seen to ascend, but for some time, the courses having been thoroughly wetted, they stood still urging on the ship towards the land.

Time went on. The fire had commenced at seven in the morning, it was now several hours past noon. For all that period the crew had been fighting desperately with the fiery element for their lives. Anxiously, with straining eyes, they gazed at the land. On either side a dark mass of smoke ascended before them, and blew away to leeward, while the lurid flames rose beneath it, striving furiously for victory over the masts and spars, sails and rigging. It seemed like a miracle that the masts should stand in the midst of the hot furnace which glowed far down the depths of the ship. All were aware that at any moment one of several fearful events might occur. The wind might shift and prevent the ship reaching the land ahead, or a gale might spring up and cast the ship helplessly upon the rocks, or a calm might come on and delay her progress, or the masts, burnt through, might fall and crush those on deck, or, still more dreadful, a spark might reach the magazine, and her immediate destruction must follow.

Still the officers and crew strove on, though they well knew that no human power could extinguish the raging flames, which with sullen roar came nearer and nearer to where they stood.

An alarm was given that the mizenmast was on fire in the captain’s cabin, and as Rayner looked over the side, he could see the flames burst out of the lee ports. The guns had not been loaded, but there was no necessity to fire signals of distress. The condition of the ship could be seen from far along the shore, and it was hoped that boats would, as she drew near, put off to her assistance.

The master, some time before, had brought up a chart on deck, and now pointed out to his brother officers the exact spot towards which the ship was steering. It was the Bay of Rosas. Already the ship was entering between two capes which formed its northern and southern sides. The captain stood in the midst of his officers and men, gathered on deck, for every place below was filled with smoke, and, except in the after-part of the ship, the raging flames had gained full mastery.

His wish had been to reach the shore before any one quitted the ship; he now saw that to do this was impossible.

“My lads,” he said, “I am about to order up the boats. You have hitherto maintained your discipline; let me see that you are ready to obey orders to the last. And now we’ll have the raft overboard, which will carry every man who cannot be stowed in the boats, even if the Spaniards don’t come out to help us. Lower away.”

It was no easy matter to perform this operation, with the fire raging uncontrolled not many feet off, almost scorching the backs of the men standing nearest it.

A cheer announced that it had safely reached the water, when the carpenter and his crew, with a few additional hands, were ordered on to it, to secure the booms on either side, so as to increase its power of supporting a heavy weight.

Scarcely had this been done, and the launch ordered up under the stern, than the ship struck and remained immovable, though nearly a mile from the shore. Then the tall masts seemed to sway to and fro as if they were about to fall, though it might only have been fancy.

The marines, who had faithfully performed their duty, were stationed on either side, while the sick and several of the wounded were lowered into the launch. The boys and younger midshipmen were next directed to go down the ladder, and the other men were told off. The two yawls and jolly-boat being hauled up, were then loaded with as many as they could carry.

“May I stay by you, sir?” asked Rayner of Mr Saltwell.

“No, Rayner,” answered the first lieutenant; “you have done your duty well this day, and I cannot allow you to risk your life by remaining a moment longer than is necessary. We cannot tell when the ship may blow up. It may be before the captain and I quit her. I order you to go.”

Rayner obeyed and descended into one of the yawls. Looking towards the shore he saw several boats coming off. He pointed them out to the officer in command of the launch. “Tell them to come under the stern of the ship and take off the remainder of the crew,” said the lieutenant.

While the yawl was pulling towards the Spanish boats, he looked round to the ship. Already it appeared as if the flames were rushing from every port, while they were rising higher and higher, forming a vast pyramid of fire, as circling round and round the masts they caught hold of the canvas and rigging, and seized the spars in their embrace.

He urged the crew to pull with all their strength, that they might the sooner return to the assistance of their friends. The Spanish boats were reached, but in vain he endeavoured to persuade their crews to come near the burning ship. They were ready enough to receive on board the people in the yawl, but not to risk their lives by approaching her.

One of the officers could speak a little Spanish, and Rayner tried his French upon them, endeavouring to persuade them, and at length threatening condign punishment if they refused. But nothing that could be said had any effect. Time was precious, so, putting the men from the crowded yawl into one of the boats, Rayner, who took charge of her, urging the men to pull with all their might steered back for the ship. From the position in which the boat was, between her head and the shore, she appeared already to be one mass of flame. It seemed impossible indeed that any human being could still be alive on board. Pulling round, however, so as to approach the stern, Rayner saw that the after portion still remained free from flame, though the crew, as if they knew that there was no time to be lost, were not only descending the ladders, but sliding rapidly down the ropes hanging over the taffrail on to the raft. They had good reason for doing so, for he could see the ruddy light even through the stern windows, and from every port, except the extreme after ones, the flames were rushing out.

Three figures alone stood on the poop; they were those of the captain, the first lieutenant, and master, who had maintained their perilous position until every living man was out of the ship.

Remembering the remark Mr Saltwell had made just before he had quitted the ship, Rayner again urged on his well-nigh exhausted crew to pull up and rescue their brave officers. The raft was crowded with men. The shout rose, “Shove off! shove off!” and with broken spars and pieces of board, those on it were endeavouring to make their way to a distance from the side of the ship.

Rayner steered his boat under the stern. The master was the first to descend, Mr Saltwell came next, and the captain was the last to leave her.

“Pull away, Rayner,” he said, in a calm voice. “We have reason to be thankful to Providence that she has not blown up yet, for at any moment the fire may reach the magazine, and there is still powder enough, I understand, to send the fragments far around.”

The first yawl having received on board several people from the land, took the raft in tow. In a short time the other boats returned, having placed the people they carried in the Spanish boats, several of which also arrived, though they lost not a moment in pulling again towards the shore, as far as they could from the burning ship.

The captain directed Rayner to keep astern of the other boats. His eye rested on his ship as if he desired to see her as long as she existed. The moment of her destruction came at last. The rest of the crew having landed, the yawl was nearing the shore, when a loud roar was heard as if a whole broadside had been fired. The flames rose high in the air; the masts shot upwards surrounded by burning fragments of planks and timbers; the stout sides, rent asunder, rushed outwards, and in another minute a few blackened fragments of the gallant ship, which had that morning floated trim and proudly on the ocean, were alone visible.

Captain Martin looked sad and grave as he stepped on shore; but he felt that he, as well as his officers, had done their duty, and had made every possible effort to preserve the ship. Neither he nor they could discover the cause of the fire.

Fortunately, England had not then declared war against Spain, and the authorities received the British officers and men in a friendly manner, while many of the inhabitants of the neighbouring town vied with each other in rendering them all the service in their power.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

A narrow escape—Home—An action suddenly ended.

The morning after the day they landed in Spain, Rayner had gone down to the beach with Mr Saltwell, who wanted, he said, to have another look at the remains of the old barkie. The midshipman was examining the black ribs of the wreck appearing above water through the telescope which the lieutenant had lent him, when the latter exclaimed, “Do you see a sail away to the south-east?”

The sun glanced for a moment on her canvas.

“Yes, sir,” answered Rayner. “She’s a large craft, too, for I can only just see her royals rising above the horizon. She’s standing in this direction.”

“Hand me the glass,” said Mr Saltwell. “You are right, youngster,” he continued, looking through it. “I only hope that she may be one of our own cruisers, but it will be some time before that point can be decided.”

After watching the approaching stranger for some time the lieutenant and midshipman returned with the intelligence to the farm-house where the captain and several of the other officers were quartered.

Hoping that she might be the Ione, Captain Martin ordered the first yawl to be got ready to go off to her. The crew were then mustered. Eight did not answer to their names. It was known how five had died, but what had become of the other three? At length it was whispered among the men that they had managed to get drinking the previous night, and had fallen below, stupefied by the smoke.

The men having breakfasted, the greater number hurried down to the shore to have a look at the stranger, now approaching under all sail.

Three cheers were uttered as the flag of England flew out at her peak. The captain immediately ordered Mr Sterling to pull off to her, and to request that his officers and ship’s company might be received on board.

“You will make sure before you get near that she is English,” he whispered. “The Frenchman may have a fancy to take some Spaniards prisoners, and would be better pleased to get hold of you.”

Rayner went as midshipman of the boat, which made good way towards the frigate now lying hove-to about three miles from the shore.

“What do you think of her, Noakes?” asked the lieutenant of the coxswain, as they got nearer.

The old seaman took a steady glance at the stranger, surveying her from truck to water-line.

“If she doesn’t carry a British crew, the Frenchmen must have got hold of her since we parted company three days ago, and I don’t think that’s likely, or there would be not a few shot-holes in her canvas, and a pretty good sprinkling in her hull, too,” he answered, in a confident tone. “She’s the Ione, sir, or I don’t know a frigate from a Dutch dogger.”

Now certain that there was no mistake, Mr Sterling steered for the frigate. Pulling alongside, he and Rayner stepped on board. Captain Dickson, with most of his officers, were on deck.

“Where is your ship?” was the first question the captain asked of the lieutenant.

“There is all that remains of her,” answered Mr Sterling, pointing to the blackened ribs of the ship, which could be distinguished through a telescope near the shore; and he gave an account of what had happened.

Due regrets at the occurrence having been expressed, Captain Dickson saying that he had been induced to stand into the bay in consequence of hearing the sound of the explosion, at once ordered out all the boats, and in a few minutes they were pulling for the shore, accompanied by the yawl.

The Ione, meantime, was standing in somewhat nearer, to be ready to receive the crew of the store-ship on board.

No time was lost in embarking, and it was with intense satisfaction that Captain Martin and those under him found themselves again on the deck of an English frigate.

Sail was at once made for Gibraltar, Malta not having at that time been taken possession of by the English. As the two ships’ companies had to be stowed away below, they were compelled to pack pretty closely, but no one minded that, as they expected a speedy passage to the Rock, while the officers and crew of the store-ship hoped immediately to be sent back to England.

It is too true a saying that “There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.” The Ione was about midway between the Spanish coast and Majorca, when, as morning broke, a number of ships were seen standing out from the direction of Minorca. At first it was supposed that they were part of the English fleet, but after two of the lieutenants had taken a careful survey of them from aloft, it was decided that they were French.

“They have seen us, and guess what we are,” observed Captain Dickson to his brother captain. “See, here come two frigates in chase. Turn the hands up and make sail!” he added, addressing the first lieutenant.

The crew were quickly aloft, and every stitch of canvas the Ione could set was packed upon her. There was no disgrace in running from so superior a force. The Ione was considered a good sailer, but the Frenchmen showed that they were still faster. Captain Dickson, however, had no intention of yielding his ship as long as he had a stick standing to escape with. Full of men as he now was, he hoped to beat off both his foes, though he could not expect to capture them in sight of an enemy’s squadron. As they got nearer, a couple of guns were trained aft to serve as stern chasers, and every preparation was made to fight for life and liberty.

Another frigate and two line-of-battle ships were seen standing after the first, but they were so far astern, that should the Ione keep ahead, without having her masts and spars shot away, there might still be hopes of her escaping.

British seamen seldom wish to avoid a fight, but on the present occasion few on board were such fire-eaters as not to hope that they might keep well ahead of their foes.

The two frigates were rapidly gaining on the Ione; another half-hour, or even less, and she would be within range of their guns. To hit her, however, they would have to yaw, and this would enable her to gain on them, while she could fire without altering her course.

Jack and Tom every now and then got a glimpse of the enemy through the ports.

“I say, Jack, it isn’t fair of those two fellows out there to be chasing us after all we have gone through. I was hoping to go home and see my father, and ask him to get me placed on the quarter-deck. I shouldn’t like to be killed till I’ve been made a midshipman—not that I should like it then.”

“Don’t you be talking nonsense about being made a midshipman. You’ve about as much chance as you have of being made port-admiral off-hand,” answered Jack, with more temper than he generally showed. “Of course you don’t want to be killed—no more do I; but we must both be ready should it be God’s will to call us in the way of duty.”

At length the drum beat to quarters, by which the men knew that the captain expected before long to be engaged in a fierce fight.

Rayner was at his station forward, but he could still see what was taking place astern. Presently the frigates yawed. Two flashes were seen, and the low, booming sound of a couple of guns came across the ocean.

“We’re not quite within range of the mounseers’ popguns yet,” observed the boatswain, with a laugh. “They must come closer before they can harm us.”

“Do you think we can beat them off?” asked Rayner.

“You may be very sure that we’ll try pretty hard to do so,” answered the boatswain, in a confident tone. “I’ve heard of your doings aboard the Thisbe. We’ll show you that the crew of the Ione are made of the same stuff.”

As the two Frenchmen drew nearer, the desire of the British sailors to fight increased, and it was with a feeling of almost bitter disappointment, just as the Ione had fired her stern chasers, that the enemy were seen to haul their tacks aboard, in answer, apparently, to the signals made by the ships astern.

The general opinion was that the British fleet had appeared to the eastward. Whether or not this was the case it was impossible to say.

The Ione continued her course, and in a short time ran the enemy out of sight. On her arrival at Gibraltar, the first intelligence Mr Saltwell received was that he had been promoted to the rank of commander.

The very next day two ships came in from the fleet with despatches, which the Ione was directed to carry immediately to England.

As they were both short of hands, much to Captain Martin’s annoyance, a considerable number of his men were drafted on board them. Had other ships come in, he would probably have lost many more. The Ione sailed immediately with the remainder, and he hoped that they would form the nucleus of a new crew for the Thisbe.

The Ione had a quick passage to Plymouth. On his arrival there, much to his disappointment, Captain Martin found that the Thisbe was not yet ready for sea.

Rayner was considering how to dispose of himself during the intermediate time. He did not expect that Mrs Crofton would offer him a room, but he wished, at all events, to pay her and Mary a visit, as they had always shown so friendly a feeling towards him. When, however, she heard how he was situated, she insisted that he should take up his quarters with them.

“I do not require any payment, as I have no other lodger at present, and I am only too glad to have you,” she said, in a kind tone.