Captain Marryat (continued 7)

“Mr Keene, is it your watch?”

“No, sir.”

“Oblige me by telling the master to work up the reckoning; I wish to know exactly where we are.”

“It is done already, sir,” replied I, “and pricked off on the chart—I have just left the gun-room.”

“Then, Mr Keene, bring the chart into my cabin.” I followed into the cabin with the chart, which I laid down on the table, and pointed out the position of the ship.

“You were right in your supposition, Mr Keene,” said the captain; “and really this vessel turning out to be a line-of-battle ship has put me in a very awkward predicament—I really am puzzled. Fighting is of no use, and yet run away I will not, if I can possibly help it.”

Now, I had been studying the chart, and had made up my own mind how I should have acted under the circumstances, had I been in Captain Delmar’s position. The great point was, to give him my ideas without appearing to offer advice; I therefore replied, “We have one advantage, at all events sir; we have been cruising so long that we are flying light—I don’t think we draw sixteen feet water.”

“Yes, that may give us the heels of her in light winds, certainly,” replied the captain.

“I think she cannot draw less than twenty-six or twenty-seven feet of water, sir,” continued I, to put him on the right scent, “which, on this coast, will be a great advantage. I think, sir, when I was down below, I measured from soundings to soundings, and the water is so shallow, and deepens so gradually, that there is a distance of four miles between seventeen feet and twenty-eight feet water.”

I took up the compass so as to take in the two soundings laid down in the chart, and then measuring the distance, showed that my assertion was true. The captain said nothing for a little while. At last I perceived a smile on his lips. “Tell the officer of the watch to lower down the cutter, Mr Keene. Go on board of the prizes, and tell them, in addition to their present orders, to follow us, that in case of an enemy, they are to run as close in shore as the water will allow them, and drop their anchors.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied I, leaving the cabin.

This order satisfied me that the captain perceived what I would suggest, which was, that if we once got in shore and in shallow water we might laugh at the line-of-battle ship, which, in all probability would not be able to get near enough to reach us with her guns; or, if she attempted it, she would run on shore, and then we should have the best of it.

As soon as I had given the orders to the prize-masters and returned on board, the boat was hoisted up, and all sail made for the land. At twelve o’clock we sounded, and found ourselves in nine-fathom water, by which we calculated we were about thirty miles from the land. I hardly need say that a most careful lookout was kept up, that we might not fall in with our formidable adversary.

At one o’clock the moon rose, and I, having the middle watch, surveyed the horizon on every side, but without discovering the enemy; but at half-past three the day dawned, and before my watch was over it was broad daylight; and then, just as I was going down, having been relieved by the second lieutenant, a strange sail was reported about eight miles to leeward, two points before the beam.

The second lieutenant hastened down to the cabin, to report to the captain, and I went up to the mast-head to make her out, and I soon discovered that she was a line-of-battle ship: I immediately descended, and reported to the captain, who had come on deck. As we could distinguish the masts and sails of the enemy very well from the deck, the glasses were fixed upon her at the gang-way, and she was seen to set her royals and flying jib in chase of us; but we felt that we were safe, as we should be in shallow water long before she could beat up to us. All we had to fear for was the merchant vessels which we had re-taken, and which were two or three miles astern of us, with all the sail that they could carry.

It was a five-knot breeze, and the water quite smooth, which was very favourable for the line-of-battle ship and ourselves, but not for the merchant vessels, which, with their cargoes, required more wind to propel them through the water. The state of affairs, when the hands were piped to breakfast, was as follows:—

The French line-of-battle ship had stood in for the land, under all sail, until half-past-seven, being then, as she was when we first saw her, exactly two points before the beam, when, probably being in shoal water, she had tacked, and was now a little abaft our beam, and lying pretty well up for the merchant vessel the furthest astern of us. Since she had tacked, she had risen her hull out of water, so as to show her upper tier of guns. Two of the merchant vessels were about three miles astern of us,—the other one, five, and stood a fair chance of being cut off; the more so, because when we discovered the enemy, we were standing about two points free, right for the coast; whereas, upon her hauling her wind in chase, we of course did the same, which made us approach the shallow water in a more slanting direction, and consequently not get in quite so soon. We were now in seven fathoms water, and, by our pricking off on the chart, about eleven miles from land, which was so low as to be barely visible from the mast-head. The men were allowed an hour to their breakfast, and then we beat to quarters. The captain did not, however, put out the fires, so as to prevent the ship’s company’s dinner being cooked, as everything was ready, and the magazines could be opened in a minute.

At ten o’clock we had drawn into six fathoms water; the Frenchman was now nearly astern of us, still on the opposite tack, and passing about three miles to leeward of the merchant vessel which lagged most behind. It was now considered certain that she would re-capture this vessel, which was at least seven miles astern of us, and not impossible that she might take one, if not both of the others, as it was evident she was a prime sailer, as fast almost as our own ship.

At a quarter-past ten, the French line-of-battle ship tacked, and stood right after us in our wake, being now hull down about twelve miles from us.

“He’ll soon have the starnmost vessel, Mr Keene,” said Bob Cross to me. “Mr Dott has charge of her; he is always in some scrape or other.”

“Yes,” replied I; “but he gets out of them, and I dare say he will out of this.”

“Helm up there, quarter-master—flatten in forward.”

“The wind’s heading us, sir,” said the master; “she’s full again now. Thus, boy, and nothing off.”

“She has broken off two points, sir.”

“All the better,” replied the captain; “it’s a squeak for Mr Dott.”

In a few minutes we perceived that the other vessel had met the change in the wind and had broken off as well as ourselves. The Frenchman did not now lay up for the merchant vessel as she did before, and the latter had some chance of escape. It was very exciting: for as the time drew nearer to noon, the wind became more light and more variable, and at one time all the vessels broke off another point; shortly afterwards, the wind flew back again to the point which it at first blew from, and the enemy lay once more right up for the merchant vessels. The French line-of-battle ship was still about four miles astern of the merchant vessel nearest to her.

“I think we shall have a calm soon,” observed Captain Delmar. “Square the mainyard; we may as well be nearer to her, as not, now; for if it falls calm she will recapture them with her boats, and we shall be too far to give any assistance. Get the yard tackles up: all ready, Mr —?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the first lieutenant.

“Pipe the boat’s crew away, and let them get their guns and ammunition on the gangway.”

It was about a quarter to eleven when we hove to, the breeze still continuing variable and light, and the French line-of-battle ship did not come up so fast as before. We sounded after we hove to, and found that we were in five and a half fathoms water.

At twelve o’clock, in consequence of our having hove to, the relative positions of the vessels were as follows:— The two merchant vessels which had been about four miles astern of us were now alongside of us; the third was about three miles astern of us; and the Frenchman was about the same distance astern of her; so that our frigate was about six miles from the French line-of-battle ship.

Captain Delmar had given orders to pipe to dinner at seven bells (half-past eleven o’clock); that in case the boats were required, the men might have dined before the were sent away. A few minutes after twelve o’clock it fell a dead calm; the hands were turned up, the boats hoisted out and lowered down, the guns and ammunition put in them, and everything in readiness; we keeping our glasses upon the enemy, and watching her manoeuvring, which, at the distance we were, was now easily to be distinguished. Captain Delmar was aware that he ran some risk in sending his boats away, for it might so happen that a breeze might spring up from the seaward, and the enemy have the advantage of it long before us; if so, it might bring her up to the vessel astern, and the boats be captured: indeed it might bring her up nearly alongside of us before we caught the wind. It was necessary therefore, to be very cautious, and not send the boats away till the last moment—that is, before we saw the French ship hoisting out or lowering down her own. That the Frenchman knew that our boats had been hoisted out, could not be doubted, as their eyes were quite as sharp as ours. They, however, tried to double us; for all of a sudden, as I had my glass upon the French ship, I perceived three boats coming round her quarter, and pulling right for the merchant vessel: the fact was, that she had lowered down her stern and quarter boats to leeward, which we could not perceive. I reported this immediately to the captain, who ordered the boats’ crews to be piped away.

“Who is to command the boats, sir?” said the first lieutenant.

“Mr Keene,” said the captain.

“Mr Keene, I wish to speak with you before you go.”

Captain Delmar then walked to the capstern, and, in few words, pointed out what I have just stated as the difficulty which might occur, and the chances of capture.

“You understand me, Mr Keene?”

“Perfectly, sir,” replied I.

“Well, then, I trust to your discretion, Mr Keene, and hope I shall not be disappointed. Now you may go.”

“The French ship is getting up her yard tackles,” said the signal man.

“Then you have no time to lose, Mr Keene. As for the small boats, they are of no consequence.”

I went down the side, and shoved off. Our men gave way cheerfully and manfully; and the three boats of the Frenchmen had but a little start of us. In half an hour we were both within less than a mile of the merchant vessel; but the French boats were the nearest of the two. The affair now became very exciting. In another ten minutes the French boats had gained the merchant vessel, and the men were clambering up her sides, while we were not more than three cables’ length from them. That Tommy Dott was defending himself was to be presumed, as a good deal of firing took place; but before we could get alongside, it was evident that he and his men had been mastered, and the French were in possession of the vessel. But now our turn came. Dividing my boats, six in number, into two divisions, we boarded on both sides, and very soon had regained the vessel and mastered the French, who did not amount to more than thirty-five men, while we had more than seventy.

We found that the Frenchmen had not spared our people on board of the vessel, all of them being wounded or killed; but the fact was that Tommy Dott had fought most nobly, and resisted to the very last. He himself—poor fellow!—lay against the cap-stern, with his head cut open by a blow of a cutlass, and quite insensible. As soon as we had secured the prisoners, I turned my eyes to the line-of-battle ship, and saw that her large boats had shoved off; they were five in number, but much larger, and holding more men than we had.

A little reflection decided me that we should have a better chance of resisting them on board of the vessel than in the boats; and I determined that I would get my boats’ guns up on board of the vessel, and arm her in that way. It was necessary, however, to secure our boats, that they might not cut them away from alongside; I therefore, as soon as the guns and ammunition were on board, lowered the iron chain cable down from the bows, and passed it from one boat to the other under the fixed thwarts of each boat, including those captured from the French, hauling the end of the cable on board again through the stern port. We had plenty of time to do this, and make any other preparation on board, before the French boats arrived.

It was a dead calm; the sea was like a mirror, and the advancing boats, as their oars rose and fell in the water, gave you the idea of creatures possessed of life and volition, as they rapidly forced their way through the yielding fluid. The vessel’s stern was towards the line-of-battle ship, and the boats were pulling up a little on the starboard quarter. The guns which I had hoisted on board had, for want of any other means, been sufficiently secured by ropes to the slides and breechings to enable us to fire them with effect. When the boats were about a quarter of a mile from us, we opened our fire; not that we expected much from our guns, as we knew we could not obtain more than two good shots at the boats before they were alongside; still there was a chance of hitting and disabling them, and no chance was to be thrown away.

Our first shot was successful; it struck one of the pinnaces, and she swamped immediately. Our men cheered, while the other French boats pulled to it, and took up the men who were floating in the water. Before they could effect this, another gun was fired with grape and round, which apparently did some execution, as there appeared to be much confusion on board of the two boats that had gone to the assistance of their comrades. We now fully expected the boats to advance; on the contrary, they spread out on each quarter, and opened their fire upon us with their guns—a very foolish act on their part, as it gave us every advantage; for they were far superior to us in number of men, and should have boarded us at once, instead of risking the loss of more of their boats. So little did we expect this, that at one time I was debating whether I should not leave the guns in the boats alongside, instead of getting them on board, that there might be no delay in case wind sprang up, and it were necessary that we should be off; of course, as it was, I was very glad that I had decided otherwise.

The action, if it may be so termed, now continued for about half an hour without any great casualty on either side: we had five or six men wounded on board of the vessel, but none killed. I had occasionally looked round to see if there was any appearance of wind, and just about this time I perceived a black line in the offing, which promised not only wind, but wind from the very quarter which would be most disastrous to us, and I began to feel very anxious, when I heard a bugle sounded from the largest French boat. This was the signal to advance, and I was very glad, as the affair would now be soon decided.

As all our boats were secured on the starboard side of the vessel, the Frenchmen did not attempt to board on that side, as in so doing it would have been at a double disadvantage; they had therefore no alternative but to board all together on the larboard side. Two of the boats’ guns had been fixed on that side—double shotted and depressed, so as to be fired at the moment one of the boats should pass beneath them; they were both fired at the leading boat, the launch, which was very large and full of men, and the shot went through her bottom. This did not prevent her coming alongside: but she filled and sank almost immediately afterwards, while the men were climbing up the sides of the vessel. The sinking of this boat prevented the men of the other boats outside of her from supporting their companions, and we had therefore only to meet the force of the launch and the two other boats which had come alongside ahead of her, and which was in number not equal to our own.

We always had an idea that the French would never do much in the way of boarding, and so it proved; they were beat down as fast as they made their appearance above the bulwarks. The French lieutenant was attempting to get over the gunwale; he was unsupported, as almost all his men had tumbled back into the sea. Instead of cutting him down, I caught him by the collar, and hauled him on board, and as soon as he was disarmed, gave him in charge of a marine. In ten minutes all was over: two of the French boats remained alongside, and the others shoved off, half manned, and dropped astern. We gave them three cheers as a parting salutation, but we had no time to lose—the wind was evidently springing up fast; already cat’s paws were to be seen here and there rippling the water, and the line on the horizon was now dark and broad. I ordered our boats to be ready for starting, the guns to be got in, and the wounded men divided among them as fast as possible. The two large French boats which remained on the starboard side we cleared of the men who lay in them, and then had their bottoms beat out to sink them. The French lieutenant and two other officers I ordered into our own boats, to take on board as prisoners; the rest of the French who had been captured, with their wounded, we put into the three small French boats which had been captured in the first attack, taking away their oars, that, when I shoved off and left the vessel, they might drift about till they were picked up by the French ship.

Every thing being in readiness, I had now to decide what I should do with the merchant vessel. The wind coming up so fast from the seaward, gave her no chance of escape, and I decided that I would set her on fire. Having so done in three different parts, to ensure her destruction, I then shoved off with our boats, having first pushed off the Frenchmen in their boats without oars, and wished them good-bye; they certainly did look very foolish, and anything but pleased.

As we pulled for the frigate, I perceived that the line-of-battle ship’s sails were filling, and that it was touch and go with us; but I also knew that she could not leave her boats and that it would take some time to pick them up; two were half-manned, and pulling towards her; the other three were without oars, and must be picked by the other boats; all of which would occasion delay. Notwithstanding, we pulled as hard as we could and were halfway back before the breeze was sufficiently steady to enable the line-of-battle ship to make much progress through the water. Of course we could not well see what was going on when we had pulled away in the boats, and were at a distance; all we could see was, that the French line-of-battle ship was not yet in chase, from which we presumed that she had not yet picked up her boats. In the meantime the merchant vessel burnt furiously, and the columns of smoke very often hid the enemy from our view.

Before we arrived on board the breeze had passed us and caught the sails of our frigate and the two merchant vessels, so that we were more easy on that score. Captain Delmar had been very anxious; the yards, tackles, and stays, and the tackles for hoisting up the quarter-boats, were already hanging down as we pulled alongside, and “all hands in boats” was piped before we could get up the gangway. There was no time to be lost: the French line-of-battle ship had picked up her boats, and was now in chase, with studding-sails below and abaft. The two merchant vessels had made all sail, and were running inshore ahead of us. I touched my hat to the captain, and said, “Come on board, sir—shall I see the quarter-boats hoisted up?”

“If you please, Mr Keene,” replied he.

The fact was, it was very easy to tell my story after the boats were up and sail made upon the frigate, and I knew there was no time for talking.

I never witnessed such a rapidity as was shown on this occasion; in less than five minutes all the boats were on board, and all sail made. I looked at the French line-of-battle ship; she was within four miles of us, and bringing up a very steady breeze. But we were now drawing through the water, and as the re-captured vessels were three miles ahead of us, there was nothing to fear. Captain Delmar came aft to look at the Frenchman, who had already passed by the vessel which I had set on fire.

“Now, then, Mr Keene,” said he, “we will know what has taken place. Of course we have seen most of it.”

I narrated what the reader already knows.

“What do you suppose to have been the loss?”

“I should say three boats, and about forty men, sir. I forgot, sir, to tell you that we have a lieutenant and two officers prisoners, whom I brought on board with me.”

“Desire them to be brought on deck,” said the captain. “Mr Keene, you have done your work well—with great gallantry and great judgment.”

I touched my hat, not a little pleased at such a compliment from. Captain Delmar.

“What’s the last soundings, Mr Smith?” inquired the captain.

“And a quarter four, sir,” said the master.

“This chase won’t last long,” observed the captain. “Take in the lower studding-sail.”

The French lieutenant was then questioned; but with the exception of the name of the ship and captain, there was little to be expected from him, and he was dismissed and sent below.

This affair, however, was not without loss on our side (principally arising from Tommy Dott’s stout defence). We had two men killed, and we had altogether fourteen men wounded—some of them very severely. My friend Tommy Dott came on board a miserable object, his face and hair matted with blood; but when it was washed away, he proved to be not so much hurt as was supposed: the cut was severe, but the bones were not injured. He was very soon out of his hammock again, and his chief pleasure was to put his tongue in his cheek and make faces at the French lieutenant, who at last became so annoyed, that he complained to Captain Delmar, who ordered Mr Tommy to leave off these expressions of national animosity, if he had any wish to obtain his promotion. But to return.

As the breeze freshened, and the French ship had the first of it; she rapidly gained upon us, and in an hour and a half was about three miles from us. We had now shoaled our water to three fathoms and a half, which was quite near enough to the ground, as it left but four feet between our keel and the bottom; the studding-sails were taken in, and we ranged the cable. A few minutes afterwards the French line-of-battle ship was seen to shorten sail, and haul to the wind; she had followed us into as shoal water as far as she dared to venture in, and as she rounded to, out of spite, I presume, she fired a gun. The evening was now closing in, and as there was every appearance of fine weather, we stood out till we were again in four fathoms, and then dropped our anchor.

The next morning, when the day broke, the French line-of-battle ship was in the offing about eight miles distant. It may easily be imagined that the French were very much annoyed at what had taken place; their prizes re-captured, three boats lost, and their ship’s company weakened, and all by an inferior force close to them, and without any prospect of their having any revenge. But we, on the other hand, were not very pleasantly situated. It is true that we were safe, but, at the same time, we were in prison, and could not hope for escape, unless some vessel came down to our assistance; and how long we might be compelled to remain where we were, or what the chapter of accidents might bring about, no one could foresee.

About eight o’clock the French ship again stood in, and when as close as she dare come to us, she ran up and down, trying for deeper water on one side or the other, but in vain. She was within gun-shot of us, it is true, as we had run out into four fathoms; but we could always trip our anchor when we pleased and stand further in. At last she tried a shot at us, and it fell very close. Captain Delmar did not, however, get under weigh and stand further in, although he ordered the capstern bars to be shipped, and the messenger passed. A second and a third shot were fired, and one went over us. At last the Frenchman anchored, and set to work in good earnest. He found that he was within range, and as we did not move, presumed that we were in as shallow water as we could run into.

As the wind was still to seaward, we laid head on to him, and one of his shot struck us in the forefoot; Captain Delmar then ordered the cable to be hove in and the anchor tripped, by which means we drifted in shore and increased our distance without his being aware of it, and his firing still continued, but without injury to us. The reason for Captain Delmar’s doing this was evident; he wished the French ship to continue firing, as the report of her guns might be heard and bring down some vessel to our assistance. At all events, such was not our good fortune on the first day, and I began to be tired of our situation; so did Captain Delmar; for on the second day he sent a boat to the recaptured vessels, which were at anchor inshore of us, directing them to heave up as soon as it was dark, and make the best of their way to Barbadoes, keeping well in shore till they got more to the northward; this they did, and the following morning they were not in sight.

The French ship still remained at anchor, and it appeared that she had been lightening so as to get further in; for on that morning she weighed, and stood in to a mile and a half of us, and we were obliged to do the same, and run inshore out of his reach. To effect this we anchored in three and a quarter fathoms, so that we actually stirred up the mud. Towards the evening the wind fortunately shifted to off shore, and as soon as it was dark the captain ordered the anchor to be weighed, and we made all sail to the northward, trusting to our heels; the following morning we had run seventy miles, and as the French ship was not to be seen, it was to be presumed that she was not aware of our having so done.

Ten days afterwards we dropped our anchor in Carlisle Bay, Barbadoes. We found two men-of-war, both captains junior officers to our own, and I took this opportunity of passing my examination, which was a mere matter of form. Having watered and taken in provisions, we then sailed for Jamaica, to join the admiral, who, upon Captain Delmar’s representation, immediately confirmed the acting order of lieutenant given to me by him.

A few days afterwards a packet arrived from England, and letters were received by Captain Delmar, informing him of the death of his elder brother and his succeeding to the title of Lord de Versely; for his elder brother, although married, had no male issue. Upon this intelligence, Captain Delmar immediately resigned the command of the Manilla, and another Captain was appointed to her. I did not much like this, as I wished to remain with Captain Delmar, and gain his good-will. I was, however, consoled by his sending for me, previous to his sailing for England in a frigate ordered home, and saying, “Mr Keene, my duties in the House of Lords, and family affairs, require my presence in England, and I think it most probable that I now quit the service altogether; but I shall not lose sight of you. You have conducted yourself much to my satisfaction, and I will take care of your advancement in the service, if you only continue as you have begun. I shall be happy to hear from you, if you will write to me occasionally. I wish you every success. Is there anything that I can do for you?”

“I am most grateful, my lord,” replied I, “for all your kindness. I had hoped to have been longer under your protection and guidance; but I am aware that your high station must now prevent it. If I might be so bold as to ask a favour, my lord?”

“Certainly, Keene,” replied his lordship.

Keene! not Mr Keene, thought I.

“It is, sir, that I—think I should have a better chance of doing something if I were to obtain the command of the Firefly schooner; the lieutenant commanding her is about to invalid.”

“I agree with you. I will speak to the admiral this very day. Is that all?”

“Yes, my lord; unless you think you could ask for Cross, your coxswain, to be appointed to her. I should like to have a man on board whom I knew, and could trust.”

“I will see about it, and so good-bye.”

His lordship held out his hand. I took it very respectfully; he had never done so before, and the tears ran down my cheeks as I was quitting him. His lordship observed it, and turned away. I left the cabin, quite overcome with his kindness, and so happy, that I would not have changed positions with the grand sultan himself.

Lord de Versely was faithful to his promise: the next day I received from the admiral my appointment to the Firefly, and, what was more unexpected, Bob Cross received a warrant as her boatswain. This was a very kind act of Lord de Versely, and I was as much delighted as Bob himself. I also received an invitation to dinner with the admiral on that day. On my arrival at the house, a few minutes before dinner, the admiral called me aside to the verandah, and said to me, “Mr Keene, I have not forgotten your cruise in the pirate schooner, and Lord de Versely has told me of your good behaviour in many instances since; particularly of your conduct in the boats off Berbice. In his despatches he has given you great praise, and I have added mine to back it; so that if you only keep steady, you will command a sloop of war very soon. You have now been seven months a lieutenant, for your commission will be confirmed to your first appointment; a few months more, and I hope to see you with a commander’s commission in your pocket.”

I replied, that I was very grateful, and only hoped that he would send me out in the schooner to where I might prove myself deserving of his patronage.

“Never fear. I’ll find something for you to do, Mr Keene. By-the-bye, Lord de Versely told me last night, when we were alone, the history of the duel at Martinique. You did well, Mr Keene; I thank you in the name of our service—it won’t do for the soldiers to crow over us, though they are fine fellows, it must be admitted. However, that secret had better be kept.”

“Most certainly, sir,” replied I.

“Now, then, there’s that black fellow come up to tell us dinner is ready; so come along, or you’ll be where the little boat was—a long way astern.”

Chapter Twenty Three.

The admiral was very kind to me, and shook hands with me when I left him. I returned on board of the Manilla, took leave of the surgeon, and master, and other officers, and then of all my mess-mates, and a boat was manned to take Bob Cross and me on board of the Firefly. After the boat shoved off and was a little distance from the frigate, the men suddenly tossed up their oars.

“What are you about, men?” said I.

“Look there, sir,” said Bob Cross, pointing to the frigate.

I turned round, and perceived all the men in the rigging, who gave me three cheers from a pipe of the boatswain; a compliment which I had not dreamt of, and which moved me to tears. I rose, and took off my hat; the men in the boat returned the cheers, dropped their oars in the water, and rowed to the schooner. I stepped on board, ordered the hands aft and read my commission, and then Cross’s warrant; after which I went down into the cabin, for I wished to be alone.

I was now in command of a vessel, and not more than twenty years old. I reflected what a career was before me, if I was fortunate, and never neglected an opportunity of distinguishing myself; and I vowed that I never would, and prayed to Heaven to assist my endeavours. Lord de Versely’s kindness to me had struck deep into my heart, and my anxiety was, that he should be proud of me. And then I thought of the chances for and against me; he might marry and have children; that would be the worst thing that could happen to me: if he did not marry, his other brother had a large family, and the title would go to the eldest son; but that was nothing to me.

While I was summoning up all these contingencies in my mind, there was a knock at the cabin door. “Come in,” said I. “Oh! is it you, Cross? I’m glad to see you. Sit down there. You see I command a vessel at last, Bob.”

“Yes, sir; and you’ll command a larger one before long, I hope; but as to your being in command of a vessel—there’s nothing very surprising in that; what is surprising is, to find myself a warrant officer—the idea never came into my head. I must write, and tell my little girl of my good fortune; it will make her and her mother very happy.”

“I must do the same, Cross. My mother will be very much pleased to hear all I have to tell her.”

“I haven’t heard it myself yet, Mr Keene, and that’s why I came in,” replied Bob. “I know you don’t want advice now; but I can’t help having a wish to know what took place between you and his lordship.”

“No one has a better right to know than you, Cross, who have been such a sincere friend to me; so now I’ll tell you.”

I then entered into a detail of all that had passed between Lord de Versely and me, and also what the admiral had said to me.

“All’s right, Mr Keene,” replied Bob; “and let the admiral only give us something to do and I think you’ll believe me when I say that the boatswain of the Firefly will back you as long as he has a pin to stand upon.”

“That I’m sure of, Bob; you will ever be my right-hand man. There are two midshipmen on board, I perceive: what sort of lads may they be?”

“I haven’t had time to find out; but you have a capital ship’s company—that the gunner and carpenter both say.”

“And a very fine vessel, Bob.”

“Yes, sir, and a regular flyer, they say, if she is well managed. You have never been in a schooner, Mr Keene, but I have, and for nearly three years, and I know how to handle one as well as most people.”

“So much the better, Cross, for I know nothing about it. Come, I will ring the bell; I suppose some one will answer it.” A lad made his appearance.

“Were you Mr Williams’s servant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get me out a bottle of wine and some glasses—there, that will do.”

“Now, Bob, let’s drink success to the Firefly.”

“Here’s success to the Firefly, Mr Keene, and success to the captain. May you do well in her, and be soon out of her.”

“Thank you, Bob: here’s your health, and may we long sail together.”

Bob and I finished the bottle, and then we parted.

The next day, I was very busy in examining my vessel and my ship’s company. The schooner was a beautiful model, very broad in the beam, and very low in the water; she mounted one long brass thirty-two-pounder forward on a circular sweep, so that it could be trained in every direction; abaft, she had four brass nine-pound carronades. My ship’s company consisted of sixty men and officers; that is, myself, two mids, boatswain, gunner, and carpenter. The mids were young lads of about sixteen years of age, a Mr Brown and a Mr Black, gawky tall boys, with their hands thrust too far though the sleeves of their jackets, and their legs pulled too far through their trowsers; in fact, they were growing lads, who had nothing but their pay to subsist upon, being both sons of warrant officers. They bore very good characters, and I resolved to patronise them, and the first thing which I did was, to present them each with a new suit of uniform and a few other necessaries, so as to make them look respectable; a most unheard-of piece of patronage, and which it is, therefore, my boast to record. The fact is, I was resolved that my schooner should look respectable; my ship’s company were really a very fine body of men, most of them tall and stout, and I had received a very good character of them from the officer who had invalided. I had taken all his stores and furniture off his hands, for I had plenty of money, and to spare.

As soon as I had examined my ship’s company, I made them a speech, the which, although they were bound to hear it, I shall not inflict upon the reader, and I then went down and examined every portion of the vessel, ascertained what there was in her and where everything was. Bob Cross accompanied me in this latter duty, which was not over till dinner-time.

The next morning my signal was made, and I went up to the admiral.

“Mr Keene,” said the admiral, “here are despatches to take down to the governor of Curaçao. When can you be ready?”

“Now, sir,” replied I; “and if you will make the signal for the Firefly to weigh anchor, there will be so much time gained.”

“Very good, Keene; tell them to make the signal. You must make all the haste you can, as they are important. Here are your orders: after you have delivered your despatches, you will be allowed to cruise down in that quarter, as I understand there are some very mischievous vessels in that direction. I hope you will give me a good account of one or two of them, if you fall in with them.”

“I will do my best, sir,” replied I.

“Well, I sent you on purpose. I have ordered the senior officer at Curaçao to forward the return despatches by the Mosquito, that you may have a chance. I won’t ask you to stay to dinner, as it is an affair that presses, so of course you will carry a press of sail. Good-bye, and I wish you success.”

I took my leave of the admiral and hastened down to the town. In an hour afterwards the Firefly was driving along with a fine breeze on the quarter, and long before night the vessels in the harbour were not to be distinguished. The breeze freshened after the sun went down, and I remained on deck, carrying on to the last moment. Bob Cross once or twice ventured to say, that we had better reduce the sail; but I told Bob that the admiral was very anxious that I should make a quick passage.

“Yes, Mr Keene, but ‘turning the turtle’ is not making a quick passage, except to the other world, and the admiral does not wish his despatches to go there. She is a fine boat, sir, but there may be too much sail carried on a good vessel: the men say she never has been so pressed before.”

“Well, you are right, Bob, and so we will take a little off her.”

“Yes, sir; it’s my watch coming on now, and I will carry all she can bear with safety, and I think she will go quite as fast as she does now. We shall have more wind yet, sir, depend upon it.”

“Well, so long as it is fair, I don’t mind how much,” replied I. “Send the watch aft.”

We reduced the sail, and then I went down to bed.

At daylight I awoke and went on deck. The carpenter had the watch, for the watches were entrusted to the warrant officers, who were all good seamen, and accustomed to the schooner. I found that the wind had freshened, but was steady from the same quarter, and the schooner was darting through the water at a tremendous rate.

“She sails well, Mr Hayter,” said I.

“Yes, sir, that she does,” replied he; “and never sailed better than she does now. I was a little alarmed for my sticks, last night, until you shortened sail.”

“Admiral’s order to carry a press of sail, Mr Hayter.”

“Well, sir, then by Jove you obey orders; you half frightened the men, although they had been so long in the vessel.”

I felt, by what the carpenter had said, that I had been rash. Neither he nor Bob Cross would have ventured so much if I had not been so; and they understood the vessel better than I did, so I resolved to be guided by them until I felt able to judge for myself. Notwithstanding that sail was afterwards carried more prudently, we had a most remarkably rapid passage; for we took the breeze with us down the whole way, not seeing a vessel during the run. I had another cause of impatience, which was, to ascertain if Mr Vanderwelt and Minnie had left the island.

On my arrival, I went first to the naval commanding officer, and then to the governor’s, delivering my credentials. They complimented me on my having been so active. I accepted the governor’s invitation to dinner, and then went to inquire after Mr Vanderwelt. I walked first to his house, but found it occupied by a Scotch merchant, who, however, was very polite. He stated that he was an old friend of Mr Vanderwelt, and could give me every information, as he had received letters from him very lately; and that, in those letters, Mr Vanderwelt had informed him that I had said, in my last letter to them, that I was again on the West India station, and requested him, if I came to the island, to show me every attention. “So, my dear sir,” continued Mr Fraser, “I trust you will enable me to comply with my friend Mr Vanderwelt’s injunctions, and consider this house as your home during your stay here.”

I thanked Mr Fraser and accepted the offer. I sent for my portmanteau, and slept there that night after I had dined with the governor. At dinner I met Captain C—, who told me he had orders to send me on a cruise, and asked when I would be ready. I replied, that I should like a day or two to lift my rigging and overhaul it, as I had been very much strained in my passage down.

“No wonder,” replied he; “you must have flown—indeed, your log proves it. Well, I will send you as soon as you are ready. The Naiad sloop is out, and so is the Driver brig, both in pursuit of three vessels, which have done a great deal of mischief. One is a French brig of fourteen guns, very fast and full of men. She has her consort, a large schooner, who is also a regular clipper. The other vessel is a brigantine, a very fine vessel, built at Baltimore—of course, under French colours: she cruises alone. I don’t know how many guns she carries, but I suspect that both she and the brig will be too much for you; and unless you could catch the schooner away from her consort, you will not be able to do much with the Firefly.”

“I will do my best, sir,” replied I. “I have a very fine set of men on board, and I think, very good officers.”

“Well, at all events, if you can’t fight, you have a good pair of heels to run with,” replied Captain C—; “but dinner’s announced.”

I left early, that I might have some conversation with Mr Fraser. On my return we sat down to some sangoree and cigars; and then he told me that Mr Vanderwelt had left Curaçao about nine months before, and that my last letter directed to him had been forwarded to Holland. He had often heard the history of my saving their lives on board of the pirate vessel from Mr Vanderwelt who made it a constant theme of his discourse; and, added Mr Fraser, “You do not know what a regard he has for you.”

“And little Minnie, sir?” inquired I: “it is now nearly five years since I saw her.”

“Little Minnie is no longer little Minnie, Mr Keene, I can assure you. She was fifteen when she left the island, and had grown a tall and very beautiful girl. All the young men here were mad about her and would have followed her not only to Holland, but to the end of the world, I believe, if they thought that they had the least chance—but from my intimacy with the family, I tell you candidly, that I think if you were to meet again, you would not have a bad one; for she talks incessantly of you when alone with her father: but I must not divulge family secrets.”

“I fear there is little chance of my meeting again with her,” replied I: “I have to carve my way up in my profession, and this war does not appear likely to be over soon. That I should like to see her and her father again, I grant; for I have made but few friendships during my life, and theirs was one of the most agreeable. Where is Mr Vanderwelt settled?”

“He is not in Holland—he is at Hamburg. Well there is no saying; accident may bring you together again, as it did on board of the pirate; and I hope it may.”

Shortly afterwards we went to bed. I must say, his description of Minnie, which was even much more in detail than I have narrated to the reader, did prevent my going to sleep for a long while. Women, as the reader may have seen, never once troubled my thoughts! I had fed upon one sole and absorbing idea, that of being acknowledged by Captain Delmar; this was, and had been, the source and spring of every action, and was the only and daily object of reverie; it was my ambition, and ambition in any shape, in whatever direction it may be led, is so powerful as to swallow up every other passion of the human mind; but still I had a strong affection for Minnie—that is for little Minnie, as I saw her first, with her beautiful large eyes and Madonna countenance, clinging to her father. With the exception of my own relations, who were so much my seniors, I had had nothing to bestow my affections on—had not even made the acquaintance, I may say, of a woman, unless my casual intercourse with Bob Cross’s Mary, indeed, might be so considered. A passion for the other sex was, therefore, new to me; but, although new, it was pleasing, and, perhaps, more pleasing, from being, in the present case, ideal; for I had only a description of Minnie as she was, and a recollection of what she had been. I could, therefore, between the two, fill up the image with what was, to my fancy, the ideal of perfection. I did so again and again, until the night wore away; and, tired out at last, I fell fast asleep.

The next day, after I had been on board of the schooner, and given my orders to Bob Cross, I returned to Mr Fraser, and sat down to write to Mr Vanderwelt; I also wrote to Minnie, which I had never done before. That my night reveries had an effect on me is certain, for I wrote her a long letter; whereas, had I commenced one before my arrival at Curaçao, I should have been puzzled to have made out ten lines. I told her I was sitting in the same chair, that I was sleeping in the same room, that I could not look around me without being reminded of her dear face, and the happy hours we passed together; that Mr Fraser had told me how tall she had grown, and was no longer the little Minnie that used to kiss me. In fact, I wrote quite romantically as well as affectionately, and when I read over my letter, wondered how it was that I had become so eloquent. I begged Mr Vanderwelt to write to me as soon as possible, and tell me all about their doings. I sealed my letter, and then threw myself back in my chair, and once more indulged in the reveries of the night before. I had a new feeling suddenly sprung up in my heart, which threatened to be a formidable rival to my ambition.

In two days the Firefly was ready, and I reported her as being so to Captain C—. He gave me my orders, which were to cruise for six weeks, and then to rejoin the admiral at Port Royal, unless circumstances should make me think it advisable to return to the island. The boats of the men-of-war were sent to tow me out of the harbour, and I was once more on the wide blue sea—the schooner darting along like a dolphin.

For a fortnight we cruised without seeing any vessel but the Naiad. I was very much afraid that the captain would have ordered me to keep company; but as he considered his vessel quite a match for the brig and schooner if he should fall in with them, and did not want the prize-money to be shared with the crew of the Firefly, he allowed me to go my own way, saying to me, laughingly, as I went over the side, “They will certainly take you if they meet you, and we shall have to recapture you.”

“Well, I hope you will not forget your promise, sir,” replied I; “I shall depend upon you.”

During the fortnight that I had been out, I had taken great pains in exercising the men at their guns, the great gun particularly; and I had had an excellent sight put on it, which it had not, and very much required. During two or three days’ calm, I had fired shot at a mark for three or four hours each day, and I found that the men, with this little practice, were very expert, and could hit a very small object, now that the sight was put on the gun. The two best shots, however, were the gunner and Bob Cross.

The night after we parted from the Naiad, I had run to the southward, having heard from the captain that the Driver was more to the northward than he was. There was nothing in sight on the next day, and when the evening set in, the wind being very light, and water smooth, I said to Cross, “Suppose we furl sail at night—it is just as good as running about; we then shall see them if they come in our way, and they will not see us.”

“A very good idea, Mr Keene; we must keep a good look-out, that’s all.”

I followed up my own suggestion; we furled the sails, and leaving two men with the officer of the watch to keep a sharp look-out, allowed the rest of the ship’s company to remain in the hammocks during the whole of the night.

When day broke we had two look-out men at the mast-head, but remained with our sails furled as before, for the same reason, that we should discern a vessel by her sails long before she could discover us. The more I thought of it, the more convinced I was of the advantage to be gained by the following up of this plan. I was on the exact cruising ground I wished to be, and therefore could not do better while the weather remained so fine.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Four nights and three days we remained in this way; during which my men had nothing to do but to exercise at the guns, and of that I took care they should have a good spell. On the fourth night the wind was a little fresher, but the water quite smooth. I had turned in about twelve o’clock, and had been asleep about an hour when Cross came and called me.

“Well, Cross,” said I, “what is it?”

“Here they are, sir.”

“What?—the privateers?”

“Yes, sir; the brig and schooner both coming down right before the wind; they are on our weather quarter, and will pass us within two miles, if not nearer.”

I left my bed-place, and was dressed in a minute. I went on deck with my glass, and directed it to the vessels, which were quite plain to the naked eye.

“Put out the binnacle light, Cross,” said I; “they might discover us.”

The brig, which was the headmost of the two vessels, was now nearly crossing our stern. The schooner was about a mile astern of her.

“Turn the hands up, Cross; see all ready for action and making sail.”

“Not yet, sir, surely!”

“No, not yet; we will let them run two or three miles dead to leeward, and then follow them till daylight, or till they see us, when, of course, they will be after us.”

“It’s very fortunate, sir, that we did furl the sails; for had they come down, and we under sail, they would have seen us, and we should have been to leeward of them, which would have given us a poor chance against such odds; now we shall have the weather-gage, and may choose, if our heels are as good as theirs, which I expect they are, if not better.”

“I shall fight them in some shape or another, Bob, you may depend upon it.”

“Of course you will, Mr Keene, or you’ll disappoint us all. The ship’s company have every confidence in you, I can tell you.”

“Thanks to your long yarns, Bob, I presume.”

“Thanks to my telling the truth, Mr Keene. The schooner is right astern of us now, so there’s the weather-gage gone—thank God!”

We remained as we were till I considered the two vessels sufficiently to leeward, and the sails were then set upon the Firefly, and first running to the eastward, so as to get right in the wind’s eye of them, I put the helm up, and followed them. We had continued our course in their wake for about an hour, when day dawned, and the schooner, who had discovered us, fired a gun as a signal to her concert.

“So you’ve found us out at last, have you?” said Bob Cross—“at all events, we keep a better look-out than you do, old fellow.”

Shortly after the gun was fired, both vessels hauled to the wind on the larboard tack, and we did the same: being about four miles to windward of the schooner and five or five and a half of the brig, we could now examine our adversaries. The schooner was, apparently, about the same tonnage as the Firefly, a very beautiful vessel with her masts raking over her stern. She was painted black, and we could not ascertain, at first, how many guns she carried, as her ports were shut; but after a short time she knocked out her half ports to prepare for action, and then we discovered that she carried twelve guns, but not a long gun on a swivel like the one on board of the Firefly. I observed this to Cross, who replied, “Then, sir, all we have to do now is to try our rate of sailing with them, and if we are faster than they are we have not much to fear—unless we lose a spar, indeed; but luck’s all, Mr Keene. The schooner has more sail on her than we have; shall we set exactly the same?”

“No, Cross, for I think we have fore-reached upon her already, and, if we can beat her with less sail set, it will do just as well. I think that the breeze is steady; if anything, we shall have more than less of it.”

For an hour we continued running on the same tack with them, by which time we found that we had not only brought the schooner one point abaft our beam, but had weathered her at least half a mile. We therefore were fully satisfied that we had sailed better than the schooner. With the brig it was not so. Although we had brought the schooner two points abaft our beam, the brig was much in her former position, being still half a point abaft our beam, and moreover had come in much closer to the schooner, proving that we had neither weathered her, nor fore-reached upon her. As near as we could judge, our sailing with the brig was much upon a par. Having ascertained this point more satisfactorily by allowing another hour of trial, I desired the men to get their breakfasts, while I and the officers did the same, and as soon as that was done, I ordered the Firefly to be kept away—edging down till within good range of our long brass thirty-two-pound gun—that is, about one mile and a half—when we again hauled our wind and hoisted the English colours.

The tri-colour was immediately thrown up by the two Frenchmen, and a shot was fired at us by the schooner: it fell exhausted into the water about half a cable’s length from us.

“Now, Cross,” said I, “see if we can’t return the compliment with a little better success.”

Cross, who had been training the gun, and had his eye on the sight, waited for a second or two, and fired: we saw the shot pass through the first reef of his main-sail, and dash into the water to leeward of him.

“Very good that, Cross; but hull him if you can.”

The schooner now returned the fire with the whole broadside, apparently twelve pounders; but they did not throw so far as our long thirty-two-pounder, and no shot went over us, although one fell close under the stern. At the distance, therefore, that we were, we had everything in our favour and my object was to dismantle the schooner before any chance enabled the brig to assist her. We continued to fire at her, taking the greatest pains in our aim, for the next hour, during which we ascertained that we had hulled her more than once, and had very much cut up her spars and rigging. She continued to return the fire, but without effect. One or two shots hit us, but their force was so much spent by the distance they were propelled, that they did not enter the sides. At last a shot fired by the gunner did the job; it struck her foremast, which shortly afterwards went by the board. The Fireflies gave three cheers at the good fortune.

“She’s done for, sir,” said Cross. “Now for the brig—we must try what metal she carries.”

“Stop a bit,” said I, “Cross; we must give the schooner a little more before she gets away. They have lowered down the main-sail and I presume, intend getting up some head-sail, so as to pay off, and run under the lee of the brig for shelter. Put the helm up, and run down so as to keep the schooner about two points on our larboard bow. Get the gun round, and pitch it into her.”

As we had supposed, the schooner got a stay up from her bowsprit and to her mainmast head, and hoisted a fore and aft sail upon it, that she might pay off, and run down to her consort for support; but as we ran three feet to her one, and now stood directly for her, we were enabled to get close to her, and put several shots into her from our long gun as we advanced. She did not attempt to round to, to give us her broadside, and our raking shot must have had great effect. When within half a mile of her we rounded to, and gave her our broadside; for had we followed her any further we should have been closer to the brig than might be agreeable. Indeed, we were nearer than we thought, for she had continued to hug the wind, and was so weatherly, that she was not more than a mile to leeward of us when we rounded to the wind again; but as she had fore-reached upon the schooner, she was distant from us about two miles. As we rounded to the brig tacked, and we immediately did the same; and we now had a fair trial of sailing with her.

“Cross, let the men go down and get what they can to eat,” said I, “and get up the grog. We shall have plenty of work before the night is over, I expect.”

“We must make a running fight of it, sir, I expect, for she is too heavy for us.”

“I shall try her the same way as the schooner, Cross,” replied I. “If I can only knock away some of her spars without losing my own, I shall then be able to do something; if, on the contrary, we lose our spars, and she gets alongside of us, why then we must fight to the last.”

“I consider that schooner as our own,” replied Bob; “she must haul down her colours when no longer protected by the brig.”

“Yes; I was afraid that she would run away to leeward altogether; but I see she has rounded to, and is no doubt getting up a jury fore-mast.”

I allowed the men to remain an hour at their dinner, and then they were summoned up. During the hour we found the rate of sailing between us and the brig so nearly balanced, that it was impossible to say which had the best of it.

“Now, my lads, we will wear round, and get a little closer to this fellow, and see what we can do with him.”

The men were full of spirits and hope, and were as anxious to decide the question as I was. In ten minutes we passed the brig within a mile on opposite tacks, and had given her our long gun three times, and had received her broadside.

“He has long twelve-pounders, I think, sir,” said Cross; “smart guns, at all events. There’s a fore shroud and a back stay gone; but that’s no great matter.”

As soon as the brig was three points abaft the beam we tacked, and recommenced firing. Not a shot was thrown away by my men. I believe the brig was hulled every time; nor was her fire without effect upon us. Our rigging was much cut up; several of her shots had gone through our sails, and we had two men hurt. I was annoyed at this, as we had no surgeon on board. The assistant surgeon who had belonged to the schooner was at the hospital, and there was not one to replace him when we sailed. However, we had one of the men belonging to the hospital—a sort of dispenser—who knew very well how to manage anything that was not very serious.

The breeze had gradually died away, and we did not go more than three miles through the water; and as our sails were much torn, we did not hold so good a wind. The consequence was that the distance between us and our antagonist was, by two o’clock, decreased to half a mile, and the fight became very warm. Our broadside guns were now called into play, and assisted us very much, as we directed them chiefly at her sails and rigging, while our long thirty-two-pounder was fired at her hull, pointed below her water-line. She had the advantage in number of guns, certainly; but our large shots from the long gun were more destructive.

About three we knocked away her fore-topmast, which enabled us to shoot ahead about a quarter of a mile, and increase our distance, which was a boon to us, for we latterly had suffered very much. We had eight men wounded and one of my poor middies killed; and we had received several shots in the hull. Now that we had increased our distance, we had a better chance, as our long gun was more effective than those of the brig. At five o’clock it fell dead calm, and both vessels lay with their heads round the compass; this was also in our favour, as we could train our long gun on its circular bend in any direction we pleased; but the brig contrived, by getting sweeps out of her bow ports, to bring her broadside to bear upon us, and the action continued till night closed in.

Chapter Twenty Five.

As it may be supposed, my men were completely worn out with the fatigue and excitement of the day; and Cross said, “There’s no saying how this will end, Mr Keene; but, at all events, we have not the worst of it at present.”

“No, Bob,” replied I. “I wish the men were not so knocked up.”

“Oh, as for that, sir, I’ll answer for it, that if you serve out some more grog, make them eat half a biscuit at the tub before they drink it, and make them a little bit of a speech, that they’ll go on for twenty-four hours more.”

“If that will have the effect, I’m sure I’ll try it,” replied I. “Which shall they have first?”

“Oh, biscuit first, grog next, and then a speech afterwards.”

“That fellow has not fired for this last five minutes; perhaps he wishes to put it off till to-morrow morning; but I’ll not; so get up the grog—make it pretty strong: and I’ll get something to eat myself, for I have had nothing to eat all day.”

As soon as the ship’s company had had their refreshment, I sent for them aft, and said, “My lads, you have behaved very well, and I am much obliged to you. We have had hard work, and I dare say you are tired enough; but I will tell you what my opinion is: I think that we have peppered that Frenchman very well; and I am convinced that you have put a good many shots into him between wind and water. Now, that he is anxious to leave off fighting till to-morrow morning, that he may stop his leaks and repair his damages, I have no doubt; indeed, he proves it by his having ceased to fire. For the very reason that he wants to leave off, I wish to go on; for he is much heavier armed than we are, and sails as well; and if we permit him to get all right and all ataunt by to-morrow morning, he may prove a very awkward customer yet. Now what I propose is this, that we should first get up fresh sails, and bend them, and then renew the action through the night. There will be no occasion for all of you to be on deck; we will fight the schooner watch and watch till daylight.”

“That’s my opinion, Mr Keene,” said Bob Cross.

“And mine,” replied the carpenter.

“And all of us, Mr Keene,” replied the ship’s company with one voice.

“Then, my lads, let’s work hard; and when we have settled that fellow, we shall have plenty of time to sleep.”

The men now set to with good-will; and the spare sails were got up, and those which were shattered by the enemy unbent and replaced. The new sails, which we had bent, we furled—it was a dead calm—and then we recommenced our fire, for we were nearer to her than when we ceased firing, and could distinguish her very well. We fired the long gun four times before she returned a shot; she then opened very briskly, but none of her shots did us any damage; our sails being furled, prevented her distinguishing us as well as we could her. After a time, we manned the small guns on our broadside, and worked them, for our large gun was so hot, that it was necessary to let it cool before we could reload it. At last one of their shots came in through the bulwarks; the splinters wounded me and the carpenter; but I was not so much hurt as to oblige me to leave the deck. I bound up my leg with my handkerchief; the carpenter, however, was taken down below.

“Are you much hurt, sir?” said Bob Cross.

“Oh, no; the flesh is lacerated a good deal, but it is not very deep.”

“There’s a little wind springing up, sir, from the right quarter,” said Bob.

“I’m glad to hear it,” replied I, “for it will soon be daylight now.”

At this moment another shot struck the hammock rail and a piece of it about two feet long was sent with great force against Bob Cross’s head; he was stunned, if not worse, and fell immediately. This was a severe blow to me, as well as to poor Bob. I desired two of the men who were abaft, to take him down into my cabin, and do all they could for him; and ordered the men to quit the broadside guns, and renew their fire with the long 32-pounder. In a quarter of an hour afterwards, the breeze came down very strong, and I resolved to shoot ahead, farther off from my antagonist, as I should have a better chance by using my long gun at a greater distance. The sails were set, and the schooner went fast through the water, leaving the brig, who had also the benefit of the breeze; and for a time the firing again ceased. On reflection, I determined that I would wait till daylight, which would appear in less than half an hour, before I renewed the action.

I contrived with some difficulty—for my leg was so numbed that I could scarcely feel that I had one—to go down into the cabin and see Bob Cross. He was recovering, but very wild and incoherent. As far as I could judge, his skull was not injured, although the splinter had torn off a large portion of the scalp, and he was drenched with his blood. At all events, he could be of no further assistance to me at present, nor could I be to him, so I regained the deck, and sat down abaft, for my leg had become so painful, that I could not stand but for a few minutes.

At last the day dawned, and I could distinctly make out both brig and schooner. I was about a mile and a half distant from the brig; she had, since the wind sprung up, driven a mile ahead of the schooner, who had contrived to get up a jury-mast during the night; but as she could not stir without reducing her after-sail, she had close-reefed her main-sail, so that she could make but little progress. The brig was very much cut up in her sails and rigging, and I saw at once that I had now the advantage in sailing; I therefore wore round and stood towards them; the brig did the same, and went down to the schooner that she might have her support. We immediately recommenced firing with our long gun, and as soon as we were within a mile, I hove to. The brig and schooner then both bore up and gave us their broadsides; they had just done so, when the midshipman who was on deck with me cried out, “A large sail coming down before the wind, Mr Keene.”

I caught up my glass. It was a sloop of war; the cut of her sails and rigging evidently English. “It must be the Naiad,” said I. “Well, I’m glad of it. We shall lose some prize-money; but at all events we require her surgeon, and that is of more consequence.”

My men, who were quite tired out, were in great spirits at the appearance of a friend. The brig had set studding-sails; she had evidently seen the vessel to windward, and was now trying to escape, and the schooner was following her as well she could. I immediately kept away in pursuit, and when I fired into the schooner she hauled down her colours. I did not wait to take possession, but followed the brig, who appeared to sail as well off the wind as she did when close hauled. Once or twice she rounded to return my fire, but afterwards she continued running before the wind, having got two of her guns aft, with which she attempted to cut away my rigging. In the meantime, the strange vessel to windward had hoisted English colours, and was bringing down with her a spanking breeze: fortunately it was so, for my fore-topmast was knocked away by the fire of the brig, and I now dropped fast astern.

We had scarcely got up a new fore-topmast and set sail again, when the Naiad, who had exchanged numbers with me, passed the schooner without taking possession of her, and was very soon not a mile from us. In half an hour she was alongside and hailing me to haul my wind and take possession of the schooner, continued in chase of the brig. I obeyed my orders, and by the time I had put my men on board of the schooner, the brig had hove to and hauled down her colours to the Naiad.

We ran down to her in company with the prize, and then sent a boat requesting immediate surgical attendance. The Naiad’s surgeon and his assistant were brought on board in one of the sloop-of-war’s boats, and a lieutenant, to obtain from me the particulars of the action, which I gave to him. The lieutenant told me that they had heard the firing about one o’clock in the morning, and had in consequence bore up; but the brig had so many shot in her, and was making so much water, that they were almost afraid that they would not be able to get her into port. But I was now quite faint with the pain of my wound and exhaustion, and was carried below to have it dressed. All our men had been attended to, and I was glad to hear that Bob Cross was in no danger, although his wound was very severe. The surgeon’s assistant was allowed to remain on board, and the captain of the Naiad sent all my men back and manned the prizes, giving me orders to keep company with him. As soon as my wound was dressed, and I was put into my bed, I felt much relieved, and soon afterwards fell fast asleep.

Chapter Twenty Six.

The prizes proved to be the Diligente brig, of fourteen guns, and two hundred and ten men, and Caroline schooner, of eight guns, and one hundred and twenty men—they had done a great deal of mischief, and their capture was of importance. The captain of the Naiad’s orders were to return to Curaçao, and we all made sail before sunset. Our loss had been severe: commanding officer, boatswain, carpenter, and twelve men wounded—one midshipman and two men killed.

The next morning our signal was made to pass within hail, and the captain of the Naiad inquired how I was. The surgeon’s assistant replied that I and all the wounded were doing well, and there was no more communication till we arrived at Curaçao on the fourth day, by which time I was rapidly recovering.

Mr Fraser, as soon as he heard of my being hurt, immediately came on board and insisted upon my being taken on shore to his house, and I gladly consented. The next day I had a visit from Captain C, the commanding officer, and the captain of the Naiad. Captain C asked me if I was well enough to write the account of the action. I replied that I was, and that I would send it the next day. He and the captain of the Naiad both paid me many compliments for having fought a superior force for so long a time, and Captain C said that as soon as I was well enough he would send me up to Jamaica, as bearer of my own despatches to the admiral.

I requested, as a particular favour of Mr Fraser, that he would allow Bob Cross to be sent ashore to his house, and Mr Fraser immediately consented. My friend Bob was therefore brought up that evening, and was soon established in very comfortable quarters.

We had been a fortnight at the island, during which my wound was healing rapidly, and I was able to hop about with a crutch. Cross also was out of bed, and able to sit up for an hour or two on the verandah, in the cool of which I spent the best part of the day, with my wounded limb resting upon a sofa. From the veranda we had a view of the harbour, and one morning I perceived that there were two additional vessels which had anchored during the night; they proved to be the Driver and the brigantine privateer, which she had captured after a chase and running fight of forty-eight hours. I was glad of this, as I knew what pleasure it would give to the admiral.

I now again indulged in my dreams of Minnie, who had been forgotten as soon as I had left the harbour and been engaged in active service. Stretched upon a sofa, with my wounded leg, I had nothing else to do, or rather nothing else which was so agreeable to me. I wrote to her again, and also to my mother; neither did I forget that Lord de Versely had requested at parting that I should write to him. I did so in a very respectful manner, detailing what had occurred.

When we had been three weeks at Curaçao, all our wounded, as well as myself, had so far recovered, that there was no reason for the Firefly not proceeding to Jamaica. The commanding officer lent an assistant-surgeon to the schooner. I received my despatches, took a grateful leave of Mr Fraser, and the Firefly was once more skimming over the water. In three weeks we arrived at Port Royal, and I took up my despatches.

“Happy to see you, Keene,” said the admiral. “Hollo! what makes you limp in that way? Have you hurt your leg?”

“Yes, sir,” replied I; “I’m not quite well yet, but the despatches of Captain C will explain all.”

As no vessel had sailed from Curaçao, the admiral had no idea of what had happened.

“Well, then,” said he, “sit down on that sofa, Mr Keene, while I read the despatches.”

I watched the admiral’s countenance, and was delighted to witness the evident signs of satisfaction which he expressed as he read on.

“Excellent!” said he, as he closed them. “Keene, you have done me a great favour. The remonstrances of the merchants, the badgering I have received from the Admiralty by every packet, relative to the depredations on our commerce by these vessels, have been enough to make a saint swear. Now they are happily disposed of, and I have chiefly to thank you for it. Captain C informs me that the brig is well adapted for his Majesty’s service, but that the schooner is an old vessel.” The admiral then left the room. In a few minutes he returned with a paper in his hand, which he laid upon the table, and, taking up a pen, he signed it and presented it to me, saying—“Captain Keene, I trust you will give me the pleasure of your company to dinner; and, as you are still very lame, I think you had better make a signal for your servant and traps, and take up your quarters at the Penn till you are quite recovered.”

Perceiving that I was too much agitated to reply, he continued, “I must leave you now;” then extending his hand, he said, “Allow me to be the first to wish you joy on your promotion, which you have so well deserved.” He then went out of the room. It really was so unexpected—so little dreamt of, this sudden promotion, that I was confused. I had hoped that, by a continuance of good conduct, I might in a year or two obtain it; but that I should receive it after only one cruise in the schooner was beyond all my imagination. I felt grateful, and as soon as I was more composed, I returned thanks to Heaven, and vowed eternal gratitude to the admiral. I felt that I was a step nearer to Lord de Versely, and I thought of the pleasure it would give my mother and Minnie. I had been alone about half an hour, when the admiral returned.

“I have just sent for an old messmate of yours, Captain Keene, who was severely wounded in your action with the Dutch frigate; he has now passed, and Lord de Versely recommended him to me as a deserving young officer—a Mr Dott.”

“Oh, yes, admiral; he was my first acquaintance when I went to sea. He has been to sea longer than I have, but he lost a good deal of his time.”

“Well I am going to give him an acting order for your brig. I hope he is a good, smart officer.”

“Yes, admiral, he is a very good officer indeed,” replied I, laughing. “Will you oblige me by not telling him that I am to be his captain, till after we have met?”

“Ah, some mischief, I suppose; but if we make captains of such boys as you we must expect that. Are your wounded men all going on well?”

“All, sir,—even Bob Cross, the boatswain, whose head was half knocked off, is quite well again. He was Lord de Versely’s coxswain, sir, and you were kind enough to give him his warrant.”

“I recollect—a good man, is he not?”

“So good, sir, that the only regret I have in leaving the schooner is, that I cannot take him with me. He is my right-hand man and I owe much to him, and it will be a sore blow to him as well as to me.”

“I see, you want him made boatswain of your brig—that’s it.”

“I assure you, admiral, I should be most grateful if you would have that kindness.”

“I am always ready to promote a good man; your recommending him, and his severe wound, are sufficient. He shall be your boatswain, Keene.”

“You are very kind, sir,” replied I. “I hope I shall do justice to your patronage.”

“I’ve no fear of that, Keene, and I know that a man, to work well, should, as far as he can, choose his own tools. Mr Dott is waiting now, and as soon as he has his acting order, I will send him in to you.”

About ten minutes afterwards Mr Tommy Dott made his appearance; he extended his hand to me, saying, in a haw-haw way, “Keene, my dear fellow, I’m glad to see you.” He certainly did look two or three inches taller, for he walked almost on tiptoe.

“Glad to see you, Tommy,” said I; “well, what’s the news?”

“Nothing, I believe, except what you have brought. I hear you had a bit of a brush, and got winged.”

“Even so, Tommy,” replied I, pointing to my wounded leg. “The admiral has kindly asked me to stay here until I’m better.”

“I dine with him to-day,” replied Tommy; “but as for staying here, I should think that rather a bore. By the bye, Keene, what sort of a craft is that Diligente brig which the Naiad and you took?”

“A very fine craft, Tommy: sails as well as the Firefly.”

“Oh, you, of course, swear by your own vessel; and there’s nothing like the schooner—that’s natural enough; now, I must say, I prefer something a little larger, and, therefore, I’m not sorry that I have my commission for the new brig.”

“Indeed! Tommy; I wish you joy,” replied I.

“Thank ye, Keene,” replied Tommy, very dignified. “I wonder,” said he, “what sort of a skipper we shall have. There’s the first lieutenant of the Naiad has a good chance. I saw him: a very sharp sort of gentleman, and carries his head remarkably high; but that won’t do for me. I’ll not allow any captain to play tricks in a ship that I’m aboard of. I know the rules and regulations of the service as well as any one, and that the captain shall see, if he attempts to go beyond his tether.”

“Now, Tommy,” replied I, “you know, that although you talk so big, if you had been appointed a lieutenant into a ship commanded by Lord de Versely, you would have been as much afraid of him as a lieutenant as you used to be as a midshipman.”

“Lord de Versely,” replied Tommy, who felt the truth of what I said: “he’s a peculiar sort of man.”

“Take my word for it, Tommy, you’ll find all captains peculiar to one point; which is, that they expect respectful behaviour, and not cavilling, from their officers; and our service is so peculiar, that it is absolutely necessary that the officers should set this example to the men.”

“Yes; that may be very well; but who knows but the captain of the brig may be some young fellow, who has seen no more service than myself—perhaps, not been to sea so long?”

“That is no reason that you should not obey his orders; indeed, if not experienced, you ought to do all you can to support him.”

“Well, if he was to ask my advice, indeed—”

“But he may not require your advice, Tommy, he may prefer deciding for himself. Now, the first lieutenant of the Naiad is a great Tartar, and I’m certain, if he is your captain, that, on the first word, he would have you under an arrest. There’s an old saying, Tommy, ‘It’s folly to kick against tenpenny nails;’ and that every officer does who kicks against his superior. I can assure you, Tommy, that if ever I am a captain, my officers shall obey me implicitly. I will have no cavilling at my orders. I will always treat them as gentlemen, and support their authority, as they ought to support mine; but captain of my own ship I would be, and I suspect that it would go hard with any officer who ventured to dispute my rights.”

“Well, I dare say you will be a martinet, or rather that you are one now, as you command a schooner. However, as I never intend to sail with you, that’s nothing to me. I’m sure, from what has passed, that you and I should have a row before we were a week on board; for I’m not to be played with.”

“Well, Tommy, I’m very glad we have had this explanation; for now we both know what to expect. I am resolved to be captain, you to resist my authority.”

“No, no, I don’t say that—I only say that I won’t be played with—I won’t be trifled with.”

“Tommy, I will neither play nor trifle with you; nor will you ever play or trifle with me. We have done that as midshipmen; in our new relative situations it is not to be thought of for a moment. Read this.” I handed him my appointment as commander of the Diligente: Tommy cast his eyes over it, and at once saw that his promotion did not prevent his getting into scrapes, as usual.

“You a commander! you captain of the Diligente! Why, I came to sea before you.”

“I know you did, Tommy; but, although you have been in the service longer, you have not seen quite so much service as I have. At all events, I’m now your captain. I flatter myself I shall make a very tolerable one; and what is more, I have an idea that you will make a very good lieutenant, as soon as the vanity, with which you have been puffed up since your receiving your promotion, will have settled down a little, and that you will find it much pleasanter to be on good terms with your captain than to be eternally in hot water, especially with one who, you know, is not a person to be played with.”

Tommy looked very confused; he said nothing, but kept his eyes on my commission, which he still held in his hand. I had no idea that Tommy Dott’s being ignorant of my being captain of the brig would have occasioned such a conversation as this. I only wished to amuse myself with him, and surprise him at the last. Tommy perceived that he had made a mess of it, and he stammered out some explanation as he returned me the commission; and I replied: “The fact is, Dott, you were merely cutting a caper upon your new promotion; you never meant what you said; it was all talk. You always have been very obedient to proper authority since I have known you, and I am sure that you always will; so let’s say no more about it. I wish you joy upon your promotion, and, what’s more, I’m very glad that we are to sail together.” Saying this, I held out my hand, which Tommy took very readily, and we then began to talk on other subjects.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

I had written to Cross, informing him of my promotion, and his being appointed to the Diligente.

I had been a fortnight with the admiral when the Naiad arrived with the prizes in company, and, my wound being now cured, I took leave of the admiral, and went down, that I might superintend the fitting out of my new vessel. As there were supernumerary men expected out of England, the admiral, at my suggestion, allowed me to turn over the crew of the Firefly to form the nucleus of my ship’s company, and made up my complement from his own ship.

In two months I was ready for sea, and most anxious to be off. The admiral perceived my impatience, but, as there was no other vessel in the harbour, he would not let me go until another arrived, to be at his disposal in case of emergency. The weariness of so long remaining in harbour was, however, a little relieved by a circumstance which took place, and which probably will make my readers imagine that my propensity for playing tricks was not quite eradicated.

I lodged at a sort of hotel, kept by a mulatto woman of the name of Crissobella, as the negroes termed her, originally Christobela. She was of Spanish blood by the father’s side, and had come down from the Havannah. She was very portly; very proud and dignified in her carriage, and demanded as much attention from her lodgers as a lady would who had received us as her guests, so that, to gain and retain admittance into her hostelry, it was necessary not only to pay a large bill, but compliments to an equal amount. She was very rich, possessed numerous slaves, and was perfectly independent of keeping an hotel. I believed she preferred to have something for her slaves and herself to do, and moreover, probably, she felt that if she retired she should be thought a person of no consequence, whereas in her present position she received a great deal of attention. One thing was certain, that if those who lodged and boarded with her were very polite, and, on their return from any other place, brought her small presents, she was very indifferent as to their paying their bill; nay, to those who were her favourites, her purse was open, and a handful of doubloons was freely tendered, if required.