"Will Weatherhelm" (continued 8)

It was trying, every one will allow, for all this time my dear wife could not tell what had become of me. My other friends might think me dead, but I knew that she would never believe that to be the case until she had strong evidence of the fact. Even if she had, I felt sure nothing would ever induce her to marry again.

The wind was fair up Channel. Arriving nearly abreast of the Start Point, we ran out to the southward, the captain hoping to fall in with one of the two French frigates which a short time before we and the Venus had chased into Cherbourg. One of the two was, as I before said, the Sémillante, the other was the Cleopatra.

On the morning of the 18th of June, just as day broke, the Start bearing east by north, distant five or six leagues, we discovered a sail in the south-east quarter, and immediately afterwards bore up in chase, carrying all the canvas we could set. As we approached the stranger, we felt nearly sure that she was the very French frigate we were in search of. She was under all sail, some of us thought, for the purpose of getting away.

“We shall have another long chase, and if that there craft has a fast pair of heels, she’ll get into Cherbourg and make us look foolish,” said Dick Hagger as we watched her.

We stood on, and soon had the satisfaction of discovering that we were sailing faster than the stranger. The captain and several of the other officers were examining her through their glasses.

In a short time they formed the opinion that she was no other than the Cleopatra which had before got away from us, and such we afterwards found to be the case.

A shout rose from our deck when we observed her haul up her foresail and lower her topgallant sails, showing that she had made up her mind to fight us.

In about two hours and a half, we got so near that we heard some one from her quarter-deck hail us.

Captain Pellew, on this, not making out distinctly what was said, shouted, “Ahoy! ahoy!” when our crew gave three cheers, and right hearty ones they were, and shouted, “Long live King George.”

As yet, not a shot had been fired, and it might have been supposed that we were two friendly ships meeting. On hearing our cheer, the French captain—his name we afterwards heard was Mullon—came on to the gangway, and waving his hat, exclaimed, “Vive la Nation!” on which his crew tried to give three cheers, as we had done; but it was a very poor imitation, I can vouch for it.

They had no one to lead them off, and they uttered shrieks rather than cheers, which, when we gave them, came out with a hearty ringing sound.

We saw the French captain talking to his crew, and waving a cap of liberty which he held in his hand. He then gave it to one of the men, who ran up the rigging and screwed it to the masthead.

“We’ll soon bring that precious cap of yours down, my boys,” cried Dick.

We were all this time at our guns, stripped to the waist, ready and eager to begin the game; and if the Frenchmen behaved as they seemed inclined to do, it would be, we felt sure, pretty sharp work.

The French captain now coming to the gangway, waved his hat. Our captain did the same, and passed the word along the deck that we were not to fire until we saw him raise his hat to his head.

Eagerly watching for the signal, we stood on, gradually nearing the French frigate, both of us running before the wind, until our foremost larboard guns could be brought to bear on the starboard quarter of the Cleopatra.

The captain raised his hat. Almost before it was on his head, the foremost gun was fired, the others being rapidly discharged in succession.

We were not to have the game all on our own side, for the French ship at once returned the compliment, and her shot came crashing on board of us.

We now, being within rather less than hailing distance of each other, kept blazing away as fast as we could run our guns in and out. We were doing considerable damage to the Frenchman, we could sea, but we were suffering not a little ourselves. Two of our midshipmen had fallen, killed while steadily going about their duty. Soon afterwards I saw another poor young fellow knocked over. Then the boatswain, in the act of raising his whistle to his mouth, had his head shot away; and some of the men declared that they heard it sounding notwithstanding, as it flew overboard. I saw three or four of our jollies—as we called the marines—drop while firing away from the forecastle. A round shot also striking our mainmast, I every instant expected to see it fall.

Though badly wounded, it was not cut through, however, and the carpenter and his crew set to work immediately to fish it.

We had been engaged some twenty minutes or so, when we saw the Cleopatra haul up some eight points from the wind.

We followed her closely, having no intention of allowing her to escape, if such was the expectation of her commander.

After blazing away some little time longer, down came her mizenmast; directly afterwards her wheel was shot away. She was thus rendered unmanageable, though for some time her crew endeavoured to keep her on her course by trimming sails; but our shot soon cutting away her braces, she played round off, and came stem on towards us, her jibboom passing between our fore and main masts, pressing so hard against the already wounded mainmast that I expected every instant to see it fall, especially as we had lost the main and spring stays. It was a question which would first go, our mainmast or the Frenchman’s jibboom.

Fortunately for us, the latter was carried away, and our mainmast stood. The moment our captain saw the stem of the Cleopatra strike us, supposing that the French were about to board, he shouted out, “Boarders, repel boarders!” But the Frenchmen hadn’t the heart to do it, and instead of their boarding us, we boarded them.

One party, led by our first lieutenant, rushed on the enemy’s forecastle; while another division, headed by the master, got through his main-deck ports.

Although the Cleopatra’s jibboom had given way, her larboard main-topmast studding-sail boom-iron had hooked on to the leech rope of our main-topsail, and was producing so powerful a strain on the mast that it seemed as if it could not possibly stand a minute longer. Seeing this, a brave fellow named Burgess, a maintop man, sprang aloft, and, in spite of the bullets aimed at him by some of the French marines stationed aft, cut the leech rope from the end of the main-yard.

Our third lieutenant had in the meantime cut away our best bower anchor, which had hooked on to the enemy’s ship.

I was one of those who had got through the main-deck ports. Following our gallant master, we fought our way aft, the Frenchmen for some time defending themselves bravely; but they could not resist the impetuosity of our charge, our cutlasses slashing and hewing, and our pistols going off within a few inches of their heads. At last many of them began to cry for quarter.

Although they numbered eighty more men than we did, most of them, throwing down their weapons, leapt below, tumbling head over heels upon each other. The rest fled aft, and seeing we had won the day, made no further resistance. Remarking that the Frenchman’s flag was still flying, I sprang aft to the halyards, and down I hauled it, cheering lustily as I did so, the cheer being taken up by the remaining crew of the Nymph.

The Cleopatra was ours. Never did I witness a more fearful sight. The decks fore and aft were slippery with gore, and covered with the dead and dying. During the short time we had been engaged, upwards of sixty had been struck down who, not an hour before, full of health and spirits, had attempted to reply to our cheer. Among them, on one side of the quarter-deck, lay the gallant Captain Mullon, surrounded by a mass of gore, for a round shot had torn open his back and carried away the greater part of his left hip. In one hand he was holding a paper, at which, strange as it may seem, he was biting away and endeavouring to swallow. I, with two other men, went up to him to ascertain what he was about. In the very act his hand fell, his jaw dropped, and there was the paper sticking in his mouth. He was dead. It evidently, however, was not the paper he intended to destroy, but, as it turned out, was his commission; for in his right pocket was found the list of coast signals used by the French, which, with his last gasp, he was thus endeavouring to prevent falling into the hands of the British.

Without loss of time one hundred and fifty prisoners were removed on board the Nymph, and just as the last had stepped on board the ships separated.

The third lieutenant, who had been sent on board with a prize crew, at once set to work to repair the damages which the Cleopatra had received, while all hands in the Nymph were actively employed in the game way. When we came to look at our watches, we found that we had dished up the enemy in just fifty minutes from the time the first shot had been fired at her until her flag was hauled down.

“Pretty quick work,” said Dick Hagger to me as we were working together repairing the rigging. “I told you the captain would be sharp about it; he always is at all he undertakes.”

On making up the butcher’s bill, however, as the purser called it, we found that although the Frenchmen out of three hundred and twenty men and boys had lost sixty-three, we, out of our two hundred and forty, had had no less than twenty-three killed and twenty severely wounded, making fifty in all. Of these, the gentlemen belonging to the midshipmen’s berth had suffered most severely, for four of them had been killed and two wounded. Of the senior officers, none had been killed; but the second lieutenant had been wounded, as was the lieutenant of marines, with six of his men.

As soon as sail could be got on the two frigates, we, to my great joy, steered a course for the Isle of Wight. I now felt more thankful than ever that I had escaped, as there seemed every probability that I should be able to see my dear wife, or at all events communicate with her. As soon as I went below, though I could with difficulty keep my eyes from closing, I opened my letter and added a few lines describing the action, and then placed it in my pocket, ready to send off on the first opportunity.

In spite of the poor fellows suffering below, and the number of shipmates we had lost, we felt very happy as with a fair breeze we sailed in through the Needles, our well-won prize following in our wake.

Never did those high-pointed rocks look more white and glittering or the downs more green and beautiful, while the blue sea sparkling in the sunlight seemed to share our joy. The people on the shore, as we passed the little town of Yarmouth, waved to us, and threw up their hats, and the flags from many a flagstaff flew out to the breeze.

As soon as we brought up at Spithead, I eagerly looked out for a boat going to the shore, by which to send my letter, hoping to have it delivered at once, instead of letting it go through the post office; but, as it was late in the evening, no shore boats came off, and I had to wait all the night, thinking how little my dear wife supposed I was so near her.

I turned out at daybreak, before the hammocks were piped up, that I might take a look at the spot where I thought she was living. Suddenly a sickness came over me. What if she should have been taken ill when I was so rudely torn from her! Perhaps she had never recovered, and was even now numbered among the dead. I could scarcely refrain from jumping overboard and trying to swim to Southsea beach. It seemed so near, and yet I knew that I could not do it. Then I thought I would go boldly up to the first lieutenant and tell him how treacherously I had been carried off,—snatched, as it were, from the arms of my young wife,—and ask him to give me leave for a few hours, promising faithfully to come back at the time he might name. Then I reflected that the ship was short-handed, that we had the prisoners to guard, and that until she had been brought up safe in Portsmouth harbour, every man would be required for duty.

“It would be useless to ask him,” I groaned out. “He’ll remember I’m a pressed man, and would not trust me. It is too common for men to break their word and desert, indifferent to what others may suffer in consequence. No,” I thought, “I’ll try to send my letter first, and then wait with all the patience I can muster until I can get an answer.”

Before long the hands were turned up, and we all set about our usual duties, washing down decks and giving them a double allowance of holystoning, to try and get out more of the blood stains before, visitors should come on board.

Scarcely was this work over than the order was given to get up the anchor and make sail, as, tide and wind being favourable, we were to run into harbour.

My heart bounded at the thought, I sprang with eagerness to my station, the ship gathered way and, followed by our prize, we stood towards the well-known entrance of Portsmouth harbour.

Chapter Eighteen.

The ship made snug—Visitors come on board—Jerry Vincent—News of my wife, and home—How my uncle became indignant—Jerry wishes me to take French leave—I refuse, I ask for and obtain permission to go ashore—Meeting with Uncle Kelson—Jerry prepares my wife for the interview—Tempted to desert—A happy time—Jerry’s recollections—On board the Arethusa—Yarns—A ghost story—A slippery deck—The pirates’ heads.

The Nymph under all plain sail, our prize following in our wake, glided on past Southsea Castle—the yellow beach, the green expanse of the common, the lines of houses and cottages beyond the Postdown hills rising in the distance, the batteries of Gosport and Portsmouth ahead, the masts of numberless vessels of all sizes seen beyond them.

I waited at my station in the fore-top for the order to shorten sail I cast many a glance towards the shore, where she whom I loved best on earth was, I fancied, gazing at the two ships with thousands of other spectators, little supposing that I was on board one of them. As we entered the harbour, we heard with joyous hearts the order given to shorten sail. The boatswain’s pipe sounded shrilly; the topmen flew aloft. Never did a ship’s crew pull and haul, and run out on the yards, with greater alacrity to furl the canvas.

The water was covered with boats, the people standing up and waving and cheering. It was no easy matter to steer clear of them as we stood up the harbour. When rounding to off the dockyard, the anchor was dropped, the cable running out like lightning, as if eager to do its duty and help to bring us safe home. The prize then massing us, brought up close under our stern.

Scarcely was the cable stoppered, and the ship made snug, than hundreds of boats pulled up alongside, those on board anxious to hear all about the victory we had gained.

Among the first was a somewhat battered-looking wherry, with a little wizened old man and a boy pulling. The former, catching sight of me as I stretched my neck through a port, throwing in his oar, uttered a shout of astonishment, and then, with the agility of a monkey, quickly clambered up the side by a rope I hove to him.

“What! Will, Will, is it you yourself?” exclaimed Jerry Vincent, wringing my hand and gazing into my face. “We all thought you were far away in the East Indies, and Mistress Kelson made up her mind that you’d never come back from that hot region where they fry beefsteaks on the capstan-head.”

“But my wife—my wife! is she well? Oh, tell me, Mr Vincent,” I exclaimed, interrupting him. “She expected me to come back.”

“She’s well enough, if not so hearty as we’d be wishing; for, to say the truth, the roses don’t bloom in her cheeks as they used to do.”

I cannot describe the joy and relief this reply brought to my heart. The gratitude which I felt made me give old Jerry a hug, which well-nigh pressed the breath out of his body.

“Why, Will, my boy, you are taking me for Mrs Weatherhelm,” he exclaimed, bursting into a fit of laughter. “You’ll soon see her, and then you can hug her as long as you like, if you can get leave to go on shore; if not, I’ll go and bring her here as quick as I can pull back to the point and toddle away over to Southsea.”

“Oh, no, no; I wouldn’t have her here on any account,” I answered as I thought of the disreputable characters who in shoals would soon be crowding the decks, and who were even now waiting in the boats until they were allowed to come on board.

“Tell me, Jerry, about my uncle and Aunt Bretta; how are they both?”

“Hearty, though the old gentleman did take on when you were carried away by the pressgang. If ever I saw him inclined to run a-muck, it was then. We had a hard matter, I can tell you, to prevent him from posting off to London to see the First Lord of the Admiralty, to grapple him by the throat if he did not send an order down at once to have you liberated. I don’t know, indeed, what he’d have done; but at last we persuaded him that if he made up his mind to proceed to such extremities, the First Lord would either laugh in his face or order the porters to kick him down stairs. He in time came to that conclusion himself, and so quieted down, observing that you would do your duty and bear yourself like a man.”

“I must try and get leave from the first lieutenant. He could not refuse me, when I tell him I was torn away from my wife, and I will promise to be back again at any time he may name.”

“You may try it, Will, but I’m not so sure about the matter. If he doesn’t, why, I’d advise you to take French leave and slip into my wherry as soon as it’s dark. I’ll have a bit of canvas to cover you up, and pull you ashore in a jiffey. You can land at the yard of a friend of mine, not far from the point, and disguise yourself in shore-going toggery. Every one knows me, and I’ll get you through the gates; and if I’m accused of helping you off, I’ll stand the consequences. It can only be a few months in gaol, and though I’d rather have my liberty, I can make myself happy wherever I am.”

“No, Jerry, I would not let you run that risk for my sake on any account; nor would I run it myself, much as I love my liberty and my wife,” I answered. “You stay here and I’ll go and ask the first lieutenant at once; if he refuses me now, he’ll be sure to give me leave another day.”

“Well go Will,—go,” said Jerry. “I’m much afraid that your first lieutenant, unless he is very much unlike others I have known, won’t care a rap about your wife’s feelings or yours. He’ll just tell you it’s the same tale half the ship’s company have to tell, and if your wife wants to see you, she may come aboard like the rest of the women.”

Without waiting to hear more of what Jerry might say, I hurried aft, and found the first lieutenant issuing his orders.

“What is it you want, my man?” he asked as I approached him, hat in hand.

“Please, sir, I’ve got a young wife ashore at Southsea, and I was torn away from her by a pressgang. May I have leave to go and see her, and I promise to be back at any time you may name.”

“A pressed man!—no, no, my fine fellow, no pressed men can be allowed out of the ship. They may take it into their heads not to return at all,” he answered, turning away.

“Pardon me, sir,” I said, “but I give you my word of honour that I will come back as soon as you order me.”

He glanced round with a look of astonishment, muttering, “Your word of honour! Who are you, my man?”

“I am a Shetlander, sir. I have been brought up to keep my word. Though I was pressed, I have done my duty. It was I, sir, who hauled down the flag of the Cleopatra when we took her.”

While he was speaking, a midshipman brought him a letter. He opened it, and glancing over the few lines it contained, his eye brightened. I stood watching, resolved not to be defeated.

As soon as he had folded the letter and put it into his pocket, I again stepped up.

“May I go, sir?” I said.

“Well,” he answered, smiling, “you hauled down the Frenchman’s flag. I am to have my reward, and you shall have yours. You may go ashore, but you must be back in three days. All the crew will be required for putting the ship to rights, to take the mainmast out of her and replace it by a new one,” and he ordered one of the clerks to put down my name as having leave.

I found afterwards that the letter I saw him read contained an intimation that he was forthwith to be made a commander.

In a few days the news was received that the great Earl of Chatham had presented our captain and his brother to King George, who had been pleased to knight our captain, and to make Commander Pellew a post-captain.

No one else, that I know of, obtained any honours or rewards, though each man and boy received his share of prize-money, and with that we had no cause to complain.

However, to go back to the moment when the first lieutenant gave me leave. “Thank you, sir! thank you!” I exclaimed, with difficulty stopping myself from tossing up my hat for joy.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, I rushed below, and, taking the things I wanted out of my bag, I tumbled into Jerry’s wherry.

The old man pulled as fast as he and his boy could lay their backs to the oars.

“Stop, stop, my lad! wait for me!” he exclaimed as I jumped ashore and was preparing to run to Southsea. “You’ll frighten your wife and send her into ‘high strikes’ if you pounce down upon her as you seem inclined to do. Wait till I go ahead and tell her to be looking out for you. You won’t lose much time, and prevent a great deal of mischief, though I can’t move along quite at the rate of ten knots an hour, as you seem inclined to do.”

I at once saw the wisdom of Jerry’s advice, and waited, though somewhat impatiently, until he and his boy had secured the boat.

“Come along, Will, my lad,” he said at length, stepping ashore; “I’ll show you what my old legs can do,” and off he set.

We soon crossed the High Street, and made our way through the gate leading out of the town on to Southsea Common.

The village of Southsea was but a small, insignificant place in those days. We had not gone far when we caught sight of a person with a wooden leg stumping along at a good rate some way ahead. Although his back was towards us, I at once felt sure that he was Uncle Kelson.

“All right!” cried Jerry, “that’s Mr Kelson. He always carries a press of sail. It couldn’t have been better. I’ll go on and make him heave-to, and just tell him to guess who’s come back; but I don’t think there’s much fear of his getting the ‘high strikes’ even though he was to set eyes on you all of a sudden.”

I brought up for a moment so as to let Jerry get ahead of me.

“Heave-to, cap’en! heave-to! I ain’t a thundering big enemy from whom you’ve any cause to run,” I heard him shouting out. “Just look round, and maybe you’ll see somebody you won’t be sorry to see, I’ve a notion.”

My uncle, hearing Jerry’s voice, turned his head, and instantly catching sight of me, came running along with both his arms outstretched, his countenance beaming all over like a landscape lighted up by sunshine. I was somewhat fearful lest he should fall, but I caught him, and we shook hands for a minute at least, his voice almost choking as he exclaimed, “I am glad! I am glad! Bless my heart, how glad I am! And your wife, Will? You’ll soon make her all to rights. Not that she is ill, but that she’s been pining for you, poor lass; but no wonder: it’s a way the women have. Glad I hadn’t a wife until I was able to live on shore and look after her. Come along! come along!” and he took my arm, almost again falling in his eagerness to get over the ground, which here and there was soft and sandy, and full of holes in other places.

“Please, Mr Kelson, as I was a-telling of your nevvy, it won’t do just to come down on the lass like a thunder-clap, or it may send her over on her beam-ends,” said Jerry as he ranged up alongside, puffing and blowing with his exertions. “Just you stop and talk to him when we get near the house, and let me go ahead and I’ll break the matter gently, like a soft summer shower, so that they’ll be all to rights and ready for him when he comes.”

Jerry, I guessed, wanted to undertake the matter himself, suspecting that my uncle would, notwithstanding his good intentions, blurt out the truth too suddenly.

I therefore answered for him, that we would wait till Jerry had gone to the house and summoned us, though I had to exert no small amount of resolution to stop short of the door when we got in sight of it.

Jerry ran on at first, but went more deliberately as he approached the door, when, knocking, he was admitted.

He must be spinning a tremendous long yarn, I thought, for it seemed to me as if he had kept us half an hour, though I believe it was only two or three minutes, when at length he appeared and beckoned.

“Come along, Will! come along, my boy!” cried my uncle, keeping hold of my arm; but, no longer able to restrain my impatience, I sprang forward and, brushing past old Jerry, rushed into the house.

There was my Margaret, with Aunt Bretta by her side to support her; but she needed no support except my arm. After a little time, though still clinging with her arms round my neck, she allowed me to embrace my good aunt. My uncle soon joined us, and Old Jerry poked his head in at the door, saying with a knowing nod, “All right, I see there’s been no ‘high strikes.’ I shall be one too many if I stop. Good-day, ladies; good-day, friends all. I’ll look in to-morrow, or maybe the next evening; but I shall have plenty of work in the harbour, taking off people to see the prize and the ship which captured her.”

“Stop, Jerry, stop!” cried my uncle; “have a glass of grog before you go?”

“No, thankee, cap’en,” answered Jerry. “I must keep a clear head on my shoulders. If I once takes a taste, maybe I shall want another as I pass the Blue Posteses.”

Uncle Kelson did not press the point, and the old man took his departure.

Of course it required a long time to tell all that had happened to me, but I need not describe those happy days on shore. My dear wife would scarcely allow me for a moment to be out of her sight. She once asked the question, “Must you go back?”

“I have given my word that I would,” I answered. I knew full well what her heart wished, though she had too much regard for my honour even to hint at the possibility of my breaking my word.

Aunt Bretta and Uncle Kelson were of the same way of thinking; but old Jerry, who paid us a visit the second evening according to his promise, looked at the matter in a very different light.

“Now, Will, I’ve been thinking over this here business of yours every day since I first clapped eyes on you, and I’ve made up my mind that as they had no right to press you aboard that ’ere frigate, you have every right to make yourself scarce. I’ve got the whole affair cut and dry. There’s a friend of mine who is as true as steel. He’s got a light cart, and we intend to bundle you in soon after dark, and drive away, maybe to Chichester, and maybe to some country place where you can lie snug till the frigate has sailed, and the hue and cry after you is over.

“It’s all as smooth as oil. There’ll only be one man less aboard, as there would be if a shot was to take your head off; so it can’t make any odds to the captain and officers. And let me tell you, you’ll have a different set over you; for Mr Morris the first lieutenant, has got his promotion, Mr Lake is too badly wounded to allow him to return on board for some time, and the captain is sure to get a better ship; so you don’t know what double-fisted fellows you’ll get in their places.

“Follow my advice, Will; escape from all the tyranny and floggings, for what you can tell, that are in store for you. Run, and be a free man.”

“No, no, Mr Vincent; the advice you give is well meant, but I dare not even ask my husband to do as you propose,” answered Margaret in a firm voice, though she looked very sad as she spoke. “He would not be a happy man if he broke his word, and he has given that word to return. Even I can say, ‘Go back to your duty.’”

“So do I,” said Uncle Kelson, “though, if he had not given his word, I don’t know what I might have advised.”

“We can all pray for him,” said Aunt Bretta, “and I trust that we shall see him again before long, when he is free and can with a clean conscience remain with us.”

“I thank you, Jerry, for your good wishes,” I put in. “It cannot be, you see. I wish I could get away from the ship; but until I am paid off, and properly discharged, though I was pressed, I am bound to remain; so if you care for me, do not say anything more on the subject.”

“Well, well, if it must be, so it must,” answered Jerry with a deep sigh. “Some people’s notions ain’t like other people’s notions, that’s all I’ve got to say; and now I think it’s time for me to be tripping my anchor.”

“No, no, not until you have wetted your whistle,” said Uncle Kelson, beginning to mix a glass of grog.

The old man’s eyes glistened as he resumed his seat, replacing his hat under the chair; and putting his hand out to take the tumbler which my uncle pushed towards him across the table, and sipping it slowly, he looked up and said:

“I forgot to tell you that Sir Edward Pellew, as we must now call him since he got the sword laid across his shoulders by the king, has been appointed to the command of the Arethusa, a fine new frigate which will make a name for herself, if I mistake not, as the old one did. You remember her, cap’en, don’t you! It was her they writ the song about,” and he began singing:—

“Come all ye jolly sailors bold Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould, While English glory I unfold: Huzza! to the Arethusa; She is a frigate tight and brave As ever stemmed the dashing wave, Her men are staunch to their fav’rite launch. And when the foe shall meet our fire, Sooner than strike, we’ll all expire On board of the Arethusa! “’Twas with the spring fleet she went out, The English Channel to cruise about, When four French sail, in show so stout, Bore down on the Arethusa. The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie, The Arethusa seemed to fly, Not a sheet or a tack or a brace did she slack, Though the Frenchman laughed and thought it stuff, But they knew not the handful of men how tough On board of the Arethusa! “On deck five hundred men did dance, The stoutest they could find in France; We with two hundred did advance, On board of the Arethusa! Our captain hail’d the Frenchman, ‘Ho!’ The Frenchman then cried out ‘Hullo!’ ‘Bear down, d’ye see, to our Admiral’s lee.’ ‘No, no,’ says the Frenchman; ‘that can’t be.’ ‘Then I must lug you along with me,’ Says the saucy Arethusa! “The fight was off the Frenchman’s land. We forced them back upon their strand, For we fought till not a stick would stand Of the gallant Arethusa. And now we’ve driven the foe ashore, Never to fight with Britons more, Let each fill a glass to his fav’rite lass, A health to our captain and officers true, And all who belong to the jovial crew On board of the Arethusa!”

“I mind,” continued Jerry after another sip at his grog, “that she carried thirty-two guns, and was commanded by Captain Marshall. It was in the year 1778, just before the last war broke out. We hadn’t come to loggerheads with the mounseers, though we knew pretty well that it wouldn’t be long before we were that. We and two other frigates sailed down Channel with a fleet of twenty sail of the line under Admiral Keppel.

“When off the Lizard, on the 17th of June, we made out two frigates and a schooner to the southward. On seeing them, and guessing that they were French, the Admiral ordered us and the Milford to go in chase. The strangers separated, the Milford frigate and Hector, a seventy-four, following the other ship, which turned out to be the Licorne, and took her; while the Albert cutter pursued the schooner, and captured her by boarding after a sharp struggle. We meantime alone followed the other stranger, which was the French forty gun frigate Belle Poule.

“On getting within hailing distance, our captain, in the politest manner possible, invited the French captain to sail back with him to the English fleet.

“‘No, no,’ answered the French skipper, ‘that it cannot be, seeing I am bound elsewhere.’

“‘Then, mounseer, I must obey orders and make you come with me,’ says our captain just as politely as before, and without further ado he ordered the crew of the foremost main-deck gun to fire a shot across the French ship’s bows. It was the first shot fired during the war. We in return got the Frenchman’s whole broadside crashing aboard us.

“We then began pounding away at each other as close as we could get. It seemed wonderful to me that we were not both of us blown out of the water. Our men were falling pretty thickly, some killed and many more wounded, while our sails and rigging were getting much cut up.

“You see the enemy had twenty guns on a side to our sixteen, but we tossed ours in and out so sharply that we made up for the difference. For two mortal hours we kept blazing away, getting almost as much as we gave, till scarcely a stick could stand aboard us; but our captain was not the man to give in, and while he could he kept at it. At last, our rigging and canvas being cut to pieces, and our masts ready to fall, so that we could not make sail, the Belle Poule having had enough of it, shot ahead, and succeeded in getting under the land where we were unable to follow her.

“The song says that we drove her ashore; but though we did no exactly do that, we knocked her well about, and she had forty-eight men and officers killed and fifty wounded. As it was, as I have said, the first action in the old war, it was more talked about than many others. We lost our captain, not from his being killed, but from his getting a bigger ship, and Captain Everitt was appointed in his stead.

“The old Arethusa, after this, continued a Channel cruiser. We had pretty sharp work at different times, chasing the enemy, and capturing their merchantmen, and cutting-out vessels from their harbours; but we had no action like the one the song was wrote about.

“At last, in the March of the next year, when some fifty leagues or more off Brest, we made out a French frigate inshore of us. Instead of standing bravely out to fight the saucy Arethusa, she squared away her yards and ran for that port. We made all sail in chase, hoping to come up with her before she could get into harbour. We were gaining on her, and were expecting that we should have another fight like that with the Belle Poule, when, as we came in sight of the outer roads of Brest, what should we see but a thumping seventy-four, which, guessing what we were, slipping her cable, stood out under all sail to catch us.

“We might have tackled the seventy-four alone, with a good breeze; but we well knew that if we did not up stick and cut, we should either be knocked to pieces or be sent to the bottom; so our captain, as in duty bound, ordered us to brace up the yards and try to make the best of our way out of danger. We might have done so had there been a strong breeze blowing, but we could not beat the ship off shore as fast as we wanted.

“Night came down upon us, and a very dark night it was. We could not see the land, but we knew it was under our lee, when presently thump goes the ship ashore. Our captain did his best to get her off, but all our attempts were of no use. The saucy Arethusa was hard and fast on the rocks.

“The word was given to lower the boats. I was one of the first cutter’s crew. We had got her into the water, and the master, as good a seaman as ever stepped, came with us, and two young midshipmites.

“‘We’ll not be made prisoners if we can help it, lads,’ said the master. ‘Here, lower down these two casks of bread, and this breaker of water.’

“We had no time to get more, and we hoped the other boats would follow our example, but they would have to be sharp about it. We got round from under the lee of the ship, against which the surf was already breaking heavily, and pulled away to the windward out to sea. You may be sure we pulled as men do who are pulling for their lives and liberty. If we had been a minute later, we shouldn’t have done it. No other boats that we could see followed us. Next morning we were twenty miles off shore.

“We felt very downcast at the thoughts that we had lost our little frigate, but were thankful to have got away from a French prison. We learned afterwards that the captain, fearing for the lives of his people, sent the other boats at once to the shore, and establishing a communication, managed to land the whole crew, who were forthwith made prisoners. It was fortunate that we had the biscuit and water, or we should have been starved to death; for it was a week or more before we fell in with an English homeward-bound West Indiaman, when we had not a gill of liquid left, and not a biscuit a-piece. I learned the value of water at that time, but I have always held to the opinion that a little good rum mixed with it adds greatly to its taste,” and Jerry winked at my uncle with one eye, and with the other looked at his tumbler, which was empty.

Uncle Kelson mixed him another glass.

“Ladies both,” he said, looking round at my aunt and Margaret, “here’s to your health, and may Will be with you a free man before many months are over. Maybe you haven’t heard of the ghost we had on board the old Cornwall, some years before the time I am speaking of? If you haven’t, I’ll tell you about it. Did you ever have a ghost aboard any ship you sailed in, cap’en? Maybe not. They don’t seem to show themselves now-a-days, as they used to do.

“Dick Carcass was the boatswain of the old Cornwall when I served aboard her. He was a tall spare man with high shoulders and a peculiar walk, so that it was impossible to mistake him meet him where you might. He was also a prime seaman, and had a mouth that could whistle the winds out of conceit. If he did use a rope’s-end on the backs of the boys sometimes, it was all for their own good. We were bound out one winter time to Halifax, Nova Scotia. It isn’t the pleasantest time of the year to be sailing across the North Atlantic. We had had a pretty long passage, with westerly gales, which kept all hands employed. The boatswain was seldom off deck, and a rough life he had of it.

“At last, what with the hard work he had to do, and having been in hospital too before we sailed, he fell sick, and one night the doctor came out of his cabin and told us he was dead. Now our captain was a kind-hearted man; and as he expected to be in port in two or three days, instead of sewing the boatswain up in a hammock and lowering him overboard, he gave notice that he should keep him to give him decent Christian burial on shore, and let the parson pray over him, for, d’ye see, we had none aboard. To pay him every respect, a sentry was placed at the door of his cabin in the cockpit. He had been dead three or four days, and we had expected to get into port in two or three at the furthest; so as the wind continued foul, and might hold in the same quarter a week longer, the captain, thinking the bo’sun wouldn’t keep much longer, at last determined to have him buried the next morning. That night I had just gone below, and was passing close to the sentry, when he asked me if I couldn’t make his lantern burn brighter. He was a chum of mine, d’ye see. I took it down from the hook where it was hanging, and was trying to snuff it, when all of a sudden the door of Mr Carcass’s cabin opened with a bang like a clap of thunder, and, as I’m a living man, I heard the bo’sun’s voice, for you may be sure I knew it well, shout out:—

“‘Sentry, give us a light, will ye!’

“Somehow or other—maybe I nipped the wick too hard—the candle went out, and down fell the lantern. I did not stop to pick it up, nor did the sentry who got the start of me, and off we set, scampering away like rats with a terrier at their tails, till we gained the upper step of the cockpit ladder. We then stopped and listened. There were steps thundering along the deck. They came to the very foot of the ladder. Presently we heard something mounting them slowly. The sentry moved on. So did I, but looking round I saw as surely as I sit here, the head of old Dick Carcass’s ghost rising slowly above the deck.

“We did not stop to see more of him, but walked away for’ard. Again we stopped, when there he was, standing on the deck—eight feet high he looked at least—rubbing his eyes, which glared out at us like balls of fire.

“We made for the fore-ladder, and there thought to get out of its way by moving aft as fast as our legs could carry us. Presently, as I looked over my shoulder, I saw the ghost come up the ladder on to the forecastle. The men there saw him too, for they scuttled away on either side, and left him to walk alone. For five minutes or more he kept pacing up and down the deck, just as he was accustomed to do when he was alive. By this time the men were crowding aft, the sentry among them, when the lieutenant of the watch, thinking maybe there was going to be a mutiny, or something of that sort, sings out and axes what we were about.

“‘Sir,’ answers the sentry, who was bold enough now; ‘there’s the ghost of Mr Carcass a walking the fo’c’stle.’

“‘The ghost of Mr Carcass be hanged! he is quiet enough in his cabin, poor man. What are all you fools thinking about?’ says the lieutenant. ‘Be off for’ard with you.’

“‘He is there, sir! he is there! It is the bo’sun’s ghost,’ we all sung out, one after the other, none of us feeling inclined to go near him.

“‘Blockheads!’ cried the lieutenant, beginning to get angry.

“‘It is him, sir; it is him,’ cried others. ‘He’s got on the hat and monkey jacket he always wears.’

“The lieutenant now became very angry, and ordering us out of the way, boldly steps forward. When, however, he gets abreast of the barge, he stops, for there he sees as clearly as we did the bo’sun’s tall figure pacing the deck, with his hands behind his back, looking for all the world just as he had done when he was alive.

“Now the lieutenant was as brave a man as ever stepped, but he did not like it, that was clear; still he felt that go on he must, and so on he went until he got up to the foremast, and then he sings out slowly, as if his words did not come up readily to his mouth:—

“‘Mr Car-car-car-cass, is that you?’

“‘Sir!’ said the ghost, turning round and coming aft.

“‘Mr Car-car-car-cass, is that you?’ again sings out the lieutenant.

“‘Sir!’ answers the boatswain, and he came nearer.

“The lieutenant stepped back, so did we, all the whole watch tumbling over on each other. Still facing for’ard, the gallant lieutenant kept retreating, and the ghost kept coming on slowly, as ghosts always do, I’m told, though I can’t say as I’ve had much experience with those sort of gentry. At last the ghost sings out:—

“‘Pardon me, Mr Pringle, what’s the matter? have all the people gone mad?’

“‘Who are you?’ asked the lieutenant.

“‘I am Richard Carcass, bo’sun of this here ship, to the best of my knowledge, and was never anybody else, sir.’

“‘What! ain’t you dead?’ says the lieutenant.

“‘Not that I knows on,’ answers the ghost. ‘I was alive when it struck eight bells in the middle watch, and its now only just gone two. I take it it is the morning watch, for I heard it strike just before that stupid sentry put out his light, and for some reason or other I couldn’t make out, took to his heels.’

“‘Why, the doctor said you were dead,’ says the lieutenant.

“‘The doctor, then, doesn’t know a dead bo’sun from a live one,’ answered Mr Carcass.

“‘Well, I wish you’d let him see you, and hear what he’s got to say on the subject;’ and he ordered the midshipman of the watch to call the doctor, who came on deck, grumbling not a little at being roused out from his berth. When he saw the bo’sun he seemed mighty pleased, and taking him by the hand told us all that he was as alive as ever he was, and advised him to turn in again and get some sleep, as the night was cold, and he was on the sick list.

“Well, ladies, that was the only ghost I ever saw. He was not dead either, but had been in a sort of trance, and when he heard two bells strike, not knowing how many days had passed since he had gone to sleep, he called for a light, but not getting it, he dressed in the dark and came on deck, thinking he ought to be there.”

Jerry spun other yarns before he took his leave. He was once, he declared, on board a trader bound out from Ireland to the West Indies with butter and cheese, “The Jane and Mary, that was her name,” he continued. “We were off the coast of Saint Domingo, almost becalmed, when we made out a couple of suspicious—looking craft sweeping off towards us. That they were pirates we had no doubt. At that time those sort of gentry used to cut the throats of every man on board if there was the slightest resistance.

“Our skipper, Captain Dillon, was a determined fellow, and had proved himself a good seaman during the passage.

“‘Lads,’ he sang out, ‘do you wish to be taken and hove overboard to feed the sharks, or will you try to save the ship if those scoundrels come up to us? I’ll promise you we’ll beat them if they venture aboard.’

“We all answered that we were ready to stick by him, for I believe there was not one of us that did not think we should be dead men before the day was an hour older. The mates promised also to fight to the last.

“‘Be smart then, my lads, get up some of the cargo from the hold.’ We soon had a dozen butter casks hoisted up, knocked in their ends, and payed the decks, and sides, and ropes, and every part of the ship over with the butter. We chucked our shoes below, and got the cutlasses, boarding pikes, and pistols ready. In a few minutes the deck was so slippery, that a man, unless without his shoes, could not stand upon it. We were all ready, with our cutlasses at our sides and the pikes handy, to give the scoundrels a warm reception. Meantime the Jane and Mary did her best, as far as the breeze would help her, to keep moving through the water.

“The pirates crept up, and kept firing away at us, one on one quarter and one on the other.

“We answered them with the few guns we carried, though each of them had nearly twice as many as we had, while their decks were crowded with men. Presently they ranged up alongside, and both boarded together, a score or more villainous-looking rascals leaping down on our decks, expecting to gain an easy victory; but they never made a greater mistake in their lives, and it was the last most of them had the chance of making. The moment their feet touched our deck, over they fell flat on their faces, while we with our cutlasses, rushing in among them, killed every mother’s son of their number. Others following, shouting, shrieking, and swearing, met the same fate; when the rest of the pirates, seeing what was happening, though not knowing the cause, but fancying, I suppose, that we had bewitched them, sheered off, and the breeze freshening we stood away, leaving the two feluccas far astern. Forty men lay dead on our decks, and not one of us was hurt.

“‘Heave the carcases overboard, and swab up the decks,’ cried our skipper, as coolly as if nothing had happened.

“We had a pretty job to clean the ship afterwards, but we didn’t mind the trouble, seeing that we had saved our lives, and the skipper was well content to lose the dozen casks of batter which had served us so good a turn.

“That skipper of ours had no small amount of humour in his composition, though it was somewhat of a grim character. Before we hove the bodies overboard, he ordered us to cut off the heads of those who had fallen, forty in number, and to pickle them in the empty butter casks, lest, as he said, his account of the transaction might be disbelieved by the good people of Jamaica.

“We arrived safely in Kingston harbour, where the merchants and a lot of other persons came on board. Many of our visitors, when they heard the skipper describe the way we had beaten off the pirates, looked incredulous.

“‘Seeing is believing,’ says he, and he ordered the casks which had been kept on deck to be opened. It was mightily amusing to watch the way our visitors looked at each other, when our skipper forthwith produced the gory heads, among which was that of the captain of one of the piratical craft and that of the first mate of the other.

“Some of them started back with horror, as well they might, for the heads looked dreadful enough as they were pulled out in succession.

“‘There’s the whole score,’ says the skipper, as we arranged them along each side of the quarter-deck. ‘Now, gentlemen, what have you got to say about my veracity?’

“After that, you may be sure the captain’s word was never doubted. The heads were then hove overboard, and it was said that Old Tom, the big shark which used to cruise about between Port Royal and Kingston, got the best part of them for his supper. I’m pretty sure he did, because for many a day after that he was not seen, and some thought he had died of indigestion by swallowing those pirates’ heads. Howsomdever, he wasn’t dead after all, as poor Bob Rattan, an old messmate of mine, found out to his cost. Just about two months had gone by, and Bob one evening was trying to swim from his ship to the shore, when Old Tom caught, him by the leg and hauled him to the bottom. His head was washed ashore three days afterwards, bitten clean off, a certain proof that Old Tom had swallowed the pirates’ heads, and not finding them agree with him, had left poor Bob’s alone.

“Taking in a cargo of sugar we sailed homewards; but I can tell you, till we were well clear of the West Indies we didn’t feel comfortable, lest we should fall in again with the pirates, when, as we had no butter aboard to grease our decks, the chances were, we knew, that in revenge they would have cut all our throats and sent the ship to the bottom.

“You see, ladies, that a man may go through no end of dangers, and yet come scot free out of them. So I hope will our friend here, and have many a yarn to spin, and that I may be present to hear them, although I don’t think he’ll beat mine; and now, as it’s getting late, I’ll wish you good evening;” and Jerry, taking his hat from under the chair, shook hands with all round.

“You won’t take my advice then, Will?” he whispered, as he came to me. “Well, well, it’s a pity. Good-night, lad, good-night, I’ll see you aboard the Nymph;” and he hurried away across the common towards the beach where he had left his boat, intending to pass the night under her, as was his general custom in the summer.

Chapter Nineteen.

A sad parting—I set out to rejoin my ship—How our fleet was manned—Scene at the Point, Portsmouth—An explosion—A narrow escape—I am transferred with Dick Hagger and others to the Culloden, 74—A bad crew—Intelligence received of the sailing of the French fleet—We sail—Looking out for the enemy—A general chase—Lord Howe’s victory of the first of June—Behaviour of the Culloden—Return to England—Discontent on board our ship—The Lord Mayor’s men—My signature is obtained—What came of it—Mutiny breaks out—Among the mutineers.

The time for which I had obtained leave came soon, far too soon, to amend. It seemed as if I had been but a few hours with my dear wife, and now I must part again from her for an indefinite period, how long I could not tell. I knew that while I had health and strength, no sum could obtain my discharge. Men were wanted for the service, and every effort was made to get them, while strict watch was kept on those who had been obtained. Pressgangs were sent on shore every day all along the coast where there was a chance of picking up men. Agents even visited the mines, and people who had been working under ground all their lives, were suddenly transferred to the deck of a man-of-war, and very fine seamen they made too, for they were hardy, intelligent fellows, and liked the change, and no wonder.

Captain Nelson, and other officers, had thus picked up from the Cornish mines a number of prime seamen. However, as I was saying, the time came for me to part from my wife and my kind uncle and aunt. I would not let Margaret accompany me on board, though she wanted to do so, for the reason I have before stated. She and Uncle Kelson, however, came with me down to the Point, where Jerry had promised to be on the look-out to take me on board. Even there the scene was such as it must have pained any right-minded woman to witness.

Drunken seamen and marines, and women, and Jews, and crimps, all crowded together so that it was difficult to get through the surging mass of human beings, many of them fighting and wrangling and swearing, while the Jews were trying to sell their trumpery wares to such of the poor ignorant sailors as had any money left in their pockets, and the more sober of the men were endeavouring to lift their tipsy shipmates into the boats.

I led Margaret back up the street; “Go home with uncle, dearest,” I said, “I cannot be happy with you in this fearful crowd. The sooner you are out of Portsmouth the better.”

Uncle Kelson took her arm, and led her along the street, while I hurried back to the Point, for I had not many minutes to spare, as I would not have been a moment behind-hand on any account.

I remember seeing an old Irish woman with a pipe in her mouth, seated on one of several casks placed close together in the middle of the Point. I fought my way through the crowd, and seeing Jerry’s wherry, jumped into her, begging him at once to shove off as I was late. He and his boy pulled away; but scarcely had we got half a dozen fathoms from the Point when there was a dreadful explosion. Flames burst up from the midst of the crowd, arms and legs and human bodies were lifted into the air, while others were shot out into the water or on board the boats, while fearful shrieks and screams rose from the scene of the catastrophe. Almost immediately afterwards not a single person could be seen standing on the Point, but many lay there dead, or fearfully mangled. Boats full of people were pulling away from the spot, and the rest of the crowd were flying up towards the street.

It turned out that the old Irishwoman I had noticed seated on the cask, not dreaming that it contained gunpowder, had shaken out the ashes from her pipe on it. How the casks of powder came to be left there is more than I can say. All I know is, that great carelessness prevailed in all departments of the navy in those days, and it’s only a wonder that more accidents did not occur.

Numbers of persons were killed by the explosion, others were dreadfully mutilated, and scarcely a scrap of the old woman herself could be discovered. I felt grateful to Heaven that my dear wife and uncle had escaped. Had they come on with me, we should have been close to the spot and among the sufferers. I could not go back, though Jerry wanted to do so, as I had to be on board by noon, and there were but a few minutes to get alongside the ship.

I reported myself to the first lieutenant as having come on board.

“Very well,” he said, and just then it struck eight bells. I had not been long on board when I heard it reported that the Nymph was to go into dock, and that the crew would be turned over to other ships wanting hands. It was but too true, and I found that Dick Hagger, I, and others were to be transferred to the Culloden, 74, forming one of the Channel fleet, under Earl Howe, and then commanded by Captain Schomberg. She was soon ready for sea, and we went out to Spithead, where the ships were rapidly collecting. I had never seen so many men-of-war together, for there were thirty-four sail of the line, eight frigates, and smaller vessels.

No leave was granted, so I could not get on shore, for we were to be ready to start at a moment’s notice, directly intelligence should arrive from the numerous cruisers off the French coast that the Brest fleet had put to sea.

We had a mixed crew, and a bad lot many of them were—jailbirds, smugglers, who were good, however, as far as seamanship was concerned, longshore men, and Lord Mayor’s men, picked up from the London streets, the only difference between the two last being that the latter had tails to their coats,—one slip of the tailor made them both akin,—and we dubbed them K.H.B., or king’s hard bargains. Then we had a lot of ordinary seamen, and very ordinary they were. We A.B.’s were in the minority by a long chalk. Lastly came the marines; they were mostly steady men, and, as they had been at sea before, were better sailors than the ordinary seamen, besides which they knew their duty and did it. Without them I am very sure the crew could never have been kept under.

Flogging was the order of the day; scarcely a morning passed but we had two or three triced up, and the boatswain’s mates swore that they had never worn out so many cats-o’-nine-tails before.

I don’t know that it was the officers’ fault, for they knew no better way of maintaining discipline. It was because some hundreds of men, few of whom had ever served on board a man-of-war, were brought together.

I had been on board some days when I caught sight of a face I knew too well; it was that of Charles Iffley. I was certain it was him, though when I inquired I found that he had entered under the name of Charles Trickett.

I saw him start when he first recognised me, but he kept out of my way, and I had no wish to speak to him. His presence, I feared, boded me no good. Whether his feelings of revenge were satisfied, I could not tell; but if not, I was very sure that he would wreak them on my head if he could.

During the early spring, merchant vessels of all sizes, but mostly large ones, kept coming in until nearly a hundred were assembled, when the whole fleet, including men-of-war, amounted to one hundred and forty-eight sail,—three being of a hundred guns, four of ninety-eight, while a large number were seventy-fours. The merchantmen were bound out either to the West Indies or Newfoundland, and some of the men-of-war were intended to convoy them.

At last, on the 2nd of May, a frigate came in with the news that the Brest fleet had put to sea. We immediately made sail from Saint Helen’s and stood down Channel.

Besides looking out for the French fleet, which Lord Howe had determined to attack, we had to see the merchantmen clear of the Channel, and besides that to try and intercept a French convoy coming from America, said to consist of three hundred and fifty sail, laden with provisions and stores, the produce of the West Indian islands, of which the French Republic stood greatly in need.

On arriving off the Lizard, eight of the large ships and six of the frigates were detached to see the merchantmen clear of the latitude of Cape Finisterre, while the Channel fleet, thus reduced to twenty-six sail of the line, besides seven frigates and smaller vessels, stood for Ushant. Before long the frigates made the signal that the French fleet were at sea.

We after this kept cruising up and down looking for them, though our Admiral knew that many of the ships were far larger than ours, but our numbers were equal.

To describe all that took place is more than I can do. I know that it was on the 28th of May that the Admiral heard through some prizes which had been taken that the French fleet of which he was in search were close to us.

Soon after sunrise we made them out bearing down towards us with topgallant sails set. The signal was at once thrown out by the Admiral to prepare for battle. It was a fine sight to see them coming down upon us; but though there was a strong breeze blowing and a heavy sea on, they did not near us as fast as we had expected, and we were ordered to go to dinner. It was the last many a fine fellow on board some of the ships was to take, but I do not believe that any one, on account of the thoughts of the coming battle, ate a worse meal than usual.

Greatly to our disappointment, a short time after we returned on deck, the French fleet were seen making off, but our spirits revived when Lord Howe threw out the signal for a general chase, followed, almost immediately afterwards, by another to engage the enemy’s ships as soon as we should arrive up with them. Only our leading ships were, however, able to do so, and we saw them blazing away at the Frenchmen till night closed in on us.

The Audacious got most fighting, and being terribly knocked about, was nearly taken by the enemy. She gave as much as she received, and so battered the Révolutionnaire that the French ship had to be taken in tow by one of her own frigates.

Next day we had some more fighting, much in the same fashion as on the first, but more severe, several of our ships having lost their topmasts and yards, and two or three of the French being completely disabled.

Thus we kept manoeuvring for two days, till, to our great disappointment, we lost sight of the French fleet during the night of the last of May. We had been standing to the westward, when at daybreak on the first of June, latitude 47 degrees 48 minutes north, longitude 18 degrees 30 minutes west, the wind a moderate breeze, south by west, and the sea tolerably smooth, we descried the French fleet, carrying a press of sail about six miles off on our starboard or lee bow, and steering in a line of battle on the larboard tack. At 5 a.m. our ships by signal bore up together and steered north-west. At about 7 a.m., we having again hauled to the wind on the larboard tack, plainly saw the French fleet, consisting of twenty-six sail of the line, the whole, with the exception of one or two, complete in their masts and rigging.

Shortly after this we saw the welcome signal flying, ordering us to breakfast, and as soon as it was over, the still more welcome one to bear down on the enemy. The next signal thrown out was for each ship to steer for and independently engage the ship opposite to her in the enemy’s line, the Caesar leading the van. The Bellerophon, or Billy Ruffian, as she used to be called, followed her; next came the Leviathan. We were about the thirteenth in line. The ships of both fleets were carrying single-reefed topsails. Of those of the French, some were lying to, and others backing and filling to preserve their stations. We were steering about north-west, with a fresh breeze south by west, and going little more than five knots an hour.

We were standing on, every ship keeping regularly in line, when what was the disgust of the true men on board the Culloden to hear the captain give the order to back the fore and main-topsails, three other ships having done the same, though we were not even yet within range of the enemy’s guns. We soon, however, saw the Admiral speaking with his signals, and ordering us to make more sail. Our brave old chief was at the same time setting topgallant sails, and letting fall his foresail in order that the Queen Charlotte might be first through the enemy’s line. In a short time that noble ship was engaged singlehanded with three of the enemy, for neither the Gibraltar nor the Brunswick were near enough to aid her. She was opposed to one French hundred-and-twenty gun ship, and two of eighty guns. In a short time, down came her fore-topmast, followed shortly afterwards by her main-topmast, while so damaged were her lower yards and rigging, that she was almost unmanageable. Notwithstanding this, she kept blazing away, till she beat off the two eighty gun ships, which made their escape, and had now only the biggest opposed to her.

The action had now become general, a few of our ships had cut their way through the French line, and engaged the enemy to leeward; the remainder hauled up to windward and opened their fire, some at a long, others at a more effectual distance. I am sorry to say the Culloden was among the former. Perhaps our captain thought, with his undisciplined crew, that it would be hazardous to venture alongside an enemy’s ship. He was wrong if he thought so. Bad as our fellows were, we had enough good men to load and fire the guns and the others were able at all events to haul them in and run them out again. It was impossible to see what was taking place. Each captain had to act for himself, and the greater number were doing their duty nobly. The Brunswick for some time was hooked by her anchors alongside a French ship, which she almost knocked to pieces. Another, coming up to rescue her friend, received so tremendous a fire that her three masts were speedily cut away by the board.

One ship after another of the French struck, and several were almost dismasted. Of these, four were recovered by the French Admiral, who now stood away to the northward, leaving Earl Howe in possession of six line-of-battle ships which had been captured. The victory was an important one, for although many of our ships had suffered severely, we had not lost one, while besides the six we had taken from the French, we had fearfully knocked about a large number of others.

The old Earl, as far as I know, made no complaint of the way in which some of the ships had disobeyed his orders and kept out of action. We in the Culloden, who knew what ought to have been done, felt ashamed of ourselves, that’s all I can say.

As soon as the worst damages could be repaired, the whole fleet made sail and stood up Channel, steering for Spithead, where we arrived early on the morning of the 13th, and brought up with our six prizes.

I felt very little of the enthusiasm which animated most of the thousands of visitors who came off to see us; but many were mourners, anxious to obtain information of the loved ones they had lost, and others to see their wounded relatives and friends groaning in pain below. My great desire was to let my wife know that I had escaped, and I was very thankful when Jerry Vincent came alongside, and I was able to despatch a letter by him, he promising to deliver it immediately, and to tell her that I looked well and hearty.

A few days afterwards the King and Queen came down to Portsmouth, and went on board the Queen Charlotte, to present the old Admiral—for he was then seventy years of age—with a diamond-hilted sword, and to hang a gold chain round his neck. They then dined with him, and returned on shore in the evening. One of the vice-admirals was made Lord Graves, and the other Viscount Bridport. The rear-admirals were created baronets, and the first lieutenant of every line of battle ship in the action was made a commander. The rest got empty thanks, and a small share of prize-money, which was spent by the greater number of the men the first time they got ashore, so that the grog-sellers, lodging-house keepers, and Jews, benefited chiefly by that. The ships which had suffered went into Portsmouth harbour to refit; but as the Culloden had no honourable wounds to show, we were kept at Spithead, and no leave was granted.

The men grumbled and growled, complaining that they were ill-treated, and that it was not their fault that they had not taken a more active part in the battle. The captain and officers best knew the reason why, and they also were out of sorts, for they heard it whispered that they had shown the white feather. They consequently, being out of temper, bullied us, and we were kept at work, exercising at the guns, and making and shortening sail.

Our former captain being removed, Captain Thomas Trowbridge, well-known as a good officer, took command of the ship, and we put to sea for a cruise.

The state of the crew, however, had become too bad to be amended in a hurry. Discontent of all sorts prevailed on board.

As we lay at Spithead, one day Hagger came to me and said:

“Will, I don’t like the look of things, there’s something going to happen. The men complain that the provisions are bad, and we don’t get fresh meat and vegetables from shore as we ought, and there’s no leave given, and flogging goes on just as it did before, and that our present captain is as severe as the last. There’s a knot of them got together, and they are plotting something. That fellow, Charles Trickett, is at the bottom of it, though he takes good care not to be too forward. They have won a good many men over, and they tried to win me, but I’m not going to run my head into a noose to make bad worse.”

“I know all you tell me,” I replied, “except that I was not aware there was any plotting going on. No one has spoken to me, and Trickett is the last person to do so, though he would be ready to get me into a scrape if he could. I don’t think they would be mad enough to attempt anything when they must know what would be the upshot. The leaders will be taken, and either flogged round the fleet, or hung at the yard-arm. I’m glad that you’ve kept clear, Dick.”

Next day a man I had seldom spoken to came up while I was writing a letter to my wife, and asked me to put my name to a paper which he said wanted a witness, and he could not find any man just then who could sign his name. He was one of the Lord Mayor’s men, but notwithstanding by this time had become a pretty smart hand. He had been a pickpocket or something of that sort it the streets of London, and always spoke of himself as being a gentleman, and was fond of using fine language.

“You’ll render me an essential service, Weatherhelm, if you’ll just do as I request. Here is the paper,” and he produced a large sheet folded up. “You’ll see me write my name, and you’ll just write yours as a witness under it. There’s the word ‘witness,’ you see, in pencil, you need not cover it up.”

He wrote down his own name as Reginald Berkeley, and I attached my signature.

“Thank you extremely,” he said, taking up the paper before I had time, notwithstanding what he said, to write down the word “witness,” which I knew ought to be in ink. “That is all I require. It may, I hope, be the means of bringing me a nice little income of a thousand a year or so, to which I am entitled if I obtain my rights, as my solicitor tells me I am sure to do. I’ll not forget you, Will, depend upon it. You shall come and stay with me at a snug little box I own down at Richmond,—that is to say, as soon as I come into possession of it, for I have not, properly speaking, got it yet,—or if you want a few pounds at any time, they are at your service. Thank you, thank you, go on with your letter. I must apologise for interrupting you;” and putting the paper in his pocket, he walked away.

I thought no more about the matter, and having finished and closed my letter, went on deck to get it sent on shore, as I knew my wife would be anxiously expecting to hear from me.

A short time after this another fellow, very much the same sort of man as Berkeley, as he called himself, addressed me, and invited me to come forward and take a glass of grog with him.

“I’ve got a little store of liquor of my own, and I like to share it with honest fellows like you, Weatherhelm,” he said. “You and I haven’t had much talk together, but I have heard of you from Hagger and others, and seen what a prime seaman you are.”

“I’m much obliged to you, Pratt,” I answered, for that was his name, “but I am not over fond of spirits, and never take a glass except when they are served out, and even then I had as soon, on most occasions, go without it as have it.”

“I dare say you are right,” answered Pratt, “there’s nothing like keeping a cool head on your shoulders; we want cool heads now to guide us. You see we have been barbarously treated, and I am sure you will agree that we ought to get our rights, if we are worthy of being called men. I am told that some of the best hands in the ship have made up their minds on the subject, and they have asked me to join them; but I want to know what your opinion is, for I do not suppose, as you are a fellow of spirit, that you’ll be hanging back.”

I guessed what he was driving at, and was cautious in what I said. I advised him not to join any mad attempt to gain by force what he called our rights, saying that I had made up my mind to have nothing to do with anything of the sort. On this I endeavoured to get clear of him, but he stuck to me, and managed somehow or other to lead me among a knot of men who were all talking eagerly together. Several of them spoke to me, and one of the party began to go on much in the same strain that Pratt had done. As he held me fast by the arm, I could not get away from him without using violence, and that I did not want to use. The men were talking away, many of them together, speaking of their grievances, and complaining of the treatment they had received. Some swore that they had been flogged unjustly for things they had never done, others complained of their leave being stopped, some of the badness of their provisions, others of the tyranny of the officers, and the hard work they had to do. I made no observation, for I did not wish to have myself mixed up with them.

There was some truth in what they said, but a great deal of exaggeration, and I observed that the King’s Hard Bargains were the very men to make most to do of what they suffered. Except that I had escaped a flogging, and being an able seaman never had to perform what is called dirty work, I had to suffer as much as any of them.

All this time, neither Trickett, or rather Charles Iffley, nor the fellow who called himself Reginald Berkeley, had appeared among us.

They came at last, as if sauntering by, and joining in, asked the men what they were talking about. Several again went over the list of their grievances.

“It’s not to be borne!” cried Iffley.

“I should think not!” exclaimed Berkeley; “I’ve heard tell of a crew taking the ship from their officers, and sailing away, either to live the life of free rovers of the ocean, or to carry her into some foreign port where they have sold her for a large sum of money, and divided the profits among themselves. I don’t say this is what we should do, or what we should be compelled to do, if things don’t mend.”

Soon after Berkeley had spoken, half-a-dozen of the most ruffianly fellows in the ship, two of whom boasted of the murders they had committed,—others had been smugglers or pirates for what I know,—came among us, and proposed that we should begin work that very night.

“Now is our opportunity,” they said. “The captain is on shore, so are many of the officers, including the lieutenant of marines.”

I soon found that matters had proceeded much farther than I had supposed, and that Berkeley and Pratt had spoken to me merely to try and get me to join them, their plans being already formed. Still, what those plans were I could not tell, or I ought, I considered, to go aft and tell the first lieutenant. If I went now, he would think that I had got hold of some cock-and-bull story, and very likely take no notice, while, should the mutineers suspect me, I might have been knocked on the head and have been hove overboard by them in revenge.

I told Hagger, however, what I feared. He acknowledged that he had been spoken to on the subject, but did not think it would be wise, without more certain information, to take any steps in the matter.

The long evening drew on, the hammocks were piped down as usual, and the watch below pretended to turn in; but I observed that they merely kicked off their shoes, and slipped under the blankets all standing.

It had just gone four bells in the first watch, when every man turned out of his hammock. The watch on deck came springing down below and immediately unshipped the ladders. While some were engaged in lashing up the hammocks, others rushed aft and secured the warrant and petty officers.

Another more daring band made their way down to the magazine, took out a quantity of ammunition, and as many muskets and tomahawks as they could lay hands on. They then set to work to form a barricade across the deck between the bits with the hammocks, and shifted the two second guns from forward, which they loaded with grape and canister, and pointed them towards the hatchway. Hunting about, I found Dick Hagger, and he agreed with me that we should try to get on deck; but the ladders being unshipped, we had no means of doing so, and several of the men, seeing what we were about, swore that they would cut us down if we made the attempt. There were several others who also wished to escape, and observing what we had been trying to do, came and joined us. I saw a few marines among the mutineers, but the larger body of the “jollies,” on turning out of their hammocks, retreated aft with their sergeants and corporals; but as the guns were pointed at them, they could do nothing.

The whole lower part of the ship was thus in possession of the mutineers, together with the magazine, stores, and water, though they could not prevent the officers from getting away or sending on shore to give information of what had occurred.

All night long things continued in this state. No one slept. Councils were held among the men, who swore that until their grievances were redressed they would not give in, and they would rather, if force were used, blow the ship up, and go to the bottom. There was nothing to prevent them doing this except their unwillingness to destroy themselves. There were some daring spirits among them, but the greater part had cowardly hearts. They thus fortunately took half measures. They might have destroyed all the officers, overpowered the marines, and carried the ship off. They knew well enough, however, that there was not a man among them capable of navigating her, and that there was a great chance that they would run her ashore before they got away from Saint Helen’s. They were sure also that there was not an officer who would have taken charge of her, even if they had held a pistol to his head to try and compel him to navigate the ship.

Chapter Twenty.

A long night—An attempt to escape—Threats of my shipmates—Three admirals visit the ship—Interview with the mutineers—Refusal to give in—Holding out—Captain Pakenham addresses the men—Returning to duty—I am taken as a mutineer—Awaiting trial—Conduct of the ringleaders—The court-martial—My signature produced in evidence against me—A plot to destroy me frustrated—Captain Pakenham proves my friend—Examination of Dick Hagger on my behalf—I am acquitted—Execution of the mutineers.

I have spent many a trying night, waiting anxiously for day, but this was as trying as any. It was, if I recollect rightly, the 3rd or 4th of December. When at length the morning broke, the mutineers seemed as determined as ever. At last it was proposed to let the warrant and petty officers go on deck. On hearing this, Hagger and I with a few others crept along to the after-hatchway, pretending that our object was merely to ship the ladder to allow the officers to reach the upper deck. The officers hurried up as fast as they could, glad to get away out of the power of the mutineers. Several of the men followed them, and Hagger and I had got our feet on the ladder, when we were seized hold of and dragged back, and the ladder was again unshipped.

Ten or twelve of the men had made themselves most active, and were looked upon as the ringleaders of the conspiracy, Berkeley and Pratt being among the number; but Iffley, if he had really been at the bottom of the affair, pretended to be led by the others. Whenever he spoke, he counselled mild measures, though he managed, some way or other, that they should not be adopted.

Having command of the store-rooms, the mutineers served out among those below as many provisions as were required. Dividing themselves into two watches, one stood guard with fifty or sixty muskets, and the guns pointed aft, while the rest either slept or sat on deck and smoked.

There were hot discussions as to what should be done, and occasionally there were quarrels, for enough grog was served out to excite the men’s spirits; but the ringleaders took care that they should get no more, for if once drunkenness began, they were aware that they would very speedily be overpowered. In the course of the afternoon, the first lieutenant hailed down the after-hatchway, saying that three admirals whom we all knew had come on board to hear what grievances we had to complain of, and to endeavour to redress them.

On hearing this, the ringleaders went aft, each man armed with a musket, a tomahawk or cutlass by his side, looking as brazen-faced and impudent as could be, trusting to the numbers at their backs.

Among the officers who addressed us were Lord Bridport and Admiral Cornwallis. Lord Bridport inquired, in a kind way, what the mutineers had to complain of, and pointed out the folly and wickedness of their proceedings, “What would become of our country if other ships were to follow your bad example, my lads?” he asked. “The honour and glory of England, of which you are so justly proud, would be humbled in the dust, and we should have the Frenchmen coming over to England with their guillotine and their Republican notions, and the ruin of all we hold dear would be the consequence. But I am not afraid of that. I know English seamen too well to suppose for a moment that others would imitate you. They may have grievances to complain of, but would disdain to adopt the mode you have of showing your dissatisfaction.”

Admiral Cornwallis spoke in a more indignant strain. “I am ashamed of you, lads,” he exclaimed; “you call yourselves British seamen, and yet upset all discipline, and act the part of rascally buccaneers who turn against their officers the moment they have anything to complain of.”

He said a good deal more in the same strain, but the men would scarcely listen to him. Some of them shouted out together what they wanted, but even on those points they were not all agreed.

“Are you going to return to your duty, lads!” asked Admiral Bridport at last.

“No, we are not,” shouted several of the men. “We don’t return to our duty until we get our rights.”

On this the admirals walked away, and we saw them shortly afterwards, through the ports, leaving the ship for Portsmouth.

The second night went by much as the first had done. The mutineers, numbering about two hundred and fifty men, retained possession of the lower deck, and would allow no one to come down, and none of the better-disposed men whom they doubted to go up. Hagger and I, with others, were thus kept prisoners. They had opposed to them the commissioned, warrant, and petty officers, all the marines except six, who, silly fellows, had been persuaded to join them, and about thirty seamen who had managed to escape on deck. They might thus quickly have been subdued by force, but then the lives of many on both sides must have been sacrificed; and if once blood had been shed, the mutineers, knowing that they fought with ropes round their necks, would have struggled desperately to the last, and would very likely have blown the ship up when they found all hope had gone. At length the watch off duty lay down on deck to sleep, for they had used all the hammocks to form a barricade. Hagger and I followed their example, hoping that next morning they would come to a better state of mind; but we were mistaken, and all day they held out, just as they had done before, and so they did the next and the next.

At last two or three of the petty officers, who were the least obnoxious, came and asked them to allow water and provisions to be got up, saying “that if those below were badly off in one way, they themselves were worse off in another, as neither had come off from the shore, and they were pretty well starving.”

Though some of the ringleaders would have prevented this if they could, the greater part of the men were ready enough to let those on deck have the provisions, and accordingly they set to work and sent up whatever was wanted.

Though they did this, they seemed as resolved as ever to resist. The heavy guns and small arms were kept loaded, and some of the ringleaders talked as big as ever, but I saw that the greater number were getting heartily weary of their confinement and their state of uncertainty. The authorities must have well-known that this would be the case. At last, on the morning of the 11th, word was received that Captain Pakenham (with whom a good many of the men had served) wanted to speak to them.

Coming to the hatchway, he addressed the men in firm but gentle terms. I forget exactly what he said, but I know it at once had a good effect with many of them, notwithstanding that the ringleaders tried to persuade them to hold out longer.

I was trying to persuade some of my shipmates to listen to what Captain Pakenham was saying, and to return to their duty, when Berkeley and Pratt, seizing hold of me, swore that they would shoot me through the head if I uttered another word, and dragged me forward.

At the same moment Hagger, who had been nearer the hatchway, with some of the better-disposed men, getting hold of the ladders, suddenly shipped them, and sprang up on deck, followed by nearly the whole of the rest of the crew, who were glad of the opportunity of escaping, as they hoped, born the consequences they had brought upon themselves. Only nine besides myself remained below, including Trickett and the two men I have spoken of.

Captain Pakenham at once asked the men who had escaped, if they were prepared to return to their duty, and in one voice they declared that they were. He had before taken his measures, and the marines, who were drawn up ready to act, coming down the ladder, made a rush forward.