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From Powder Monkey to Admiral: A Story of Naval Adventure, a novel by William H. G. Kingston |
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Chapter 20. The "Thisbe's" Narrow Escape--Tom Hopes To Be Made A Midshipman |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY. THE "THISBE'S" NARROW ESCAPE--TOM HOPES TO BE MADE A MIDSHIPMAN Half an hour or more passed, when again the leading French frigate fired, the shot falling close to the counter of the _Diana_, which by this time, having got up a fresh maintopmast, was able to make more sail. Captain Martin now ordered Lieutenant Sterling to cast off the tow rope and to stand on ahead of him, while, to allow the _Diana_ to do so, he clewed up the _Thisbe's_ topsails. "Make the best of your way to Plymouth," he shouted, as the _Diana_ passed the _Thisbe_; "we'll keep these two fellows in play, and shall, I hope, be soon after you." As soon as the prize had got some distance ahead, Captain Martin, who had been watching the two frigates coming up on the starboard quarter, ordered the _Thisbe's_ helm to be put to port; at the same moment, her starboard broadside being fired, the shot raked the two Frenchmen fore and aft. The helm was then immediately put over, and the frigate coming up on the other tack, her larboard broadside was poured into her antagonists. The shot told with considerable effect. The foretopmast of the leading frigate was shot away, and the mizenmast of the one following was seen to go by the board. This, however, did not much alter their rate of sailing, as, the wind being aft, all the canvas they required continued set. They also opened their fire, and their shot came crashing on board the _Thisbe_, killing and wounding two or three men, but not doing any material damage to her spars or rigging. She having shortened sail, her antagonists were compelled to do the same; and while they poured their broadsides into her, she returned them as rapidly as the crew could run the guns in and out. Captain Martin's great object was to keep them engaged, and, if possible, to knock away their masts, so as to enable the _Diana_ to escape, for although he might hope to get off himself, he could not expect to capture either of the enemy's ships. The _Thisbe_ had been several times hulled, and her sails were already completely riddled, while many more of her crew had fallen. "It is going hard with us, I fear," said Jack to Tom, who was seated next him on his powder tub. "There's well-nigh a score of poor fellows killed or wounded within the last half-hour. It may be the lot of one of us before long." "Oh, dear! I hope not," cried Tom. "I wish the skipper would try and get away instead of fighting the Frenchmen. Two to one is fearful odds against us, and we shall have the two other ships blazing away at our heads before long." "We haven't much to fear from them," said Jack. "I have just heard they're corvettes, and they won't be up to us until we've given the other two a drubbing, and have made sail again to the northward." The two corvettes were, however, likely to prove no despicable opponents, and Captain Martin was only watching until he had knocked away the masts or spars of one or both of the frigates, to make sail and escape, for it would have been madness to have continued the fight longer than was necessary to accomplish that object. The Frenchmen, however, fought bravely, and evidently did not intend to let him get off if they could help it. Each had just fired another broadside into the _Thisbe_, when they were seen to haul their wind, the two ships coming up astern doing the same. The reason of this was evident: the line-of-battle ship to the westward, now approaching under a pressure of sail, had hoisted British colours, and any longer delay would have enabled her quickly to capture one or both of them. The brave crew of the _Thisbe_ expressed their satisfaction by giving a loud cheer, which was joined in even by many of the wounded. Captain Martin had accomplished his object; he had secured the safety of his prize, and his crew, now swarming aloft, set to work rapidly to knot and splice the rigging which had been shot away. As soon as this had been accomplished sufficiently to make sail, the _Thisbe_, brought to the wind, stood after the flying enemy, firing her bow chasers as she did so; but it was soon seen that she had little chance of coming up with them. Still her captain persevered; but, with both masts and spars wounded, it was impossible to carry as much sail as would otherwise have been done. Consequently, before long the line-of-battle ship, which made the signal _Terrible_, seventy-four, overtook her. A cheer rose from the deck of the big ship, which came gliding slowly by. Her captain hailed, "Well done, Martin!" The pursuit was continued for some time, but night was approaching, and the coast of France was not far off. The seventy-four therefore threw out the signal to bear up and a course was shaped for Plymouth. A sharp look-out was kept during the night for the _Diana_. Soon after sunrise she was seen steering for Plymouth, into which harbour Captain Martin and his gallant crew had the satisfaction of conducting her the following day. Although it was a day of triumph to the surviving crew, it was one of mourning to many who had lost relatives and friends. The dead were carried on shore to be buried, the wounded conveyed to hospitals, the Frenchmen were landed and marched off under an escort of marines to the prisons prepared for them, and press-gangs were soon busy at work to obtain fresh hands to supply the places of those who had fallen, although many prime seamen volunteered to serve on board a frigate which had already won a name for herself. Tom Fletcher, as soon as the ship got into harbour, managed to procure a pen and some ink and paper, and indited a letter to his father. It was not over-well written, but he contrived to make it pretty clearly express that he was serving on board H.M.S. _Thisbe_, and that having already seen a great deal of service, he felt sure that if his father would apply to the Admiralty and make him an allowance of thirty or forty pounds a year, he should be placed on the quarter-deck, and in due course of time become an admiral. "We are sure to make lots of prize-money," he added; "and if I were a midshipman now, I should be receiving a hundred pounds or more, so that you may be sure, father, that I will pay it all back with interest." "Father likes interest," he observed to Bill, who was sitting by him at the time, and helping him in his somewhat unaccustomed task; "that'll make him more ready to do what I want, though whether he'll ever get the money is neither here nor there." "But if you promise to pay him, you are bound to do so," observed Bill. "You need not have made the promise, then you could have waited to know whether he required interest." "Well, I've written it, and can't scratch it out now," said Tom. "It will come to the same thing in the end." Bill had some doubts whether Tom's father would make the allowance Tom asked for; but if he were a rich man, as Tom asserted, he might do so, and therefore he said nothing. The letter, after being folded several times and creased all over, was at length closed, sealed, and addressed, by which time it had assumed a somewhat grimy appearance. Tom got the cook's mate, who was going on shore, to post his letter, having told him that he expected to receive a good sum of money by return, and promising him a part of the proceeds. Bill and Jack looked forward to the reply with almost as much interest as Tom himself, neither of them feeling that they should be at all jealous, should it produce the satisfactory result he anticipated. Meantime, every possible exertion was made to get the ship ready for sea. Mr Saltwell was very busy superintending all the operations. Bill, however, found that he was not forgotten, from a kind word or two which on several occasions the first lieutenant bestowed upon him. As Tom was not aware of this, he amused himself by telling Bill that Mr Saltwell would not trouble himself more about him--that he must be content to remain a powder monkey until he got big enough to be rated as an ordinary seaman. "Better than being cook's boy," cried Jack, who could never stand hearing Bill sneered at. "He's a precious deal more likely to be made a midshipman than you are, even though your father is a rich man and rides in his carriage, as you say." Tom retorted, and Jack looked as if he was much inclined to knock him over, when the quarrel was cut short by the appearance of the cook's mate, who dragged off Tom to help him clean the galley and scrub the pots and pans. Day after day went by. The frigate was reported ready for sea, and her complement of men having been filled up, she only waited for her captain to come on board to continue her cruise. Still Tom had received no reply from his father. "Perhaps he or the Admiralty may have written to the captain, and when he comes aboard I shall be placed in my proper position," he observed in confidence to Bill. "I hope so, but I'm afraid there will be but little time for you to get a proper uniform and an outfit," was the answer. "I'm not much afraid of that; the tailors won't take long in rigging me out," answered Tom. Soon after this the captain came on board, and Tom, greatly to his disappointment, was not sent for. Just, however, as the ship was going out into the Sound, the mail-bag arrived, and a letter addressed, "Thomas Fletcher, H.M.S. _Thisbe_," was handed him. He eagerly broke the seal. As he was no great hand at reading writing, he was obliged to ask Bill to assist him in deciphering the contents. He had, however, to rub his eyes several times before he could make them out, even with his messmate's help. "It's not from father at all," he observed, after looking at the paper all over. "S. Fletcher must be my biggest brother, and he always gave me more kicks than ha'pence." The letter began:-- "Dear Tom,--Our father received yours of the third instant, as the first intimation of your being alive since your unaccountable disappearance. You have caused us by your wicked proceeding no end of grief and trouble, and, as far as we can make out by your wretchedly written epistle, you do not seem to be at all ashamed of yourself, or sorry for what you have done; and our father bids me to say, that as you have made your bed, you must lie in it. As to making you an allowance of thirty or forty pounds a year, and getting you placed on the quarter-deck, the notion is too ridiculous to be entertained. I must tell you, too, our father has failed, smashed up completely, won't pay sixpence in the pound. As we find it a hard matter to live, he is not likely to make you an allowance of thirty pounds, or thirty pence a year, or to trouble himself by going to the Admiralty with the certainty of being sent away with a flea in his ear; so you see, Tom, you must just grin and bear it. If you don't get killed, I would advise you--should you ever wish to come home--to make your appearance with your pockets full of the prize-money you talk of, and you will then perhaps receive a welcome, and be well entertained as long as it lasts by the rest of the family, as also by-- "Your affectionate brother-- "S. Fletcher. "P.S. Until then I would advise you not to show your nose in this neighbourhood." "He always was an ill-natured fellow, was my brother Sam," exclaimed Tom, not seeming concerned at the news of his father's ruin, while, crumpling up the letter, he thrust it into his pocket. "I feel inclined to hang myself or jump overboard." "Don't think of doing anything so bad," said Bill. "You are no worse off than you were before. All you've got to do is to attend to your duty, and try to please those above you." "The cook and the cook's mate," growled poor Tom. "It isn't a pleasant task to have to scrub saucepans and clean out the galley." "But it is your duty, and while you have to do it it would be best to try and do it as well as you can," observed Bill. "Neither the cook nor the cook's mate are bad fellows, and you will gain their good-will by showing a pleasant temper, and working as hard as you can." "All very well for you to preach," said Tom; "but there's no help for it, I suppose, and so I must make the best of my hard lot." "That's just what I'm advising," said Bill; though he did not add, "You must remember you brought it upon yourself by running away from home." The boatswain's pipe summoned all hands on deck to make sail, and the frigate, standing down the Sound, at once put to sea. A bright look-out was kept for enemies; all hands, from the captain downwards, being eager to secure another prize, even though they might have to fight a tough battle to win her. The captain's orders were to capture, sink, burn, destroy, or drive on shore any of the enemy's vessels he could come up with. With this object in view the _Thisbe_ continued to cruise, now down the Channel, now up again, keeping as much as possible in sight of the French coast. She had been some time at sea, however, without having made any prizes; for although she had chased several vessels, they, having espied her in time, had managed to escape by running close in shore, under strong batteries, or getting up harbours where they could not be followed. At last one morning, as the frigate had just made the land, from which she had been standing off during the night, a sail was seen inside of her--that is, between her and the French coast, steering to the eastward, apparently bound down Channel. _ |
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