Chapter 13. Jack A Man-Of-War's-Man

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_ CHAPTER THIRTEEN. JACK A MAN-OF-WAR'S-MAN

There is a time of life when a person feels that he has left for ever his boyish days and stepped into manhood. I felt that I had passed that boundary when I found myself rated as an able seaman on board the _Syren_ sloop of war. I was now under a far stricter system of discipline than I had been accustomed to. At first I felt it somewhat galling; but I soon saw that without the greatest regularity it would be impossible to keep order among the crew of a ship even of the size of the _Syren_.

My early days I had spent on board a merchantman, and had met with many adventures somewhat strange and exciting. I did not expect to meet with fewer in my new career, though they would probably be of a different character. The result of my last, in which I had aided in rescuing two of my countrymen from captivity, had proved most satisfactory. Jacob Lyal, one of them, was now with me, and I knew he would speak well of me among my new shipmates. The other, Captain Stenning, late master of the _Dolphin_, was on board that vessel, and, I hoped, would soon be enabled to rejoin his wife and family in Halifax. Captain Gale, her present master, would also, I knew, speak favourably of me to my first commander in the _Rainbow_, Captain Helfrich, whenever he should fall in with him. I pity the man who does not desire to be thought well of by those who know him, and who does not feel that he deserves their good wishes. I certainly had not made many friends, but those I had found were true and fast ones; and a great source of satisfaction to me was the having with me Peter Poplar, my first and best friend--that true-hearted seaman who had saved me from starvation--who had tended me as a father in my boyhood and youth--who had given me a profession which would enable me to support myself while health and strength remained--and who had ever endeavoured to instil into me those true principles which would enable me to steer clear of the rocks and quicksands to be found in my course through life.

The wind had fallen and become fair; the helm of the corvette was put down, the sails were trimmed, and, under a crowd of canvas such as few merchantmen can attempt to set, we quickly ran the coast of Africa out of sight--the last we saw of its sandy shores being over our starboard quarter. The commander of the _Syren_, Captain Hudson, was, I found, very much liked by the crew, as, although he was a strict officer, he was a just one, and known to be a thorough seaman. He was a gentleman also in all respects, a brave man, and kind-hearted; and these are the qualities which sailors with good reason respect. Without possessing them, no man is fit to be placed in command over his fellow-men. My old ship, the _Dolphin_, continued in our company for several days, during which we made the best of our way to the northward, the wind, though scant, enabling us, close-hauled, to keep a course in that direction. When somewhere about the latitude of Lisbon, a ship hove in eight, standing towards us under all sail. As her courses rose above the water, she was pronounced to be a frigate; and as her hull appeared, such was found to be the case. Then commenced such a hauling up and down of flags as I had never before seen. What it all meant I could not tell, but it seemed to produce a great commotion among the officers; and soon the news ran along the deck that war was declared--war with France. It was the beginning of a long and bloody struggle.

Meantime, we hove-to, as the frigate had done, and Captain Hudson went on board her. When he returned, we found that we were ordered into the British Channel. The frigate, a new ship, just fitted out, with her officers in glittering uniforms, and her white wide-spread of canvas, and her fresh paint, and her brightly burnished sides looked, I thought, the very picture of a gay and gallant craft, as, passing close to us, she glided by through the sparkling sea. I could not help comparing her with the weather-beaten, wall-sided, ill-formed, slow-sailing merchantmen I had been accustomed to see, and I began to feel a pride in belonging to a man-of-war which I had not hitherto experienced.

Before proceeding on our course, Captain Hudson signalled the _Dolphin_, which had been hove-to, and informed Captain Gale that war had broken out, advising him to make the best of his way to Halifax. It was not till some years afterwards that I heard she reached that place in safety, and that Captain Stenning had had the happiness of being re-united to his wife and family.

No sooner was the news of war received on board the _Syren_, than everybody seemed to wake up into activity. No one had time for a moment to be idle fore or aft. The armourer's crew were employed in polishing up muskets, and pistols, and sharpening cutlasses. For hours together we were practised at the small-arms and great-guns, which had never before been thought of. The gunners were busy making cartridges; the carpenters, plugs for shot-holes; indeed, we all felt that people should always feel that there was work to do. We had good reason to rejoice before the cruise was up that we had not been idle.

We reached Plymouth without meeting with an enemy or taking a prize. What a state of bustle and excitement the place was in! Carriages-and-four dashing through the streets at all hours of the day; troops marching here and there, with drums and fifes playing--some coming in, others embarking for foreign lands; artisans of all sorts hurrying in, certain to get work at high wages; men-of-war, and merchantmen, and store-ships, and troop-ships sailing in and out every day; boats laden with men and chests pulling across the harbour; seamen crowding every quay; pressgangs at work catching men to fight England's battles; and then such hurrying to and fro, and shrieking of women, and shouting of men, and crying of children, and revelling, and laughter, and scenes of extravagance, and debauchery, and vice I had never before beheld, and did not think could exist in a civilised part of the globe.

Having refitted with as little delay as possible, and again put to sea, we found ourselves off the north coast of Spain, far into the Bay of Biscay. For some time we were employed in looking along the coast of France, and picking up all the small coasters we could lay eyes on. We did a great deal of damage to a number of poor people, and taught them that war was a very disagreeable thing, so that they must heartily have wished it over, or rather, that it never had begun; but I doubt if we did ourselves any good in the way of collecting prize-money; at all events, I know that I never got any. At length, one morning, when we could just make out the French coast like a thin wavy blue line on the horizon, beyond which a rich yellow glow was bursting forth, the forerunner of the glorious sun, a sail was seen, hull down, to the northward, and apparently standing in on a bowline for the land. The ship, as was usual when cruising, had been quietly jogging on under her topsails during the night. "All hands, make sail in chase!" was the cheerful sound which made us spring on deck to our stations; and in a few minutes the corvette, with royals and studding-sails alow and aloft, was kept away after the stranger. The latter, which was pronounced to be a large topsail schooner, was soon seen to bear up, and to set all the canvas she could carry, in an endeavour to escape. The chase was a large and fast vessel of her class, for it was not till some time after breakfast that we could see half-way down her mainsail from the deck. Still, we were gaining on her. She, meantime, was edging away in for the land, so that there was little doubt that she was an enemy's vessel--probably, from the way she made sail, a privateer with a number of hands on board, if not a man-of-war. Hour after hour we continued the chase, till the French coast rose clear and distinct on our starboard-bow.

Jacob Lyal and I were at this time stationed in the foretop, of which Peter Poplar was captain, though he was shortly afterwards made a quarter-master. We thus saw every movement of the chase. She, by degrees, edged away again more to the northward, as if wishing to avoid the coast thereabout. We had begun the chase soon after daylight, and the evening was now drawing on, when, close in with the land, we made out a large ship standing along-shore, the rays of the sinking sun shining brilliantly on her snowy canvas. The schooner hauled up towards her, and then kept away again, as if she did not like her appearance.

"What do you make her out to be?" said I to Peter, pointing to the ship.

"Why, Jack, from the squareness of her yards and the whiteness of her canvas, I should say she is a man-of-war--probably a frigate, and a thundering big frigate, too, if I am not much mistaken."

"I suppose, from the French schooner keeping away from her, she is an English frigate," said I.

"Not so sure of that either, Jack," he answered. "We don't know that the schooner is French, in the first place; and even if she is, she may be mistaken as to the character of the frigate, or she may have altered her course just to deceive us, so as to let the frigate come up with us without our taking alarm about her. Never fancy that you have made a right guess and neglect to take precautions, in case you should be wrong."

"Why, if she is an enemy's frigate, she'll sink us," said Lyal. "We shall have to up stick and run for it!"

"Never do you fear that, lad," answered Peter, somewhat sternly, I thought. "Run?--no! If that is a French frigate it will just give us an opportunity of showing what British pluck can do. Our lads know how to handle their guns and small-arms--thanks to the practice some of the grumblers complained of--and if we don't give a good account of that ship out there, my name is not Peter Poplar."

The spirit with which Peter spoke soon animated both Lyal and me, and when we were relieved from our watch, and repeated his words, they were responded to by all the crew, and their great wish was that the frigate in sight should prove an enemy, that they might show how they would treat her.

What the officers thought about the matter we could not tell, but as it grew dark the chase of the schooner was abandoned, studding-sails were taken in, and the ship was hauled on a wind and stood off-shore. As may be supposed, no one turned in that night; the hammocks remained in the nettings, and the ship was got ready for action.

From the way the frigate was steering at nightfall, there could be little doubt that she was following in our track. Anxiously we looked out for her lights astern. Hour after hour passed away, and no sign of her appeared, and we began to fear that she had missed us altogether.

At last a small glimmer was soon twinkling away in the darkness, and by degrees it grew larger and larger; and then out of the dense obscurity-- for no moon nor stars were visible--there glided a dark towering mass, like some phantom giant talking over the deep. The drum beat to quarters, and the crew sprung eagerly to their guns. Every man was stripped to the waist, round which he had fastened a handkerchief, with another round his head, and had his cutlass ready to board or to repel boarders.

In spite of the wish for battle we had all expressed, I could not help feeling a sensation of awe, if not of dread, creep over me, as we stood--thus in silence and darkness at our guns, expecting the attack of an enemy of vastly superior force. The muscular forms of our sturdy crew could just be distinguished grouped round their guns, the pale light of the ship's lanterns falling here and there upon them in fitful flashes, as the officers went their rounds to see that every one was at his station, or as the boys handed up shot and powder from below. We were prepared, I say, but still, I believe, the general impression aft was, that the stranger would prove a friend.

As she drew nearer, the order was given to make the private night-signal. Up went the lanterns to the mast-head. It was a moment of breathless suspense. No answering signal of friendship was made in return. In another instant, however, that unmistakable one of hatred and defiance--a shot--came whistling over our heads. It was replied to by one of our stern-chasers; and we then went about, that we might keep the weather-gauge--a most important point under present circumstances.

The enemy, to avoid being raked, had to do the same. "Give it them now, my lads!" shouted the captain. "Let every shot tell, and show the big one what a little craft can do when her crew have the will to make her speak!" Loud cheers were the reply to the address, and instantly every gun sent forth its flame of fire; and I believe that not a shot failed to take some effect on the hull or rigging of our opponent. Now hotly broadside to broadside, at the distance of half-gun-shot from each other, we stood in towards the land. As fast as they could be run in loaded, our guns discharged their deadly showers. All the time we were edging closer towards each other, and as we got within hail we could see that considerable damage had already been suffered by the frigate. This gave fresh encouragement to us, and we blazed away with more hearty good-will than before. The enemy's shot had, however, been telling not a little on us. Several of our men had lost the number of their mess, and more had been wounded; but no damage of consequence had been received aloft, and any the hull had received had been quickly repaired by our carpenter and his active crew.

Amid the roar of the guns a loud shout burst from our people. I looked up. The frigate's mizzen-topmast had been shot away, and came tumbling down on deck. Our fore-topgallant-topmast, however, soon followed, cut through by a round-shot; but that was of little consequence, as our topsail-yard was uninjured, and the topsail still stood. We were not long in clearing the wreck, but for a moment there was a cessation of firing. Just then a hail came across the dark waters from the Frenchman's deck.

"Do you strike, Sare? Do you strike?" was asked through a speaking-trumpet. Our captain seized his trumpet in return.

"Certainly, monsieur, certainly. We have been and intend to go on striking, just in the way Englishmen have the fashion of doing."

A loud laugh burst from our crew at this answer. It just suited our tastes, and then such a hearty cheer was uttered as could not have failed to convince the Frenchman that our captain was likely to be backed by his people to the utmost. Our guns were not long silent, and once more the darkness of night was illuminated by the bright sheets of flame which burst forth in almost a continuous stream from their mouths.

What a contrast to the previous awful silence was there in the report of the guns, the rattle of musketry, the shouts of the officers, the cheers of the men, the crashing of spars and timber as the shot struck home, and the shrieks, and cries, and groans of the wounded! To these expressions of pain even the bravest cannot help giving way, when wounded where the nerves are most sensitive.

Several times the enemy attempted to close, when her greatly prepondering force of men would have told with fearful effect on our decks; but each time the attempt was made it was dexterously avoided by our captain. We had, however, begun to suffer considerably in spars and rigging, and the number of our killed and wounded was increasing. Our second lieutenant had been severely injured by the fall of the foretop-gallant-mast. A midshipman, a young lad who had just come to sea, was struck down close to me. I lifted him up in my arms for a moment, to get him carried below out of harm's way; but the terrible injury he had received convinced me that no help could avail him. I put my hand on his heart: it had ceased to beat. Yet what voice sounded more full of life and spirit than his as we cheered at the captain's answer to the Frenchman's hail? On the other side of me a fine young fellow fell mortally wounded. He was just my own age, but not, like me, left alone in the world--he had many dear ones in his humble home. He felt that he had not many moments to live, though his mind was as active as ever.

"Williams!" he faintly cried. "Stoop down, lad! Don't let them take me below: I want to die here! And I say--you know my poor mother, and Sally, and George: just tell them that you saw the last of me; that I thought of them, and prayed for them, and that I hope we may meet in that far, far-off port to which we are all bound! I haven't forgot the prayers mother taught me, tell her. It will comfort her to know that! Good-bye, Jack!"

He pressed my hand as he uttered these words, but instantly afterwards his fingers relaxed. His spirit had fled, and I returned to my duty at my gun!

There were not many seamen, unhappily, in those days, like poor James Martin. Another shipmate was killed not far from me, and he died uttering fearful curses on our enemies, utterly ignorant of the future world into which he was entering.

Thus we fought on. Although we were severely punishing our big opponent, we could not feel that we were getting the best of the fight.

"Do you think we shall take her?" said I to Peter, during another short cessation of firing.

"I scarcely expect that," he answered. "But I am pretty certain that he won't take us. See, hurrah! He's been hit again pretty hard!"

As he spoke, the frigate's mizzen-mast, which must have been before badly wounded, went by the board, and at the same time her main-yard came down by the run on deck, no doubt doing further damage by the fall.

To show the enemy that our spirits were as high as ever, we cheered again; but, as if in retaliation, several shots, in quick succession, struck our foretopmast, and it, and the yard, and all our headsail, came thundering down on deck, in a confused mass of wreck, disabling several of our people, and rendering our foremost gun useless for a time. I was thankful that I had been stationed at a gun instead of being aloft. Some of the officers hurried forward to get the wreck cleared away, while others encouraged the men to persevere in the strife--not that any encouragement was necessary, for we were all eager to continue it, still hoping to make prize of our antagonist.

What had become of the schooner meantime we could not tell. We could only suppose that she was an unarmed vessel. Had she been armed, she might have proved a very disagreeable addition to the force with which we had to contend.

While we were clearing the wreck of the foretopmast, another broadside was poured into us, which we returned with our after-guns. It appeared to me, as I looked up again at her after loading, that the frigate was increasing her distance from us. There could be no mistake about it. Her helm had been put up, and she was running off before the wind. Didn't we cheer heartily! but then we remembered that, deprived of our headsail, we could not follow--so we cheered again, and sent a few shots flying after her, like a dog's farewell bark, just to show her that we claimed the victory, and would be ready for her if she chose to come back; and then we set to work with a will to repair damages.

Our couple of hours' night work had produced not a few, and sadly changed the appearance of our trim little sloop. Still, as our foremast was standing, we were able to make headsail on the ship, and we hoped by the following morning to get matters sufficiently to rights to be able to renew the engagement should our opponent again venture to attack us. I, in common with many of the younger men, was very much disappointed at not having captured the frigate; but Peter and others who had fought in the last war, told us that we were very fortunate in not having ourselves been obliged to strike, as our opponent could not have mounted less than six-and-thirty, if not forty guns--more than twice as many as we carried. Notwithstanding this, we only hoped to see her again in the morning; and as soon as daylight appeared several eager pairs of eyes were aloft looking out for her. There, hull down to the northward, appeared a sail, which was most probably our opponent; but she was running directly before the wind.

At first we supposed that our captain would follow her; but though as brave a man as need be, as he had proved himself, he saw that the probability of capturing the frigate was too small to justify him in making the attempt--in doing which he was much more likely to lose his own ship. Shattered, indeed, did we look when the sun shone down on our blood-stained decks; and still more sad were the scenes which the wounded and dying presented below. I will not, however, now dwell on them. Several shot had gone through the ship's sides, some between wind and water; but the holes had been quickly plugged by the carpenter's crew. Altogether, so shattered was the sloop, that, unwilling as our captain was to give up the cruise, he had no resource but to make the best of his way to Plymouth. We arrived there ten days after the engagement; but the pumps had to be kept going all the time, and the ship was ordered into dock to undergo a thorough repair.

It is impossible for me to describe all the scenes of which I was witness during that interesting period of England's naval history; but there was one I must not omit, as it shows what presence of mind and courage can do, in rescuing people even from the greatest difficulties.

At that time the French revolutionary party, so well named Red Republicans, were inflicting, with unsparing barbarity, the most dreadful atrocities on any of their unhappy countrymen who were even suspected of entertaining monarchical principles. The inhabitants of Toulon, as well as of several other places, were known to be favourable to the cause of their sovereign; and to afford them support, Lord Hood-- then commander-in-chief in the Mediterranean--landed a body of English and Spanish troops, and took possession of the town and forts while his own fleet, with one sent by Spain to join him, entered the harbour.

At this time a number of supernumeraries, of whom I was one, sailed from Plymouth to join various ships in the Mediterranean, and, in course of time, I found myself on board the _Juno_, a fine 32-gun frigate, commanded by Captain Samuel Hood. We sailed from Malta early in the year 1794, with some officers and a few troops, to reinforce the scanty garrison at Toulon, then besieged, as was reported, by a formidable army of the Republicans, amounting to thirty-three thousand men, under Generals Kellerman and Carteaux.

The _Juno_ was just the sort of dashing frigate a young fellow of spirit would wish to belong to, and her Captain was just the man he would wish to serve under. Strict discipline was kept up on board, and all hands were made to know their duty, and to do it. Her officers, too, were as smart a set as ever stepped. I was very fortunate in this, because for the first time since I came to sea I was among strangers, with the exception of Jacob Lyal, who had joined her with me. Peter Poplar was far away in another ship, and I own I missed him sorely. Still. I had learned my duty, and I hoped to continue to do it.

We had a quick passage from Malta, and made the French coast just before nightfall. We had carried on all sail, in the hope of getting in while daylight lasted, as the captain was anxious to deliver his despatches and land his passengers, and be out again in search of any stray cruisers of the enemy. The wind, however, fell so light that we were unable to do as he hoped. But he was not a man to be turned from his purpose. Accordingly, rather than lose a day, he stood boldly in for the harbour-mouth, which is not a difficult one to make. We expected that a pilot would have come out to us, but none appeared; and as no signal was made for one, it was then known that the captain intended to find his way in in the dark.

Trusty men were placed in the chains with the lead; all hands were at their stations; those with the sharpest eyes were placed as look-outs; the captain stood, trumpet in hand, on the quarter-deck, ready to issue his orders. Not a word was spoken fore or aft. The wind was light, and nearly abeam. Thus, with a dead silence reigning on board, the gallant frigate entered the harbour of Toulon. The officers, with their night-glasses in hand, were anxiously looking out for the British fleet, that they might ascertain where the frigate was to bring-up. In vain they swept them round in every direction; no fleet was to be seen. The circumstance was reported to the captain.

"The easterly winds we have had have sent a heavy sea rolling in here. They must have run into the inner harbour to avoid it. We must follow them there," was his answer. "Shorten sail! Let the ship stand in under her topsails."

The courses were accordingly brailed up, and the top-gallant-sails furled, and under easy sail we stood up the inner harbour. Still nothing could we see of the fleet--not a light did any of the ships show.

On we glided through the calm water. "A brig ahead, sir!" shouted the third lieutenant from forward.

"Shall we weather her?" asked the captain.

The answer was in the negative. "Set the foresail and spanker! Ready, about-ship!"

Scarcely had the boatswain's shrill pipe uttered the appropriate call, than the sails were let fall and sheeted home; and as soon as the frigate felt the effect they produced, the helm was put a-lee, and she went about close under the stern of the brig, which lay in her course. A loud hail came from the brig, but I for one could not make out what was said.

"That's not an English brig," observed one of the officers near me. She lay off what is called the Grand Tour Point.

"He is inquiring our name," said another officer.

"His Britannic Majesty's frigate _Juno_," shouted the first lieutenant.

"Wah--wah--wah!" or sounds something like that, came from the brig. Some one also shouted, "Viva!"

"Whereabouts is the English fleet?" asked the captain. "Have they sailed? Is the admiral still here?"

"Wah--wah--wah!" was the only answer we got. The questions were repeated in French.

"Yes--yes; oui--oui; wah--wah--wah!" was again the reply.

"That's a French merchant-brig. They cannot make out what we say. The fleet must have gone over to the other side of the harbour."

Directly afterwards, the words, "Luff--luff!" reached our ears.

"They are afraid we shall be ashore, sir," said the first lieutenant.

"Then down with the helm!" shouted the captain. The order was promptly obeyed, and the frigate came up almost head to wind; but scarcely a minute had passed when we felt that she had run stem on to the ground; but so light was the wind, and so slight was the way on her, that no damage of any sort was done.

Of course the order was immediately given to clew-up and hand the sails; and in another minute or so the _Juno_ lay with all sails furled right up in the centre of the harbour of Toulon, with a line of heavy batteries between her and the sea. While we were handing sails, a boat was seen to put off from the brig; but instead of coming aboard us, she pulled away rapidly in the direction of the town.

Before, however, we were even off the yards, a flaw of wind took the ship's head, and happily drove it off the bank, when the anchor was let go, and she lay with her head up the harbour. Still, however, she hung on the bank by the stern, while her rudder remained immovable and useless. Seeing this, the captain ordered a kedge to be carried out to warp her off; which, as she hung very lightly, could easily be done. To perform this operation the launch was lowered; but being a heavy boat, it took some time to get her into the water. Warps and the kedge-anchor were then placed in her, and her crew pulled away with the kedge in the proper direction to haul her off. While we were thus engaged, a boat was seen coming down the harbour.

"What boat's that?" hailed the sentry from forward.

"Ay, ay," was the answer.

"Officers coming alongside!" cried the sentry--such being the answer given by naval officers when hailed by a ship-of-war. A captain repeats the name of his ship.

The gangway was manned to receive the visitors. Every one was puzzled to know the meaning of a visit at so unusual an hour, and anxious to know what it meant. A well-manned boat came alongside, and two French officers, with several other people, scrambled up on deck.

"Be smart, then, my lads, with the kedge," sung out Mr Webley, third lieutenant, from forward. "We must get the ship afloat before the wind drives her further on."

The French officers looked about the decks for an instant, and then, followed by their people, went aft to the captain, who was standing on the quarter-deck ready to receive them.

"Monsieur le Capitaine," said one of them, taking off his hat and bowing politely, "I am sent by the chief of the port to compliment you on the way you have brought your ship into this loyal port, but to express regret that the regulations he has been compelled to issue make it necessary for you to go over to the southern side of the harbour, there to perform a quarantine for a short ten days or so, as you come from Alexandria, an infected place."

"But we don't come from Alexandria; we come from Malta, which is not an infected place," answered the captain.

"Then, monsieur, Malta is an infected place," returned the officer, quickly.

"I cannot understand that," answered Captain Hood. "I have to deliver my despatches, and some supernumeraries for the army here, and then to be away again as fast as possible. I beg, gentlemen, you will inform me where the _Victory_, Lord Hood's ship, is. I must be guided by his orders."

"Certainly, monsieur, certainly," said the Frenchman, bowing with a bland smile. "We will pilot you to him."

I remember thinking, as the Frenchmen walked along the deck, that there was a good deal of swagger in their manner, but I only set it down to Gallic impudence. While this conversation was going on, one of our midshipmen, a smart youngster--Mowbray, I think, was his name--had been inquisitively examining the Frenchmen, and he now hurried up to the captain, and drew him aside.

"Just look, sir--those are Republican cockades!" he whispered. "As the light of a lantern fell on their hats, I observed it. There's some trick put upon us."

"In truth you are right, my lad, I greatly fear," answered the captain, in an agitated voice. "Where do you say Lord Hood is?" he asked, turning abruptly to the Frenchman.

"My Lord Hood! He is not here. He has long ago departed. We have no lords here," answered the French officer in a sneering tone. "You have made a great mistake, and are like a rat in a hole. The truth is, Monsieur le Capitaine, you and your ship's company are prisoners! But make yourself easy--the English are good people--we will treat them kindly."

"Prisoners!" exclaimed Captain Hood and the officers standing near, in tones of dismay. "Prisoners! impossible!" But the assertion was too true.

Lord Hood had been compelled to evacuate Toulon some time before, with all the forces under his command, after blowing up, by the aid of Sir Sidney Smith, several of the forts, and destroying or carrying away every ship in the harbour; while the unfortunate inhabitants were exposed to all the cruelties which their sanguinary opponents could inflict on them.

As may be supposed, the Republican Frenchmen exulted in the idea of having so easily captured an English frigate, and a large number of Englishmen on whom they might retaliate for some of the losses their party had sustained. As ill news travels quickly, so in an instant the words in everybody's mouth were, "We are prisoners! we are prisoners!" Some would scarcely believe it, and the officers and many of the men hurried aft in a body to ascertain the fact. Mr Webley had remained forward, and before we had been able to haul on the warp she had laid out, he promptly recalled the launch, and ordered the people out of her up the side. The boatswain was standing near him.

"See," he exclaimed, "there's a flaw of wind just come down the harbour. If it holds, the Frenchmen, even should this report be true, need not be quite so sure as they think that they have caught us."

Saying this, he hurried aft to the captain, while the boatswain, not to lose time, made all the necessary preparations for making sail and cutting the cable.

"I believe, sir, that we shall be able to fetch out, if we can get her under sail," said the lieutenant in the captain's ear. The words made him start, and restored vigour to his heart.

"Thank you, Webley, thank you," exclaimed the captain, when the third lieutenant told him that the wind had come ahead. "We'll make the attempt, and may Heaven prosper it!"

Without a moment's delay, the first lieutenant issued the order to make sail, while Mr Webley hurried forward to see the cable cut, as she tended the right way. Like larks we sprang aloft to loose the topsails, and all was done so silently and so rapidly, that the Frenchmen could not make out what was occurring.

"Gentlemen," said the captain, politely addressing the officers, "I must trouble you to step below. We have duty in this ship to carry on which will not require your presence."

"But," exclaimed the Frenchmen, uttering all the oaths in their ample vocabulary, "you are our prisoners. We do not choose to obey your orders."

"You mistake; you are ours! Englishmen do not yield unless to greatly superior force," exclaimed our captain. "Gentlemen, you must go below."

The Frenchmen laughed scornfully. "Treason! mutiny!" they exclaimed, drawing their sabres, and attempting to make a rush to the gangway; but as they turned, they found themselves confronted by a file of marines, with fixed bayonets presented at them!

Rage, and fury, and disappointed revenge were in the tones of their voices, as they gave vent to their feelings in oaths and execrations while they were being handed below. Not a man of their boat's crew escaped, for all had come on board to witness the capture, as they supposed, of a British frigate.

During this time the topsails had been let fall, and in less than three minutes were sheeted home. The headsails filled. At the very moment they did so, a stronger puff of wind came right down the harbour. "Cut, cut!" was the word. Round swung her head towards the open sea. Almost with a bound it seemed her stern lifted off the ground. "Hurrah! hurrah! We are free! we are free!" was the joyful cry. Now, come shot or shell, or whatever our foemen choose to send. We have our brave ship under command, and if our stout sticks do but stand, we may yet escape the trap into which we have so unwarily fallen.

Such were the sentiments which were felt, if not expressed, by all on board the frigate. Plenty of sharp eyes were on shore, watching through the gloom of night, as far as they were able, the movements of the English frigate, expecting to see her every moment glide up the harbour, where, of course, troops had been rapidly collected to take possession of the prize, and conduct us within the precincts of a French prison.

The Republicans must soon have discovered that their plan to capture us had not been altogether successful. As we sailed down the harbour, instead of up, as they had expected, lights began to gleam from the various strong forts which lined each side of the harbour below us, and also from the deck of our friend the brig, off Great Tower Point. Then, as we glided on, every moment gathering fresh way, from all directions a hot fire was opened on us. As with the light wind there was blowing it was necessary to be rid of every obstruction, both our barge and the Frenchmen's boat were cut adrift, though we would gladly have prevented even them from falling into their hands.

There was now no longer any necessity for concealment. The drums beat to quarters, the guns were cast loose, and as we passed down the harbour we began to return the compliments our enemies were so liberally bestowing on us. We had our guns ready in time to give our friend the brig a good dose, but what mischief we inflicted we could not tell; and, to do her justice, she was not slack in her attempts to cripple us. Thus in an instant the harbour, so lately sleeping in silence, and, as it were, shrouded in the solemn gloom of night, was rudely awaked and lighted up with the roar and bright flashes of a hundred guns, which, fast as they could be discharged, sent forth a continuous fire at our seemingly devoted ship. Thus far all had proceeded well; but we were far from free of danger. Shot after shot struck us, several times we were hulled, but not a man had yet been hit, when, to our dismay, the wind grew very scant, and seemed about to head us.

"If it shifts a couple of points more to the southward, we shall have to beat out of this place!" exclaimed the captain of the gun at which I was stationed. "Never mind, lads; we'll teach these Frenchmen what a British frigate can do in spite of all that."

Still the _Juno_ steadily held on her course. The wind backed once more and came down the harbour, and on she glided. The enemy's guns were, however, telling on us with fearful effect--our topsails were riddled with shot, and our rigging much cut up; but as the damage occurred, our active crew flew here and there to repair it, as well as time and the darkness would allow. Now the harbour opened out broadly before us, and the line of open sea could be perceived ahead. Our masts and spars stood unharmed, the firing from the forts grew fainter and fainter. Scarcely a shot reached us. On we stood. The shot began to drop astern. For several minutes not one had struck us. The Frenchmen tried in their rage, but all in vain.

"We are free! we are free indeed! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" burst with one voice from all our crew, and the gallant _Juno_ bounded forward on the wide ocean, to show what British daring, judgment, and promptitude will effect, even although the most fearful odds are ranged against success.

I trust that some on board that ship felt also that a merciful Providence had preserved us from a galling and painful lot, which would have endured for many a long year, to do our duty to Heaven and our country. I trust that the example set by the crew of the _Juno_ will serve as an example to all British seamen--never to yield while there is a possibility of escape.

Well, it was amusing to see how the Frenchmen did stamp and rage when they found that, instead of capturing us, they had been taken prisoners; but we treated them very civilly, and after a few shrugs and grimaces, like people having to take physic, we soon had the men singing and jigging away as merry as crickets.

I remained for some time on board the _Juno_, and left her on a very short notice, and very much also against my own will.

One dark night, as, with a convoy of merchantmen under our charge, we were standing for Gibraltar, the watch below were roused up with the cry of, "All hands shorten sail!" I and others, tossing on our clothes, sprang aloft through the darkness, with a fierce wind blowing in our faces, to reef topsails. Scarcely had I reached the lee foretop-sail yard-arm, and had, as I believed, the earing in my hand, when, how I cannot tell, I found myself jerked off the yard; and ere I could secure a firm grasp of the rope I held, I found myself hurled through the midnight air, clutching emptiness, till I reached the foam-covered water, through which the ship was hurriedly ploughing her way. I heard the cry, "A man overboard! a man overboard!" but the ship had been carrying too much sail, and without shortening it, it was impossible to round-to in order to pick me up. From the frigate, therefore, I knew that I could expect no help. I do not believe that for a moment after I fell I lost my consciousness, though I suspect that before I fell I was more asleep than awake. I had on only my shirt and light duck-trousers, so I threw myself on my back, to consider what was best to be done. There were plenty of vessels, I knew, astern of the frigate, but there was little chance of being seen by any of them, or of their being able to pick me up if they did see me.

How long I could have remained floating on my back I don't know--some hours, I suppose, in smooth water; but as it was, the squall had blown up a sea, and the spray kept dashing over my head and half drowned me. On a sudden I found my head strike against something with so much force as almost to stun me, and, turning round, I found myself in contact with a large object. I caught hold of it. Ropes were hanging down from it into the water; I climbed up by them, and found that it was the top and parts of the topmast of a ship of large size. I felt thankful that I was not likely to die for some time, unless the weather grew worse; and I did not allow myself to reflect that even a worse death might be in store for me--that of starvation. I had my knife secured by a lanyard round my neck, so I began to haul up the ropes, and endeavoured to form as secure a resting-place for myself as circumstances would allow. When I had done all I could, I looked round through the darkness for the chance of discovering a sail; but none could I see, so I sat down, and, strange to say, fell asleep. _

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