The fight had been hot before, but it became hotter still. Again and again the Frenchmen endeavoured to cut away those second lashings, but the English marines kept up so hot a fire, that each time the attempt was frustrated. Still the enemy showed no signs of yielding. Something must be done. Wounded as he was, Morton dragged himself up to where the captain was standing.

"I beg your pardon, Captain Courtney, but if we could get a couple of guns run out abaft on the main-deck, we could silence that fellow pretty quickly," he said, touching his hat with all due formality.

It was somewhat out of rule for the boatswain to offer his advice unasked to the captain, but under the circumstances the irregularity was easily overlooked by such a man as Captain Courtney.

"You are right, Mr Morton," he answered; "send the carpenter and his crew aft, Mr Calder," to the second lieutenant. "Get the two after guns on the main-deck ready to run out astern as soon as we have some ports made for them."

Having given this order, the captain descended to the main-deck.

Mr Gimbol, the carpenter, soon made his appearance there from below, where he had been going his rounds through the wings, to stop any shot-holes which might have been made between wind and water.

With axes and saws he and his crew set to work, but the upper transom beam resisted all their efforts.

"We must blow out some ports," exclaimed the captain. "Send the firemen here."

A gang of men with buckets were quickly on the spot. The guns were pointed aft. "Fire!" cried the captain. The two guns went off together, and as the suffocating smoke blew off, two holes with jagged edges were seen in the stern, but flames were bursting out around them. These, however, the firemen with their buckets quickly extinguished, and the guns, being again loaded, opened their fire through them on the deck of the Frenchman. The effect produced from this unexpected quarter was terrific. Fore and aft the shot flew crashing between the decks, seldom failing to find some victims, and oftentimes carrying off the heads of half-a-dozen men, as they stood at their guns, in its course from one end of the ship to the other. Never were guns more rapidly worked than were those two twelve-pounders on board the "Thisbe." The captain stood by, encouraging the men.

Rolf Morton went about, badly wounded as he was, to ascertain where his services were most required. Ronald followed his father, dreading every moment to see him fall from the effects of his first wound, or to find that he was again hit. Once more they returned to the upper deck. Their numbers were falling, wounds were being received, and havoc was being made aloft and on every side. The masts of the French ship were still standing, but from the shrieks and cries which proceeded from her decks, there seemed little doubt that she was suffering even more than the "Thisbe." Ronald kept watching the enemy.

"See, father!—see!" he exclaimed. "Down, down they come!" He pointed at the Frenchman's foremast. It bent on one side, the few ropes which held it gave way, and crash it came down over the side. The mainmast stood, but the mizenmast in an instant afterwards followed the foremast, preventing the crew from working the greater number of the guns. However, with those still unencumbered they continued to fire away with the greatest desperation. The English seamen fought on with the same determined courage as at first. They had made up their minds that they would take the enemy, and there was not a man on board who would have given in till they had done so, or till the ship sunk under them. Half-an-hour passed away. It seemed surprising that either ship could float with the pounding they gave each other, or that any human beings could survive on their decks amid the storm of shot and bullets rushing across them. At length a loud cheer burst from the throats of the English seamen, the Frenchman's last remaining mast was seen to lean over, and down it came with a tremendous crash, crushing many in its fall, and completely preventing the crew from working any of their guns.

"They will give in now, father, to a certainty," exclaimed Ronald.

"Not so sure, boy; see, they are going to make a desperate attempt to revenge themselves."

"Here they come!" he answered, and then the cry arose from the English ship of, "Boarders! repel boarders!"

Once more the Frenchmen came on with the most determined courage. Captain Courtney and some of his officers and men who were aft threw themselves before the enemy, to stem the torrent which threatened to pour down on the "Thisbe's" decks; but with such fury and desperation did the Frenchmen come on, that many of the English were driven back, and there seemed no little probability that the former would gain their object. Rolf Morton, on perceiving this, and forgetting his wound, seized a cutlass, and calling on all the men at hand, followed by Ronald, sprang aft to the aid of his captain. His assistance did not come a moment too soon. Captain Courtney was brought to his knee, and a French officer, who had led the boarders, was on the point of cutting him down, when Ronald sprang to his side, and thrusting his cutlass before him, saved him from the blow intended for his head. Ronald would have had to pay dearly for his gallantry, had not Rolf cut the Frenchman down at the moment he was making, in return, a fierce stroke at his son.

More of the English crew, led by their officers, now came hurrying aft, and the Frenchmen, disheartened by the loss of their leader, again retreated to their ship, leaving eight or ten of their number dead or dying behind them. Still no one cried for quarter; and though not a gun was discharged, the marines and small-arm men kept up as hot a fire as before.

All this time the "Thisbe's" two after-guns on the maindeck kept thundering away at them, fearfully diminishing their numbers. And thus the fight continued: they made, however, no signal of yielding.

The Frenchmen had scarcely retreated from their daring attempt to board the frigate, when the lashings which secured their bowsprit to her began to give way. The boatswain had, however, got a hawser ready ranged along the deck, and this, in spite of the fire kept up at them, he, with his mates and others of the crew, secured to the gammoning of the Frenchmen's bowsprit.

"Now the lashings may go as soon as they like!" he exclaimed, almost breathless with the exertion; "the Frenchmen will gain little by the change."

So it proved: the enemy's ship, when the lashings gave way, dropped astern a few fathoms, and there she hung, towed onwards, as before, by the "Thisbe," whose crew were thus enabled to rake her decks with more deadly effect. Still the battle raged as at first.

At length some voices were heard from the bowsprit of the French frigate.

"Quarter! quarter!" was the cry. "We have struck! we yield!"

"Cease firing, my lads!" shouted the captain; "we have won the night!"

The order was obeyed. For an instant there was a perfect silence, a contrast to the uproar which had so long continued; even the wounded restrained the expression of their sufferings; and then there burst forth one of those hearty cheers, which few but English seamen can give, and which they so well know how to give with effect. And now many of the brave fellows who had hitherto worked away at their guns without flinching, sank down with fatigue, Rolf Morton even then would not go below.

"I'll stay on deck and see the enemy secured, and get the ship put to rights a little," he answered; "I am only just showing my boy how I wish him to behave. While there is duty to do, and a man has strength to do it, he should not shrink from it, whatever it may cost him."

Ronald listened to what his father was saying.

"That's it, father; I'll try and stick to that," he observed, looking up in his father's face.

It was now necessary to board the French ship to take possession of her, but how that was to be accomplished was the question, for not a boat that could swim remained on board either of the combatants.

The second lieutenant—one of the few officers unwounded—volunteered to work his way along the hawser, and a midshipman and several of the men offered to accompany him; Ronald begged leave to go also.

In those days, strange as it may seem, many seamen could not swim.

The boarding-party commenced their somewhat hazardous passage from one ship to the other. The "Thisbe" had but slight way on her; the hawser was consequently somewhat slack, and the weight of the people on it brought it down into the water. The lieutenant and several of the men clung on, but the midshipman was by some means or other washed off. Unable to swim, he cried out loudly for help, but no one could afford it, till Ronald let go his own hold of the rope, and swam towards him. Of course to regain the hawser was hopeless, and it was equally difficult to swim back to the "Thisbe." Ronald had practised swimming from his childhood, and was as much at home in the water as on shore. He struck out with one hand while he supported the young midshipman with the other. His first fear was that the French ship would run them down, but a few strokes carried him and his charge clear of that danger. He next attempted to get alongside her. He looked up, and saw her dark hull rising up above him. There were plenty of ropes hanging overboard; he found one that appeared secure above; he put it into the midshipman's hands.

"There, Mr Glover," he exclaimed; "we shall be the first on the enemy's deck after all."

He was not long in finding another rope for himself, and to the surprise of the Frenchmen they found two stranger boys standing on their quarter-deck.

"Have you come to take possession?" asked a lieutenant in tolerable English. "What! are all your superior officers killed?"

"Oh, no, monsieur," answered the midshipman; "they will be on board presently; but we are somewhat lighter craft, so made quicker work of it."

The second lieutenant of the "Thisbe" and his companions soon made their appearance, having clambered in over the bows; and the French frigate, which was found to be the "Concorde"—one of the largest class in the French navy—was formally taken possession of.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

MORNING AFTER THE BATTLE—RONALD PLACED ON QUARTERDECK—RONALD SENT ON BOARD THE PRIZE—A SUSPICIOUS SAIL IN SIGHT—GALLANT DEFENCE OF THE "THISBE"—NIGHT CLOSES ON THE FIGHT.

As the bright cheerful light of morning broke on the world of waters, there lay the two frigates, which, when the sun went down, looked so gallant and so trim—now shorn of their beauty, shattered and blackened wrecks.

The foremast of the "Thisbe" was alone standing, while all the masts of the French frigate, with their sails, and yards, and rigging, hung in masses of wreck and confusion over her sides. The decks covered with blood and gore, and the shattered remnants of mortality, presented a horrible and disgusting scene; while the broken bulwarks, the decks ploughed up, the wheel shot away, and the ruined condition of every part of the ship, showed the desperate nature of the conflict, and told of the bravery of the gallant French crew who had endured so much before they had consented to yield.

Onboard the "Thisbe" the carpenters were busily employed in patching up some of the boats, so that the prisoners might be removed from the prize, while the rest of the crew were engaged in clearing away the wreck of the masts, and in preparing to make sail on the ship.

Ronald was in attendance on his father in his cabin. The boatswain had been more hurt than he supposed; but he did his utmost to conceal his suffering from his son.

The shout was heard: "All hands on the quarter-deck!"

The captain was about to address the crew.

Rolf Morton tried to rise, but he soon found that he could not. "Go, Ronald, and hear what the captain has to say. It will be something pleasant, I doubt not," he said, pressing his boy's hand. "Come and tell me when you are dismissed."

Ronald sprang up the hatchway. The men were mustering aft. The captain and all the officers stood on the quarter-deck—not as usual, in those bright and shining uniforms, but in the dress in which they had fought, most of them still bearing about their persons the marks of the battle.

"My lads, I have called you aft to thank you for the gallant way in which you have fought this ship, and captured an enemy with more men, more guns, and of larger tonnage than ourselves," he began. "I do from my heart thank you; and our king and countrymen will thank you, and you may well be proud of what you have done. I wish that I could reward you as you deserve; but when all have done their duty it is difficult to pick out any for especial notice. Still there is one man who much helped us in capturing the enemy. That is the boatswain. He caught, and kept him, by lashing his bowsprit to our mainmast, and by his advice we blew open the stern ports which so mainly contributed to our success. His son, too, saved my life, and afterwards saved the life of Mr Glover, and was, with him, the first on board the prize. The boatswain will, I hope, receive his reward hereafter; but as I have the means of showing my appreciation of his son's gallantry, I gladly do so at once: I have therefore rated him as a midshipman on board this ship. I am sure that no one will think that I have done more for him than he deserves. Come aft, Mr Ronald Morton, and receive the welcome of your new messmates."

Ronald came forward almost with a bound, though perfectly unconscious that he was moving more rapidly than usual. The wish of his heart was accomplished. His countenance beamed with satisfaction, and he frankly put out his hand towards the midshipmen and the other members of their berth. They all in turns took it and shook it warmly; but none grasped it more heartily than did young Glover.

"I must thank you for myself, Morton," he exclaimed, in a tone which showed that he spoke from his heart. "If it had not been for you I should have been among the missing, to a certainty."

Morton's own heart was too full to answer. Numberless emotions were working in his bosom. He felt a proud satisfaction at having obtained the rank for which he was conscious he was fitted; he sincerely rejoiced at having been the means of saving his captain from a severe wound, if not from death; and scarcely less so at having prevented Glover from being drowned. All these feelings kept him silent: but his silence was understood; and perhaps no one felt more pleased at seeing him on the quarter-deck than did Captain Courtney himself.

"Now back to your duty, my lads," he exclaimed; "we have plenty of work before us."

Three hearty cheers burst unpremeditatedly from the throats of the crew—and then in high spirits they separated to their respective duties. The work was accomplished, as the captain knew it would be, all the better for this little interruption.

Ronald hurried below. He wanted to be the first to tell his father of his good fortune, as he called it.

Rolf Morton was less surprised than he expected. "I was certain it would be so some day, if your life was spared," he observed. "And now, my boy, that your foot is on the first ratline, mount upwards by your own exertions. Be thankful to others who help you, but trust to yourself for success."

Ronald had got his father to select a little fellow called Bobby Doull, as his boy, whom he had, when he first came on board, taken under his protection.

Bobby had been sent to sea from a workhouse. If not an orphan he was in the condition of one; for his father, who was a seaman, had deserted him, and had not, since he was an infant, been heard of. Ronald had, at first, frequently to do battle in his cause; but he at length taught the other boys to respect him, and to let Bobby alone.

Bobby did his best to repay the kindness he had received, by his constant attention to the wants of the wounded boatswain.

Ronald had now to mess with the midshipmen. One of his first duties was to visit the prize, as soon as the boats had been got ready to transfer the prisoners to the "Thisbe."

Glover had insisted on lending him a uniform, jacket, and dirk, till he could obtain a suit of his own.

Ronald did not hesitate about accepting the offer; and, as Doull told the boatswain, he looked every inch a midshipman.

Very little had been done when Ronald returned to the prize towards getting her into order; and as he looked fore and aft along the decks, it seemed scarcely possible that she could ever be put in a condition at sea, to make sail, so as to reach a British port in safety. Some of her crew were already mustered on deck, but others were keeping below. He was accordingly directed to take a party of men round the decks to send them up. As he passed it, he looked into the midshipman's berth, where a boy, whose life he had probably been the means of preserving at the time of boarding, still lay.

The French midshipman recognised him immediately. "Ah! come in, my friend!" he exclaimed, in broken English: "I want to recompense you for what you did for me: but—they told me that you were a ship's boy, and now I see that you are of the same rank as myself."

"I was a ship's boy when I found you under the masts, but now I am a midshipman," answered Ronald. "But tell me your name—I shall be glad to help you in any way I can."

"My name—ah—they call me Alfonse Gerardin," answered the French midshipman. "I am obliged to you for your kindness. A prisoner is little able to requite it. Perhaps I may some day—as I should wish to do."

"I have done nothing to deserve even thanks," said Ronald. "But I must not stay. I will come and see you again as soon as I can."

Mr Strickland, the first lieutenant of the "Thisbe," being badly wounded, Mr Calder, the second, was directed to take charge of the prize.

Robert Rawson, an old master's mate, was ordered to go as his second in command, with Glover and Morton as midshipmen, and a master's assistant called Twigg.

Ronald wished to have remained to look after his father; but Rolf would not hear of it.

"You'll be better in another ship, away from me, boy," he remarked. "The doctor and Bobby Doull will look after me. I shall return to my duty in a few days—never fear!"

The peculiar talents of the prize-master of the "Concorde," honest Tom Calder, were now brought into full play. Head and hand were busily employed from morning till night, and neither grew weary. Where the hardest work was to be done, there Tom's cheery voice was heard and his helping hand was to be found, and before the two, difficulties, at first deemed insurmountable, vanished like magic.

Tom had naturally a strong fellow feeling for Ronald. He remembered his own annoyances under similar circumstances, and he fancied that Ronald would have to undergo the same. He had, hitherto, scarcely spoken to Ronald, but no sooner did he take the command of the "Concorde," than he singled him out to superintend any work requiring more than usual care and judgment.

Ronald in no way disappointed him; everybody, indeed, on board the prize, worked well, and with a will, and in a wonderfully short space of time jury-masts were rigged, and sails were ready for hoisting.

It was evening; the two frigates lay within a few hundred fathoms of each other: the "Thisbe," from having her foremasts standing, had a far wider range of vision than her prize. "The 'Thisbe' is signalling us, sir," said Morton to Mr Calder.

"Get the signal-book, and see what she is saying," was the answer.

The meaning of the signals was soon ascertained.

"A sail in the south-west," Morton read; "An enemy—Prepare for action."

"That's just like him," exclaimed Mr Calder; "if the stranger was a seventy-four he would prepare to fight her. It is to be hoped, though, that she is only another frigate, and then, in spite of the loss of our masts, we may be able to give a good account of her."

Ronald was ready enough to fight, but could not help thinking that they just then had had enough of it, and therefore hoped that the stranger might prove a friend.

Some time must elapse before the point could be ascertained, and during the interval every effort was made to get sail on the two ships, not for the purpose of flying, but to enable them the better to manoeuvre, should fighting be the order of the day.

At length Ronald went below to snatch a mouthful of food, and took the opportunity of paying a visit to the wounded midshipman, Alfonse Gerardin. He had been placed in the gun-room with the rest of the French officers; he lifted up his head as Ronald entered the cabin.

After returning the salutation, he remained silent, and then he exclaimed, somewhat bitterly, "Ah, how different are our lots! you have gained a victory, have come out of the battle unhurt, and have been placed on the first step of the ladder, up which you may climb to the highest—while here I lie, a prisoner badly wounded, and, alas! have just discovered that I have lost the only friend I had in the world."

"Oh, you are mistaken; I am sure that I have many, and so would you if you proved them," said Ronald, in a cheerful tone. "You are wounded and ill; when you recover you will be in better spirits; but tell me, who is the friend whose loss you mourn?"

"He was the second lieutenant of this ship, and he was killed early in the action with you," answered young Gerardin, with a sigh. "He was a brave man. I loved him as a son loves his father, and for long I thought he was my father. Only just before we were going into action did he tell me that I should find all the particulars about myself in a box, in a house where we lived when we were on shore, near Brest. I thought at first that he was jesting, and asked no questions, and it was only after he was killed that I believed he spoke the truth. Poor dear Pierre Gerardin! you were always kind and good to me, and I shall never see you again."

The young foreigner gave way to his grief with a vehemence which somewhat astonished Ronald, accustomed to the more phlegmatic temperaments of the north. He tried to comfort him, but in vain, and when the surgeon came he intimated to Ronald that he had better leave him, as talking to a stranger seemed to agitate him in an extraordinary degree.

"He seems very sorry for the loss of his guardian, but he is an odd fellow, and I don't quite like the look of his countenance," said Ronald to himself, as he left the cabin.

As soon as he reached the deck he looked out to ascertain what progress the stranger had made. Her courses were already seen from the deck, appearing above the horizon. The work on board the two frigates was going forward as energetically as ever. Still there was yet much to be done before they could be put in good fighting order. The "Thisbe" was by far the most advanced of the two, still the bravest on board would rather have avoided than sought a fight just then. On came the stranger.

"Well, Morton, just say what you think of her?" said Dicky Glover, handing a telescope to Ronald; "there's a mighty Frenchified look about those topsails."

"I have not much experience in the matter," answered Ronald, modestly; "but she looks very like the 'Concorde,' as she appeared when standing out toward us."

"That's what Mr Calder and the rest think," observed Glover. "Well, we are ready for the fellow whoever he may be; and for my part, I'd sooner blow our prize up into the sky than let her be taken from us; wouldn't you, Morton?"

Ronald was not quite so sure of that, and he suspected that Dicky himself, if put to the test, might change his mind.

The stranger in a short time drew near enough to see the signals which the "Thisbe" began to make. Her answers were watched for with intense interest on board both ships. Mr Calder had his signal-book open on deck.

"There goes up the stranger's bunting," he exclaimed; "now we shall see what he has got to say for himself." Again and again his glass was at his eye: at length he shut it up with a loud slap.

"I thought as much," he added; "he's a Frenchman; but he will find the 'Concorde' a tough morsel if he attempts to swallow her, after she has belonged to us."

Captain Courtney arrived before long at the same conclusion, and ordered the prize to stand to the northward, under all the sail she could carry.

Tom Calder received the order with a very bad grace. "I thought that he would at least have let us stop to help him to fight it out," he muttered to himself as he put his hand to his mouth to issue the necessary orders to his scanty crew.

Sail was made on the prize, while the "Thisbe" hauled up her courses, and stood slowly after her to draw the enemy more away from the land before the commencement of their expected contest.

Mr Calder felt that he had no right to question his commander's judgment; he could not help seeing, also, that could he effect his escape, he might possibly fall in with another British cruiser, and send her to the "Thisbe's" assistance.

Even with more intense interest than at first, the approach of the stranger was watched from the deck of the "Concorde."

The prize had got a mile from the "Thisbe" when the French surgeon made his appearance on deck, to enjoy a mouthful of fresh air, after his fatiguing duties below. His eager glance, and the sudden lighting up of his eye, showed that he fully comprehended the state of affairs.

Among the many accomplishments Ronald had obtained at Lunnasting was a certain amount of French. He could not speak fluently, but he could understand what was said. He could not help asking the surgeon what he thought about the stranger coming up from the southward.

"That she is one of the fastest frigates belonging to our navy," was the answer. "We were expecting her here about this time; you have no chance of escaping her. We were to have cruised together; perhaps we shall do so now."

"Ask him what sort of a man is her captain," said Mr Calder, who saw Ronald talking to the surgeon.

Ronald put the question.

"There are two opinions," said the surgeon, making a face. "He would be a coward who would refuse to attack our late antagonist in the condition to which we have reduced her."

"All right," observed Mr Calder, when he heard the remark; "if there are two opinions about a man's courage it is seldom that the favourable one is the right; we shall see, though."

In accordance with his orders, though much against his inclination, Lieutenant Calder stood away from the scene of the approaching combat.

A flash and a puff of smoke was seen, and soon afterwards a low thundering noise boomed along the waters. The French frigate had fired her first shot at the "Thisbe."

"I hope it did not hit her!" exclaimed Morton. "Oh, how I wish we were there to help her!"

The same sentiment was expressed by all on board.

It seemed probable that the first shot did hit, for the Frenchman now luffed up and fired his broadside at the "Thisbe." She waited till he bore away again, and then returned the compliment.

For a few minutes the firing ceased. Probably neither of the combatants had committed as much damage to each other as they expected, and were not desirous of throwing away their shots.

Ronald thought all the time of his father, and the danger to which he was exposed, for considering the comparatively defenceless state of the "Thisbe" he could not help dreading the result.

The breeze increased, and the "Concorde" got further and further from the scene of contest. Again the firing commenced. All hands knocked off work to watch the progress of the fight. The officers forgot even to recall them to their duty. The French surgeon and several of the wounded prisoners crawled up on deck to watch it also.

"There they go at it! Well done, 'Thisbe'!" exclaimed Tom Calder. "Never saw a more rapidly delivered broadside. If she had all her spars she wouldn't be long in taking that ship, too. Not certain that she won't do it now. Hurra! there's one of the Frenchman's spars shot away."

"Hurra for the 'Thisbe'!" shouted the crew. "She's the girl to win the day. Hurra! hurra!"

"Not so sure of that," muttered Rawson, an old mate, who seldom saw things in a pleasant light. No wonder, for he had seen numbers who had come to sea long after him promoted over his head, and were now commanders and post captains, while he remained almost without hope in a subordinate position. He was pretty certain to be senior of the mess in whatever ship he sailed, and that was his only consolation, as it gave him some little authority, and full licence to growl to his heart's content.

The firing became hotter than ever, though at the distance the "Concorde" was now from the two combatants it was difficult to observe the changes of the fight. Still all the glasses were kept in that direction.

"There! there! I said it would be so!" exclaimed Rawson, still keeping his eye at the glass.

"What has happened?" inquired Ronald, eagerly.

"Why, the Frenchmen have shot away the 'Thisbe's' foretopmast, as far as I can make out—her jury-masts, too," answered Rawson. "The 'Thisbe's' done for, I'm afraid."

"What's that you say, Rawson?" exclaimed Lieutenant Calder. "Done for! not she; she's not done firing, at all events."

Rawson said no more; still it was very evident that the "Thisbe" was again almost a complete wreck, while the Frenchman had her rigging comparatively uninjured. The firing on both sides began to decrease. Evening was now drawing on, the wind was increasing, and dark clouds were coming up from the westward. For several minutes not a shot had been heard. Flashes there were, but they were from the clouds, and heaven's artillery now rattled through the sky. The combatants could now scarcely be discerned in the distance.

"The 'Thisbe' has struck," cried Rawson. "I said it would be so. I knew I should never have such luck as to take a prize like this, and to keep our ship."

"I don't believe it," exclaimed Mr Calder. "Captain Courtney would never have given in to the Frenchman without a harder tussle for it."

"Perhaps Captain Courtney has been killed," croaked out poor Rawson, who was very bitter at the prospect of losing his long-looked-for promotion, which he would have obtained as soon as the prize was carried into port. Tom Calder, too, had every reason to wish to escape the enemy, with the same object in view, and he was not a man to throw a chance away.

The wind was fair, and the coming darkness and the rising gale would favour their escape. He now clapped on every inch of canvas which could possibly be set, and did his utmost to keep up the spirits of his crew, rating Mr Rawson soundly for his expressing his forebodings of ill.

The wind increased, and howled through the rigging; the seas came roaring and hissing up alongside, as the frigate, driven onward by the gale, went surging through the foaming water.

Thus on she went for some time.

"If we had but our masts the enemy would have a hard job to come up with us," observed Dicky Glover to Ronald. "As it is, I doubt whether she'll find us, after all."

The two midshipmen were standing aft, looking over the taffrail.

"I wish that I thought we should escape her," answered Ronald; "but I say—look!—look!—what's that out there?"

At that moment there was a break in the clouds, and through it a gleam of light fell on the lofty sails of a ship coming up within gunshot astern.

"The French frigate! I knew it would be so," said the rough voice of old Rawson.

There could be little doubt that he was right. The stranger was supposed by the French officers on board to be the "Atalante," a frigate of the same size as the "Concorde." What hope then that the latter could successfully resist her? Not many men besides Tom Calder would have had any hope of escaping.

"Never cry out till you are caught," was his motto on similar occasions.

"That vessel astern has not yet made us out," he observed to Rawson. "Though should she prove to be the 'Atalante,' perhaps we may still escape her, or she may be a friend after all."

"Not likely that last, sir," said Rawson, "but whether friend or foe, here she comes! She has made us out clearly enough, too, that I'll be sworn."

For a short time the clouds had closed in, and the stranger was hidden from view, but they again breaking, she was seen like some huge dark monster, towering up towards the sky, surging onwards on the starboard quarter of the "Concorde."

"We shall soon see now, sir, what she is," observed Rawson to his superior.

The bright flash of a gun, and an eighteen-pound shot, which came crashing into the side of the prize left that point very little in doubt.

"Man the starboard guns!" cried Mr Calder. "We'll show the Frenchmen that though we have lost our wings we have still got our beaks."

With a hearty cheer—though, from the paucity of their numbers, not a very loud one—the men went to the guns.

Could they beat off the enemy? They would try, at all events. Rawson in a moment forgot his forebodings, and was all life and courage. The enemy was seen to be shortening sail, so as not to pass the "Concorde."

"Fire!" cried Lieutenant Calder. The men obeyed with alacrity, but scarcely had the shot left the mouths of the guns than the enemy replied with a crashing broadside, which shot away several of the stays of the jury-masts, knocked over three or four of the crew, and reduced the frigate almost to the state of wreck in which she had been found when captured.

Rawson was the only officer wounded, but still he cheered on the crew.

"We'll not give in lads! Old England for ever!" he exclaimed, putting his right hand to a gun-tackle, and hauling away. The other arm had been hit.

In vain were all the efforts of those gallant men.

"Here she comes!" was the cry. "Boarders! repel boarders!"

The enemy gave a sheer to port, and with a loud crash ran alongside the "Concorde." Grappling-irons were hove aboard her and the next instant the Frenchmen, in overpowering numbers, rushed like a torrent along her decks.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE "THISBE'S" CREW PREPARE FOR A FRESH FIGHT.

The chief anxiety of Captain Courtney when he ascertained that the approaching ship was an enemy, was to secure the escape of the prize. She would indeed have been of very little use to the "Thisbe" in repelling an attack, as the French frigate from having all her canvas would have been able to manoeuvre so as to engage each of them singly.

"There she goes, and I'll engage Tom Calder's heart is heavier than any one's aboard here at having to run away!" exclaimed Captain Courtney—"Good luck go with him. We'll try and keep the enemy engaged, and wing him, if we can. You'll do your best, I know, my lads."

A cheerful shout was the answer to this appeal, the last part of which was addressed to the crew.

The men were now seen fastening their handkerchiefs round their heads, tightening their waistbands, most of them having thrown off their jackets and shirts, standing at their guns with their brawny arms and shoulders bare, like pictures of Hercules prepared for battle; not a countenance that did not exhibit a cheerful alacrity for the battle.

As the captain took a walk round the decks, he felt assured that what men could do they would to maintain the honour of old England's flag.

Many bore marks of their recent combat, and several still pale from loss of blood, had insisted on rising from their hammocks and going to their guns. Among them stood the boatswain, Rolf Morton; the captain shook his head at him.

"What! you could not trust us to fight the ship without you, Mr Morton?" he said, in a kind tone of reproof. "I must let you stay now you are on deck, but I would rather you were snug in your berth."

"While I've breath for my pipe, and legs to stand on, I'd rather be here, Captain Courtney, thank you, sir," answered Rolf. "I would lose an arm rather than let our prize be retaken."

"So would I, Mr Morton, and we will do our best to help her escape," said the captain, and he passed on.

With like kind words of encouragement both to officers and men, the captain passed along the guns; not a man of the crew who would not have dropped at their quarters, or gone down with the ship, rather than yield as long as their brave chief bade them fight on.

By the time Captain Courtney regained his post on the quarter-deck, the enemy had got within gun-shot, and commenced firing with her longer pieces at the "Thisbe," but the shot fell wide.

"The enemy's gunners want practice," observed the captain to the third lieutenant, who was doing duty as first, though he himself was severely wounded. "We'll reserve our fire till they get a little nearer, and then give it them with a will. They probably expect that we shall haul down our colours after we have satisfied the calls of honour with a few shots."

"They don't know of whom they have got hold then," answered Mr Trenane, the lieutenant. "In a light wind they might have had too much the advantage of us, but with this breeze, the loss of our masts will matter less, I hope."

The enemy was now coming up rapidly on the "Thisbe's" quarter. A shot from her bow chasers whistled through the latter's rigging; several others followed as the guns could be brought to bear.

On she came.

The "Thisbe" had not fired.

"Down with the helm and give it them, my lads!" suddenly shouted the captain.

The English frigate luffed up, and poured her whole broadside into the bows of the approaching enemy. The Frenchman put down his helm and returned the compliment, and now the two ships stood on for some time exchanging broadsides as rapidly as they could. At length a shot struck the "Thisbe's" fore-topmast; it had been wounded in the previous engagement. Down it came with a crash, but so eagerly were the crew engaged that few discovered what had happened.

The master with a few hands flew aloft, and quickly cut away the wreck; the crew redoubled their efforts. Still the uninjured condition of the enemy's rigging gave her an important advantage; her shot came crashing on board the "Thisbe."

Whatever Captain Courtney might have thought, he appeared as cheerful and confident as ever. His courage kept up that of the crew. The enemy was frequently hulled. Now one spar was shot away; now another; his fire slackened. The British crew cheered lustily. That hearty cheer must have been heard along the Frenchman's decks. It showed him that though his enemy was almost dismantled, the courage of the people was as undaunted as ever.

"We may not take him, but we may prevent his taking us," observed Morton, as he moved among the crew.

Just then the Frenchman's bow was seen to move up closer to the wind; his tacks were hauled aboard, the breeze was freshening, and away he stood on a bowline under all the sail he could set, leaving the astonished crew of the British ship rubbing their eyes and wondering what he was about. They, however, did not cease sending their shot after him, as a parting compliment.

"She has but hauled off to repair damages," observed the third lieutenant to the captain.

"Not so sure of that, Trenane," answered Captain Courtney; "probably her captain and other superior officers have been killed or wounded, and the rest suspect that we should prove too tough a morsel for them to digest."

Captain Courtney seemed to be right in his conjectures; the French frigate stood on.

All hands were instantly set to work to repair damages, to be ready for her in case she should return. Many an eye cast an anxious glance in the direction in which she was steering. The brave crew would have welcomed her back, but they wished to be ready first to receive her.

Again she was observed to alter her course.

"She is coming back!" was the cry. "Hurra, lads, we'll give it her if she does."

They watched her eagerly. She was steering to the northward under all sail. There could be little doubt that she was in pursuit of the "Concorde." More energetically than ever the crew worked away, in the hopes of being in a condition to go to the aid of their consort; but every instant the wind was increasing, the sea was getting up, and their task became more difficult. Dark clouds were gathering in the western horizon. It was evident that a gale was brewing, and there were appearances that it would be a severe one. The safety of the ship demanded all the care of the officers and the redoubled exertions of the men. The guns were secured, the shot holes stopped, the rigging knotted and spliced as strongly as time would allow; everything moveable below was lashed, and the ship's head was brought to the wind to meet the expected blast. Had she had sea room she might have scudded, but, with the land under her lee, that was out of the question. As a brave man girds himself for an inevitable and deadly contest, so was the gallant ship prepared for the desperate conflict with the elements.

The British crew had not prepared unnecessarily to meet the gale, although delayed; down it came at length upon them with even greater fury than was expected. More than once it seemed as if the masts and rigging would give way, and that the frigate would be driven helplessly before its fury. Had a sail gone, had a rope given way, she might have been hurried to destruction; but careful hands had secured the rigging, every rope held, and there she lay nobly breasting the storm. Still she drifted to the eastward, and, should the gale continue long, she after all could not escape destruction.

As the morning approached, the wind blew harder and harder. Daylight exhibited no sign of its abating. All that day it continued, its fury in no way decreased. The weary crew began to faint with their exertions, but the officers went among them, and with cheering words reanimated their spirits. The carpenter had often sounded the well. He now reported that the ship had sprang a leak; the pumps must be manned; the demand on the energies of the crew was increased. Still they worked cheerfully. Even some of the wounded insisted on coming up to take their spell at the pumps.

Night again came on, but not for a moment during the whole course of it did Captain Courtney leave the deck. Often and often did he look out astern. He had good reason for so doing. The order was given to range the cables. It might be necessary to anchor, to make, at all events, the attempt to bring up the ship before she was driven on the enemy's shores.

The morning returned at last, and away to the leeward, amid the thick driving spray, and through the pale cold cheerless light, a line of coast rose above the tumbling waters. Calm, as if no storm was raging, Captain Courtney walked the deck, his eye now turned astern—now at the rigging of his ship. He sent Mr Trenane forward to see that the anchors were ready for letting go. The lieutenant reported all ready.

"Then we have done all that men can do to save the ship, and to Providence we must trust the rest," observed the captain.

Few words were exchanged by any on board, the crew were at their stations, ready to perform any duty required of them; those told off to labour at the pumps were working manfully; and thus they would have continued till the noble ship had struck on the rocks, or gone down beneath the waves.

Hours passed by. Slowly but certainly she drove stern on towards the land. The captain after a time was seen to look frequently over the side, and to watch the land more earnestly. His countenance brightened.

"There is hope for us yet," he observed to Mr Trenane; "the wind is dropping."

Such was the case. Rapidly the gale abated, the ship no longer laboured as before, the leak was easily kept under, the sea quickly went down, the wind got round to the southward, and by nightfall the "Thisbe," under all sail, was steering a course for England.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE "CONCORDE" RECAPTURED BY THE "ATALANTE"—THE SHIPS IN A GALE—THE "ATALANTE" WRECKED—RONALD SWIMS ASHORE—COMMUNICATION ESTABLISHED—THE ENGLISH SHUT UP IN A TOWER.

In vain Lieutenant Calder and the prize crew of the "Concorde" attempted to resist the onslaught of the enemy. Several were killed, others were wounded, and they soon found themselves completely overpowered. No time was lost in conveying them on board the ship which had captured them, which proved to be the "Atalante," a consort of their hard-won prize. Most of the wounded French prisoners were removed likewise, that they might be under the care of the chief surgeon of the ship, and among them was Alfonse Gerardin. He had somewhat recovered his strength and spirits, and now that he found himself no longer a prisoner, he talked away freely as well with the young Frenchmen of his own rank as with the English midshipmen.

When the transfer of prisoners had been accomplished, the "Atalante" took the "Concorde" in tow and made sail, but the wind increasing, the hawser broke, and both ships had to look out for their safety independently of each other.

In consequence of the comparatively small number of the English prisoners they were not very strictly guarded, and the officers were allowed to go about the decks by themselves.

The gale increased during the night, and when early in the morning Ronald Morton went on deck, he found the French ship scudding before it under bare poles.

There was a good deal of confusion on board; the crew were labouring at the pumps, but in anything but an energetic manner; some would suddenly knock off, and halloa and bawl at their shipmates to come and help them, but it was often long before their places were taken. On looking aloft he saw, too, that the masts were wounded in several places, and though the ship was placed in much greater peril by the way she had been knocked about, it was with no little satisfaction that he observed the battering she had received from the "Thisbe's" and "Concorde's" guns. Before long he encountered Mr Calder, whose eyes were engaged as his had been.

"What do you think, sir, of the state of affairs?" he asked.

"That they are as bad, Morton, as well can be," was the answer. "Neither captain nor officers know what they are about, and it will be a miracle if they do not cast the ship away."

"Of course they will," observed Rawson, who had just then joined them; "I said from the first that we should have no good luck, and what I said has come true."

"But other chaps among us said that we should have good luck," remarked Twigg, the master's assistant, who was always fond of putting Rawson in the wrong. "Now, you see, old fellow, it was just heads or tails—even, you'll understand—and as ill-luck would have it, you happened to win."

"It's the only thing I ever did win, then," answered poor Rawson, in a melancholy tone.

"Well, well, Rawson, the next time you prophesy ill, we'll all pray that you may prove a false prophet," observed Mr Calder. "But, my lads, it may before long be of very little consequence to most of us who is right and who is wrong; unless these Frenchmen are steering for some shelter, and know the coast perfectly, they will run us hard and fast on it before the world is many hours older."

Ronald on this said he would go and learn what he could from young Gerardin, who would probably be able to ascertain what the Frenchmen proposed doing.

Ronald found his way to the sick-bay, where Alfonse was in his cot, able to sit up and talk without difficulty.

"What we are going to do, you demand?" he answered. "Why, let the ship drive and go to destruction, for what I can tell; all on board seem to have lost their wits, from the captain downwards. They would pitch me out of the ship if they heard my remarks, so do not repeat them."

When Ronald returned on deck he found things in no way mended. The French crew appeared to be obeying their officers very slowly and unwillingly; indeed, the ship was already in a state of semi-mutiny. The officers, too, seemed to be issuing contradictory orders. Ronald saw them examining a chart, but it was evident from their gestures that they differed very much in opinion as to the course which should be steered. No decision was arrived at, and the ship drove onwards towards the coast of Finisterre.

There were harbours and shelter there in abundance; but judgment and good pilotage was required to take advantage of them, and these qualities were wanting on board the "Atalante."

The English officers stood grouped together, affording a strong contrast to their French captors. Mr Calder was cool and collected as ever.

"If the Frenchmen won't let us try and save the ship, we must do our best to save our lives," he remarked. "Remember, in the first place, let us all hold together and help each other. We may make a harbour and run no risk of losing our lives, or we may drive on the rocks and have a desperate struggle for them, but in either case, prisoners we shall remain, only in the last we shall have a better chance of making our escape in the end—let us keep that in view, whatever happens. Now, lads! there is the land; it won't be long before we become more nearly acquainted with it."

Rawson, Morton, and the rest promised implicitly to follow Mr Calder's directions. It was agreed that the instant the ship struck, Morton and Twigg should hasten down to release their own men below, and to tell them what had been resolved on. There was little doubt, even in the expected extremity, that they would willingly follow Mr Calder's directions.

"In ten minutes we shall know our fate," said Mr Calder, calmly watching the shore, towards which the helpless ship was rapidly driving.

It consisted of a sandy beach, the ground rising a little beyond it, with here and there a low building, and in the centre a ruined mill, or fort, or watchtower—it was difficult to say what.

The sandy beach might have offered some prospect that their lives would be preserved, but in front of it rose among the foaming breakers a line of dark rocks, and no break was perceived in them through which the ship might force her way.

"Few of those on board this ill-fated craft will see another day," observed Rawson, as he eyed the threatening coast. But he no longer spoke in a desponding tone; the moment of action was at hand, and such a prospect always roused him up.

"There's a fresh hand at the bellows, to help us along to our fate," he added. "Well, let it do its worst; Jack Rawson won't flinch as long as he has a head on his shoulders."

Morton was what is called constitutionally brave, and the calmness of his companions increased his courage. His friend, Dicky Glover, looked at him with admiration; Morton's bearing gave him confidence. If one who, so short a time before, was a ship's boy, was so cool and brave, of course he who was born a gentleman, and had long been a midshipman, ought to exhibit even more calmness and resolution. So in reality, at this trying moment, Glover appeared as much the hero as did Morton.

Mr Calder noted both of the lads, and his heart warmed with pride as he marked the courage of his young countrymen, though he grieved at the too great probability of their being cut off.

The greater number of the Frenchmen were all this time agitated in the greatest degree, each man following his own devices; the officers having lost all shadow of control. Some had hurried below to put on their best clothes, or to secure what valuables they possessed; others had broken into the spirit-room, and with cans and bottles in their hands, came reeling on deck, insisting on their officers drinking with them. Some were dancing furiously; others were singing at the top of their voices, but except a very few, no one was preparing for the inevitable catastrophe. More than half were below when it came.

"Secure that coil of rope, and hold on for your lives!" shouted Mr Calder.

The ship struck, the foremast instantly went by the board; the seas furiously dashed up the frigate's sides, and washed through her ports and over her deck. Each time she was struck, she shivered as if about to be wrenched asunder.

Numbers of the hapless crew were washed away. Men and officers shared the same fate; some were seen for a time struggling between the beach and the ship, but the cruel seas as they rushed back, carried them off, and hurled them among the dark rocks, where life was speedily crushed and washed out of them.

Ronald, Glover, and Twigg, as directed, had instantly the ship struck, hurried below to release their countrymen. The seamen, knowing what had happened, were making desperate efforts to get out of the hold in which they had been battened down. A capstan bar, which Morton and his companions found outside, enabled them to accomplish their object. The English seamen rushed upon deck, for the terrific sounds which reached their ears, and the fierce concussions the ship was receiving, warned that no time was to be lost, if they would preserve their lives.

Morton was hurrying up with the rest, when he recollected the wounded midshipman, Alfonse Gerardin.

"His countrymen won't help him, of that I am pretty certain, and I cannot leave the poor fellow to perish," he exclaimed to Glover, who was near him.

"I'll help you, whatever you do," answered Dicky Glover, who was as ready to do a good deed as a mischievous one, if it was suggested to him.

"So will I, Mr Morton," said a seaman who had kept by the two midshipmen from the moment he had got his liberty, and had moreover possessed himself of the capstan bar, to serve him as a trusty weapon in case of need.

"Thank you, friend Truefitt," said Morton: "come along."

Ronald was well pleased to get such an ally as honest Job Truefitt, for there was not among the crew of the "Thisbe" a better seaman or a more trustworthy, better-hearted fellow.

While the rest were rushing on deck, Ronald and his companions made their way along the deck to the sick-bay. Many of the wounded were calling on their shipmates to come to their assistance, and uttering imprecations fierce and terrible, when they found that they called in vain.

Gerardin was attempting to get up, but his strength failed him, and he lay back, his countenance betokening a proud resignation to his own fate, and scorn at the terror of the wretches who surrounded him.

"What!" he exclaimed, when he saw Morton and Glover with Job Truefitt, "have you Englishmen found time, amid all this confusion, to come and look after a wounded wretch like me; an enemy too—who has been taught with his utmost strength to hate the English?"

"We Englishmen have been taught to help our enemies in distress, mounseer," observed Job Truefitt, as, without waiting a moment to ask leave, he lifted the wounded lad on his shoulders. "There's no time for palavering. Come along, sirs."

The midshipmen sprang on, helping Job to support his burden, and they soon reached the upper-deck, when the scene of horror and confusion was indescribable! Not without difficulty, and in great danger of being washed off, they made their way to the after part of the quarter-deck, where Mr Calder, with the other Englishmen, were assembled.

The ship had driven with her larboard side to the shore, and as she heeled over they were partly sheltered from the force of the seas, which dashed in arches of foam high above her.

The English lieutenant and his party had made fast a cask to the end of the line they had secured, and were endeavouring to float it towards the shore, where three or four people stood ready to receive it. In vain they tried. Several times the cable got almost within their reach, and was carried back again with the reflux of the wave. Morton, however, observed to his satisfaction, that just at that part there were no rocks, and that the seas rushed on without any break till they reached the beach.

"If I could but do it," thought Morton to himself. "I have swum through some tolerably heavy seas on the Shetland coast."

He at once made the proposal to Mr Calder.

"Impossible!" was the answer. "You would be drowned, my boy, to a certainty."

"But I could do it, and whether I'm drowned or not, it matters little," exclaimed Job Truefitt. "Here, who'll take charge of this here young Frenchman?"

Rawson offered also to make the attempt, but he was known not to be a good swimmer.

A thundering crash was heard. It was the fall of the remainder of the foremast, and the breaking up of the fore part of the ship. It was a strong hint to the English party to hasten whatever they might undertake.

"You'll let me go, Mr Calder?" said Morton again.

He and Job Truefitt had secured some light line to the cask, which had just been hauled up. It was again lowered, and the lieutenant nodded his head, but his countenance was very sad, as if he had little hopes of the success of the expedition. The instant his permission was gained, Ronald and Job slid down the side of the ship, and were quickly borne on with the cask towards the shore. They both struck out bravely, and soon reached the cask. They had little at first to do, except to keep themselves afloat. All those who anxiously watched them, knew that the trial would come as they neared the beach, and got within the power of the under suck of the receding waves. At first they merely accompanied the cask, and supporting themselves by it, husbanded their strength.

"They will be lost to a certainty, I know," observed Rawson. "If they don't succeed, I don't know who will. I never saw a finer swimmer than that man Truefitt."

"Oh, I hope they will! I hope they will be saved!" cried Glover, in an agony of terror for Morton, who had inspired him with the sincerest affection.

"There they go! bravely they swim!" cried Mr Calder. "They are ahead of the cask—they dart forward—the undertow has got them. No!—they are struggling desperately with it—they don't lose ground—on they go!—No!"

There was a cry that the sea had carried them back, but the next moment their heads appeared on the top of a foaming sea, and on it rushed towards the beach.

Now was the critical moment. Their shipmates on board the wreck held their breath as they watched their progress. One was seen to rise up on the beach from out of a sheet of foam, and to hurry upwards; but there was only one. He did not stop a moment. Down he dashed again. He had a grasp of a rope, though the other end of which was held by the people on the shore.

Without hesitation, he plunged once more into the seething waters; he did not again appear—there was a cry of despair—all thought he was lost—but no—the next instant he was seen, and this time with a companion, and aided by the people, who were on the watch for them, they both together hurried up the beach, and the cask, with the line, was hauled up after them.

The great object was accomplished; a communication was secured with the shore. The passage, however, was still full of danger.

More line was procured. A traveller and slings were fitted, and Rawson volunteered to lead the way. Should he succeed, the passage would be somewhat less dangerous.

The people on shore now tightened the rope. He took a supply of line with which to haul the next person on shore. A shout from the English seamen proclaimed that he was successful.

It was now according to rule, under such circumstances, the privilege of the youngest to proceed. Dicky Glover was ordered into the slings.

"If I must go, may I take the young Frenchman?" he asked. "I know Morton would wish it."

"Yes, be sharp," answered Mr Calder, assisting himself to secure them both. Away they went on their perilous passage. It was near sun-down when the ship struck. It was now rapidly getting dark. What a night of horrors was there for those who were compelled to spend it on board the wreck.

When Dicky Glover had nearly reached the shore, the surf almost tore young Gerardin from the slings, and the hold he had of him. Almost hopelessly he struggled. In another instant they both would have been carried away, when Glover saw some one making his way through the foaming water towards him. A friendly hand grasped his, and in another minute he and his charge were hauled up out of the power of the sea.

Ronald Morton, with a rope round his waist, had been the means of rescuing him and Gerardin from death. Dicky began to thank him.

"Only obeying orders—helping each other," answered Ronald. "But lend a hand, Glover, we have plenty to do."

Morton and his companions became very anxious for the fate of their gallant superior. Had the frigate been his own ship, he would have been the last to leave the wreck; but now, having seen his own people on shore, he would have no hesitation in coming.

Ronald applied to Gerardin, but he could get no information from his confused countrymen as to what had become of the English lieutenant. The Englishmen, notwithstanding this, continued to assist energetically in hauling the people on shore. Each time a man reached the beach, they hailed him, hoping to find that he was their officer.

Suddenly, as they were hauling in on the line made fast to the traveller, the main line became slack: alas! all communication with the ill-fated ship was cut off.

"Haul on it, lads!" shouted Rawson and Morton in concert.

"It is heavy; there is some one on it," cried the men. "Steady, lads, steady."

Gradually they hauled in the line. The life of one more fellow-creature might be saved. They hauled away. Yes, a man was there! was he still alive, though?

They hailed as he neared them. An English voice answered, "All right, lads!" It was their own lieutenant. They welcomed him with a joyful shout, which showed that he had won the honest affections of his men, a prize worthy of an officer's aim.

"I had a struggle for it," he observed, as soon as he was somewhat recovered. "No sooner was I on the rope, than some of the wretches in their madness cut it, and have so lost all means of reaching the shore in safety. Still we will do what we can to help them."

The Englishmen kept to this resolution. With unceasing watchfulness they moved up and down along the beach, saving the lives of many who would otherwise have fallen victims to the waves.

The wearied seamen, their labours over, threw themselves on the sands to rest, scarcely allowing the thought to trouble them of what next they should do. They had not enjoyed many minutes' repose before they were roused up by a party of soldiers, who, without much ceremony, marched them all off to a tower in the neighbourhood, which Ronald recollected observing before the ship struck. Here, in spite of all Mr Calder's expostulations, they were locked up in an upper chamber without food or water, and left to their own devices.

It is not surprising if their remarks and reflections were not very complimentary to the people on whose shores they had been thrown.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

JOB'S PLAN FOR ESCAPING—A HINT FROM GERARDIN—A ROPE BROUGHT IN A BASKET—DESCENT FROM THE TOWER—THE GUARD MADE PRISONER—GET ON BOARD A FISHING-BOAT.

"If I'd my way I'd break out of this here hole, knock the mounseers down that stands guard, and cut and run," observed Job Truefitt, as he woke up after a sound sleep on some straw, in the afternoon of the day on which he and his companions had been shut up in the tower. "We might get hold of some fishing craft or other, and make good our escape. I've heard of such things being done afore now."

The sentiment was warmly echoed by the speaker's shipmates.

Mr Calder and the other officers had overheard what was said. It was intended that they should. Probably the same idea was occupying the lieutenant's mind; he got up and took a survey of the interior of the tower. The upper part was of wood, and through a chink came a ray from the setting sun, and cast a bright light on the opposite wall. It showed the prisoners the direction of the ocean, and the point towards which they must make their way if they could escape from the tower.

Mr Calder, with no little exertion, climbed up to the chink to look out; the chamber was without any window; there had been one in the stone wall, but that had been blocked up. From the dome shape of the roof it appeared, too, that the chamber was the highest in the tower. Mr Calder having completed his survey of the surrounding country, as far as his position would allow him, descended to the floor. He said but little; he was pondering the means of escape. To be kept a prisoner now, almost at the commencement of what everybody said would be a long war, was more than his philosophy would enable him to bear with patience. Morton guessed what was passing in his superior's mind.

"It would, indeed, be terrible to be shut up," he observed. "It is only just what I ought to have expected," said Rawson. "My ill-luck will stick to me to the end; no fear of that going, though everything else leaves me."

His remark produced a laugh among his companions, who, if they even believed in ill-luck, had very little compassion on him when he complained of it; indeed, it was suspected that he rather liked to be joked on the subject.

"I should like to have a look out too," said Ronald, climbing up by the inequalities in the stone wall and the planks which formed the side of the tower.

The sun was just sinking in the ocean, and casting a rich glow over the whole western sky. The storm had completely ceased, though the waves still rolled in with a loud roar, lining the coast with a fringe of foam.

The tide was low; a few ribs on the reef, almost abreast of the tower, was the only remnant of this once beautiful frigate, with the addition of the broken timbers and planks which strewed the shore, and which the peasantry had not yet carried off. The appearance of the coast indeed in the immediate neighbourhood of the tower offered no hopes of escape to the Englishmen, even should they succeed in getting out of their prison. To the north, however, Morton observed a high reef of black rocks, running out into the sea, and circling round so as to form a secure harbour. Two or three small craft were floating on the surface of this little haven, either launched after the gale, or which had ridden it out in safety, while several boats, appearing like black dots on the yellow sand, lay drawn up on the beach.

Ronald was still employed in making his survey, when steps were heard ascending the rickety creaking stairs of the tower, and Mr Calder ordered him down, that he might not excite the suspicion of the Frenchmen that they entertained the idea of escaping.

The door opened, and two soldiers entered with a jar of wine, and some bread and cheese and fruit. Placing the provisions before the lieutenant, they made signs that he might divide them among his people. Ronald, thinking it might be politic to get into conversation with them, mustering all his knowledge of French, thanked them warmly for what they had brought.

The man answered, somewhat gruffly, that they were only obeying orders, and that they had been directed by a young officer of the marine, who had been wrecked, to bring the provisions.

"Pray thank him for us, and say how grateful we feel for his gift," said Ronald.

"We may not see him again," answered one of the men. "He is ill in bed, and he will be going away into the interior, as soon as he is able to be removed."

The men said that they did not know the young officer's name. There could be little doubt, however, that Alfonse Gerardin had sent the provisions.

Ronald in vain tried to ascertain if the soldiers knew how they, the English prisoners, were to be disposed of, but the Frenchmen only shrugged their shoulders, and replied that that was no business of theirs. It was not likely that they would be kept for ever in the tower, which, as the rats had already deserted it, was very likely to tumble about their ears.

"It is a wonder, then, that it did not come down during the late gale," observed Ronald.

"Ah," said one of the men with a shrug and a wink, "it is a wonder truly, considering how rotten it is from the top to the bottom. But we must not stop here, talking with you Englishmen, or we shall be suspected of wishing to help you to escape. Adieu, adieu,—au revoir. You don't seem much cast down. Perhaps you would be, if you knew the fate prepared for you."

With another wink from the chief speaker, a corporal, by his uniform, the man took his departure.

"I am certain, sir, they had meaning in what they said," observed Ronald to Mr Calder, explaining the Frenchman's remarks. "Gerardin is not ungrateful, and wishes to help us to escape."

Rawson laughed at the notion of a Frenchman being grateful, and even Mr Calder seemed to doubt that he, or any one else, had the slightest idea of helping them to escape.

"People are not fond of putting their lives in jeopardy, to help those in whom they have no interest," he remarked.

It seemed too likely that the lieutenant was right, for the night passed, and noon of the following day arrived, and no one came near them. At that time the two soldiers who had before appeared brought in their food, but left it without saying a word, and again hurried down the stairs.

Ronald was persuaded that the corporal gave a significant look at him, as he followed his companion out of the door. It was probable that the two men did not trust each other.

"It is all your fancy, Morton," said Rawson, gloomily. "Depend on it we shall be marched off to some horrible out of the way fortress, and be shut up for the next ten years of our lives, while our old shipmates are crowning themselves with laurels, or what is better, making no end of prize-money, and rising to the top of their profession. When we get back once more to the shores of old England, there we shall be wretched white-haired old mates and midshipmen, forgotten by our friends, and cared for by nobody. There's one consolation,—I'll not learn a word of their beastly lingo, they may depend on that."

Although the picture Rawson had drawn was very melancholy, and too likely to be true, his latter observation so tickled the fancies of his hearers, that they all burst into a loud laugh, in which Rawson himself could not help joining.

"Well, my lads, though we may have some difficulty in breaking out of this, and more in making our escape, there's no doubt that the alternative, as Rawson describes it, will be a very unpleasant one," exclaimed Mr Calder. "We must all go, or none; and yet I would force none to go, for the attempt may cost us our lives."

"Never fear, Mr Calder, sir; there'll be no skulkers among us," exclaimed Job Truefitt, from among the seamen. "Just you give the word as if you was on the quarter-deck of our own tight little frigate, and there is not a man here who won't obey you as smartly, whatever you thinks fit to order, whether it is to jump off the top of this here tower, or to knock over every Frenchman we meet."

"Yes, sir,—yes, sir,—that's it. Job speaks the truth," exclaimed several of the men simultaneously.

The men required no incitement to induce them to attempt escaping, although there was but little fault to find with the provisions which had been sent them. There was excellent bread and cheese, and fruit of various sorts, and some fried fish, though certainly there was neither beef nor pork, while the vin du pays was of a somewhat thin and sour description. A few bottles of fiery hot eau de vie would have suited the taste of the honest tars much better.

This day, like the former one, passed away, and nobody came near the prisoners; they all wished that the time was come when they were to make the attempt to escape. The next day, at noon, a much larger supply of provisions was brought to them. Two men accompanied their friend, the corporal, to carry them. He also carried a good-sized basket, which he deposited in a corner of the chamber, and then nodding, without saying a word, hurried down the steps; as if their friends outside had divined their wishes, there were half-a-dozen bottles of brandy!

Morton and Rawson were examining the contents of the corporal's basket.

"I thought so," exclaimed Ronald, joyfully; and he pulled out a long rope, amply strong enough to support the weight of a man. There was no longer any doubt that they had friends outside, anxious to assist their escape.

The weather had now become perfectly serene. A light south-easterly breeze, and smooth water, would enable them to run along the coast just out of sight of those on land, while several small vessels in the harbour would supply them with a craft suited to their purpose.

The prospect in view put them all in high spirits, and with infinite relish they discussed the viands which had been brought them. While thus engaged the door of their prison opened, and two persons in naval uniform appeared before them. One Morton at once recognised as Alfonse Gerardin, though he looked even more pale and sickly than when he had been rescued from the wreck. Ronald sprang up to greet him. His companion, on whose arm he rested, was a strongly-built middle-aged man. Alfonse gave his hand to Ronald.

"I could not bear the thought of your going away without seeing you once more," he said. "I could not have obtained leave had it not been for my father, Lieutenant Gerardin, of whom I told you."

"What you told me was merely that he had been killed," said Ronald.

"So I thought, but happily I was mistaken. He had been knocked overboard, but he was picked up by a boat, and unable to regain the ship was brought to shore, not far from this, when hearing of the shipwreck he found us out."

"And you are the young gentleman to whom my dear boy here is indebted for his life," said Lieutenant Gerardin, in broken English, grasping Ronald's hand warmly. "I am grateful to you. Though my nation is at war with yours, I love your countrymen. I would serve you gladly at the risk of my life. You are to be removed into the interior to-morrow, and a far-off fortress will be your habitation. This night you must make your escape; I have provided part of the means. There is a fishing-boat in that little harbour to the north; she pulls fast, and has oars and sails aboard, as also some water and provisions, but not sufficient. Carry all you can with you. I have bribed some of the guards, but not all; you may meet with opposition; you will know how to deal with your enemies. Do not think me a traitor to France; I owe her no allegiance, and yet I am bound to her. Now farewell!—we may never meet again, but you will at least not think that he whom you so bravely saved from death is ungrateful."

Alfonse Gerardin said but little; he warmly shook Ronald's and Glover's hands, and then he and his father hurriedly took their departure.

The rest of the day was spent by the party in talking over their escape, and the best mode of meeting all possible contingencies, and then most of the old hands lay down to sleep, that they might be fresher when the moment of action arrived.

No sooner was it dark than Mr Calder set to work to remove some of the planks above the brickwork. It was, as the corporal had hinted, very rotten, and quickly gave way to their pulls. An aperture of size sufficient to allow a man to force himself through was soon made. Mr Calder then securing the rope, and lowering it to the ground, directing his men to stand in the order they were to descend, told Rawson to bring up the rear, went himself through the hole, and slid down noiselessly to the ground. The midshipmen followed, and then came the men; not a word was spoken, but they imitated their leader's example in picking up some large stones with which to defend themselves, should they be suddenly attacked. One after the other the men came gliding down in the rapid way none but seamen could have done; not the slightest noise was made; their feet, as they touched the ground, made no more sound than those of cats. All had descended except Rawson, when a noise was heard in the room above, as of a door opening. There was a scuffle, but no one cried out; in an instant Job Truefitt was swarming up the rope hand over hand; Morton, the most active of the party, followed him. Whatever there was to be done was to be effected quickly. With the deepest anxiety the rest of the party waited to ascertain what had happened, while two or three prepared to follow. Job crept in at the hole in the wall, and looked round the prison. At first he could see nothing. At last he fancied that he could distinguish something moving on the other side of the room. He sprang towards the spot, and so did Morton.

"Here we are, Mr Rawson; here we are, come to help you," whispered Job. A deep groan was the response. It was soon evident that there were two people on the ground, struggling in a deadly embrace—but which was friend or foe, was the question. They had tight hold of each other's throats, and were actually throttling each other.

"You catch hold of one, Mr Morton," whispered Job, who had recognised Ronald. "I'll take t'other, and then we'll settle with the mounseer, whichever he may be."

Ronald found by his jacket that he had got hold of Rawson, but it was not without digging his nails into the Frenchman's wrist that he was able to make him relax his hold of Rawson's throat. Still more difficult was it to induce the latter to take his gripe off his opponent's neck. To bind the legs and arms of the Frenchman, and to gag his mouth, was the work of a few moments. Ronald stumbled against his lantern, at which Rawson must have struck when he entered.

"It may prove of service," thought Ronald, as he hung it round his neck.

Rawson soon recovered. Two more seamen had come in by this time. Their first care was to barricade the door. At first they thought of leaving the Frenchman in the room, but it was agreed that, as he might make some noise, and give the alarm, it would be better to take him part of the way with them. He was speedily lowered down, much to the astonishment of those below, and to his own annoyance. Then Morton and the rest of the party followed. Who their prisoner was it was impossible to ascertain, for fear lest the moment the gag was removed he might cry out. He was a soldier, but not their friend the corporal, as he was a shorter and stouter man.

There could be little doubt that the guard was in the room below them, and when their comrade was missed, others probably would go up to look for him. No further time was to be lost. Mr Calder, therefore, ordered the men in a whisper to close up together, carrying their prisoner among them, and to move off in the direction of the harbour. As they began to advance, Morton recollected the rope which they ought to have taken with them, as should it be left behind and recognised, it might betray the friends who had supplied it to them. As the rope was long enough to allow of its being slipped round a beam, and then again to reach the ground, he was on the point of ascending once more to execute his project, hoping quickly to overtake his companions, when a noise in the room immediately above him arrested his movements. The guard was on the alert. His delay, contrary to the orders of his superior, might cause the ruin of the whole party. He let go the rope and sprang after his companions.

"It cannot much matter," he thought; "our friends would have warned us to carry off the rope."

The English seamen hurried on till they came to a deep hollow in the sands. Here Mr Calder ordered them to leave their prisoner.

"Remember, mounseer, if you hallo or make any row, we'll be back and blow your brains out for you," whispered Job Truefitt, as he placed him on the ground.

A grunt was the only answer. It was doubtful whether the prisoner understood what was said, though he might have guessed the meaning of the remark.

The seamen pushed on as fast as they could move. It was no easy matter to find their way, for the night was very dark, and though the sky was clear, there was a slight mist, which concealed all objects, except those close at hand, from view. This was, however, an advantage, as well as a disadvantage, to the fugitives. Though they had, in consequence of the mist, greater difficulty in making their way towards the shore, it assisted to conceal them from any persons who might chance to cross their path. They had made their escape at an early hour, that they might have longer time to get an offing before daylight.

Mr Calder strode on ahead, Rawson brought up the rear, Ronald pushed on, and ranged up alongside his lieutenant. He had a fancy that if there was danger, it would be there, and he wished to be near him. The road lay chiefly over sand-hills, very heavy walking. Now and then they came to rocks, which still further impeded their progress, but there were bits also of hard ground, over which they passed at a run. The wind being from the south, they kept at their backs, while the gentle ripple of the sea on the beach, assisted still further to guide them. At last Mr Calder stopped.

"We ought to be up to the harbour by this time," he observed in a low voice. "I see no signs of it."

All the party had now pulled up. As they did so, the sound of voices from no great distance reached their ears. The speakers were to the north of them. It was not likely that they were pursuers. Still, if they passed near, they might discover them. The seamen crouched down to the ground. The voices grew louder and louder. They seemed to be coming towards the very spot where the Englishmen were collected.

"Lads, we must master them, whether many or few," whispered Mr Calder. "Take care none escape."

Morton had been attentively listening to the speakers. "They are fishermen just landed," he said, in a low tone. "They are on their way to their homes. I doubt, from what they say, if they have landed their fish."

"Be ready, lads," said Mr Calder, expecting that the next instant they would be grappling with the Frenchmen. "Each of you seize his man, bring him to the ground, and gag him. Take care none get away."

Suddenly the voices ceased. Morton thought that they had been overheard, but once more the fishermen went on talking; their footsteps were heard, but gradually the strength of the sound decreased, their voices became less and less distinct, till they were altogether lost in the distance. The lieutenant now led the way rapidly onward.

"If we had been a minute sooner we should have been discovered," thought Morton. "All is for the best."

They had now reached the little harbour. Several boats were drawn up, but all at a considerable distance from the water. It would be difficult to launch one of them without making a noise. A small boat was distinguished a short distance from the shore. Ronald offered to swim off to it, and bring it in. His clothes were off in an instant.

"Stay, I may have to cut the cable," he observed, putting his clasp knife between his teeth.

The water was somewhat cold, but he did not heed that. Excitement kept his blood in circulation. He soon reached the boat. His knife came into requisition, and though there were no oars, he found a loose bottom board, and managed to paddle in with it to the beach.

It was still necessary to be very cautious. Lights were seen in some huts not far off, and the inmates might hear them and suspect that something was wrong.

The boat would not hold the entire party, so Mr Calder and Glover, with some of the men, embarked first, to select the craft most likely to suit them.

It was an anxious time for those on shore. The crews might be on board some of the boats, and if one of those was selected, the alarm might be given.

"We shall have to knock some of the fellows on the head if they are, that will be all," observed Rawson, coolly.

The boat, however, returned without any disturbance, and the rest of the seamen got into her, bringing her gunwale almost flush with the water. Scarcely had they got twenty yards from the shore, when a voice hailed in French, "Yes, you were before us; don't wait—bon soir," answered Ronald, promptly, in the same language.

They pulled out as fast as they could, and got on board a a large half-decked boat, with her sails on board, and pulling eight oars.

The question was now, how to get out of the harbour. Rawson in the punt went ahead, to pilot the way, while the anchor was noiselessly weighed. The oars being got out, the little craft stood after the boat.

The mouth of the harbour was discovered, they were in the open sea. How joyously beats the hearts of all to find themselves free! As they drew off the land, the breeze freshened, the punt was cast adrift, and sail was made; just then there were lights seen on the beach; shouts were heard. There was a grating sound as of a boat being launched. They were about to be pursued, there could be no doubt about that. Still sharp eyes would be required to see them. Impelled by wind and oars the boat stood out to the westward.

The wind was fair, the sea was smooth. Of course in the darkness it was impossible to select the best boat, but they had happily hit upon one which at all events seemed a fine little craft, and they hoped she might prove the fastest. The seamen bent their backs to the oars with right good will; the water hissed and bubbled under the bows.

"The mounseers must be in a precious hurry to catch us, if they do catch us," exclaimed Job Truefitt. "Give way, mates: if we can't keep ahead of a crew of frog-eaters, we desarves to be caught and shut up in the darkest prison in the land, without e'er a quid o' baccy to chaw, or a glass o' grog to freshen our nip."

The men, however, required no inducement to exert themselves to the utmost.

"Avast pulling!" exclaimed Mr Calder, after they had made good three miles or more from the harbour.

There was no sound of oars. The Frenchmen, it was supposed, had thought the pursuit useless, and had given it up. Still daylight must find them far away from the coast, and spell and spell throughout the night the undaunted seamen laboured at their oars.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A SAIL IN SIGHT—A GALE COMES ON—REACH THE FRIGATE—RONALD REJOINS THE "THISBE"—MADE LIEUTENANT.

When morning dawned, and hunger reminded the escaped prisoners that it was time for breakfast, they looked about and discovered in the forepeak a supply of water and provisions, and what was of most consequence, a compass. She was evidently, then, the very craft the Gerardins had intended for their use.

"I hope they won't get into a scrape for what they have done for us," observed Ronald. "Though he is an odd fish in some respects, I liked that fellow, Alfonse Gerardin; and from the glimpse I got of his father, I should say he is first-rate."

The health of their friends was therefore drunk in some very fair claret, which was found among the stores, and never has a merrier party floated in an open boat out in the Atlantic.

Two days passed, and Mr Calder calculated that they were well into the Chops of the Channel.

Several vessels had been seen, but none had been approached. Mr Calder did not care about this; he hoped to carry the boat into Falmouth or Plymouth harbour in safety.

The evening was drawing on. "A sail on the starboard bow!" was the cry. She was a ship standing across channel; unless she or they altered their course, she could not help falling in with them. From the look of the vessel it was impossible to say whether she was a friend or an enemy.

"If them there tops'ls weren't cut by an English sail-maker, I'm ready to pass for a Schiedam drinking big-breeched Dutchman for the rest of my born days," observed Job Truefitt, in a decisive tone, as standing up on the forecastle deck, and holding on by the mast, he shaded his eyes with his hand, and took a severe scrutiny of the stranger.

"Maybe I've handed them more than once and again."

"What do you make her out to be, Truefitt?" asked Mr Calder from aft.

"Why, sir, maybe I'm wrong, and maybe I'm right; but if I'm right, then I take it she's no other than the thirty-two pounder frigate, 'Thetis.' I served aboard her better nor twelve months, so I don't deserve to have eyes in my head if I shouldn't know her again," answered Job.

"I think that you are very likely to be right, Job, and I'll trust that you are," said Mr Calder. "Take a couple of reefs in the mainsail as you hoist it, lads. The sky gives promise of a blowing night, and we shall do well if we can have a stout ship under our feet."

As the lieutenant was speaking, a heavy squall passed over the boat, which, had her sails been set, she would have felt severely. As it was, the spray which it carried drove over her in thick masses, as she drifted before it. Dark clouds were breaking up heavily to the southward, while others drove across the sky, their outer edges glowing, like red-hot coals, with the beams of the setting sun. The squall, however, passed away, sail was made, and the boat sprang briskly over the rising seas towards the frigate. All were now as anxious to be seen by those on board her, as they were before to escape observation. It was very evident that a storm was brewing, and a pretty heavy one—such a gale as the French fishing-boat they were in could scarcely weather. Every instant the wind increased, and the seas rose higher and higher. The frigate, it was very probable, was outward bound, for as the wind got round she trimmed sails and steered to the westward. The boat was now close hauled. If not seen by the frigate, it was scarcely to be hoped that she would cut her off on the other tack. The gloom of evening was coming on also, causing the small sails of the boat to be less discernible.

"They'll not see us," sighed Rawson. "And as to this wretched little craft living out such a night as we are going to have, that's a sheer impossibility."

"The craft has carried us thus far in safety, and may carry us into Penzance or Falmouth harbour, I hope, even if we do miss the frigate," observed Morton. "We shouldn't so mistrust Providence, I think."

"You think, you youngster!" said Rawson, contemptuously. "You haven't been tried as I have."

"But Rawson, suppose we are preserved. What will you Bay then?"

"That we have obtained more than we deserve," answered the old mate, as if involuntarily.

"The frigate sees us," shouted Job Truefitt, from forward, making use of a very common nautical figure of speech. "There's port the helm—square away the yards—she'll be down to us in a jiffy."

"Time she was too," observed Rawson, and he was right, for the gloom was increasing, the rising sea was tumbling and pitching the boat about, and even with two reefs down she could scarcely look up to her canvas.