Chapter 15. Morning After The Battle...

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_ 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. _

Read next: Chapter 16. The "Thisbe's" Crew Prepare For A Fresh Fight

Read previous: Chapter 14. The Fleet At Spithead...

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