My First Command And How It Ended. The Old Admiral's Yarn

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Title:     My First Command And How It Ended. The Old Admiral's Yarn
Author: William H. G. Kingston [More Titles by Kingston]

I had been at sea about five years, and had seen some pretty hard service, when I was appointed to a dashing frigate, the _Tiger_, on the West India station. Our captain had never been accustomed to let the grass grow on his ship's bottom, and he took good care to keep that of the _Tiger_ pretty clean. Those were stirring times. England was engaged in a fierce war, both by sea and by land, with the larger proportion of the civilised nations in the world, and it was more easy to find an enemy than a friend wherever we sailed. I cannot say that we had any complaint to make with that state of things, as we came off generally the victors, and made lots of prize-money. The more of the latter we got the more we wanted, and we spent it as lavishly as if there would be no end of it. We had taken several prizes, when we received notice that a large French privateer was in those seas, committing a good deal of havoc among our merchantmen. It is said that everything is fair in love and war--in war, it may be the case; in love, nothing is fair that is not straightforward and honourable. Our captain considered that stratagem in war was, at all events, allowable, and he used to disguise the frigate in so wonderful a way, that even we ourselves, at a little distance, should not have known her. By this means many an unwary craft fell into our clutches. One day we lay becalmed, with our seemingly black and worn sails hanging against the masts, our ports concealed by canvas, painted to represent the weather-beaten sides of a big merchantman, our yards untrimmed, and all our rigging slack. At length a breeze was seen coming towards us, bringing up a large ship. When the stranger was within a couple of miles the wind fell. We were soon convinced that our trap was well baited, for we saw the stranger lower three boats, which came rapidly towards us. We, in the meantime, lowered three others, well armed and ready at a moment's notice to pull off in chase, when the enemy should discover his mistake. Not, however, till the Frenchmen were close up to us, did they find out that we were not what we appeared. We saw by their gestures of astonishment that they suspected all was not right. Before, however, they had time to pull round, our boats were after them. I was in one of them. We were alongside in two minutes--they attempted to defend themselves; they had better have been quiet; a few were knocked overboard and hauled in by our fellows, and all three boats were taken. We found that we had got the captain and second and third officers of the stranger among our prisoners, and that she was the privateer of which we were in search. The Frenchmen frantically tore their hair, and swore terribly at us for the trick we had played them. "Ah! you perfides Anglais, had we been on board our ship, you would not have taken us so easily," exclaimed the French captain. "Then, sir, you are welcome to go back and fight it out!" answered our captain. "All, morbleu lion!" cried the Frenchman, with a shrug of his shoulders, "I know what sort of fellows you are in this frigate, and I would rather stay where I am with a whole skin than return to be riddled by your shot. If my ship escapes, though, do not blame me."

"Certainly not; but I have no intention that she shall escape!" said our captain, with a bow, directly afterwards ordering all the boats ahead to tow us towards the enemy. They pulled on till we got her well within range of our guns, when the painted canvas being cleared away, we opened fire. In five minutes she hauled down her colours. We found on board the crew of a large English West Indiaman, captured that morning, and supposed not to be far off, though not in sight. Depend on it we whistled with right good will for a breeze. It came at length, and disguising ourselves as before, and having the French ensign over the English, we and our big prize made sail in chase. Greatly to our delight, the merchantman was seen standing boldly towards us, attracted by the firing. It was amusing to watch the countenances of the French prisoners--they would have done their best to warn her off had they dared, but they could only make grimaces at each other, and hurl low muttered curses on our heads, while their richly-laden prize was recovered by us. She was a West Indiaman--the _Diana_. I cannot say much for the beauty of the goddess of the night, for she was a huge wall-sided ship, capable of stowing away a vast quantity of sugar and molasses, articles much in request at the time in Europe. The French prize crew were being removed when the captain sent for me. My heart fluttered unusually. "Mr Brine, you have behaved very well, very well indeed, since you joined this ship, and I have much confidence in you," he began. I bowed at the compliment--I had an idea that it was deserved, though I did not say so--I had done two or three things to be proud of, and I knew that I stood well in the captain's opinion, although I was not yet a passed midshipman; "I accordingly place you in command of the _Diana_, more willingly than I should any other midshipman. You are to take her to Bristol or Plymouth, and remember that she is of no small value to us." I thanked the captain for his good opinion of me, but begged to have a mate capable of navigating the ship, should I fall sick or lose my life; and I named Tony Fenwick, another midshipman, my junior, and a great chum of mine. I had an old follower, Paul Bott, who had been to sea with my father. His name was short, but he was a tall man. I asked if he also might come. The captain granted both my requests, and allowed me to pick out six other men for my crew. I felt wonderfully proud as I walked the deck of my first command, and certainly no two happier or better satisfied midshipmen could be found than Tony Fenwick and I, as we navigated the sugar-laden _Diana_ across the Atlantic. We only wished that we could meet a letter of marque of our own size, which might attempt to interfere with us. What thought we of tempests or foes, the possibility of wreck or recapture? We both of us hoped soon to obtain our promotion, for those were the days when a post-captain of nineteen commanded one of the finest frigates in the navy, and had dared and done deeds as gallant as any which naval history can record, and requiring knowledge, judgment, and discretion, as well as bravery. Old heads were often worn on young shoulders, though there were plenty of harum-scarum fellows, as now, who did no good to themselves and much harm to others, whenever they chanced to be placed in command. We had a fine passage across the Atlantic--Cape Clear was sighted, and we expected, in a few days at most, to carry the _Diana_ safe into port. Fenwick had the first watch on deck one morning--daylight had just broke when the look-out at the mast-head shouted, "A sail on the weatherbow--a large ship!" I heard Fenwick's reply, and jumped on deck, for I always slept in my clothes ready for work. The stranger, we concluded, was probably an English cruiser. The _Diana_ was kept accordingly on her course; still, not free from suspicion, we narrowly watched the stranger's movements. I was looking in another direction, when I heard Tony utter a loud exclamation, not complimentary to the French, and looking round, when it was now too late to escape from her power, what was my annoyance to see the hated tricolour flying from the stranger's peak! Still neither Tony nor I had any thought of yielding up our charge without a struggle. "She's a big one to tackle, and we shall have a squeak for it at best!" observed Tony, eyeing the Frenchman with no loving glance. All sail was made, but nothing but a miracle could have saved us. The men showed their opinion of what was to happen by slipping down one by one below, and putting on their best clothes, as sailors always do when they expect to fall into any enemy's hands. I have known some to do so when they expect to be wrecked, with but little prospect of saving their lives. Now they had good reason for what they did, for the Frenchman, should they take our ship, were sure not to leave us more than we had on our backs, even if so much. All we could do to escape, we did, but in vain. Before long, we found ourselves under the guns of a French seventy-four, the _Droits-de-l'Homme_, one of the squadron, with troops on board, intended for the invasion of Ireland. With sad hearts, Tony Fenwick, Paul Bott, and most of our crew found ourselves conveyed on board our captor, which soon afterwards made sail for France. It was the winter season; the nights were long, the weather tempestuous. When near the coast, two sail were seen--large ships, supposed to be British; we devoutly hoped that they might prove so. The _Droits-de-l'Homme_ made sail to escape them. Shortly afterwards two other ships were seen steering so as to cut her off from the land. They were undoubtedly enemies. Though surrounded, as they supposed, by foes, the Frenchmen made every attempt to escape, but fortune was against them. "We caught a Tartar t'other day--the Mounseers have caught half-a-dozen!" observed Tony, as we watched what was going on through one of the main-deck ports. A heavy squall, as he spoke, carried away the fore and main-top-masts. It was no easy matter for us to refrain from cheering at the accident, but the probability of getting a clout on our heads, and being sent below for our patriotism, kept us silent. "There's no fear now, that before many hours are over we shall be under our own flag again," whispered Tony to me. "The same mishap which has occurred to the Frenchman may befall our friends," I answered. "There are but two frigates in sight, but I hope that they are more than a match for a French seventy-four."

The Frenchmen were so busy with clearing away the wreck of the masts to be ready for their foes, that no one thought of us and the other English prisoners they had on board. The gale increased; the sea ran high; the English frigates were seen to be reefing topsails. "Why, they are not going to desert us, I hope!" exclaimed Tony. "No, no, they are getting under snugger canvas for more easy handling, depend on that," I answered, laughing; "they are after us again--hurrah!" Before long the largest frigate approached, and suddenly hauling up, fired her broadside, which would have proved most destructive, had not the _Droits-de-l'Homme_ hauled up likewise, the troops which were posted on the upper-deck and poop replying with a heavy discharge of musketry. Fortunately, perhaps, for us, though we did not consider it so at the time, one of the French officers thought of sending us to join the other prisoners in the cable tier, out of harm's way. Most unwillingly we descended, though we should have run a great chance of having had our heads knocked off without the honour and glory. On getting below we found ourselves placed under guard, in almost total darkness. The big ship rolled and tumbled in a way which made it appear as if the waves alone would wrench her asunder; the great guns roared with greater frequency, the musketry rattled, the shot from the active frigates came crashing on board and tearing through the stout planks; there was the tramp of men bearing their wounded comrades below; their shrieks and groans, as the surgeons attempted in vain to operate on their shattered limbs; and the rush of water which came through the ports, with the fearful rolling of the ship. All these various sounds gave us an idea, and not a pleasant one, of the work going on above our heads. Now and then, too, louder reports and more terrific crashes told of guns bursting, and masts gone by the board. Hour after hour passed by, and still the fearful uproar continued. We prisoners would all of us rather have been on deck, notwithstanding the more than possibility of having our heads knocked off, than shut up in the dark, bilge-water smelling, stifling hold. "I say, these Frenchmen fight bravely, but I wish that they would give in; it would be wiser in them, and they must before long," observed Fenwick, as he sat on a cask by my side, kicking his heels against the staves.

"All in good time," I answered. "But consider that this ship carries more guns than the two frigates put together, and of heavier metal; and aboard here there are more than twice as many men as will be found between them. There will be a tough fight before we get our liberty, but we shall get it, never fear." While we were speaking there was a cessation of firing. "Can she have struck?" was asked by many of our fellow-prisoners. We waited in breathless suspense. No intimation was given to us of what had occurred. "The frigates cannot have given up the fight, of that I am certain," I exclaimed. "Maybe they have just hauled off to repair damages, and will be at it again," suggested Paul.

He was right. Like the voice of a giant awaking out of sleep the big ship's guns began again to roar forth, quickly followed by a duller sound, showing that her enemies were replying with as much energy as before. For long the battle raged furiously. How we unfortunates, like rats in a hole below, longed to be on deck, that we might see what was going forward! Again there was a cessation of firing. What could have happened? Had the Frenchman struck? That either of the English frigates had done so of course none of us would believe. It was a time of awful suspense to us all. One thing was certain, that though the battle might have ceased the war of the elements was raging more furiously than ever. From the way the ship rolled it was evident that she was dismasted. Various sounds, the cause of which seamen alone could understand, were heard. "I suspects, sir, as how we're in shoal water; they've let go an anchor," said Paul, calmly, though he knew full well the peril of our position. "But it doesn't hold, d'ye see, sir." Signal guns were heard. A few minutes passed, to most of us the time appeared far longer. A dull, ominous roaring sound reached even to our ears down in the depths of the ship. "We are among the breakers!" I sung out, jumping from my seat; and scarcely were the words out of my mouth when a cry was heard from above, and words of compassion reached our ears. "Pauvres Anglais! pauvres Anglais! Montez bien vites; nous sommes tous perdus!" The sentinel rushed from his post and we prisoners sprang on deck. Fenwick and I, with Paul and a few others, stopped, however, to help the more weak and helpless, for among them were women and children, unable to take care of themselves. The early dawn, as we reached the deck, revealed a scene of horror rarely equalled: breakers on every side, the masts gone, the decks slippery with human gore, and the ship driving to destruction. At a little distance lay one of the English frigates, the surf breaking over her, her fate sealed. The other was observed standing off from the Penmark Rocks, which threatened her with instant destruction. "Can she be saved?" asked Fenwick, for, in spite of our own danger, we had been intently watching her. "If her sticks stand and she is well handled; if not, Heaven have mercy on the souls of all on board, for their condition will be worse than ours!" I said, in a sad tone. "The people in the other frigate, already on shore, are badly enough off, but the sea as yet does not appear to break heavily over her."

"As it will, howsom'dever, over us, before the world's a minute older," cried Paul; "I've been cast ashore more than once with your honoured father, Mr Brine, and the advice he gave us was, `Lads, hold on to the wreck till the time comes for getting ashore.' He wished to say, `Don't let the sea take you off the wreck if you can help it, but just hold on till you see that you have a fair chance of setting foot on land in safety.'"

This advice was not thrown away. In another instant a terrific shock was felt; the wild seas dashed furiously over the huge wreck; shrieks arose from every part of the ship; horror and dismay were depicted on the countenances of all around us. As the foaming waters came rushing over the decks many were swept helplessly away.

We and our men kept together, holding fast by the upper bulwarks. We could make out clearly a village on shore, and crowds of people, who lined the beach but were unable to render us any assistance. There were no lifeboats in those days, no apparatus for carrying ropes to a stranded ship; boats were indeed launched by the hardy fishermen, but were quickly dashed to pieces against the rocks. Rafts were built, but those who ventured on them were swept off by the furious seas. Others tried, by swimming, to convey a rope from the ship to the shore, but in vain. Thus the day closed, and a night of horrors commenced, during which numbers were washed away. Still my companions and I kept our posts. All this time not a particle of food could be obtained, as the hold was under water. Paul had observed a small boat uninjured. He told me of it; I undertook to carry a line safely by her to the shore. Fenwick and Paul agreed to accompany me, and we had no lack of other volunteers among our men. At low water we three, with seven others, stood ready to launch her. We allowed a heavy sea to roll by, "Now in with her, boys, and give way," I shouted. Through the boiling cauldron we pulled. None, indeed, but stout-hearted British seamen could have made way in such troubled waters. Sea upon sea came rolling on after us. On the summit of one we reached the beach. Before another sea could follow we had leaped out and dragged our boat high up above the power of the waters. We set to work, and had the satisfaction of saving the lives of several of the French crew; but, unhappily, the rope parted, and in vain we endeavoured to secure another.

A second night passed--a third came, and few were saved. We remained on the beach to afford all the aid in our power to those still on the wreck. What occurred on board was not known to us till afterwards. The Frenchmen endeavoured to launch one of their largest boats, but discipline was at an end. In vain the officers ordered the men to keep back--it was right that the sick and wounded should first be removed. No one obeyed; a hundred and fifty men crowded into her. They shoved off, a sea rushed on, they were hid from view; the shattered boat and their lifeless corpses alone reached the shore. Eight hundred human beings, it is supposed, had by this time perished. Those few who now reached the shore, aided chiefly, I have a right to boast, by my party, reported the dreadful condition of the remainder. Numbers were dying of hunger; the decks were covered with corpses; expedients too horrible to be believed for sustaining life had been proposed. A fourth day came, and with it a more serene sky. The sea went down. "A sail! a sail!" A man-of-war brig and an armed cutter appeared. Their boats quickly approached, but the sea still broke so violently over the wreck that they were unable to get alongside. The famishing survivors, therefore, constructed some rafts, to be towed off by the boats, but many of those who ventured on them were swept away by the surf. About a hundred and fifty were, however, conveyed on board the brig that evening, leaving still nearly four hundred human beings on the wreck to endure a sixth night of horrors. The sufferings of many were more than human endurance could sustain, and next morning, when the men-of-war's boats returned, half of the hapless beings were found dead. We, meantime, when our services could be of no further avail, found ourselves, being in an enemy's country, marched off as prisoners; but I am bound to say that we were treated with the greatest kindness by the French. The spot where the wreck occurred was, we found, the Bay of Audierne, and the town near it that of Plouzenec. Here we met part of the officers and crew of the British thirty-six-gun frigate, _Amazon_, which had been wrecked with us. Her whole ship's company (six men only excepted, who had stolen the cutter and were drowned) had, by means of rafts, landed in safety by nine a.m. of the morning the frigate went on shore. This might have been partly owing to the position of the ship, but more particularly to the admirable discipline maintained on board. We rejoiced to find that the other frigate, which was the _Indefatigable_, of forty-four guns, Captain Sir Edward Pellew, had escaped the danger which threatened her. Fenwick and I were sighing over the prospect of our expected captivity, and the destruction of all our hopes of promotion, when the captain of the French ship, who had been among the last to leave the wreck, sent for us, and, complimenting us on our behaviour, assured us that as we had been fellow-sufferers with him and his people, we and our men might rely on being liberated without delay. To our great joy we and our companions were shortly afterwards placed on board a cartel and sent to England without ransom or exchange, an act of generosity on the part of the French worthy of note.

[The end]
William H. G. Kingston's short story: My First Command And How It Ended. The Old Admiral's Yarn

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