Newton Forster; Or, The Merchant Service. Фредерик Марриет
upon them, Newton, not feeling secure, rove his studding sail gear, and made all preparation for running before the wind, which he knew to be the brig’s best point of sailing. The privateer had approached to within two miles, when Roberts, one of the seamen, gave his decided opinion that she was a French vessel, pointing out the slight varieties in the rigging and build of the vessel, which would not have been apparent to any one but a thorough-bred seaman.
“We’d better up helm, and get the sail upon her. If she be French, she’ll soon show herself by firing at us.”
Newton was of the same opinion. The brig was put before the wind, and gradually all her canvass was spread. The privateer immediately shook out all her reefs, set her lofty sails, hoisted French colours, and, in a few minutes, a shot whizzed through the rigging of the Estelle, and pitched into the water ahead of them.
“I thought so,” cried Roberts. “It’s a Johnny Crapeau. A starn chase is a long chase, anyhow. The brig sails well, and there ain’t more than two hours daylight; so Monsieur must be quick, or we’ll give him the slip yet.”
The privateer was now within a mile of them; both vessels had “got their way;” and their respective powers of sailing were to be ascertained. In half an hour the privateer had neared to three quarters of a mile.
“I think our little guns will soon reach her,” observed Newton. “Williams, give me the helm. Go forward with Roberts and the men, and rouse them aft. Be smart, my lads, for she has the heels of us.”
“Come along,” said Roberts. “You, Collins, why don’t you stir?—do you wish to see the inside of a French prison?”
“No,” replied Collins, sauntering forward, “not particularly.”
“Only by way of a change, I suppose,” observed Thompson, another of the convicts. “You have been in every gaol in England, to my knowledge—havn’t you, Ben?”
“Mayhap I have,” replied Collins; “but one gentleman should never interfere with the consarns of another. I warn’t whipped at the cart-tail, as you were, last Lancaster ’sizes.”
“No; but you had a taste of it on board of the Terpsichore. Ben, you aren’t forgot that?” retorted Hillson, the other of the three characters who had been sent with Newton.
In a few minutes the guns were run aft, and the ammunition brought on deck. Newton then gave the helm to Williams, and served one gun; while Roberts took charge of the other. The privateer had continued to near them, and was now within their range. A smart fire was kept up on her, which she returned with her superior metal.
After the firing had commenced, the approach of the privateer was in some degree checked. The guns fired from the stern of the Estelle assisted her velocity through the water; while, on the contrary, the privateer, being obliged to yaw from her course that her guns might bear, and firing from the bow, her impetus was checked. Still the privateer had the advantage in sailing, and slowly neared the brig.
“There’s no need of your coming aft so close upon us,” said Roberts to the two Frenchmen who had been sent on board; “go forward, and keep out of the way. That ’ere chap is after mischief; he had his eye upon the amminition,” continued the sailor to Newton. “Go forward—d’ye hear? or I’ll split your damned French skull with the handspike.”
“Don’t touch him, Roberts,” said Newton.
“No, I won’t touch him, if he keeps out of my way. Do you hear?—go forward!” cried Roberts to the Frenchman, waving his hand.
The Frenchman answered with a sneer and a smile, and was turning to obey the order, when a shot from the privateer cut him nearly in two. The other Frenchman, who was close to him, made a rapid descent into the cabin.
“That was well meant, any how,” observed Roberts, looking at the dead body; “but it wasn’t meant for him. Shall I toss him overboard?”
“No, no—let him lie. If they capture us, they will perceive it was their own doing.”
“Well, then, I’ll only haul him into the lee-scuppers, out of the way.”
Another shot from the privateer passed through the cabin windows, and went forward into the hold. The French prisoner ran on deck with as much haste as before he had run below.
“Ay, it will be your turn next, my cock,” cried Roberts, who had been removing the body to the gunnel. “Now, let me try my luck again,” and he hastened to his gun. Newton fired before Roberts was ready. The topsail-sheet of the schooner was divided by the shot, and the sail flew out before the yard.
“That’s a good two cables’ length in our favour,” cried Roberts. “Now for me.” Roberts fired his gun, and was more fortunate; his shot struck away the fore-top-gallant mast, while the royal and top-gallant-sail fell before the topsail.
“Well done, my little piece of brass!” said Roberts, slapping the gun familiarly on the breech; “only get us out of our scrape, and I’ll polish you as bright as silver!”
Whether the gun understood him or not, or, what is more probable, the short distance between the brig and the privateer, made it more effective, more mischief took place in the sails and rigging of the schooner. Her topsail-sheet was, however, soon re-bent, the sail reset, and her other casualties made good. She ceased firing her long gun, and at dusk had crept up to within a quarter of a mile, and commenced a heavy fire of musketry upon the brig.
“This is rather warm work,” observed Williams at the helm, pointing to a bullet-hole through his jacket.
“Rather too warm,” observed Collins, the convict. “I don’t see why we are to risk our lives for our paltry share of prize-money. I vote for hauling down the colours.”
“Not yet,” said Newton, “not yet, my lads. Let us try a few shots more.”
“Try!—to be sure,” rejoined Roberts, “didn’t I say before, that a starn chase was a long one.”
“That only makes the matter worse,” replied Collins; “for while we are to be peppered this way, I think the shorter the chase the better. However, you may do as you please, but I’m not so fond of it;—so here’s down below to the fore-peak!”
“Ben, you’re a sensible chap, and gives good advice; we’ll just follow you,” said Hillson.
“Birds of a feather always flock together; so, Ben, I’m of your party,” added Thompson.
The convicts then descended forward out of the fire of the musketry, while Newton and Roberts continued to load and fire, and Williams steered the brig. The Frenchman had already found his way below again, before the convicts.
The schooner was within two cables’ length, and the fire of the musketry was most galling; each of the English seamen had received slight wounds, when, just as it was dark, one of the shot from the brig proved more effective. The main-boom of the schooner was either cut in two, or so much injured as to oblige them to lower her mainsail, The brig now increased her distance fast, and in a few minutes they lost sight of the schooner in the darkness of the night.
“Huzza!” cried Roberts, “didn’t I tell you that a starn chase was a long one?”
Not a star was to be seen; the darkness was intense, and Newton consulted with Williams and Roberts, as to what was their best plan of proceeding. It was agreed to haul up for a quarter of an hour, then furl all, and allow the privateer to pass them. This was put in execution; the convicts, now that there was no more firing, coming to their assistance. The next morning the weather proved hazy, and the schooner, who had evidently crowded sail in pursuit of them, was nowhere to be seen.
Newton and his crew congratulated themselves upon their escape, and again shaped their course for the Channel. The wind would not allow them to keep clear of Ushant, and two days afterwards they made the French coast, near to that island. The next morning they had a slant of wind, which enabled them to lay her head up