The Missing Ship: The Log of the "Ouzel" Galley. William Henry Giles Kingston
much worse off than we are now.”
“I hope that no such necessity may arise,” answered Norah, and her voice trembled as she spoke.
“There, stay quiet till you’re called, and I’ll take the sword to our father,” said Gerald. The captain was awake, and prepared for the attempt to recapture the ship, he and Owen having decided on the best plan for carrying it out. He took the sword which his son brought him—the lamp which swung from the deck above shed a feeble light throughout the cabin—he had just quickly dressed, when Norah appeared.
“I had wished you to remain in your berth till we had secured the Frenchmen,” he whispered.
“Pray do not insist on my doing so,” she answered. “I may be able to help you, and I cannot bear the thoughts of hiding away while you are exposed to danger. Do let me try to be of use, father; I shall run no greater risk than I should by keeping in my berth. See, Gerald has given me a pistol, and I know how to use it. It will serve, at all events, to frighten the Frenchmen.”
The captain, seeing Norah was determined, at length consented to do as she proposed. Owen now joined them, and he and the captain crept to the foot of the companion-ladder, up part of which they mounted, to be in readiness to attack the man at the helm as soon as Gerald’s signal should be heard. Meantime, Gerald had made his way on deck. He had on a dark jacket and trousers and dark worsted socks, and by creeping along close under the bulwarks he would be able, he hoped, to get forward without much risk of being seen. Jacques Busson, the officer of the watch, was slowly pacing the deck, now looking up at the canvas which like a dark pyramid seemed to tower into the sky, now addressing the man at the helm to keep the sails full or else to steer rather closer to the wind, now shouting to the look-out forward to ascertain that he was awake and attending to his duty. Gerald stopped to observe what Jacques Busson was about; he could distinguish the Frenchman’s figure against the sky, as he paced backwards and forwards on the raised poop, halting now and then to take a glance to windward, and again taking a few steps towards the stern. The moment Gerald thought that his back was turned he again crept forward. He had no fear of being discovered by the man at the helm, whose eyes, dazzled by the binnacle lamp, were not likely to distinguish him. Thus on he went, quickly doubling round the guns, till he reached the fore hatchway, down which he slipped without being perceived by either of the Frenchmen on deck, who were seated under the weather bulwarks, and, as he rightly concluded, with their eyes shut.
“We shall have no difficulty in tackling those two fellows,” he thought. The Frenchmen were berthed on the starboard side of the forecastle, the Ouzel Galley’s people on the larboard side; Gerald was thus easily able to find his friends. He had previously made all the arrangements with Dan and Pompey—they had communicated them to the rest of the crew, who only waited his arrival to carry them out. Gerald and Dan had undertaken to get possession of the Frenchmen’s pistols. It was the most perilous part of the work to be performed, for should they be awakened they might give the alarm, and put the watch on deck on their guard. Both Dan and the black had noted accurately the places where the Frenchmen had put their weapons, who, instead of depositing the pistols under their pillows, had hung them up just above their heads, within reach of their hands, while their cutlasses lay by their sides. To remove the latter might be difficult without making a noise, and it was, besides, considered of less importance to get hold of them. Stealing silently across the fore-peak, Gerald and Dan reached one of the bunks; Dan then leaning over, felt for the occupant’s pistol, which he carefully unhooked and handed to Gerald, who, almost breathless with eagerness, grasped it tightly. They then went to the next berth, and possessed themselves of the other weapons in the same manner. The third man turned as they approached, and uttered a few incoherent words; Dan and Gerald crouched down out of sight lest he should awake, but a loud snore showed them that there was no great fear of his doing that, and his pistols were successfully abstracted. The fourth man seemed restless, and at length raised himself on his shoulder, and looked out.
“Qui va là?” he asked in French. Gerald and Dan were standing in deep shade, and remained still as mice, scarcely daring to breathe. The Frenchman, seeing no one, must have thought that he had been dreaming, and again lying down composed himself to sleep. They waited till they heard him also begin to snore, and Dan then crept forward and got hold of his pistols. They each took one, and gave the remainder to their shipmates. Tim was then sent up, furnished with a piece of line, with directions to conceal himself close to the hatchway, down which he was to let the line hang, and his pulling it up was to be the signal that the Frenchmen were off their guard. On feeling it pulled all the party below were to spring up on deck and overpower the crew forward. Gerald accompanied by Dan and Pompey were, however, to make their way aft in the same cautious manner in which he had come forward. The black, in order to run less risk of being discovered, had stripped himself naked, and oiled his body all over. The doing so was his own idea, and he grinned when he proposed it to Dan.
“I like one big eel, and if dey try to catch me I slip out of dere hands,” he observed, chuckling.
“We could not hope for a better opportunity than the present,” whispered Gerald into Dan’s ear.
“All right, sir,” answered Dan, touching Pompey and Tim. The former, as agreed on, noiseless as a cat, crept up on deck, when he immediately gave a tug to the string. Gerald, with Dan and Pompey, followed, and, crawling on all-fours, began to make their way aft. The booms and boats would have concealed them for some part of the distance from Jacques Busson even had it been daylight; they therefore ran no risk of being discovered till they reached the after-part of the quarter-deck. Pompey had now to play the chief part in the drama. Crawling up on the lee side of the poop, he lay flat on the deck, while Gerald and Dan stole after him, ready to spring up to his aid directly he had thrown himself on Busson, leaving the helmsman to be dealt with by the captain and Owen. Pompey had just reached the break of the poop, having waited for the moment that Jacques Busson’s back was towards him: a few seconds passed, when the Frenchman again turned round, and, advancing a pace or two forward, shouted to the man on the look-out. No answer came. “Bête,” he exclaimed, “he is asleep. I must arouse him with a rope’s end.”
As he spoke he advanced, about to descend the steps leading to the quarter-deck—at that moment Pompey, who had been watching him as a serpent does its expected victim, springing to his feet, threw his arms round the Frenchman’s neck, while he at the same moment shoved a large lump of oakum into his mouth before he could even utter a cry. Dan, quick as lightning, joined him, while Gerald whistled shrilly the promised signal to his father and Owen. It was heard too by Tim, who pulling the line, the rest of the Ouzel Galley’s crew sprang up, some throwing themselves on the two Frenchmen slumbering under the weather bulwarks before they had time to draw their pistols. The men on the forecastle, however, aroused by the noise, fired theirs at their advancing opponents; but owing to the darkness and their hurry the bullets missed their aim, and just as they got their hands on their cutlasses they were both knocked over with well-planted blows in their faces, and brought to the deck, at the same instant that Tim, to whom the duty had been confided, closed down the hatch on the watch below. The helmsman, on hearing the scuffle, was turning his head to see what was the matter, when he found his arms pinioned by the captain and Owen. On seeing this, Gerald ran forward to where Tim had concealed the rope. He soon returned with a sufficient number of lengths to lash the arms of Busson and the men, while Tim carried the rest of the rope to his shipmates forward, who were not long securing the three Frenchmen. The remaining four of the French crew, who had been aroused by the scuffle, were now making desperate efforts to force their way up on deck, and one on the top of the ladder had just succeeded in lifting up the hatch, when Tim saw his head protruding above the combing.
“Bear a hand here, or shure the mounseers will be out of the trap,” he shouted, at the same time seizing a capstan-bar, which was close at hand, and dealing a blow with it at the head of the Frenchman, who fell stunned off the ladder, back upon his companions following at his heels. Notwithstanding this, immediately they had recovered themselves they again attempted to get up, and another man had succeeded in raising half his body above the hatchway. Tim attacked him as he had done the first; the man, however, who was a powerful fellow, grasped the capstan-bar, and getting his knee on the combing was about to deal a blow at Tim which would have