The Missing Ship: The Log of the "Ouzel" Galley. William Henry Giles Kingston
wind also continued as steady as at first, and with deep regret he was convinced that the stranger was superior to the Ouzel Galley on any point of sailing, whether before the wind, going free, or close-hauled; while her numerous crew would give her every possible advantage in manoeuvring, or repairing damages should any of her spars or rigging be knocked away.
Meantime, poor Norah and her brother remained in their dark cell far down in the hold of the ship, listening anxiously for any sounds which might betoken the commencement of the action. The air was close and redolent of unsavoury odours, and would of itself have been sufficient to weigh down their young hearts; it might be a place of safety, but they would both of them infinitely rather have been on deck and able to see what was going forward. Norah sat with her hands clasped on the couch Dan had arranged for her; while Gerald, soon losing patience, got up, and, as there was no room to pace backwards and forwards, could only give vent to his feelings by an occasional stamp of the foot, as he doubled his fists and struck out at an imaginary Frenchman.
“Oh, I do hope we shall thrash that fellow,” he exclaimed, “big as he looks. I am glad our father didn’t determine to give in without fighting. It wouldn’t have been like him if he had, though the second mate advised him to do so. I should have thought Mr. Carnegan was full of pluck, but he appeared to me to show the white feather, and I’m not at all sure how he’ll behave—not that it much matters, for I am very certain that Owen will make the men stand to their guns as long as there’s a shot in the locker.”
“I only hope that we may avoid fighting altogether,” said Norah. “Owen thought it possible that an English man-of-war might appear in sight and put the enemy to flight, or that we may keep ahead till nightfall, and then manage to escape.”
“Depend upon it, the Frenchman is coming up much too fast to give us any chance of keeping ahead till dark—we must not expect that. I have more confidence in our knocking away some of his spars; Owen is a first-rate shot, and if it can be done he’ll do it. Don’t be cast down, Norah; it would never have done for you to remain where you might have run the risk of being hit. Our father was right in sending you here, though I wish he had allowed me to stay on deck—but then, you see, you couldn’t be left alone; and if, after all, the Frenchmen do take us, why, there would have been no one to protect you. That consoles me for remaining here, and if the worst happens I’ll fight for you. See, I’ve brought a cutlass, and a brace of pistols, and it would be a hard matter for any one to get in here without my leave.”
“Oh, it would be dreadful!” cried Norah, shuddering at the thought of the ship being captured—for she could not conceal from herself that such might too probably be the case. “Don’t attempt to fight if any of our enemies should find their way down here—it would be utterly useless, and only exasperate them.”
“Well, perhaps they won’t find their way down here,” said Gerald, who directly he had uttered anything calculated to alarm his sister was anxious to remedy the mistake; “let us try and talk of something else, and wait patiently for what may happen.”
The proposal was not as easily carried out as made; in another minute Gerald was again talking of what might or might not occur. Some time went by. “Hark! hark! what is that?” exclaimed Norah suddenly, as the boom of a gun, which from its faintness showed that it must have been fired at a distance, reached their ears.
“There comes the first shot, but it didn’t strike us—the Frenchman is trying whether he has got us within range,” said Gerald.
“It shows, though, that the enemy must be very near,” cried Norah.
“It will be the sooner over,” said Gerald. “We shall hear our guns go off soon—they’ll make a much greater noise; but don’t be frightened, Norah dear—they, at all events, will not injure you.”
“I am not thinking of myself,” answered Norah, “but for those on deck, and for our poor father—he is still so ill and so little able to bear all this anxiety—and for Owen, should they be struck by those dreadful cannon-balls.”
“The round shot, you mean,” said Gerald; “but they are not to be so much dreaded, after all. They may fall pretty thickly aboard without doing any harm. I’ve heard some of our men who were in the last war say that they’ve known ships firing away at each other for an hour or more without anybody being hit. Hark! there’s another gun; that came from the enemy, but the shot missed us. I wonder we don’t begin to fire—we soon shall, though, no doubt about that. I wish that I had brought down the boat’s compass with us, to know how we were steering; we are keeping, however, on the same tack as before—I can tell that by the heel of the ship.”
Norah, while Gerald was talking, held her breath, expecting every moment to hear the guns go off with a loud roar, not aware how much the sound would be deadened before it reached the hold. Neither she nor Gerald had at first observed the increased motion of the ship, or that she was heeling over to larboard considerably more than at first. Gerald now, however, remarked it.
“The breeze has freshened,” he exclaimed, “though I don’t know if that will be in our favour. I wish that our father had not told me to stay here without moving—I would run upon deck to see how things are going on, and be back in a moment.”
“Gerald, not for my sake but for your own, I earnestly pray you to remain—remember, our father ordered you not to leave this, whatever might happen,” exclaimed Norah.
“Yes, I know that; I was only saying what I should like to do,” answered Gerald.
Nearly another minute elapsed, during which not a word was spoken; then came a much louder report than had before been heard.
“That was one of our guns, I am sure of it,” exclaimed Gerald; though, from its deadness, Norah could scarcely believe that it was from one of the Ouzel Galley’s guns.
“Hurrah! we’ve begun at last,” cried Gerald, “no fear; I shouldn’t be surprised to find that the shot had knocked away one of the enemy’s topsail yards.”
Another and another gun followed in rapid succession; at intervals could be clearly distinguished the firing of the enemy’s guns, and every now and then a report succeeded by a loud thud, showing that the shot had struck some part of the Ouzel Galley.
“Fire away, my boys, fire away!” shouted Gerald. “I wish that I could be on deck, even if I’d nothing better to do than hand up the powder!”
Norah again entreated him to remain. For some time the firing continued, but from the sound of the enemy’s guns it was pretty clear that the ships had not yet got to close quarters.
“Sure, we must be giving it them,” cried Gerald. Scarcely had he spoken when there came a loud crashing sound, as if one of the masts had been knocked away and had fallen on the deck. Cries and shrieks of injured men writhing in pain penetrated even to the depths of the hold.
“Oh that some one would come and tell us what has happened!” exclaimed Norah. “I wonder our father or Owen don’t send—it must be something dreadful.”
“I’ve heard of ships holding out, even though a mast has been shot away,” said Gerald; “we don’t know what has happened to the enemy—perhaps she is worse off than we are.”
Not another gun was fired from the deck of the Ouzel Galley; that was a bad sign, and presently afterwards there came a violent concussion and a grating sound, as if one ship had run alongside the other.
“Gerald, oh, what is taking place?” cried Norah, seizing her brother’s hand.
“We are about to be boarded, or perhaps we are going to board the enemy,” he answered; “I don’t see why one thing shouldn’t happen as well as the other.”
“I am afraid it is as you first suggested,” said Norah. “Hark to those loud shouts; they are the voices of Frenchmen—they must have boarded us. I hear their feet tramping on deck, and there they come down below. Our people must have been quickly overpowered; what resistance could such a mere handful