A PIRATE OF THE CARIBBEES
BY HARRY COLLINGWOOD
Edited And Revised For The 21st Century
By
RICHARD S. PHILBRICK
Copyright 2011 Richard S. Philbrick
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CHAPTER ONE
A FIRGATE FIGHT IN MID-ATLANTIC
"Eight bells, there, sleepers. D'ye hear the news? Rise and shine, my hearties! Show a leg! Eight bells, Courtenay. Keene says he’d be much obliged if you relieve him as soon as possible!"
The wake-up call, delivered in a wavering tone of voice ranging between a high treble and a deep bass, due to the fact that the speaker's voice was "breaking,” and accompanied by the reckless banging of a tin cups on the table that in the middle of the midshipmen's berth of H.M. frigate Althea, instantly woke me to the disagreeable reality that my watch below had ended, especially since the conclusion of the harangue was addressed to me personally, and accompanied by an uncompromising thump on the side of my hammock.
"All right, I’m up! No need to make such a fuss! Make yourself useful. Go find Black Peter and tell him to brew some coffee."
The lad was turning away when I heard the sound of naked feet approaching and a husky voice saying, "Who's asking for Black Petah? Was it you, Mistah Courtenay?" The shining, good-natured, grinning face of a gigantic black man bearing a big pot of steaming hot coffee appeared in the narrow doorway instantly filling the space.
"Aye, you demon, it was. Is that coffee? Find my cup and fill it, like a good man, and I'll owe you a glass of grog."
"Hi, yi!" he answered, his eyes sparkling. "Who you call `a demon,' eh, sah? Who ever hear of a demon turnin' out at four o'clock in de mornin' to make coffee for young gentermen, eh? And about de grog, Mistah Courtenay, how many glasses do dis one make dat you now owe me, eh, sah? Ansah me dat, sah. You don' keep no account, I expec's, sah, but I do. Dis one makes seven, Mistah Courtenay, and I'd be much obleege, sah, if you'd pay some of dem off. It am all bery well to say you'll owe 'em to me, sah, but what's de use ob dat if you don' never pay me, eh?"
"Pay you?" I said, jumping from my hammock to the deck and began scrambling into my clothes. "Do you mean to say you have the impudence to actually expect to be paid? Isn’t it honor and reward enough that a gentleman condescends to become indebted to you? Pay, indeed! What is the world coming to, I wonder?"
"Bravo, Courtenay, well spoken!" Young Lindsay, the lad who had so ruthlessly interrupted my slumbers, said." You ought to be in Parliament, man! Give it to him again. Bring him to his bearings. The cheek of the fellow is getting to be past endurance! Now then, you black swab, where's the sugar? Do you suppose we can drink this stuff without sugar?"
In the feeble light of the purser’s lamp I rummaged through the midshipman’s locker where I knew there was some sugar lurking along with an open box of blacking, some boot brushes, a box of candles and a few fragments of brown Windsor soap, one of which had found its way into the sugar bowl and then into my coffee mug along with the sugar. I barely discovered what I’d done in time to avoid gulping down the soap along with the scalding liquid. A midshipman at sea, however, soon loses all sense of squeamishness, so I comforted myself with muttering a sea blessing on the head of the unknown individual who had mixed the soap and the sugar and dashed up the hatchway to relieve the impatient Keene.
I shivered and buttoned my jacket closely about me as I stepped on deck. As mild and bland as the temperature actually was, it felt raw and chilly after the close, stifling atmosphere of the midshipman's berth. It was very dark, as it was only the beginning of the new moon, and the thin silver sickle had set hours earlier. There was a thin veil of mist, or sea fog, floating just above the surface of the water. Only a few of the brighter stars could be faintly seen overhead.
There was no wind. It had fallen calm the night before around sunset and we were in the Horse latitudes. The frigate was rolling uneasily on a short, steep swell that had come creeping out of the north-east during the middle watch, the herald, we hoped, of the north-east trades. We were in the very heart of the North Atlantic, and bound to the West Indies.
Keene made some snide remarks about my tardy appearance on deck, and I repaid him in kind and then made my way up the poop ladder to tramp out my watch on the lee side of the deck, if there can be such a thing as a lee side when there’s no wind. It was dreary work, this pacing fore and aft, fore and aft, with nothing whatever to hold one’s attention, and nothing to do. I eagerly watched for the first faint pallid brightening of the eastern sky that signaled the dawn. With the daylight there would at least be the ship's work to be done. The decks would be holystoned and scrubbed. There was brasswork and guns to clean and polish, paintwork to wash, sheets and braces to Flemish-coil, and perhaps something to see, as well as the possibility that with the rising of the sun we might get a small slant of wind to push us a few miles nearer to where the trade wind was merrily blowing.
Dawn came slowly, or perhaps it was merely my impatience that made it seem so. With daylight the mist that had hung about the ship all night thickened into a genuine, unmistakable fog so thick that standing by the break of the poop it was impossible to see as far as the jib-boom end.
The fog made Mr. Hennessey, our second lieutenant and the officer of the watch, uneasy, as well it might, for in early spring of the 1805 Great Britain was at war with France, Spain, and Holland, at that time the three most formidable naval powers in the world, next to ourselves, and there was the chance that every second ship we might meet could be an enemy. Just as seven bells were being struck Mr. Hennessey turned to me and said,
"Mr. Courtenay, you have good eyes. Jump up on to the main-royal yard, will you, and take a look round. This fog packs close, but I don’t believe it reaches as high as our mastheads. I’m curious as to whether anything has drifted within sight during the night."
I touched my hat, and made my way into the main rigging, glad for even a journey aloft to break the dismal monotony of the blind, grey, windless morning. I easily climbed the ratlines past the main yard, the two top sail yards and then the topgallant yard and finally swung myself up on to the slender royal yard. The sail had been clewed-up but not furled. But the worthy second lieutenant was mistaken for once in his life. It was every bit as thick up there as it was down on deck. I could see nothing more than the fore and mizzenmasts, with their intricacies of standing and running rigging, their tapering yards, and their broad spaces of wet and drooping canvas hanging limp and looming spectrally through the ghostly wreaths of the mist. I was about to holler down to the deck and report the failure of my journey, but just then I felt something like a faint stir in the damp, heavy air about me. In a moment a dim yellow smudge became visible on the port beam, which was the newly risen sun struggling to pierce the thick mass of white vapor. By barely noticeable degrees the pale vision of the sun brightened and strengthened, and I became aware of a faint but distinct movement of the air from off the port quarter. The fabric of the sail against which my feet dangled responded with a gentle rustling movement.
"On deck, there!" I shouted. "It’s still as thick as a hedge up here, sir, but it seems to be clearing., I think we’re going to have a breeze out of the northeast soon."
"So much the better," answered the second lieutenant, ignoring the first half of my communication. "Stay where you are a little longer, if you please, Mr. Courtenay."
"Aye, aye, sir!" I answered, settling myself more comfortably on the yard, and while the words had barely left my lips the stagnant air about me stirred once more. The great array of canvas beneath me swelled sluggishly out with a small pattering of reef-points from the three topsails, and a gentle creak of truss and parrel as the strain of the filling canvas tugged on the yards. I saw the brightening disc of the sun begin to sweep around until it bore broad on our port quarter. Then some sharp words of command from the poop, in Mr. Hennessey’s well-known tones, dulcet as those of a bullfrog with a bad cold, came floating up to me, followed by the shrill notes of the boatswain's pipe and his hoarse bellow of, "Hands make sail!" There were a few minutes of orderly confusion down on deck and on the yards below me. The Althea was running square away before the languid but slowly strengthening breeze, and studding-sails were set on both sides.
The fog was slowly clearing. I could see at least three lengths of the ship on either side before the curling and sweeping wreaths of vapor shut out the tiny dancing ripples that seemed to be merrily racing the ship to port and starboard. Occasionally a break or clear space in the fog-bank swept down and overtook us when it was possible to see a quarter of a mile for a few seconds, then it would thicken again and be as blinding as ever. But every break that came was wider than the one before, showing that the windward edge of the bank was rapidly drawing down after us. These breaks occurred randomly on either side, or sometimes on both sides of us at once. Now and then a clear space right astern gave variety to the proceedings and my eyes were kept pretty busy.
Finally an opening, considerably wider than any before, came sweeping down on our starboard quarter. As I peered into it, straining to pierce the veil of fog, I suddenly saw a vague shape barely visible through the wreaths of mist that were sweeping rapidly before the steadily freshening breeze. I saw it just during the wink of an eyelid, before we were shut in again, but I knew at once what it was. It could only be a ship.
"On deck, there!” I called out, “there's a strange sail about a mile off, sir, broad on our starboard quarter!"
"Thank you, Mr. Courtenay," the second relied. "What do you make her out to be?"
"It’s impossible to say anything definite about her yet, sir. I only saw her for a second, and then just a glimpse, but she loomed up through the fog like a ship about our own size."
"Very well, sir," answered Hennessey. "Stay where you are, and keep a sharp lookout for her next appearance."
Once more I returned the stereotyped, "Aye, aye, sir!" as I searched the area around the ship for further openings in the fog. The next gap swept down our port quarter. It was at least a mile and a half wide, and when it bore about four points abaft the beam another shape slid into it, not vague and shadowy this time, as the other shape had been, but clearly distinct. A frigate, unmistakably, under a similar spread of canvas to our own, and there was no doubt that it was about our own size. She was so much like us that for a second or two I thought some strange trick of light and reflection caused by the fog was treating me to a picture of the Althea herself, but closer inspection soon dispelled the illusion. There were certain unmistakable points of difference between this second apparition and ourselves, some of which were so strongly characteristic that I at once set her down as a French frigate.
The plot was thickening, and it was not wholly without a certain feeling of exhilaration that I hailed the deck again.
"A frigate broad on our port quarter, sir, with a very French look about her!"
"Thank you again, Mr. Courtenay," Hennessey called up to me with an unmistakable ring of delight in his jovial Irish accent, which had a way of growing more pronounced when he became excited.
"Ah, true for you, there she is," he continued, "I have her! Mr. Hudson, have the kindness to jump below and fetch me my glass, will ye, and look alive!” A gentle ripple of subdued laughter from the forecastle at this sally of our genial "second" floated up to me from the forecastle, a glimpse of which I could just catch under the foot of the fore-topsail, and I could see that the men were all alive down there with pleasurable excitement at the prospect of a possible fight.
Young Hudson, a smart little fellow, barely fourteen years old, and the most juvenile member of our mess, was soon on deck again with the second lieutenant's telescope, but by this time the fog had shut the stranger in again, so, for the moment, Hennessey's curiosity had to remain unsatisfied. Not for long, however. The presumed French frigate hadn’t been lost from sight for more than two or three minutes when I caught a second glimpse of the other ship, the first one sighted, on our starboard quarter.
"There’s the other fellow, sir!"I shouted. "You can see her clearly now. She’s a frigate, too, and French, unless I’m greatly mistaken."
"By the powers, Mr. Courtenay, I hope you may be right," answered Hennessey. "Aye, there she is, as plain as mud in a wineglass! If she isn't French her looks belie her. Mr. Hudson, slip below and tell the captain that there are a brace of suspicious-looking craft within a mile of us. And ye may call on Mister Dawson and pass on the same pleasant information to him."
Then, turning his beaming face up to me, he continued.
"Mr. Courtenay, it's on the stroke of eight bells, but all the same you'd better stay where you are for the moment, until the fog clears, since you know exactly the bearings of those two craft. And I'll thank ye to keep your weather eye liftin', young gentleman. There may be a whole fleet of Frenchmen within gun-shot of us, for all we can tell."
"Aye, aye, sir!" I answered. Hungry as I was, my curiosity had gotten the better of my keen appetite for breakfast. Moreover, having been the discoverer of the two sail already sighted, I was anxious to add to the prestige gained by being the first to spot any other craft that might be in our neighborhood.
My stay aloft, however, wasn’t a long one. The fog was clearing fast, and within ten minutes it had all driven off to leeward revealing that there were only the two sail already in sight, unless others happened to be so far ahead that they were still hidden in the fog-bank to leeward. But before leaving the royal yard I had my glass sent up to me bent on to the signal halyards so I could satisfy myself that the two strangers were frigates, and almost certainly French. They were furiously exchanging signals with each other but we could make nothing of their flags, which at least proved they weren’t British. To make doubly sure, however, we hoisted our own private signal, to which neither ship had been able to reply. There was no doubt that they were enemies, and with this fact satisfactorily established, I was permitted to descend to the deck and snatch a hasty breakfast.
A hasty breakfast it was, too. I had scarcely been below five minutes when we were piped to clear for action and I hurried on deck again. But a hungry midshipman can achieve a good deal of eating in five minutes, and in that brief interval I had stowed away enough food to take the keen edge off my appetite, promising myself that I would make up my leeway at dinner-time, provided I was still alive when the hour for that meal came round. This last thought sobered me somewhat, and to a certain extent subdued my high spirits, but they rose again when I gained the deck and saw the cheerful yet determined faces of the captain and officers, and noted the energy with which the men went about their duty.
The strangers hoisted the tricolor so there was no question of their nationality or of the fact that we were booked for a sharp fight. They had the heels of us and were overhauling us in grand style. We couldn’t have escaped, if we wanted to. Had we tried, and we certainly would have been justified in trying, it was plain they were both forty-gun ships, while we mounted only thirty-six pieces on our gun deck. Escape, however, was the very last thought to occur to Captain Harrison. Although he kept the studding sails flying while the ship was being prepared for action, no sooner had the first lieutenant reported everything ready than the order was given to shorten sail.And a pretty sight it was to see how smartly and with what beautifully perfect precision everything was done at once. The studding-sails all collapsing and coming in together at exactly the same moment that the three royals were clewed up and the flight of staysails on the main and mizzen masts hauled down.
"Very prettily done, Mr. Dawson," said the skipper approvingly. "Our friends yonder will see they have seamen to deal with.”
The two Frenchmen were now less than half a mile away and closing in such a way as to pull up alongside the Althea within the toss of a biscuit on either side, but neither of them showed the slightest hint of following our example of shortening sail. Perhaps they believed that, if they did, we might immediately make sail again and try to escape, but by holding on to everything until they drew alongside us, we would be easy prey to their superior strength, if we didn’t surrender before any shots were fired.
The two ships formed a noble and a graceful picture as they came sweeping rapidly down on us with every stitch of canvas set that they could possibly spread. Their white sails towering spire-like into the deep, tender blue of the cloudless heavens. A little curl of snow showed under their bows as they rode over the low hillocks of swell that chased them, sparkling in the brilliant sunlight like a heaving floor of sapphire strewn with diamonds.
They stood on, silent as the grave, until the ship on our port quarter, which was leading by a couple of lengths, had reached to within a short quarter of a mile of us. Then, as we all stood watching them intently, a jet of flame, followed by a heavy burst of white smoke, leapt out from her starboard bow-port, and the next instant the shot went humming close past us, to dash up the water in a fountain-like jet a quarter of a mile ahead.
"That, I take it, is a polite request to us to heave-to and haul down our colors," Captain Harrison said to the first lieutenant, with a smile. "Well, we may as well return the compliment, Mr. Dawson. Try a shot at each of them with the stern-chasers. If we could manage to knock away an important spar on board either of them it might cripple her enough to cause her to drop astern. Then we could deal with the other one and settle her business out of hand. Yes, aim at their spars, Mr. Dawson. It would perhaps have been better had we opened fire as soon as they were within range, but I didn’t want to make a mistake. Now that they’ve fired on us, there’s no need hesitate any longer."S
We opened fire with our stern-chasers, and the two guns spoke simultaneously, jarring the old hooker to her keel. We couldn’t see the effect of the shots for a moment as the cannon’s smoke blew in over our taffrail completely hiding our two pursuers for a few seconds. When it cleared away a cheer broke from the men who were manning the after guns. The flying-jib stay of our antagonist on the port quarter was cut and the sail towing from the jib-boom end. A neat hole in her port foretopmast studding-sail showing where the shot had passed. The other gun had been less successful. The shot had passed through the head of the second frigate's foresail about four feet below the yard and half- way between the slings and the starboard yardarm, without inflicting any further perceptible damage.
"Very well-done! Let them try again," exclaimed the skipper approvingly. As he spoke we saw the two pursuing frigates yaw broadly outward, as if by common consent, and the next instant they both let drive a whole broadside at us. I waited breathlessly while one might have counted "one--two," and then the sound of an ominous crashing aloft told me that we were wounded somewhere among our spars. A block, followed by a shower of splinters, came hurtling down on deck breaking the arm of a man at the aftermost quarter-deck gun on the port side. Then a louder crash aloft made me to look up just in time to see our mizzen-topmast go sweeping forward into the hollow of the maintop sail, and split it from head to foot. The mizzen-topgallant mast snapped short off at the cap as it swooped down on the main topsail yard. Two top men were swept out of the maintop by the wreckage as it fell and one of them was fatally injured. There were a few other minor damages which were quickly repaired, however. Then, as some hands sprang aloft to clear away the wreck, our stern-chasers spoke out again, one close after the other, and two new holes in the enemy's canvas testified to the excellent aim of our gunners; but, unfortunately, that was the extent of the damage. Both shots just missed hitting important spars.
The French crew quickly got the flying jib inboard that we had cut away for them and by the time this was done they had drawn up so close to us that by bearing away a point or two to port and starboard respectively, both craft were able to bring their whole broadsides to bear on us, which they immediately did, taking in their studding-sails, and otherwise reducing their canvas at the same time, until we were all three under exactly the same amount of sail, excepting, of course, that we had lost our mizzen-topsail and all above it, while theirs still stood intact. As for us, our guns were all trained as far aft as the port-holes would permit, and as the enemy ships ranged up on either quarter, within pistol-shot, each gun was fired point-blank as it was brought to bear.
Now the fight began in earnest. Grim, downright earnest. The crew of each gun loaded and fired as rapidly as possible, while the French poured in their broadsides with a coolness and precision that earned our respect, despite the unpleasant fact that they were wreaking havoc on us fore and aft. One of our guns had been dismounted within three minutes after of the enemy came alongside. The number of killed and wounded was growing heavier with every broadside we received. But if we were suffering severely we were repaying our punishment with interest. We could see that the hulls of our antagonists were torn, splintered and pierced all along the broad white streak that marked the line of ports. Some were knocked two into one and their yellow sides were broadly streaked with crimson as the blood drained away through their scuppers. Although they were fighting us two to one their advantage was more apparent than real. Running level with us as they were, they could only fight one of their batteries, while we were fighting both ours, and our guns, every one of them loaded with double-shot, were being better and more rapidly manned than theirs.
Any attempt to describe the fight in detail would be futile. Actually there’s very little to describe. We simply ran dead away to leeward, the three of us, fighting almost yardarm to yardarm, and exchanging broadsides as rapidly as the guns could be loaded and run out. After the first ten minutes of the fight there was little or nothing to be seen. The wind was dropping fast, and the three ships were wrapped in a dense white pall of smoke that effectively concealed everything that was going on farther away than some fifty feet or so.
The firing of the guns set up a continuous tremor of the ship throughout her entire structure, but the most impressive feature of the struggle was the noise. The incessant crash of the guns, the rending and splintering of timber as the enemy's shot tore its way through the frigate's sides. The shrieks and groans of the wounded and dying, cut into at frequent intervals by some sharp order from the captain or the first lieutenant and the curt commands of the captains of the guns: "Stop the vent! Run in! Sponge! Load! Run out!" There was the creak of the tackle blocks, the rumble of the gun carriages, the clatter of handspikes, the dull thud of the rammers driving home the shot, the rattling volleys of musketry from the marines on the poop, the occasional rending crash of a falling spar, and the terrific babble of the Frenchmen on either side of us, sounding high and clear in the occasional brief intervals when all the guns happened to be silent together for a moment. I can only compare it all to the horrible confusion raging through the disordered imagination of one in the clutches of a fiercely burning fever.
Our people fought grimly and in silence, save for an occasional cheer at some unusually successful shot, but the Frenchmen jabbered away incessantly, sometimes reviling us and shaking their fists at us through their open ports, and more often squabbling among themselves.
When the fight had lasted about half an hour, the wind dropped to a dead calm, and the Frenchman on our starboard side, who had pulled somewhat ahead of us, tried to lay himself across our bows before he lost way altogether. But we were too quick for him. His mainmast, which had been shot away in one of our broadsides, was towing alongside, nearly stopping him, so we did with him what he tried to do to us, driving square across his bows and as his bowsprit came thrusting in between our fore and main masts, we immediately lashed the spar to our main rigging. But, after all, it resolved itself into tit for tat, for the other French ship put his helm hard to port and just managed to drive square across our stern, where he raked us most unmercifully for fully five minutes, until he drove clear, bringing down all three of our masts. We could only retaliate with our stern-chasers, which we played on him with considerable effect; but what we lacked in the way of an adequate response we amply made up for to his consort. We raked her time after time with such damaging effect that in a few minutes her bows were battered into a mere mass of torn and splintered timber. Someone on board her cried out that they had struck, but as her marines kept firing on us from the poop while her main-deck guns continued to blaze away whenever she swung sufficiently for any of them to bear, no notice was taken of this cry and soon afterwards our skipper gave the order to cut her adrift, so that her people wouldn’t have a chance to board us as we would have had trouble defending ourselves in our weakened condition.
They had no thoughts of boarding us. On the contrary. Their chief concern was to escape the warm berth they had thrust themselves into, for a few minutes later, the fire on both sides having slackened somewhat, we saw that both ships had their boats in the water and were doing their best to tow away from us. Almost immediately afterwards the French ceased firing altogether. I’m sure our skipper, fire-eater that he was, was, thankful that the battle was over. He immediately followed suit, and gave the order for the men to leave the guns and to begin repairing the damages. This was no easy task. Not only were we completely dismasted, but the hull of the ship was terribly battered. The carpenter reported five feet of water in the hold and twenty-seven shot-holes between wind and water, apart from our other damages, which were sufficiently serious. Moreover, our "butcher's bill" was appallingly heavy. The list totaled up to no less than thirty-eight killed and one hundred and six wounded, out of a compliment of two hundred and eighty!
CHAPTER TWO
THE ALTHEA FOUNDERS
After the French stopped firing and moved out of the range of our weapons we paid little further attention on them. It was clear that our own condition was serious enough to challenge our energies to the limit. The first task, of course, fell to the carpenter and his mates to stop our leaks. It was a difficult undertaking due to the rapidly rising water in the hold. With every available man working away at the pumps, and using the entire available remainder of the crew in baling, we succeeded in plugging all the shot-holes and clearing the hold of water by noon, when the men were able to get their well-earned dinner. It was only then that we found time to look around and ask each other where the French were and what they were doing.
They were barely four miles off and close together. Bad as our situation was theirs was much worse. We could see that the frigate we had raked so unmercifully was sinking and settled so low in the water that the sills of her main-deck ports were awash and dipping with her every sluggish heave on the low and almost imperceptible swell. Her own boats and those of her consort were busily taking off her crew. Through my telescope I could see all that was going on, and I saw that the end of the gallant craft was so near as to render her disappearance was only a few minutes away.
Hungry as I was I had to remain on deck and see the last of her. It wasn’t a long wait. I’d scarcely made the decision when, through my glass, I saw the boats that hung around her shoving off hurriedly one after the other, until one only remained. Presently that one loaded down to her gunwales shoved off, too, and pulled as hastily as her overloaded condition would allow toward the other frigate. She had scarcely put half a dozen fathoms between herself and the sinking ship before the latter rolled heavily to port, slowly recovered herself, and then rolled still more heavily to starboard, completely burying the whole tier of her starboard ports as she did so. She hung like that for half a minute, settling visibly all the while. Finally she staggered once more to an even keel, but with her stern dipping deeper and deeper every second until her taffrail was buried. Her battered bows lifted slowly into the air, the angle of her decks rapidly growing steeper, she suddenly took a sternward plunge and vanished from sight in the midst of a sudden swirl of water. The men of the boat that had just left her saw their danger and put forth herculean efforts to avoid it, but they were too near to escape. The boat was caught and dragged back into the vortex created by the sinking ship, into which the little boat, too, disappeared. But a few seconds later I saw heads popping up above the water again, here and there. A couple of boats that had just unloaded their cargo of passengers dashed back to the rescue and were soon paddling among the little black spots that kept popping into view all round them. I waited until all had seemingly been picked up, and then went below to get my hands on what dinner might be left for me.
I bolted my meal and when I went on deck again the horizon away to the north and east was darkening to a light air from that quarter. It came gently, stealing along the glassy surface of the ocean, first in cat's-paws, then as a gentle breathing that caused the polished undulations to break into a tremor of laughing ripples, and finally into a light breeze, before which the surviving French frigate bore up with squared yards, leaving us unmolested.
After their meal the crew turned to again for a busy afternoon’s work, mainly clearing away the wreckage of our fallen spars. We saved as many of them as we could along with as much of our canvas and running gear as possible so it could be used in fitting the ship with a jury-rig. The men worked so well that by sunset we were able to cut adrift from the wreck of our lower masts and bear up in the wake of the Frenchman who had run out of sight in the south-western quarter.
Tired as the men were, there was no rest for them that night. We had to get the ship under canvas again without a moment's delay. Even though the shot-holes had all been plugged, it was found that the battered hull was still leaking so seriously that the pumps needed to be manned for a quarter of an hour's spell every two hours. The hands were kept at work, watch and watch, all through the night, and when day broke the next morning we had a pair of sheers rigged and on end, ready to rear the spars that had been prepared and fitted as lower masts into position. By the end of the day we were once more under sail, after a fashion, and heading on our course to the southwest.
Things went pretty well for the next two days except that the ship continued to make water so freely it was necessary the use of the pumps every two hours; at the middle and end of every watch. A fair breeze drove us along under our jury-canvas at five to six knots. Toward evening of the second day we noticed signs that the weather was changing. The sky to windward lost its rich tint of blue and became pallid and hard, streaked with mares' tails and flecked with small, smoky-looking, swift-flying clouds. As the setting sun neared the horizon it lost its radiance and became a mere shapeless blotch of angry red that finally seemed to dissolve and disappear in a broad bank of slate-hued vapor. The sea, too, changed color from the clear, steel-blue to the hue of indigo tinged with black. I heard the captain remark to Mr. Dawson that the glass was falling and that he feared we were in for a dirty night.
About the middle of the second dog-watch the wind lulled perceptibly and we had a sharp rain-squall. It soon breezed up again, the wind first coming in gusts and then in a strong breeze that, as the night wore on, steadily increased until it was blowing half a gale, with every indication of worse to come. The sea, too, rose rapidly, and came rushing down on our starboard quarter. High, steep, foam-crested waves caused the frigate to roll and tumble about under her jury-rig and short canvas. The prospects for the night were so dismal that I have to plead guilty to taking a selfish joy in the fact that it was my eight hours below.
When I went on deck at midnight I found the wind had increased to a whole gale. The poor, maimed Althea was wallowing along at about eight and a half knots over a high and confused sea. A dismal groaning of the timbers harmonized mournfully with the clank of the chain pumps and the swash of water swept nearly knee-deep across the decks. The hooker labored so heavily that she was leaking like a basket, and the pumps had to be manned throughout the watch without a break. Worst of all, Keene whispered to me, even with the pumps going constantly the water was slowly gaining. And so it continued all through the middle watch.
Everyone hoped the gale wouldn’t last long, but at eight bells the next morning the the glass was still falling. The wind, instead of moderating, blew harder than ever. What a dreary outlook it was when, swathed in oilskins, I passed through the hatchway and stepped out on deck. The sky was entirely veiled by an unbroken mass of dark, purplish, slate- colored cloud that was almost black in its deeper shadows, with long, tattered streamers of dirty whitish vapor scurrying wildly across it. A heavy, leaden-hued, white-crested, foam-flecked sea was running, and in the midst of the picture was the poor crippled frigate, rolling and laboring and staggering onward like a wounded sea-bird under her jury- spars and spray-darkened canvas. A miniature ocean washed constantly across the heaving deck. A crowd of panting, straining, half-naked men clustering about the pumps while others were busy passing buckets up and down through the hatchways. The whole scene was set to the dismal harmony of howling wind, hissing spray, the wearisome and incessant wash of water, and the groaning and complaining sounds of the laboring hull. The skipper and the first lieutenant were pacing the weather side of the poop together in intense conversation, and at each turn in their walk they both paused for an instant, as if by mutual consent, to cast a worried look to windward.
When I saw the carpenter coming along the deck with the sounding rod in his hand. I intercepted him at the foot of the poop ladder.
"Well, Chips,” I said, “what’s the best news you have to tell us?"
"The best news?" the carpenter echoed, with a solemn shake of the head; "there ain't no best, Mr. Courtenay, it's all worst, sir. There's over four foot of water in the hold now, and it's gainin' on us at the rate of five inches an hour; and if this here gale don't break pretty quick I won't answer for the consequences!"
He went to make his report to the skipper.
This was definitely bad news, especially for the exhausted men who, by grim necessity, had to labor without a break at the back-breaking business of working the pumps, but I wasn’t worried about our ultimate safety. Five inches of water an hour was a formidable gain in spite of all the pumping and baling, yet it would take many hours at that rate to reduce the frigate to a water-logged condition. Before then the gale would certainly blow itself out, the laboring and straining of the ship would cease, the leak would be brought under control again, and all would be well.
At noon, the gale showing no signs of easing, and the captain gave orders for the upper-deck guns to be thrown overboard. I began to realize our condition was such that it could easily become critical. About half an hour before sunset, orders were given to throw the main-deck guns overboard, and it was obvious that matters were becoming extremely serious.
As night approached, the gale seemed to increase in strength, and the sea was noticeably heavier. The worst of it was that there was no indication of an approaching change for the better. As for the poor Althea, she didn’t labor quite so heavily now that she was relieved of the weight of her guns, but the water in the hold still gained steadily on the pumps, and the more experienced hands were beginning to hint at the possibility of our being forced to leave her and take to the boats. These hints were somewhat confirmed when, shortly after the beginning of the first watch, the carpenter and his mates were seen making the rounds of the boats and examining their condition with the aid of lanterns. Despite these omens, the men stuck resolutely to the pumps and baling all through the night with the captain and the first lieutenant encouraging them by their presence throughout the long, dismal, dreary hours of darkness.
About three bells in the morning watch the welcome news spread throughout the ship that the barometer had finally begun to rise again, and with the approach of dawn it became apparent that the gale was breaking. The sky to windward showed signs of clearing, and hope once more sprang up among us. The men, though still willing and even eager to continue the heart-breaking work of pumping and baling, were utterly worn out by this time. The water in the hold was steadily and relentlessly gaining on them, despite their most desperate efforts. By breakfast-time it was obvious to everybody that the poor old Althea was a doomed ship!
If any of us had doubts about this they were quickly dispelled. After breakfast the order was passed to knock off baling and the men were at once set to work under the first and second lieutenants. One party set about preparing a sea anchor, and the other started putting provisions on the boats and getting them ready to be launched. I was in the first lieutenant's party preparing the sea anchor. The idea impressed me as being rather ingenious. Since the gale sprang up so soon after our action with the Frenchmen our jury-rig was very primitive and incomplete. It would let us run fairly well before the wind but we couldn’t lie-to. That's why we needed a sea anchor, now that it was necessary for us to launch the boats in heavy weather.
The sea anchor was made from an old fore-topsail bent to a couple of booms. The head of the sail was bent to one of the booms with seizings, in much the same way it would have been bent to a topsail yard, while the clews were securely lashed to the extremities of the other boom. Then a crow’s-foot was made from two pieces of stout hawser with an eye in the center of them so a cable could be attached. The lower boom was weighted with a number of pigs of iron ballast, as well as our stream anchor. The starboard anchor cable was paid out and passed along aft, outside the fore rigging. The end was then brought inboard and bent on to the crow’s-foot. Everything was made as compactly as possible with lashings. Then, using tackles aloft, it was hoisted clear of the bulwarks and lowered over the side. The lashings were cut and the sail dropped into the water opening out as it did so. When the lower boom sank from the weights attached to it, a broad surface was exposed, acting as a very efficient sea anchor. At the moment when everything was ready to be let go, the ship's helm was put hard over, bringing her broad-side- to the sea. As the ship was driven to leeward, a strain was put on her cable that at once fetched her up heading into the wind. Now it was simply a matter of bending a spring onto the cable and heaving the ship broadside to the sea once more. Riding in this position she offered an excellent sheltering lee in which to launch our boats. Without this protection the boats would inevitably have been swamped.
By the time all this was done the boats were ready to be launched and the captain gave orders for this to be done at once. The heaviest of the boats was the ship’s launch and the most difficult to get into the water. I wasn’t sure our jury spars would be able to support the weight, but, by staying them well, the difficult job was accomplished. When the worst of our wounded were brought on deck and carefully lowered over the side into the boat, the doctor, with his instruments and medicine-chest, was there to receive them. As soon as the launch had received her complement, it was veered away to leeward at the end of a long line, but still under the shelter of the ship's hull making room for the first cutter.
The rest of the boats followed in succession. In spite of our desperate straits the men acted with order and discipline. Finally only the captain's gig remained on deck, and I was placed in command of it. The usual complement for this boat was six men, in addition to the coxswain; but in order that the wounded, who had been placed in the launch and the first and second cutters, might be as little crowded as possible, the remainder of the boats took on more than their full complement. My crew now numbered ten, all told, instead of seven. We were the last boat to leave the ship.
The skipper had gone below to his cabin for some reason at the last minute; and with the bustle and excitement of getting the men out of the ship now over, I found it trying work to stand there in the gangway, waiting for the captain to come back on deck. The ship was sinking and liable to go down under our feet at any minute. She had settled so low in the water that she rolled her closed main-deck ports completely under with every sickly lurch on the still heavy sea that was continuously breaking over her now and the water could be distinctly heard washing about down below.
Finally the skipper came out of his cabin, bearing in his hand a large japanned tin box.
"Jump down, Mr. Courtenay, and stand by to take this box from me." Down the side I went, not needing to be told a second time. The box was carefully passed down and I stowed it away in the stern-sheets. When this was done I looked up at the ship. Captain Harrison was standing in the gangway with his hat in his hand, looking wistfully and sorrowfully along the deserted decks and aloft at the jury-spars that, with their rigging, so pathetically expressed the idea of a mortally wounded creature gallantly but hopelessly struggling against the death that was inexorably drawing near. Some such fancy perhaps suggested itself to him, for I distinctly saw him dash his hand across his eyes more than once. At length he turned, descended the side-ladder, and, watching his chance, sprang lightly into the boat.
"Shove off, Mr. Courtenay!" he ordered, as he wrapped himself in his boat cloak.
"Shove off!" I repeated in turn, and away we went. The ship could founder at any moment. Indeed, it was a wonder that she had remained afloat so long. She had sunk so deep that her channels were completely buried, only showing when she rolled heavily away from us. Poor old barkie! What a desolate and forlorn thing she was as we pulled away from her. Little more than her bulwarks remained above water. The seas continually broke over her bows as she rolled and plunged with sickening sluggishness to the great ridges of steel-grey water that relentlessly swooped down on her. With her bows, pinned down by the weight of water in her hull, she seemed exhausted by the hopeless struggle and seemed determined to take the final plunge and end it all. Again and again I thought she was gone, but again and again she emerged wearily and heavily out of the water that sought to overwhelm her. But finally an unusually heavy sea caught her with her bows pinned down after a plunge into the trough, clear, green, and unbroken it brimmed to her figure-head and poured in a foaming cataract over her bows, sweeping the whole length of her from stem to stern until her hull was completely buried. As the wave left her, her bows were still submerged, and a moment later it was obvious that the end had come and she was taking her final plunge.
"There she goes!" shouted one of the men, and as he uttered the words the captain rose to his feet in the stern-sheets and doffed his hat, as though he was standing beside the grave of a dear friend, watching the brave old barkie as, with her stern gradually rising high, she slid slowly and solemnly out of sight. The occupants of the boats gave her a parting cheer as she vanished. The captain stood motionless until the swirl that marked her grave had disappeared. Then he replaced his hat, resumed his seat, and remarked, "Give way, men! Mr. Courtenay, be good enough to put me aboard the launch, if you please."
CHAPTER THREE
THE GIG IS CAUGHT IN A HURRICANE
When we reached the launch the captain's first concern was for the well-being and comfort of the wounded men aboard, but the doctor had everything in good order, and they were as comfortable as they could be under the circumstances. The master, meanwhile, had been busy establishing the exact latitude and longitude of the spot where the frigate had gone down, and he now gave the result to the captain, who gave orders for the boats to steer southwest on a speed-trial for the day. The leading boat was to heave-to at sunset and wait for the rest to close. I hadn’t the remotest notion as to the meaning of this strange order, but my obvious duty was to execute it, so I raised sail on the gig. In a few minutes it was easy to see that we were the fastest boat of the whole squadron.
This wasn’t so surprising as the gig was not an ordinary service boat. She was the captain's own private property, and had been built to order from his own design, with a special view to the development of exceptional sailing powers. Boat-sailing was quite a hobby with him. She was a splendid craft of her kind. She was thirty feet long, and had a beam of six feet. She pulled six oars. She was a beautiful model of the whale-boat type, double-ended, with quite an unusual amount of sheer fore and aft, giving her a fine, bold, buoyant bow and stern. Moreover, these were covered in with light turtle-back decks. Forward the deck measured six feet in length, while the after turtle-back measured five feet from the stern-post. She was fitted with a keel nine inches deep amidships, tapering off to four inches at each end. She was rigged as a schooner, with standing fore and main lug and a small jib. With her ordinary crew on board and sitting to windward she required no ballast even in a fresh breeze. Small wonder, then, that with such a boat under us, we had run the rest of the fleet out of sight by midday. The wind was still blowing strong, although it was moderating rapidly.
The first lieutenant, like the captain, was fond of inventing and designing things, but his specialty took the form of logs for determining the speed of craft through the water, and in the course of his experiments he had provided each of the frigate's boats with an ingenious spring arrangement which, attached to an ordinary fishing-line with a lead weight secured to its outer end, was continuously towed astern and registered the speed of the boat with near perfect accuracy.
The day passed uneventfully. The wind moderated steadily all the time, and the sun broke through before noon so I was able to work out my latitude. The sea, too, was going down, and when the sun set that night the sky wore a very promising fine-weather aspect. As the sun vanished below the horizon we rounded the boat to, lowered our sails, and moored her to a sea anchor made of the oars lashed together in a bundle with the painter bent on to them. When it fell dark, we lit a lantern and hoisted it to our fore-masthead as a beacon for the other boats to steer towards. The gig had behaved splendidly all through the day, never shipping so much as a single drop of water, and now that she was riding to her oars she took the sea so easily and buoyantly that I felt as safe as I had ever done aboard the poor old Althea herself, and without a second thought allowed all hands to turn in as best they could in the bottom of the boat while keeping a lookout myself until the other boats joined our company.
The first boat to reach us was the service gig in charge of Mr. Flowers, the third lieutenant. She came up alongside and hove-to about two hours after sunset. Soon afterwards Mr. Flowers followed our example and set out his own sea anchor. Then came the first and second cutters commanded by the first and second lieutenants. The first cutter arrived about an hour after Mr. Flowers, while the second appeared about a quarter of an hour later. The launch followed about half an hour after the second cutter which surprised no one since it was rather deep, due to the very generous supply of water the doctor had insisted on carrying for the comfort of the wounded. About three-quarters of an hour later, the jolly-boat, in charge of the boatswain joined our little fleet and finally the dinghy, carrying four hands and in charge of my friend and fellow-midshipman, Jack Keene, turned up close to midnight.
Long before this, however, we had each reported to the master in the launch the distance we’d navigated up to sunset. With this data he worked up a table showing the ratio of the speeds of the several boats which would let the officer in charge of each one estimate, with some degree of accuracy, the position of each of the other boats at any given moment, so long, that is to say, as the wind held fair enough to allow the boats to steer a given course. A copy of the table was given to the officer in charge of each boat.
The captain ordered Mr. Flowers to make the best of his way to Barbados, with instructions to report the loss of the frigate immediately on his arrival and to request the senior naval officer there that some sort of craft should be dispatched in search of the other boats. I was told to make for Bermuda with similar instructions. We each carried a written as well as a verbal message to the senior naval officer of the port we were bound for and it was obvious that if we encountered a friendly craft en route, and could persuade her to undertake the search, it would be so much the better.
Having received these instructions, we received young Lindsay out of the launch which was a trifle over-crowded, I made sail at once. The men of the other boats gave us a farewell cheer as we left. They, too, began making sail and taking up a west-south-westerly course, which would give them about an even chance of being picked up by a craft either from Bermuda or Barbados. If that didn’t happen they still stood a very good chance of making one or another of the Leeward Islands.
For the rest of that night we sped onward with the wind about two points free and made excellent progress. With the height of the waves and the strength of wind there were moments when sailing the boat was wonderfully exciting and great fun. Lindsay and I relieved each other at the tiller, watch and watch. We kept one man forward to maintain a lookout ahead and to leeward. The rest of the men were so thoroughly worn out by their long spell at the pumps that rest and sleep was even more important for them than it was for Lindsey or myself.
By sunrise the wind had dwindled away to a topgallant breeze. With a matching decrease in wave height we were able to shake out the double reef we had in the sails. The look of the sky was more promising than it had been for several days and the weather was as good as we could possibly wish for. The wind was just fresh enough to send us along at top speed, gunwale-to, under whole canvas, while the sea was diminishing rapidly. But, as the day wore on, the improvement in the weather went just a little too far. The wind continued to drop and by noon we were sliding over the long, mountainous swell at barely four knots.