Mr Midshipman Easy (41 page)

“That's all very well, Gascoigne; but suppose the purse you picked up to be mine, then I have a right to it, although you found it; he is my bird by right, and not yours.”

“But I have another observation to make, which is very important; he is a blood relation of Agnes, and if his blood is on your hands, however much he may deserve it, depend upon it, it will be raised as an obstacle to your union: think of that.”

Jack paused in thought.

“And let me induce you by another remark—you will confer on me a most particular favour.”

“It will be the greatest I ever could,” replied Jack, “and you ought to be eternally indebted to me.”

“I trust to make him
eternally
indebted to me,” replied Gascoigne.

Sailors, if going into action, always begin to reckon what their share of the prize-money may be, before a shot is fired—our two midshipmen appear in this instance to be doing the same.

The point having been conceded to Gascoigne, Jack went to the inn where Don Silvio had mentioned that he had taken up his quarters, and sending up his card, followed the waiter up-stairs. The waiter opened the door, and presented the card.

“Very well,” replied Don Silvio, “you can go down and show him up.”

Jack hearing these words, did not wait, but walked in, where he found Don Silvio very busy removing a hone upon which he had been whetting a sharp double-edged stiletto. The Sicilian walked up to him, offering his hand with apparent cordiality; but Jack, with a look of defiance, said, “Don Silvio, we know you; my object now is to demand, on the part of my friend, the satisfaction which you do not deserve, but which our indignation at your second attempt upon Don Rebiera induces us to offer; for if you escape from him you will have to do with me. On the whole, Don Silvio, you may think yourself fortunate, for it is better to die by the hands of a gentleman than by the gibbet.”

Don Silvio turned deadly pale—his hand sought his stiletto in his bosom, but it was remaining on the table; at last he replied, “Be it so—I will meet you when and where you please, in an hour from this.”

Jack mentioned the place of meeting, and then walked out of the room. He and Gascoigne then hastened to the quarters of an officer they were intimate with, and having provided themselves with the necessary fire-arms, were at the spot before the time. They waited for him till the exact time, yet no Don Silvio made his appearance.

“He's off,” observed Gascoigne; “the villain has escaped us.”

Half an hour over the time had passed, and still there was no sign of Gascoigne's antagonist, but one of the governor's aides-de-camp was seen walking up to them.

“Here's Atkins,” observed Jack; “that's unlucky, but he won't interfere.”

“Gentlemen,” said Atkins, taking off his hat with much solemnity, “the governor particularly wishes to speak to you both.”

“We can't come just now—we'll be there in half an hour.”

“You must be there in three minutes, both of you. Excuse me, my orders are positive—and to see them duly executed I have a corporal and a file of men behind that wall—of course, if you walk with me quietly there will be no occasion to send for their assistance.”

“This is confounded tyranny,” cried Jack. “Well may they call him ‘King Tom.'”

“Yes,” replied Atkins, “and he governs here in
‘rey absoluto'
—so come along.”

Jack and Gascoigne, having no choice, walked up to the government house, where they found Sir Thomas in the veranda, which commanded a view of the harbour and offing.

“Come here, young gentleman,” said the governor, in a severe tone; “do you see that vessel about two miles clear of the port? Don Silvio is in it, going back to Sicily under a guard. And now remember what I say as a maxim through life. Fight with gentlemen, if you must fight, but not with villains and murderers. By ‘
consenting
' to fight with a
‘blackguard,'
you as much disparage your cloth and compromise your own characters, as by refusing to give satisfaction to a ‘
gentleman.
' There, go away, for I'm angry with you, and don't let me see you till dinner-time.”

BUT BEFORE they met the governor at his table, a sloop of war arrived from the fleet with despatches from the commander-in-chief. Those to Captain Wilson required him to make all possible haste in fitting, and then to proceed and cruise off Corsica, to fall in with a Russian frigate which was on that coast; if not there, to obtain intelligence, and to follow her wherever she might be.

All was now bustle and activity on board of the
Aurora.
Captain Wilson, with our hero and Gascoigne, quitted the governor's house and repaired on board, where they remained day and night. On the third day the
Aurora
was complete and ready for sea, and about noon sailed out of Valette Harbour.

In a week the
Aurora
had gained the coast of Corsica, and there was no need of sending look-out men to the mast-head, for one of the officers or midshipmen was there from daylight to dark. She ran up the coast to the northward without seeing the object of her pursuit, or obtaining any intelligence.

Calms and light airs detained them for a few days, when a northerly breeze enabled them to run down the eastern side of the island. It was on the eighteenth day after they had quitted Malta, that a large vessel was seen ahead about eighteen miles off. The men were then at breakfast.

“A frigate, Captain Wilson, I'm sure of it,” said Mr Hawkins, the chaplain, whose anxiety induced him to go to the mast-head.

“How is she steering?”

“The same way as we are.”

The
Aurora
was under all possible sail, and when the hands were piped to dinner, it was thought that they had neared the chase about two miles.

“This will be a long chase; a stern chase always is,” observed Martin to Gascoigne.

“Yes, I'm afraid so—but I'm more afraid of her escaping.”

“That's not unlikely either,” replied the mate.

“You are one of Job's comforters, Martin,” replied Gascoigne.

“Then I'm not so often disappointed,” replied the mate. “There are two points to be ascertained; the first is, whether we shall come up with the vessel or lose her—the next is, if we do come up with her, whether she is the vessel we are looking for.”

“You seem very indifferent about it.”

“Indeed I am not: I am the oldest passed midshipman in the ship, and the taking of the frigate will, if I live, give me my promotion, and if I'm killed, I shan't want it. But I've been so often disappointed, that I now make sure of nothing until I have it.”

“Well, for your sake, Martin, I will still hope that the vessel is the one we seek, that we shall not be killed, and that you will gain your promotion.”

“I thank you, Easy—I wish I was one that dared hope as you do.”

Poor Martin! he had long felt how bitter it was to meet disappointment upon disappointment. How true it is, that hope deferred maketh the heart sick! and his anticipations of early days, the buoyant calculations of youth, had been one by one crushed, and now, having served his time nearly three times over, the reaction had become too painful, and, as he truly said, he dared not hope: still his temper was not soured, but chastened.

“She has hauled her wind, sir,” hailed the second lieutenant from the topmast cross-trees.

“What think you of that, Martin?” observed Jack.

“Either that she is an English frigate, or that she is a vessel commanded by a very brave fellow, and well-manned.”

It was sunset before the
Aurora
had arrived within two miles of the vessel; the private signal had been thrown out, but had not been answered, either because it was too dark to make out the colours of the flags, or that these were unknown to an enemy. The stranger had hoisted the English colours, but that was no satisfactory proof of her being a friend; and just before dark she had put her head towards the
Aurora,
who had now come stem down to her. The ship's company of the
Aurora
were all at their quarters, as a few minutes would now decide whether they had to deal with a friend or foe.

There is no situation perhaps more difficult, and demanding so much caution, as the occasional meeting with a doubtful ship. On the one hand, it being necessary to be fully prepared, and not allow the enemy the advantage which may be derived from your inaction; and on the other, the necessity of prudence, that you may not assault your friends and countrymen. Captain Wilson had hoisted the private night-signal, but here again it was difficult, from his sails intervening, for the other ship to make it out. Before the two frigates were within three cables' length of each other, Captain Wilson, determined that there should be no mistake from any want of precaution on his part, hauled up his courses and brailed up his driver that the night-signal might be clearly seen.

Lights were seen abaft on the quarter-deck of the other vessel, as if they were about to answer, but she continued to keep the
Aurora
to leeward at about half a cable's length, and as the foremost guns of each vessel were abreast of each other, hailed in English—

“Ship ahoy! what ship's that?”

“His Majesty's ship
Aurora,
” replied Captain Wilson, who stood on the hammocks. “What ship's that?”

By this time the other frigate had passed half her length clear of the beam of the
Aurora,
and at the same time that a pretended reply of “His Majesty's ship—” was heard, a broadside from her guns, which had been trained aft on purpose, was poured into the
Aurora,
and at so short a distance, doing considerable execution. The crew of the
Aurora,
hearing the hailing in English, and the vessel passing them apparently without firing, had imagined that she had been one of their own cruisers. The captains of the guns had dropped their lanyards in disappointment, and the silence which had been maintained as the two vessels met was just breaking up in various ways of lamentation at their bad luck, when the broadside was poured in, thundering in their ears, and the ripping and tearing of the beams and planks astonished their senses. Many were carried down below, but it was difficult to say whether indignation at the enemy's ruse, or satisfaction at discovering that they were not called to quarters in vain, most predominated. At all events, it was answered by three voluntary cheers, which drowned the cries of those who were being assisted to the cockpit.

“Man the larboard guns and about ship!” cried Captain Wilson, leaping off the hammocks. “Look out, my lads, and rake her in stays! We'll pay him off for that foul play before we've done with him. Look out, my lads, and take good aim as she pays round.”

The
Aurora
was put about, and her broadside poured into the stern of the Russian frigate—for such she was. It was almost dark, but the enemy, who appeared as anxious as the
Aurora
to come to action, hauled up her courses to await her coming up. In five minutes the two vessels were alongside, exchanging murderous broadsides at little more than pistol-shot— running slowly in for the land, then not more than five miles distant. The skin-clad mountaineers of Corsica were aroused by the furious cannonading, watching the incessant flashes of the guns, and listening to their reverberating roar.

After half-an-hour's fierce combat, during which the fire of both vessels was kept up with undiminished vigour, Captain Wilson went down on the main-deck, and himself separately pointed each gun after it was loaded; those amidships being direct for the main-channels of the enemy's ship, while those abaft the beam were gradually trained more and more forward, and those before the beam more and more aft, so as to throw all their shot nearly into one focus, giving directions that they were all to be fired at once, at the word of command. The enemy, not aware of the cause of the delay, imagined that the fire of the
Aurora
had slackened, and loudly cheered. At the word given, the broadside was poured in, and, dark as it was, the effects from it were evident. Two of the midship ports of the antagonist were blown into one, and her mainmast was seen to totter, and then to fall over the side. The
Aurora
then set her courses, which had been hauled up, and shooting ahead, took up a raking position, while the Russian was still hampered with her wreck, and poured in grape and cannister from her upper deck carronades to impede their labours on deck, while she continued her destructive fire upon the hull of the enemy from the main-deck battery.

The moon now burst out from a low bank of clouds, and enabled them to accomplish their work with more precision. In a quarter of an hour the Russian was totally dismasted, and Captain Wilson ordered half of his remaining ship's company to repair the damages, which had been most severe, whilst the larboard men at quarters continued the fire from the maindeck. The enemy continued to return the fire from four guns, two on each of her decks, which she could still make bear upon the
Aurora;
but after some time even these ceased, either from the men having deserted them, or from their being dismounted. Observing that the fire from her antagonist had ceased, the
Aurora
also discontinued, and the jolly-boat astern being still uninjured, the second lieutenant was deputed to pull alongside of the frigate to ascertain if she had struck.

The beams of the bright moon silvered the rippling water as the boat shoved off; and Captain Wilson and his officers, who were still unhurt, leant over the shattered sides of the
Aurora,
waiting for a reply: suddenly the silence of the night was broken upon by a loud splash from the bows of the Russian frigate, then about three cables' length distant.

“What could that be?” cried Captain Wilson. “Her anchor's down. Mr Jones, a lead over the side, and see what water we have.”