The letter was from a friend of his, and told of the arrival at Bermuda of Jack's ship, and all Jack's doings on sh.o.r.e; and how the _Ocean Pride_ was ordered home; and how, if things turned out well, and she wasn't captured by a Frenchman five times her size, she might be expected back in a fortnight.

"O dear, dear Mr. Richards, I'm so happy; I mean, you know, that Flora will--"

"Yes, yes; Flora, of course, you sly little puss. There! never blush; I guess I know your secret--Jack, eh?--Ah, Sir Digby, you and I are too old to understand the tender pa.s.sion, aren't we?"

"Yes--that is, no. You better speak for yourself, sir. I--I--I believe I have an appointment--I--Good evening, Miss Keane."

Sir Digby Auld's exit was not an impressive one.

With an amused look on his face, Richards watched him till the closed door shut out the view; then he stretched out his st.u.r.dy legs, threw himself back in his chair, and laughed until the rafters rang.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BATTLE AND THE BREEZE.

"The deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave."

"Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed; The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast."

The good ship _Ocean Pride_ was a twenty-gun frigate, with a crew of nearly three hundred as brave fellows as ever waved cutla.s.s or pulled lanyard for the honour and defence of their native land. In January 1793, when the great war broke out between Britain and France, she was homeward bound from the West Indies and South America, where she had been cruising, and had hardly reached Portsmouth ere she received orders to take in additional stores and proceed forthwith to sea again. No leave was granted to men or officers. The sick were simply bundled on sh.o.r.e, additional men shipped, and she was off again within eight-and-forty hours of her arrival in port.

For the _Ocean Pride_ was a crack cruiser for those brave days, in which seamen were sailors and seamanship a fine art.

Sir Sidney Salt was not only brave, but daring almost to a fault. He believed most thoroughly and completely in the supremacy of British seamen to French; but discipline and drill he looked upon as his mainstays, fore and aft. His success had proved that he was correct in system, not once but often during the past twelve months; for more than one of the enemy's ships, larger even than his own, had been destroyed or taken by the _Ocean Pride_ and her gallant crew. Boat actions had been fought also: she had been engaged with batteries; her men had cut out prizes from under the very guns of these; and they had fought on sh.o.r.e too, side by side with marines and soldiers.

"It would be but the fortune of war," said Sir Sidney to his commander as they stood together on the quarter-deck, "were this frigate, that is now bearing down so boldly on us, to destroy us."

The commander grasped his sword with his left hand, and his features were grimly set as he made reply,--

"True, sir, true. It would be but the fortune of war. Well, she may destroy us; she shall never take us."

"Boldly spoken, Miller. It would indeed be a disgrace to lower our flag to a ship of about our own size, and that ship a Frenchman. But see how boldly she carries herself. Top-gallant sails down; all trim fore and aft; guns run out; and hark! was that a cheer?"

"Yes, sir; a French one."

"Ha, ha, ha! Well, they shall hear a British one anon. Depend upon it, Miller, that frigate has a consort, and she is not far off at this moment, and--"

A puff of white smoke, with a point of fire in its centre, was now seen curling round the enemy's bows, and the roar of the cannon interrupted the captain's speech, and next moment a shot came ricochetting across from wave-top to wave-top, and pa.s.sed harmlessly by on the starboard side.

"The fellow is beginning to be afraid already," said Miller, laughing.

"Yes; and depend upon it that shot was meant to keep his courage up.

But if he thinks we are to have a long-range duel he is miserably mistaken. Set the fore-soldier, Miller. We'll walk to windward of him if we can."

The _Ocean Pride_ was now more closely hauled, and seemed for a time to bear away from the foe. The movement evidently puzzled the Frenchman.

Was John Bull sheering off? Would he presently put round on the other tack and show them a clean pair of heels?

Shot after shot came tearing over the water, and when one went clean through the _Pride's_ rigging and was not even responded to, the excitement on board the Frenchman grew frantic.

The two vessels were now barely a quarter of a mile from each other, when suddenly round came the _Pride_ till she was almost dead before the wind, and began bearing down upon the _Desespere_--for that proved to be her name--like a whirlwind, and almost right before the wind. The battle was about to begin in deadly earnest.

And none too soon; for at that moment a cry of sail in sight was heard from the maintop-mast cross-trees.

"That's her consort," cried Sidney Salt. "Now, men," he shouted, "be steady and cool; I need not say be brave. We may soon be engaged against two, unless we gain the day before that frigate's consort puts in an appearance."

A brave British cheer was the only reply to the captain's short but pithy speech. The cheer was feebly answered by the enemy, who from her uncertain movements was evidently puzzled at the apparent change in Sir Sidney Salt's tactics. It seemed to those on board the _Pride_ that contrary orders had been issued; for she first luffed, as if to beat to windward and fight the British frigate beam to beam. Perhaps the courage of her commander suddenly failed him, and he came to the conclusion that he ought to ward off the real tug of war till his consort came up.

Anyhow, just as a shot carried away a piece of her jib-boom she attempted to wear and fill, and in doing so missed stays.

Now came Sir Sidney's chance, and quick as arrow from bow he took advantage of it. In less time almost than it takes me to describe it, he had cut across the enemy's stern, and the well-aimed broadside that raked the _Desespere_ from aft to fore, almost completely placed her at the mercy of the British frigate. The wheel was shot away, the rudder a wreck, the mainmast went by the board, and both dead and wounded lay upon the decks.

There were still men on board her, however, and brave ones too, to man and fight her guns; and as the _Desespere_ paid off, seemingly of her own accord, the _Pride_ received her starboard broadside just as she put about to close with her a.s.sailant. This broadside was fairly effective: it silenced a gun, killed three men, and wounded five.

The _Desespere_ had got round far enough to save herself from being raked a second time. Broadsides were given and received; but as soon as the _Pride_ had tacked again, it was evident she meant forcing the fighting in the good old English fashion first introduced by bold Hubert de Burgh.

Down came the _Pride_. She would not be denied. One wild cheer, one more terrible broadside as her guns almost touched those of the enemy, then grappling irons were thrown, and the vessels literally lashed together.

"Away, boarders!"

"Hurrah, lads!"

The last shout came from bold young Grant Mackenzie, as sword in hand, and followed by the men who had so bravely fought his guns, he sprang nimbly across the bulwarks and leaped down amongst the foe. To describe the _melee_ that followed would be impossible--the shouts of victory and shrieks of pain, the cracking of pistols, the clashing of sword and cutla.s.s, the shivering of pikes, the rattle of musketry from the tops.

It was all like a terrible dream to every one concerned in it; for each British sailor or marine seemed to fight but for himself. Then there were the final stampede, the hauling down of the flag, and the surrender of the wounded captain to Sir Sidney Salt. All must have pa.s.sed in seven minutes or less.

The loss on both sides was terrible to contemplate. Twenty of our brave lads would never fight again, thirty more were wounded, while in killed and wounded the enemy's loss was well-nigh one hundred.

There was no time to lose now, however. The enemy's consort was but five or six miles off, and coming down hand over hand. So the Frenchmen were speedily disarmed. The dead were left where they lay, the wounded and prisoners hurried on board the _Pride_. Then a train was laid to the _Desespere's_ magazine, and just as all sail was hoisted on board the British frigate, the time fuse was lighted. The _Pride_ must fly now; to fight another ship, lumbered as she was with wounded and prisoners, would have been insanity.

On comes the enemy's consort. Away flies the _Ocean Pride_. The men on the British ship still stand to their guns; for if they are overhauled, they mean to fight and fall.

But see, the two French frigates are now abreast, and the consort hauls her main-yard aback, and an armed boat leaves her side.

Nearer and nearer she rows. Those that behold her on board the _Pride_ hold their breath. They know she is rowing to destruction.

It is awful, and even brave Sir Sidney turns a little as the boat reaches the doomed ship, and the men are seen clambering up her sides.

At that dreadful moment a huge cloud of smoke, balloon shaped, rises high above the _Desespere_, a sheet of flame shoots into the air, and yards, and masts, and spars, and men are seen high above all. A sound far louder than thunder shakes the _Pride_ from stern to stern. Sir Sidney presses his hand to his eyes and holds it there for a time. When he takes it away at last the _Desespere_ has gone. A few blackened spars bob here and there on the waves, and the cloud rolls far to leeward, but the silence of death is over all the scene.

Tom Fairlie sat late that night beside poor Jack's couch. Jack's brow was bound in blood-wet bandages, his eyes were closed.

"O doctor," said Tom anxiously, as his eyes sought those of Surgeon M'Hearty, "is there _no_ hope? Surely Jack will live?"

"Jack's in G.o.d's good hands, lad," was the solemn reply, "and I am but his servant."