Part 11 (2/2)

”Then keep her as she goes, master,” said Captain Garland; and, putting his speaking trumpet to his mouth, he shouted, ”This is His Britannic Majesty's s.h.i.+p, the _Ruby_, and I beg to know the name of yours, and the King you serve?”

”This is _La Belle Citoyenne_, belonging to the Republican Government of France,” was the answer. To which was added by several men in chorus, ”We serve no King--no, no!”

”But we do!” cried Paul Pringle. ”And right glad we are to serve him.

Hurrah, boys, for King George and Old England! Hurrah! hurrah!”

Three hearty cheers burst from the throats of the British tars.

Scarcely had they ceased when the French Captain, who was still standing in the gangway, was seen to hold aloft in his hand a _bonnet rouge_, the red cap of liberty, and briefly to address his crew in terms of considerable animation. ”Vive la Nation!” he exclaimed. ”Vive la Republique!” answered the crew.

The French Captain, having finished his speech, handed the red cap to one of the seamen, who ran with it up the rigging and screwed it on to the masthead, where it was evident that a hole was prepared to receive the screw. The marines might easily have picked him off; but no one even thought of attempting to injure the brave fellow.

The _Ruby_ was now well up with her opponent, and the two Captains, taking off their hats, made the politest of bows to each other, the Frenchman, however, beating the English Captain in the vehemence of his flourish. Both then returned to the quarterdeck. The moment to begin the fight had arrived. Captain Garland, who had kept his hat in his hand, raised it to his head. Every eye was on him. All knew the signal he had promised to give. For an instant not a sound was heard; and then there burst forth the loud continued roar of the broadsides of the two frigates as gun after gun of the _Ruby_, beginning at the foremost, was brought to bear on her antagonist, responded to by the after-guns of the Frenchman. And now the two frigates ran on before the wind, so close together that the combatants could see their opponents' faces, pouring their shot into each other's sides. Fast as the British seamen could run in their guns, they loaded, and, straining every muscle, they were rapidly run out again and fired. While round-shot and grapeshot and canister were sent rattling in through the enemy's ports and across her decks, about her rigging, or tearing open her sides, she gallantly returned the compliment with much the same coin. Many of the bold seamen on board the _Ruby_ were cut down.

A shot struck two men working the gun nearest to where Gipples was sitting on his powder tub in terror unspeakable, not knowing what moment he might be hit. On came the mangled forms of the poor fellows, writhing in their dying agonies, directly against him. He and his tub were upset, and he was sent, covered with their blood, sprawling on the deck.

”Oh, I'm killed! I'm killed!” he shrieked out, and, overcome with terror, did not attempt to rise.

Two of the idlers, whose duty it was to carry the wounded below and throw the dead overboard,--the common custom in those days of disposing of them,--hearing him shriek out, thought that he had also been killed.

Having disposed of the first two men who really were dead, they lifted him up and were about to throw him overboard, when, discovering how he was to be treated, he groaned out, ”Oh, I ain't dead yet--take me below.” The men having been ordered to take all the wounded to the c.o.c.kpit, immediately carried him below, and, placing him on the surgeon's table, one of them said:

”Here's a poor fellow, gentlemen, as seems very bad; but I don't know whether he wants an arm or a leg cut off most.”

”I hope that he may escape without losing either,” said the surgeon, lifting up Gipples and preparing to strip him to examine his wound.

”Where are you hit, my man?”

”Oh, oh, sir! all over, sir!” answered Gregory.

The surgeon, who had noted Gipples for some time and guessed his character, very quickly ascertained that there was nothing whatever the matter with him. Taking up a splint, he bestowed a few hearty cuts with it on his bare body, and then, telling him to jump up and slip on his clothes, he sent him up on deck to attend to his duty. Poor Gipples would gladly have hid himself away; but he was watched, and started from deck to deck till he had resumed the charge of his powder tub. Meantime Paul Pringle was keeping an anxious eye on True Blue. There he sat as composed and fearless as if nothing unusual was going forward, only jumping up with alacrity and handing out the powder to the crews of the guns he was ordered to serve. Never was his eye brighter. Never had he seemed more full of life and animation.

”Ay, he's of the right sort,” said Paul to himself; ”I knew he'd be.”

The moment his tub was empty, down he ran to the magazine, and speedily again sprang with it on deck. His friend Harry imitated his example as well as he could; but he could not avoid stopping short when a shot crashed in just before him, carrying off the head of a seaman, whose body fell across the deck along where he had to pa.s.s.

The cry of ”Powder, powder, boy!” from the captain of the gun made him move on, but his knees trembled so that he could scarcely reach his post. After he had delivered the amount of powder required and sat down on his tub, his tranquillity of mind and nerve returned. Another shot came whizzing by; he merely bobbed his head. When the next pa.s.sed near him, he sat perfectly still. After that he scarcely moved eyelid or muscle, in spite of all the missiles and splinters and fragments flying about.

Not so the miserable Gipples. Compelled to stay on deck he was; but nothing could keep his head from bobbing at every shot which struck the s.h.i.+p or pa.s.sed over her, while his whole body was continually shrinking down on the deck. Several times he lay flat along it, and so confused was he, that, when called on to deliver the powder, he often did not appear to hear, or ran off to the wrong gun; till at last, had there been anybody to supply his place, he would have been kicked below and declared unfit to be even a powder-monkey. Even Tim Fid, when the firing began, was not altogether as steady as usual; but though he bobbed and sprang about with the feeling that he was dodging the shot, which he could not do in reality, it was much in the same way that he would have dodged a big play fellow whom he did not wish to touch him; and as he never for a moment was found wanting at his post, no one complained.

The action began at a quarter-past six that bright summer morning, and for about a quarter of an hour the two frigates ran along parallel to each other, exchanging broadsides with the greatest rapidity of which their respective crews were capable. They were keeping all the time directly before the wind, and within hailing distance of each other. In that short period great had been the carnage on both sides. One of the English lieutenants and two mids.h.i.+pmen, besides a dozen men or more, had been killed, and half as many again had been wounded; while the bulwarks of the lately trim frigate were shattered and torn, her crew begrimed with powder, perspiration, and blood, and her white decks slippery with gore, torn up with shot, and covered with fragments from the yards and the rent woodwork around. The mainmast, too, had been severely wounded; and though some of the carpenter's crew were busy in las.h.i.+ng and otherwise strengthening it, great fears were felt for its safety.

”If that goes,” exclaimed Paul Pringle, who saw the accident, ”those rascally Monsieurs will get off after all!”

At about half-past six the _Belle Citoyenne_ hauled up about eight points from the wind, thus increasing her distance from the _Ruby_.

”I thought how it would be!” exclaimed Paul Pringle when he saw the manoeuvre. ”The Monsieurs can't stand our fire. Wing him, boys, wing him! Don't let the Frenchman get away from us. Here, Billy, you come here. You all know that there isn't a better eye in the s.h.i.+p. Let him have a shot, boys.”

True Blue, thus summoned, sprang with delight to the gun. The ma.s.s of smoke which hung round them, and the death of the officer in charge of his division, enabled Paul to accomplish his object without question.

”Now steady, Billy, as you love me, boy!” he exclaimed in his eagerness.

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