Part 20 (1/2)

”Fire away, my lads!” cried Captain Jumper; and his words were echoed by the officers in all directions. ”We will sink the enemy or go down with our own colours flying. Never let it be said that the 'Weymouth' had to strike to a Frenchman!”

The speech was a very short one, but it had its effect in encouraging the crew. Scarcely a minute afterwards a fearful sound was heard. It was that of an explosion. And the s.h.i.+p trembled from stem to stern, while those on the quarter-deck saw the p.o.o.p lifting up into the air, sending some of those on it overboard, and killing several others.

”Fire, fire!” was shouted; ”the s.h.i.+p's on fire!”

”We have water enough alongside, my lads, to extinguish it!” cried the captain, in an undaunted tone; and in an instant those of the crew not actually working the guns were hurried up with buckets, with which they soon put out the flames. The Frenchmen shouted, thinking that they were about to gain the victory, but they were answered by a loud cheer of defiance from the British seamen.

It became now absolutely necessary for the ”Weymouth” to stand away from the enemy for a short time to repair damages. The only fear of the British sailors was that in the meantime the enemy might attempt to escape.

”No fear of that, lads!” cried the brave captain, who knew what they were speaking of. ”See, we have made too many shot-holes between 'wind and water,' and in a few minutes the main-mast will go by the board, if the wind increases.”

This was very evident, for while the ”Weymouth” put her helm down, to stand away from the ”Fougueux” for a short distance, the other immediately ceased firing. The survivors of her crew were probably engaged in attempting to repair the damages she had received. This gave the English leisure to perform their own work without interruption.

Jack as he was leaving his gun to go aloft, looked round him. Of those who had stood but lately by his side, several were missing. Smedley was nowhere to be seen. He inquired among the crew of his gun.

”Yes; a shot struck him and he was carried below, but whether mortally wounded or not, no one could tell.”

As he pa.s.sed up the hatchway, the man whom he took to be Burdale lay on the deck. A bullet which had found its way through a port had struck him down. He was bleeding also from a wound in his shoulder. Jack sprang forward to a.s.sist him, but just at that instant the men who were appointed to carry the wounded below, lifted him off the deck, and bore him from his sight.

The decks now presented a very different scene to that which they did a short hour ago. Fore and aft they were covered with blood, and in many places they were blackened and torn up by the shot which had ploughed its way across them. The beams and stanchions in every direction were shattered and broken, and the whole s.h.i.+p showed the severity of the action in which she had been engaged.

”We may be in a bad state enough,” Jack heard an old seaman say, ”but if you were to go on board the enemy, you would see matters ten times worse. Their decks, depend upon it, are slippery with gore all over, and for one man we have lost, they have lost five.”

There was little time, however, for talking. The officers were shouting here and there, giving their directions, and the men were springing aloft to obey them, or running wherever they were summoned. In a short time the ropes were knotted, the yards braced up, the damage done to the p.o.o.p partially repaired, and the ”Weymouth” again stood towards her opponent. As she approached she was received with a hot fire, which she returned with interest, while the big guns once more with loud roars sent forth their shot. The soldiers and small-arm men rattled away with their musketry, and the swivels, culverins, and other small guns, in rapid succession added to the uproar by their sharper reports. Bullets, round-shot, and langrage were flying thickly around.

”Depress your guns and fire at her hull!” cried the captain, seeing the effect that had already been produced on the enemy.

As the Frenchmen's fire grew slacker, that of the English became more and more brisk. Scarcely had a gun been discharged when it was again hauled in and once more sent forth its deadly missile into the hull of the enemy. Just as the action re-commenced, the enemy's main-mast went by the board. A loud shout burst from the throats of the British seamen. Scarcely had it died away when the mizen-mast followed; and now the stout s.h.i.+p was seen to be heeling over. A cry ran along the decks, ”She's sinking, she's sinking!” Still her guns continued to send forth her shot, though with far less frequency than at first. Another and another broadside was fired into her; and now it became evident that there was truth in the belief that she was about to go down.

”Cease firing!” cried the English captain. ”Not another shot will she discharge at us.”

As he spoke the bow of the ”Fougueux” was seen to rise out of the water.

Loud shrieks and cries rose from her decks. Her stern gradually sank.

”Lower the boats!” cried the English captain. ”Be smart, my lads: we must save the poor fellows' lives.”

Unhappily, several of the English boats had been almost knocked to pieces. Those which could yet swim were immediately lowered. John Deane jumped into one of the first that reached the water. Ere, however, they could get up to the foundering s.h.i.+p, the sea had washed over her deck. Down--down she went, carrying with her all her wounded and a large number of those who had escaped unhurt. The rest had thrown themselves into the water, some to swim, some holding on to planks or broken spars: but of these, many who had delayed leaving to the last, were drawn down in the vortex of the sinking s.h.i.+p. As the first English boat reached the spot, the streamer at her fore-royal-mast-head was alone to be seen fluttering for a moment above the eddying waters, and then downwards it was drawn after the mast to which it had been attached. Some were still striking out bravely towards their late antagonists. The boats were soon among them, taking up all they met.

Many, however, sunk before the very eyes of the English sailors, as they pulled towards them. The boats were soon loaded, and returned to the ”Weymouth,” fearing lest they should be swamped should they take on board any more of the struggling wretches. Having handed up those they had saved, they once more returned; but, in the meantime, many of those they desired to help had sunk beneath the waves: and out of a crew of six or seven hundred who had lately manned that tall s.h.i.+p, scarcely three-score remained alive. They confessed that upwards of a hundred had been killed and wounded since the commencement of the action, owing, as they acknowledged, to the rapidity with which the English fired at them. Thus the hard-won prize was lost.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

AFTER THE BATTLE.

The brave crew of the ”Weymouth” had enough to do to repair their own damages to escape a similar fate. As it was, the ”Weymouth” was in a perilous condition from the number of shot-holes she had received in her hull, and probably had a gale sprung up, she also would have gone to the bottom of the ocean. Exhausted by the action as the men were, they still laboured away, as British seamen are ever ready to do, to repair damages, and to keep the s.h.i.+p afloat. A course was then shaped for Plymouth Sound.

As soon as Jack was able to go below, he inquired anxiously for Smedley.

He had been carried to the c.o.c.k-pit. Jack went there. It was the first time he had ever entered that place of horrors, and his heart sank, and he almost fainted at the sickly odour which reached him. As he approached it, cries and groans reached his ears. On the table lay a poor fellow stripped naked, looking already a corpse, on whose leg the surgeons had been operating. His leg, with several other limbs, lay in a basket of sawdust beneath the table. The blood had completely left his face, which still bore the marks of the agony he had suffered, which in those days there were few means of alleviating. One of the surgeons was pouring brandy-and-water down his throat, while another was applying burnt feathers and other restoratives to his nose.

”It's of little use, I'm afraid,” said the elder surgeon: ”he has slipped through our fingers after all!”