The Two Admirals (52 page)

The English fleet was never in better line than at that precise moment.
The ships were as close to each other as comported with safety, and
every thing stood and drew as in the trade winds. The leading French
vessels were waring and increasing their distance to leeward, and it
would require an hour for them to get up near enough to be at all
dangerous in such weather, while all the rest were following, regardless
of the two that continued their luff. The Chloe had already got round,
and, hugging the wind, was actually coming up to windward of her own
line, though under a press of canvass that nearly buried her. The Active
and Driver were in their stations, as usual; one on the weather beam,
and the other on the weather bow; while the Druid had got so near as to
show her hull, closing fast, with square yards.

"That is either a very bold, or a very obstinate fellow; he, who
commands the two ships ahead of us," observed Greenly, as he stood at
the vice-admiral's side, and just as the latter terminated his survey.
"What object can he possibly have in braving three times his force in a
gale like this?"

"If it were an Englishman, Greenly, we should call him a hero! By taking
a mast out of one of us, he might cause the loss of the ship, or compel
us to engage double
our
force. Do not blame him, but help me, rather,
to disappoint him. Now, listen, and see all done immediately."

Sir Gervaise then explained to the captain what his intentions really
were, first ordering, himself, (a very unusual course for one of his
habits,) the first lieutenant, to keep the ship off as much as
practicable, without seeming to wish to do so; but, as the orders will
be explained incidentally, in the course of the narrative, it is not
necessary to give them here. Greenly then went below, leaving Sir
Gervaise, Bunting, and their auxiliaries, in possession of the poop. A
private signal had been bent on some little time, and it was now
hoisted. In about five minutes it was read, understood, and answered by
all the ships of the fleet. Sir Gervaise rubbed his hands like a man who
was delighted, and he beckoned to Bury, who had the trumpet on the
quarter-deck, to join him on the poop.

"Did Captain Greenly let you into our plot, Bury," asked the
vice-admiral, in high good-humour, as soon as obeyed, "I saw he spoke to
you in going below?"

"He only told me, Sir Gervaise, to edge down upon the Frenchmen as close
as I could, and this we are doing, I think, as fast as mounsheer"—Bury
was an Anglo-Gallican—"will at all like."

"Ah! there old Parker sheers bravely to leeward! Trust to him to be in
the right place. The Carnatic went fifty fathoms out of the line at that
one twist. The Thunderer and Warspite too! Never was a signal more
beautifully obeyed. If the Frenchmen don't take the alarm, now, every
thing will be to our minds."

By this time, Bury began to understand the manoeuvre. Each alternate
ship of the English was sheering fast to leeward, forming a weather and
a lee line, with increased intervals between the vessels, while all of
them were edging rapidly away, so as greatly to near the enemy. It was
apparent now, indeed, that the Plantagenet herself must pass within a
hundred fathoms of the Scipio, and that in less than two minutes. The
delay in issuing the orders for this evolution was in favour of its
success, inasmuch as it did not give the enemy time for deliberation.
The Comte de Chélincourt, in fact, did not detect it; or, at least, did
not foresee the consequences; though both were quite apparent to the
more experienced
capitaine de frégate
astern. It was too late, or the
latter would have signalled his superior to put him on his guard; but,
as things were, there remained no alternative, apparently, but to run
the gauntlet, and trust all to the chances of battle.

In a moment like that we are describing, events occur much more rapidly
than they can be related. The Plantagenet was now within pistol-shot of
le Scipion, and on her weather bow. At that precise instant, when the
bow-guns, on both sides, began to play, the Carnatic, then nearly in a
line with the enemy, made a rank sheer to leeward, and drove on, opening
in the very act with her weather-bow guns. The Thunderer and Warspite
imitated this manoeuvre, leaving the Frenchman the cheerless prospect
of being attacked on both sides. It is not to be concealed that M. de
Chélincourt was considerably disturbed by this sudden change in his
situation. That which, an instant before, had the prospect of being a
chivalrous, but extremely hazardous, passage in front of a formidable
enemy, now began to assume the appearance of something very like
destruction. It was too late, however, to remedy the evil, and the young
Comte, as brave a man as existed, determined to face it manfully. He had
scarcely time to utter a few cheering sentiments, in a dramatic manner,
to those on the quarter-deck, when the English flag-ship came sweeping
past in a cloud of smoke, and a blaze of fire. His own broadside was
nobly returned, or as much of it as the weather permitted, but the smoke
of both discharges was still driving between his masts, when the dark
hamper of the Carnatic glided into the drifting canopy, which was made
to whirl back on the devoted Frenchman in another torrent of flame.
Three times was this fearful assault renewed on the Scipio, at intervals
of about a minute, the iron hurricane first coming from to windward, and
then seeming to be driven back from to leeward, as by its own rebound,
leaving no breathing time to meet it. The effect was completely to
silence her own fire; for what between the power of the raging elements,
and the destruction of the shot, a species of wild and blood-fraught
confusion took the place of system and order. Her decks were covered
with killed and wounded, among the latter of whom was the Comte de
Chélincourt, while orders were given and countermanded in a way to
render them useless, if not incoherent. From the time when the
Plantagenet fired her first gun, to that when the Warspite fired her
last, was just five minutes by the watch. It seemed an hour to the
French, and but a moment to their enemies. One hundred and eighty-two
men and boys were included in the casualties of those teeming moments on
board the Scipio alone; and when that ship issued slowly from the scene
of havoc, more by the velocity of her assailants in passing than by her
own, the foremast was all that stood, the remainder of her spars
dragging under her lee. To cut the last adrift, and to run off nearly
before the wind, in order to save the spars forward, and to get within
the cover of her own fleet, was all that could now be done. It may as
well be said here, that these two objects were effected.

The Plantagenet had received damage from the fire of her opponent. Some
ten or fifteen men were killed and wounded; her main-top-sail was split
by a shot, from clew to earing; one of the quarter-masters was carried
from the poop, literally dragged overboard by the sinews that connected
head and body; and several of the spars, with a good deal of rigging,
required to be looked to, on account of injuries. But no one thought of
these things, except as they were connected with present and pressing
duties. Sir Gervaise got a sight of la Victoire, some hundred and twenty
fathoms ahead, just as the roar of the Carnatic's guns was rushing upon
his ears. The French commander saw and understood the extreme jeopardy
of his consort, and he had already put his helm hard up.

"Starboard—starboard hard, Bury!" shouted Sir Gervaise from the poop.
"Damn him, run him aboard, if he dare hold on long enough to meet us."

The lieutenant signed with his hand that the order was understood, and
the helm being put up, the ship went whirling off to leeward on the
summit of a hill of foam. A cheer was heard struggling in the tempest,
and glancing over his left shoulder, Sir Gervaise perceived the Carnatic
shooting out of the smoke, and imitating his own movement, by making
another and still ranker sheer to leeward. At the same moment she set
her main-sail close-reefed, as if determined to outstrip her antagonist,
and maintain her station. None but a prime seaman could have done such a
thing so steadily and so well, in the midst of the wild haste and
confusion of such a scene. Sir Gervaise, now not a hundred yards from
the Carnatic, waved high his hat in exultation and praise; and old
Parker, alone on his own poop, bared his grey hairs in acknowledgment of
the compliment. All this time the two ships drove madly ahead, while the
crash and roar of the battle was heard astern.

The remaining French ship was well and nimbly handled. As she came round
she unavoidably sheered towards her enemies, and Sir Gervaise found it
necessary to countermand his last order, and to come swiftly up to the
wind, both to avoid her raking broadside, and to prevent running into
his own consort. But the Carnatic, having a little more room, first kept
off, and then came to the wind again, as soon as the Frenchman had
fired, in a way to compel him to haul up on the other tack, or to fall
fairly aboard. Almost at the same instant, the Plantagenet closed on his
weather quarter and raked. Parker had got abeam, and pressing nearer, he
compelled la Victoire to haul her bowlines, bringing her completely
between two fires. Spar went after spar, and being left with nothing
standing but the lower masts, the Plantagenet and Carnatic could not
prevent themselves from passing their victim, though each shortened
sail; the first being already without a top-sail. Their places, however,
were immediately supplied by the Achilles and the Thunderer, both ships
having hauled down their stay-sails to lessen their way. As the Blenheim
and Warspite were quite near astern, and an eighteen-pound shot had
closed the earthly career of the poor
capitaine de frégate
, his
successor in command deemed it prudent to lower his ensign; after a
resistance that in its duration was unequal to the promise of its
commencement. Still the ship had suffered materially, and had fifty of
her crew among the casualties. His submission terminated the combat.

Sir Gervaise Oakes had now leisure and opportunity to look about him.
Most of the French ships had got round; but, besides being quite as far
astern, when they should get up abeam, supposing himself to remain where
he was, they would be at very long gun-shot dead to leeward. To remain
where he was, however, formed no part of his plan, for he was fully
resolved to maintain all his advantages. The great difficulty was to
take possession of his prize, the sea running so high as to render it
questionable if a boat would live. Lord Morganic, however, was just of
an age and a temperament to bring that question to a speedy issue. Being
on the weather-beam of la Victoire, as her flag came down, he ordered
his own first lieutenant into the larger cutter, and putting
half-a-dozen marines, with the proper crew, into the boat, it was soon
seen dangling in the air over the cauldron of the ocean; the oars
on-end. To lower, let go, and unhook, were the acts of an instant; the
oars fell, and the boat was swept away to leeward. A commander's
commission depended on his success, and Daly made desperate efforts to
obtain it. The prize offered a lee, and the French, with a national
benevolence, courtesy, and magnanimity, that would scarcely have been
imitated had matters been reversed, threw ropes to their conquerors, to
help to rescue them from a very awkward dilemma. The men did succeed in
getting into the prize; but the boat, in the end, was stove and lost.

The appearance of the red flag of England, the symbol of his own
professional rank, and worn by most under his own orders, over the white
ensign of France, was the sign to Sir Gervaise that the prize-officer
was in possession. He immediately made the signal for the fleet to
follow the motions of the commander-in-chief. By this time, his own
main-sail, close-reefed, had taken the place of the torn top-sail, and
the Plantagenet led off to the southward again, as if nothing unusual
had occurred. Daly had a quarter of an hour of extreme exertion on board
the prize, before he could get her fairly in motion as he desired; but,
by dint of using the axe freely, he cut the wreck adrift, and soon had
la Victoire liberated from that incumbrance. The fore-sail and fore and
mizzen stay-sails were on the ship, and the main-sail, close-reefed also,
was about to be set, to drag her-from the
mêlée
of her foes, when her
ensign came down. By getting the tack of the latter aboard, and the
sheet aft, he would have all the canvass set the gale would allow, and
to this all-essential point he directed his wits. To ride down the
main-tack of a two-decked ship, in a gale of wind, or what fell little
short of a real gale, was not to be undertaken with twenty men, the
extent of Daly's command; and he had recourse to the assistance of his
enemies. A good natured, facetious Irishman, himself, with a smattering
of French, he soon got forty or fifty of the prisoners in a sufficient
humour to lend their aid, and the sail was set, though not without great
risk of its splitting. From this moment, la Victoire was better off, as
respected the gale and keeping a weatherly position, than any of the
English ships; inasmuch as she could carry all the canvass the wind
permitted, while she was relieved from the drift inseparable from hamper
aloft. The effect, indeed, was visible in the first hour, to Daly's
great delight and exultation. At the end of that period, he found
himself quite a cable's-length to windward of the line. But in relating
this last particular, events have been a little anticipated.

Greenly, who had gone below to attend to the batteries, which were not
worked without great difficulty in so heavy a sea, and to be in
readiness to open the lower ports should occasion offer, re-appeared on
deck just as the commander-in-chief showed the signal for the ships to
follow his own motions. The line was soon formed, as mentioned, and ere
long it became apparent that the prize could easily keep in her station.
As most of the day was still before him, Sir Gervaise had little doubt
of being able to secure the latter, ere night should come to render it
indispensable.