Ronald Morton, or the Fire Ships Part 16

The stranger in a short time drew near enough to see the signals which the "Thisbe" began to make. Her answers were watched for with intense interest on board both ships. Mr Calder had his signal-book open on deck.

"There goes up the stranger's bunting," he exclaimed; "now we shall see what he has got to say for himself." Again and again his gla.s.s was at his eye: at length he shut it up with a loud slap.

"I thought as much," he added; "he's a Frenchman; but he will find the 'Concorde' a tough morsel if he attempts to swallow her, after she has belonged to us."

Captain Courtney arrived before long at the same conclusion, and ordered the prize to stand to the northward, under all the sail she could carry.

Tom Calder received the order with a very bad grace. "I thought that he would at least have let us stop to help him to fight it out," he muttered to himself as he put his hand to his mouth to issue the necessary orders to his scanty crew.

Sail was made on the prize, while the "Thisbe" hauled up her courses, and stood slowly after her to draw the enemy more away from the land before the commencement of their expected contest.

Mr Calder felt that he had no right to question his commander's judgment; he could not help seeing, also, that could he effect his escape, he might possibly fall in with another British cruiser, and send her to the "Thisbe's" a.s.sistance.

Even with more intense interest than at first, the approach of the stranger was watched from the deck of the "Concorde."

The prize had got a mile from the "Thisbe" when the French surgeon made his appearance on deck, to enjoy a mouthful of fresh air, after his fatiguing duties below. His eager glance, and the sudden lighting up of his eye, showed that he fully comprehended the state of affairs.

Among the many accomplishments Ronald had obtained at Lunnasting was a certain amount of French. He could not speak fluently, but he could understand what was said. He could not help asking the surgeon what he thought about the stranger coming up from the southward.

"That she is one of the fastest frigates belonging to our navy," was the answer. "We were expecting her here about this time; you have no chance of escaping her. We were to have cruised together; perhaps we shall do so now."

"Ask him what sort of a man is her captain," said Mr Calder, who saw Ronald talking to the surgeon.

Ronald put the question.

"There are two opinions," said the surgeon, making a face. "He would be a coward who would refuse to attack our late antagonist in the condition to which we have reduced her."

"All right," observed Mr Calder, when he heard the remark; "if there are two opinions about a man's courage it is seldom that the favourable one is the right; we shall see, though."

In accordance with his orders, though much against his inclination, Lieutenant Calder stood away from the scene of the approaching combat.

A flash and a puff of smoke was seen, and soon afterwards a low thundering noise boomed along the waters. The French frigate had fired her first shot at the "Thisbe."

"I hope it did not hit her!" exclaimed Morton. "Oh, how I wish we were there to help her!"

The same sentiment was expressed by all on board.

It seemed probable that the first shot did hit, for the Frenchman now luffed up and fired his broadside at the "Thisbe." She waited till he bore away again, and then returned the compliment.

For a few minutes the firing ceased. Probably neither of the combatants had committed as much damage to each other as they expected, and were not desirous of throwing away their shots.

Ronald thought all the time of his father, and the danger to which he was exposed, for considering the comparatively defenceless state of the "Thisbe" he could not help dreading the result.

The breeze increased, and the "Concorde" got further and further from the scene of contest. Again the firing commenced. All hands knocked off work to watch the progress of the fight. The officers forgot even to recall them to their duty. The French surgeon and several of the wounded prisoners crawled up on deck to watch it also.

"There they go at it! Well done, 'Thisbe'!" exclaimed Tom Calder.

"Never saw a more rapidly delivered broadside. If she had all her spars she wouldn't be long in taking that ship, too. Not certain that she won't do it now. Hurra! there's one of the Frenchman's spars shot away."

"Hurra for the 'Thisbe'!" shouted the crew. "She's the girl to win the day. Hurra! hurra!"

"Not so sure of that," muttered Rawson, an old mate, who seldom saw things in a pleasant light. No wonder, for he had seen numbers who had come to sea long after him promoted over his head, and were now commanders and post captains, while he remained almost without hope in a subordinate position. He was pretty certain to be senior of the mess in whatever ship he sailed, and that was his only consolation, as it gave him some little authority, and full licence to growl to his heart's content.

The firing became hotter than ever, though at the distance the "Concorde" was now from the two combatants it was difficult to observe the changes of the fight. Still all the gla.s.ses were kept in that direction.

"There! there! I said it would be so!" exclaimed Rawson, still keeping his eye at the gla.s.s.

"What has happened?" inquired Ronald, eagerly.

"Why, the Frenchmen have shot away the 'Thisbe's' foretopmast, as far as I can make out--her jury-masts, too," answered Rawson. "The 'Thisbe's'

done for, I'm afraid."

"What's that you say, Rawson?" exclaimed Lieutenant Calder. "Done for!

not she; she's not done firing, at all events."

Rawson said no more; still it was very evident that the "Thisbe" was again almost a complete wreck, while the Frenchman had her rigging comparatively uninjured. The firing on both sides began to decrease.

Evening was now drawing on, the wind was increasing, and dark clouds were coming up from the westward. For several minutes not a shot had been heard. Flashes there were, but they were from the clouds, and heaven's artillery now rattled through the sky. The combatants could now scarcely be discerned in the distance.

"The 'Thisbe' has struck," cried Rawson. "I said it would be so. I knew I should never have such luck as to take a prize like this, and to keep our ship."

"I don't believe it," exclaimed Mr Calder. "Captain Courtney would never have given in to the Frenchman without a harder tussle for it."

"Perhaps Captain Courtney has been killed," croaked out poor Rawson, who was very bitter at the prospect of losing his long-looked-for promotion, which he would have obtained as soon as the prize was carried into port.

Tom Calder, too, had every reason to wish to escape the enemy, with the same object in view, and he was not a man to throw a chance away.

The wind was fair, and the coming darkness and the rising gale would favour their escape. He now clapped on every inch of canvas which could possibly be set, and did his utmost to keep up the spirits of his crew, rating Mr Rawson soundly for his expressing his forebodings of ill.

The wind increased, and howled through the rigging; the seas came roaring and hissing up alongside, as the frigate, driven onward by the gale, went surging through the foaming water.

Thus on she went for some time.

"If we had but our masts the enemy would have a hard job to come up with us," observed d.i.c.ky Glover to Ronald. "As it is, I doubt whether she'll find us, after all."

The two midshipmen were standing aft, looking over the taffrail.

"I wish that I thought we should escape her," answered Ronald; "but I say--look!--look!--what's that out there?"

At that moment there was a break in the clouds, and through it a gleam of light fell on the lofty sails of a ship coming up within gunshot astern.

"The French frigate! I knew it would be so," said the rough voice of old Rawson.

There could be little doubt that he was right. The stranger was supposed by the French officers on board to be the "Atalante," a frigate of the same size as the "Concorde." What hope then that the latter could successfully resist her? Not many men besides Tom Calder would have had any hope of escaping.

"Never cry out till you are caught," was his motto on similar occasions.

"That vessel astern has not yet made us out," he observed to Rawson.

"Though should she prove to be the 'Atalante,' perhaps we may still escape her, or she may be a friend after all."

"Not likely that last, sir," said Rawson, "but whether friend or foe, here she comes! She has made us out clearly enough, too, that I'll be sworn."