V
THE "SLAPPING SAL"
It was in the days when France's power was already broken upon the seas,and when more of her three-deckers lay rotting in the Medway than wereto be found in Brest harbour. But her frigates and corvettes stillscoured the ocean, closely followed ever by those of her rival. At theuttermost ends of the earth these dainty vessels, with sweet names ofgirls or of flowers, mangled and shattered each other for the honour ofthe four yards of bunting which flapped from the end of their gaffs.
It had blown hard in the night, but the wind had dropped with thedawning, and now the rising sun tinted the fringe of the storm-wrack asit dwindled into the west and glinted on the endless crests of the long,green waves. To north and south and west lay a skyline which wasunbroken save by the spout of foam when two of the great Atlantic seasdashed each other into spray. To the east was a rocky island, juttingout into craggy points, with a few scattered clumps of palm trees and apennant of mist streaming out from the bare, conical hill which cappedit. A heavy surf beat upon the shore, and, at a safe distance from it,the British 32-gun frigate _Leda_, Captain A. P. Johnson, raised herblack, glistening side upon the crest of a wave, or swooped down into anemerald valley, dipping away to the nor'ard under easy sail. On hersnow-white quarter-deck stood a stiff little brown-faced man, who sweptthe horizon with his glass.
"Mr. Wharton!" he cried, with a voice like a rusty hinge.
A thin, knock-kneed officer shambled across the poop to him.
"Yes, sir."
"I've opened the sealed orders, Mr. Wharton."
A glimmer of curiosity shone upon the meagre features of the firstlieutenant. The _Leda_ had sailed with her consort, the _Dido_, fromAntigua the week before, and the admiral's orders had been contained ina sealed envelope.
"We were to open them on reaching the deserted island of Sombriero,lying in north latitude eighteen, thirty-six, west longitudesixty-three, twenty-eight. Sombriero bore four miles to the north-eastfrom our port-bow when the gale cleared, Mr. Wharton."
The lieutenant bowed stiffly. He and the captain had been bosom friendsfrom childhood. They had gone to school together, joined the navytogether, fought again and again together, and married into each other'sfamilies, but so long as their feet were on the poop the iron disciplineof the service struck all that was human out of them and left only thesuperior and the subordinate. Captain Johnson took from his pocket ablue paper, which crackled as he unfolded it.
"The 32-gun frigates _Leda_ and _Dido_ (Captains A. P. Johnson and James Munro) are to cruise from the point at which these instructions are read to the mouth of the Caribbean sea, in the hope of encountering the French frigate _La Gloire_ (48), which has recently harassed our merchant ships in that quarter. H.M. frigates are also directed to hunt down the piratical craft known sometimes as the _Slapping Sal_ and sometimes as the _Hairy Hudson_, which has plundered the British ships as per margin, inflicting barbarities upon their crews. She is a small brig, carrying ten light guns, with one twenty-four pound carronade forward. She was last seen upon the 23rd. ult. to the north-east of the island of Sombriero.
"(Signed) JAMES MONTGOMERY
"(_Rear-Admiral_).
"H.M.S. _Colossus_, Antigua."
"We appear to have lost our consort," said Captain Johnson, folding uphis instructions and again sweeping the horizon with his glass. "Shedrew away after we reefed down. It would be a pity if we met this heavyFrenchman without the _Dido_, Mr. Wharton. Eh?"
The lieutenant twinkled and smiled.
"She has eighteen-pounders on the main and twelves on the poop, sir,"said the captain. "She carries four hundred to our two hundred andthirty-one. Captain de Milon is the smartest man in the French service.Oh, Bobby boy, I'd give my hopes of my flag to rub my side up againsther!" He turned on his heel, ashamed of his momentary lapse. "Mr.Wharton," said he, looking back sternly over his shoulder, "get thosesquare sails shaken out and bear away a point more to the west."
"A brig on the port-bow," came a voice from the forecastle.
"A brig on the port-bow," said the lieutenant.
The captain sprang upon the bulwarks and held on by the mizzen-shrouds,a strange little figure with flying skirts and puckered eyes. The leanlieutenant craned his neck and whispered to Smeaton, the second, whileofficers and men came popping up from below and clustered along theweather-rail, shading their eyes with their hands--for the tropical sunwas already clear of the palm trees. The strange brig lay at anchor inthe throat of a curving estuary, and it was already obvious that shecould not get out without passing under the guns of the frigate. A long,rocky point to the north of her held her in.
"Keep her as she goes, Mr. Wharton," said the captain. "Hardly worthwhile our clearing for action, Mr. Smeaton, but the men can stand by theguns in case she tries to pass us. Cast loose the bow-chasers and sendthe small-arm men to the forecastle."
A British crew went to its quarters in those days with the quietserenity of men on their daily routine. In a few minutes, without fussor sound, the sailors were knotted round their guns, the marines weredrawn up and leaning on their muskets, and the frigate's bowspritpointed straight for her little victim.
"Is it the _Slapping Sal_, sir?"
"I have no doubt of it, Mr. Wharton."
"They don't seem to like the look of us, sir. They've cut their cableand are clapping on sail."
It was evident that the brig meant struggling for her freedom. Onelittle patch of canvas fluttered out above another, and her people couldbe seen working like madmen in the rigging. She made no attempt to passher antagonist, but headed up the estuary. The captain rubbed his hands.
"She's making for shoal water, Mr. Wharton, and we shall have to cut herout, sir. She's a footy little brig, but I should have thought afore-and-after would have been more handy."
"It was a mutiny, sir."
"Ah, indeed!"
"Yes, sir, I heard of it at Manilla: a bad business, sir. Captain andtwo mates murdered. This Hudson, or Hairy Hudson as they call him, ledthe mutiny. He's a Londoner, sir, and a cruel villain as ever walked."
"His next walk will be to Execution Dock, Mr. Wharton. She seems heavilymanned. I wish I could take twenty topmen out of her, but they would beenough to corrupt the crew of the ark, Mr. Wharton."
Both officers were looking through their glasses at the brig. Suddenlythe lieutenant showed his teeth in a grin, while the captain flushed adeeper red.
"That's Hairy Hudson on the after-rail, sir."
"The low, impertinent blackguard! He'll play some other antics before weare done with him. Could you reach him with the long eighteen, Mr.Smeaton?"
"Another cable length will do it, sir."
The brig yawed as they spoke, and as she came round a spurt of smokewhiffed out from her quarter. It was a pure piece of bravado, for thegun could scarce carry half-way. Then with a jaunty swing the littleship came into the wind again, and shot round a fresh curve in thewinding channel.
"The water's shoaling rapidly, sir," repeated the second lieutenant.
"There's six fathoms by the chart."
"Four by the lead, sir."
"When we clear this point we shall see how we lie. Ha! I thought asmuch! Lay her to, Mr. Wharton. Now we have got her at our mercy!"
The frigate was quite out of sight of the sea now at the head of thisriver-like estuary. As she came round the curve the two shores were seento converge at a point about a mile distant. In the angle, as near shoreas she could get, the brig was lying with her broadside towards herpursuer and a wisp of black cloth streaming from her mizzen. The leanlieutenant, who had reappeared upon deck with a cutlass strapped to hisside and two pistols rammed into his belt, peered curiously at theensign.
"Is it the Jolly Rodger, sir?" he asked.
But the captain was furious.
"He may hang where his breeches are hanging before I have done withhim!" said he. "What boats will you want, Mr. Wharton?"
/>
"We should do it with the launch and the jolly-boat."
"Take four and make a clean job of it. Pipe away the crews at once, andI'll work her in and help you with the long eighteens."
With a rattle of ropes and a creaking of blocks the four boats splashedinto the water. Their crews clustered thickly into them: bare-footedsailors, stolid marines, laughing middies, and in the sheets of each thesenior officers with their stern schoolmaster faces. The captain, hiselbows on the binnacle, still watched the distant brig. Her crew weretricing up the boarding-netting, dragging round the starboard guns,knocking new portholes for them, and making every preparation for adesperate resistance. In the thick of it all a huge man, bearded to theeyes, with a red nightcap upon his head, was straining and stooping andhauling. The captain watched him with a sour smile, and then snapping uphis glass he turned upon his heel. For an instant he stood staring.
"Call back the boats!" he cried in his thin, creaking voice. "Clear awayfor action there! Cast loose those main-deck guns. Brace back the yards,Mr. Smeaton, and stand by to go about when she has weigh enough."
Round the curve of the estuary was coming a huge vessel. Her greatyellow bowsprit and white-winged figure-head were jutting out from thecluster of palm trees, while high above them towered three immense mastswith the tricolour flag floating superbly from the mizzen. Round shecame, the deep-blue water creaming under her fore foot, until her long,curving, black side, her line of shining copper beneath and ofsnow-white hammocks above, and the thick clusters of men who peered overher bulwarks were all in full view. Her lower yards were slung, herports triced up, and her guns run out all ready for action. Lying behindone of the promontories of the island, the lookout men of the _Gloire_upon the shore had seen the _cul de sac_ into which the British frigatewas headed, so that Captain de Milon had served the _Leda_ as CaptainJohnson had the _Slapping Sal_.
But the splendid discipline of the British service was at its best insuch a crisis. The boats flew back; their crews clustered aboard, theywere swung up at the davits and the fall-ropes made fast. Hammocks werebrought up and stowed, bulkheads sent down, ports and magazines opened,the fires put out in the galley, and the drums beat to quarters. Swarmsof men set the head-sails and brought the frigate round, while thegun-crews threw off their jackets and shirts, tightened their belts, andran out their eighteen-pounders, peering through the open portholes atthe stately Frenchman. The wind was very light. Hardly a ripple showeditself upon the clear blue water, but the sails blew gently out as thebreeze came over the wooded banks. The Frenchman had gone about also,and both ships were now heading slowly for the sea under fore-and-aftcanvas, the _Gloire_ a hundred yards in advance. She luffed up to crossthe _Leda's_ bows, but the British ship came round also, and the tworippled slowly on in such a silence that the ringing of ramrods as theFrench marines drove home their charges clanged quite loudly upon theear.
"Not much sea-room, Mr. Wharton," remarked the captain.
"I have fought actions in less, sir."
"We must keep our distance and trust to our gunnery. She is very heavilymanned, and if she got alongside we might find ourselves in trouble."
"I see the shakos of soldiers aboard of her."
"Two companies of light infantry from Martinique. Now we have her!Hard-a-port, and let her have it as we cross her stern!"
The keen eye of the little commander had seen the surface ripple, whichtold of a passing breeze. He had used it to dart across the bigFrenchman and to rake her with every gun as he passed. But, once pasther, the _Leda_ had to come back into the wind to keep out of shoalwater. The manoeuvre brought her on to the starboard side of theFrenchman, and the trim little frigate seemed to heel right over underthe crashing broadside which burst from the gaping ports. A moment laterher topmen were swarming aloft to set her topsails and royals, and shestrove to cross the _Gloire's_ bows and rake her again. The Frenchcaptain, however, brought his frigate's head round, and the two rodeside by side within easy pistol-shot, pouring broadsides into each otherin one of those murderous duels which, could they all be recorded, wouldmottle our charts with blood.
In that heavy tropical air, with so faint a breeze, the smoke formed athick bank round the two vessels, from which the topmasts onlyprotruded. Neither could see anything of its enemy save the throbs offire in the darkness, and the guns were sponged and trained and firedinto a dense wall of vapour. On the poop and forecastle the marines, intwo little red lines, were pouring in their volleys, but neither theynor the sea-men-gunners could see what effect their fire was having.Nor, indeed, could they tell how far they were suffering themselves,for, standing at a gun, one could but hazily see that upon the right andthe left. But above the roar of the cannon came the sharper sound of thepiping shot, the crashing of riven planks, and the occasional heavy thudas spar or block came hurtling on to the deck. The lieutenants paced upand down the line of guns, while Captain Johnson fanned the smoke awaywith his cocked-hat and peered eagerly out.
"This is rare, Bobby!" said he, as the lieutenant joined him. Then,suddenly restraining himself, "What have we lost, Mr. Wharton?"
"Our maintopsail yard and our gaff, sir."
"Where's the flag?"
"Gone overboard, sir."
"They'll think we've struck! Lash a boat's ensign on the starboard armof the mizzen cross-jackyard."
"Yes, sir."
A round-shot dashed the binnacle to pieces between them. A secondknocked two marines into a bloody, palpitating mash. For a moment thesmoke rose, and the English captain saw that his adversary's heaviermetal was producing a horrible effect. The _Leda_ was a shattered wreck.Her deck was strewed with corpses. Several of her portholes were knockedinto one, and one of her eighteen-pounder guns had been thrown rightback on to her breech, and pointed straight up to the sky. The thin lineof marines still loaded and fired, but half the guns were silent, andtheir crews were piled thickly round them.
"Stand by to repel boarders!" yelled the captain.
"Cutlasses, lads, cutlasses!" roared Wharton.
"Hold your volley till they touch!" cried the captain of marines.
The huge loom of the Frenchman was seen bursting through the smoke.Thick clusters of boarders hung upon her sides and shrouds. A finalbroadside leapt from her ports, and the mainmast of the _Leda_, snappingshort off a few feet above the deck, spun into the air and crashed downupon the port guns, killing ten men and putting the whole battery out ofaction. An instant later the two ships scraped together, and thestarboard bower anchor of the _Gloire_ caught the mizzen-chains of the_Leda_ upon the port side. With a yell the black swarm of boarderssteadied themselves for a spring.
But their feet were never to reach that blood-stained deck. Fromsomewhere there came a well-aimed whiff of grape, and another, andanother. The English marines and seamen, waiting with cutlass and musketbehind the silent guns, saw with amazement the dark masses thinning andshredding away. At the same time the port broadside of the Frenchmanburst into a roar.
"Clear away the wreck!" roared the captain. "What the devil are theyfiring at?"
"Get the guns clear!" panted the lieutenant. "We'll do them yet, boys!"
The wreckage was torn and hacked and splintered until first one gun andthen another roared into action again. The Frenchman's anchor had beencut away, and the _Leda_ had worked herself free from that fatal hug.But now, suddenly, there was a scurry up the shrouds of the _Gloire_,and a hundred Englishmen were shouting themselves hoarse: "They'rerunning! They're running! They're running!"
And it was true. The Frenchman had ceased to fire, and was intent onlyupon clapping on every sail that he could carry. But that shoutinghundred could not claim it all as their own. As the smoke cleared it wasnot difficult to see the reason. The ships had gained the mouth of theestuary during the fight, and there, about four miles out to sea, wasthe _Leda's_ consort bearing down under full sail to the sound of theguns. Captain de Milon had done his part for one day, and presently the_Gloire_ was drawing off swiftly to the north,
while the _Dido_ wasbowling along at her skirts, rattling away with her bow-chasers, until aheadland hid them both from view.
But the _Leda_ lay sorely stricken, with her mainmast gone, her bulwarksshattered, her mizzen-topmast and gaff shot away, her sails like abeggar's rags, and a hundred of her crew dead and wounded. Close besideher a mass of wreckage floated upon the waves. It was the stern-post ofa mangled vessel, and across it, in white letters on a black ground, waspainted, "_The Slapping Sal_."
"By the Lord! it was the brig that saved us!" cried Mr. Wharton. "Hudsonbrought her into action with the Frenchman, and was blown out of thewater by a broadside!"
The little captain turned on his heel and paced up and down the deck.Already his crew were plugging the shot-holes, knotting and splicing andmending. When he came back, the lieutenant saw a softening of the sternlines about his eyes and mouth.
"Are they all gone?"
"Every man. They must have sunk with the wreck."
The two officers looked down at the sinister name, and at the stump ofwreckage which floated in the discoloured water. Something black washedto and fro beside a splintered gaff and a tangle of halliards. It wasthe outrageous ensign, and near it a scarlet cap was floating.
"He was a villain, but he was a Briton!" said the captain, at last. "Helived like a dog, but, by God, he died like a man!"