Ronald Morton

Ronald Morton
or the Fire Ships
by W.H.G. Kingston
1880

Chapter One.
The Spanish Man-of-war off Shetland--A Calm--The "Saint Cecilia" in
Danger--The Pilot--Brassay Sound.
"Land! land on the larboard bow!" The cry was uttered in a foreign
tongue from the masthead of a corvette of twenty guns, a beautiful long,
low, flush-decked craft with dark hull, taunt raking masts, and square
yards, which, under all the sails she could carry with a southerly breeze
right aft, was gliding rapidly over the now smooth surface of the
northern ocean. The haughty flag of old Spain, and the language spoken
on board, showed that she belonged to that nation. The crew sat
clustered about on the forecastle with their arms folded in a listless,
inactive way--some asleep--others smoking cigarillos or playing games
of chance between the guns, while a few were disputing on some trivial
points with a vehemence which proved the fiery tempers hidden under
those calm exteriors. The officers lolled against the bulwarks, sat on the
guns, or paced slowly backwards and forwards; but rather more
etiquette was kept up on the quarter deck than appeared to be the case
among the men forward. The captain walked backwards and forwards
with his first lieutenant on the starboard side; they crossed occasionally,
and lifted their hands to their eyes to watch the land just sighted as the
ship approached and glided by it at the distance of two or three miles.
The captain's appearance was in his favour. He was tall and graceful,
with the clear olive-complexion, the pointed beard, the thin moustache,

and the large pensive eyes, so frequently seen in portraits of high-born
Spaniards. Still, though his features were handsome and very intelligent,
there was an expression in them not altogether satisfactory. His
companion was a short, thick-set man, dark and bearded, with a daring
look in his countenance and a firmness in his month which might raise
a suspicion that in cases of emergency he would be likely to take the
command in the place of his superior.
"That land out there should be of some interest to us, Alvarez," said the
captain, pointing to the little conical-shaped islets the ship was passing.
"It was there, so history tells us, that one of the grandees of Spain, the
great Duke of Medina Sidonia, was wrecked when he sailed in
command of that mighty Armada which would have assuredly crushed
the power of England had it not been so completely baffled by the
wonderful opposition of the elements. Many of his crew after being
saved from the fury of the tempest were cruelly murdered by the
barbarous inhabitants, and he and a small remnant only escaped to the
main island of Shetland, whither we are bound."
"Ah! I have heard say that the people in those parts are little better than
cannibals," answered the lieutenant; "we may as well, at all events,
keep our guns run out and double-shotted while we lie here, that we
may be prepared for them should they attempt to play us any tricks."
"Oh! they are tolerably civilised now, I fancy," answered the captain. "I
myself have some Shetland blood in my veins, so I have been told,
though it must be tolerably diluted by this time."
"You sir! I thought that in your veins flowed none but the purest of
Castilian streams," answered the lieutenant, with a slight sneer in his
tone. It was so slight, however, that his captain did not perceive it.
"How came that about, Don Hernan?"
"I will tell you," answered the captain: "an ancestor of mine--in our
family tree he appears quite a modern one--commanded one of the
ships of the holy Armada. She, like that of the Admiral, was driven
north, and ultimately wrecked and totally lost on the land we shall soon
make to the northward, called Shetland. He and his crew were kindly

treated by the chief of the little island on which they were driven. The
crew built a chapel to show their gratitude, and having nearly produced
a famine in the district, were conveyed home with honour; while he, to
prove his, married the old Udaller's daughter, and thinking it likely that
his head might be chopped off as a sacrifice to assuage the rage of our
pious monarch Philip, settled on the island, and did not return home till
towards the end of a long life. His son, who accompanied him, having
recovered his ancestral estates, remained in Spain; but he, when
advanced in years, in consequence of being implicated in some political
plot, fled the country, and naturally took refuge in that of his mother,
where he was cordially welcomed. He was afterwards joined by his son,
who, curiously enough, married a Shetland lady, and thus, even in the
days of my