The Log of a Privateersman | Page 7

speed to a trifle over six knots; but it was just as dark and thick as ever. Lovell, whom I was relieving, informed me that nothing whatever had been seen or heard during his watch; and that now, by our dead reckoning, we were, as nearly as possible, thirty miles south-by-west of Portland Bill. The skipper was still on deck; he had been up all through the first watch, and announced his intention of keeping the deck until the weather should clear. The night was now bitterly cold and frosty; the rail, the ropes coiled upon the pins, the companion slide, even the glass of the binnacle, all were thickly coated with rime, and the decks were slippery with it.
It was close upon two bells; and everything on board the Dolphin was silent as the grave, no sound being audible save the soft seething of the water past the bends, and the "gush" of the wave created by the plunge of the schooner's sharp bows into the hollows of the swell, when the skipper, who was standing near me on the starboard side of the binnacle, sucking away at a short pipe, caught hold of my arm and said in a low tone:
"Listen, Bowen! you have sharp ears. Tell me if you hear anything hereaway on the starboard bow?"
I listened intently for some seconds without hearing anything, and was about to say so, when I thought I caught a faint sound, as of the creaking of a boom; and at the same instant the two look-out men on the forecastle, forgetting, in the imminence of the danger, their instructions to be silent, simultaneously shouted, in sharp incisive tones:
"Hard a-port! Hard over! there's a big ship right under our bow!"
There was nothing whatever to be seen from where the skipper and I stood, but the cry was too imperative to be neglected; I therefore sprang with one bound to the wheel and assisted the helmsman to put it hard over, while the skipper rushed forward to see for himself what it was that was reported to be in our way.
I had but grasped the spokes of the wheel when I heard a cry, close ahead of us of:
"There's a small craft close aboard of us on our larboard beam, sir!" followed by a confused rush of feet along a ship's deck, and an order to "put the helm hard a-starboard, and call the captain!"
These sounds appeared to be so close aboard of us that I involuntarily braced myself against the expected impact of the two vessels; but the next moment, through the dense fog, I saw the faint glimmer of a light opening out clear of our foremast, saw a huge, dark, shapeless blot go drifting away on to our port bow, and heard a sharp hail from the stranger.
"Schooner ahoy! What schooner is that?"
"The Dolphin, privateer, of Weymouth. What ship is that?" answered the skipper.
"The Hoogly, East Indiaman; Calcutta to London. Can you tell me whereabouts we are?"
"Thirty-six miles south-by-west of Portland Bill," answered the skipper.
"Much obliged to you, sir," came the faint acknowledgment from the Indiaman, already out of sight again in the fog. This was followed by some further communication--apparently a question, from the tone of voice,--but the two vessels had by this time drawn so far apart from each other that the words were unintelligible, and the captain made no endeavour to reply; coming aft again and resuming his former position near the binnacle.
He and I were still discussing in low tones our narrow escape from a disastrous collision, some ten minutes having elapsed since we had lost sight of the Hoogly, when suddenly a faint crash was heard, somewhere away on our port quarter, immediately followed by shouts and cries, and a confused popping of pistols, which lasted about a minute; when all became as suddenly silent again.
"Hillo!" ejaculated the skipper, turning hastily to the binnacle, as the first sounds were heard, and taking the bearing of them, as nearly as possible; "there's something wrong with the Indiaman; it sounds very much as though one of the rascally, prowling, French lugger privateers had run him aboard and--"
"D'ye hear that rumpus away out on the larboard quarter, sir?" hailed one of the men on the forecastle.
"Ay, ay, my lad, we hear it; we're not asleep at this end of the ship!" answered Winter. "Depend upon it, George," he continued to me, "the Hoogly has been boarded and carried by a Frenchman. There!" as the sounds ceased, "it is all over, whatever it is. We will haul up a bit, and see if we can discover what has happened. Starboard, my man!" to the man at the wheel; "starboard, and let her come up to full and by. Hands to the sheets and braces, Mr Bowen. Brace sharp