Rowland Walker - Under Wolfe's Flag; or, The Fight for the Canadas

One dark night, in a fierce gale off the Irish coast, they were ordered to assist the men in furling the main-top-gallant and main-royal sails. The vessel was creaking and straining beneath them; rolling uneasily in the trough of the sea. Long before they reached the crosstrees their hearts were thumping wildly and their teeth were chattering with fright, and for a moment Jack wished that he were safe ashore, even if in the old village lock-up again; but the worst was yet to come.

Far down beneath them the slippery decks seemed black as night, except when a huge green wave swept it from stem to stern. The captain was shouting orders to the men aloft, as though the lives of all aboard depended upon a ready compliance, and for a while the men in the rigging seemed helpless. The hoarse voice of the first mate was heard calling to the men who were struggling at the wheel, and all seemed confusion.

Still, the lads felt that the eyes of the captain were upon them, and they did not come down till their work was done, although when they reached the yards they thought their last moment had come, as the canvas filled like a huge bladder, and nearly hurled them off into the boiling surf and the destruction that threatened them below. They remained at their posts, assisting the men, hanging on sometimes by their teeth, until the sails were dragged in and furled, and the gaskets made fast and true.

After that experience they soon acquired more confidence and were easily at home, whether aloft or below, in fact, if anything, they preferred to be aloft. 'Tis possible, even, that they might have adopted the sea as a profession, and that their names might have come down to us with some of the illustrious admirals of that period, but for an incident which happened when they had been about four weeks at sea, and which changed the course of their lives once more.

They were within two hundred leagues of Cape Cod on the New England coast, and they were congratulating themselves on having escaped the vigilance of the enemy's cruisers, for they had a valuable cargo aboard, destined for Boston, when the following incident happened. Seven bells had just sounded in the middle watch, and both Jamie and Jack were on duty, perched on the crosstrees in the foretop. It was very cold up there, and they were both longing for the end of the watch that they might descend and warm themselves at the galley fire and appease their ravenous hunger before turning in for a sleep. Day was just breaking away to the east, but ahead it was still dark and a little cloudy. Suddenly, through a rift in the clouds, over there in the north-west, towards the coast of the French Canadas, Jamie saw a tiny speck, low down on the horizon. He was about to hail the deck, but first pointed it out to Jack.

"What can it be?"

"Take the glass, Jamie. My hands are so numbed and cold I cannot keep it still."

Jamie took the telescope, and steadying himself for an instant, he leaned against the mast and held the glass to his eye. As he brought it to bear on that speck, the cry involuntarily burst from his lips–

"A sail! A sail!"

"Where away?" called the first mate from the deck.

"On the starboard bow, sir, north-west by west."

"What do you make of her?"

"Can't raise her hull yet, sir, but she must be a big ship, for she carries a good head of canvas."

Almost instantly the mate was up in the fore-top, carefully examining the stranger. As he did so a grave look crossed his face.

"Anything wrong, sir?" queried Jamie.

"I don't like the look of her. I fear she's no friend. We may have to run." Again he examined her. Then, shutting up the glass with a bang, he said–

"Go down, Elliot, and call the captain."

"Aye, aye, sir."

While the captain was being called, eight bells sounded the end of the watch, and though Jack had been eagerly longing for that blessed sound before, he would now willingly have remained aloft to watch that distant speck, which seemed fraught with such danger.

As he reached the deck he met the captain coming up the companion ladder. The latter immediately called out to the first mate, who had remained aloft–

"Is she showing any colours, Mr. Rogers?"

"Not yet, sir!"

"What do you think she is?"

"She's a cruiser, sir. Of that I'm pretty certain, but whether English or French I can't yet say."

At this alarming news, the captain himself went aloft and keenly examined the movements of the stranger for a few minutes, and then said–

"She's a French cruiser, Mr. Rogers, and a fast one too. We must either fight her or show her a clean pair of heels."

In a few minutes the Duncan's course was altered. Every stitch of canvas that she could carry was flung out. Royals and stuns'ls were set, and with the foam surging under her bows she fairly bounded through the water, leaving a wake astern that was a mile long.

There was no little excitement aboard when it became known that the distant sail, "hull down" upon the horizon, was probably a French frigate.

"Look at her white canvas, and her large, square yards!" exclaimed Jamie. "She must be a man-of-war, and even if she's only a frigate she'll carry thirty guns against our ten, and treble the number of men."

"If she is a Frenchman she'll sink us, that's certain, though I hope Captain Forbes will make a fight of it," replied Jack, who could not entirely suppress a feeling akin to dread, as he watched the approaching ship.

"There's just a chance that she may be a friend, after all, for even the English cruisers do not always show their colours to the quarry until all chance of escape is cut off."

"It's just possible, of course, for there should be plenty of them hereabouts. Mr. Rogers tells me that last year they brought no less than three hundred French ships and their crews into English ports."

Breakfast was served as soon as the excitement aboard the Duncan had abated somewhat, and afterwards the captain assembled the crew and addressed them as follows–

"Lads, we're now within two hundred leagues of the New England coast, and we're carrying a valuable cargo. 'Tis our duty to save it if we can, but yonder is a fast and powerful frigate in our wake, who won't show any colours, though mine have been flying at the mast-head this half-hour."

"Hurrah! hurrah!" burst from the men, as they saw the ensign they loved so well unfurled to the breeze.

"That's right, lads! I'm glad to see that you're not ashamed to fight for the old flag," exclaimed the captain.

"We'll die for it, captain, if need be!" shouted several of the men, and no wonder, for 'tis remarkable the courage that even a flag inspires in the presence of an enemy, especially when that enemy dares to insult it.

"The fact that he has not yet shown his colours," went on the captain, "means that we've an enemy in our wake. Still, if this breeze holds we may outsail him, but if we can't do that we've got to fight him."

"Aye! aye! sir! Let's fight him."

"No Frenchman shall ever take my ship while I live. I'll blow her up first. Mark my words, lads. I will!" This was spoken in such a fierce, but deliberate manner that the men all saw that Captain Forbes meant it, and they responded with a ringing cheer, which rent the air like a broadside, and filled each heart with courage and determination.

"So now, lads, let's clear the decks, and prepare for the worst."

"Aye! aye! sir!"

And the men went to work as only British tars can work. They cleared the decks of everything that was useless in an action. They cleaned and loaded the guns, but they did not as yet open the port-lids to run them out, lest the lower decks should be swamped, and the ship delayed. They ran out the boarding-nets, and brought up the powder, wads and shot. They got ready their cutlasses and boarding-pikes, and in every way possible prepared to meet a daring foe.