The Log of a Privateersman | Page 7

faint breathing
from the northward had strengthened sufficiently to put our canvas to
sleep, and to increase our 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