A Middy of the King: A Romance of the Old British NavyCollingwood, Harry
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A Middy of the King: A Romance of the Old British Navy
Collingwood, Harry
Great Britain -- Fiction; Pirates -- Juvenile fiction; Seafaring life -- Juvenile fiction
It was evident to me that the master was greatly disappointed at not
having been able to get a sight of the sun at noon, and I could not help
thinking that, as the time passed on, he was not only disappointed but
was beginning to grow more than a trifle anxious, especially as shortly
after midday the weather became more gloomy and the wind freshened very
considerably. He betook himself to the poop, up and down which he paced
rapidly, with his hands behind his back, and his eyes fixed abstractedly
on the deck, except when he raised them from time to time to gaze long
and piercingly ahead.
At length four bells struck, and almost immediately afterward, with a
further freshening of the wind, the atmosphere cleared sufficiently to
afford us another glimpse of the French ship, which suddenly appeared,
with almost startling distinctness, about three-quarters of a mile
distant, bearing one point before our starboard beam. A dozen eager
voices at the same moment reported her reappearance, and the Captain
sprang up on the poop to get another look at her. He was immediately
joined by the master, who seemed to be making some very earnest
representation to him; but what it was I could not hear, for I was now
down on the quarter-deck and had no valid excuse for approaching any
nearer. However, whatever it may have been, Captain Vavassour was
evidently disinclined to listen to it, for I saw him once or twice shake
his head most determinedly, pointing at the same time at the French
ship, which still remained distinctly in view. Finally the skipper left
the poop and joined Mr Howard on the quarter-deck, conversing very
animatedly with him for about five minutes. It was while he was thus
engaged that the master suddenly called down to him the intelligence
that the stranger had hoisted French colours, upon which he gave the
order for our own colours to be hoisted, and, jumping up on the poop, I
went to the flag-locker, drew out our big ensign, bent it on to the
halliards, and, with the assistance of the master, ran it up to the
mizen peak.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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