A Middy of the King: A Romance of the Old British NavyCollingwood, Harry
General
A Middy of the King: A Romance of the Old British Navy
Collingwood, Harry
Great Britain -- Fiction; Pirates -- Juvenile fiction; Seafaring life -- Juvenile fiction
weather braces checked, and the slower coaches among the merchantmen
with all their larboard studdingsails set. Then came a signal from the
commodore to regulate rate of sailing by that of the slowest craft in
the fleet and to keep as close together as prudence would permit; and,
finally, a signal to the men-of-war to take the stations assigned to
them and to keep a sharp lookout for marauders. This last signal was
made purely as a matter of form and duty, and not because it was
actually necessary; for although none of us had sighted any
suspicious-looking craft on our way round to Plymouth, we felt pretty
certain that news of the assembling of the convoy, and of its probable
sailing date, would find its way across the Channel, and that, sooner or
later, we should discover that a few enterprising privateers were
hovering upon its skirts, watching for a favourable opportunity to cut
in and secure a prize or two.
The south-easterly wind held long enough to enable us and our charges to
get well clear of the Channel and to the southward of Ushant before it
changed, and then it gradually veered round until it came out strong
from the north-west, when away we all went for Madeira, the slowest
ships carrying every rag of canvas that they could stagger under, while
the faster craft were unwillingly compelled to shorten down in order
that all might keep together, while as for ourselves and the _Astarte_,
the utmost that we could show, without running ahead of our station, was
double-reefed topsails.
We sighted and passed Madeira on the eighth day out from Plymouth, and
two days later, to our great joy, picked up the "Trades," blowing fresh;
and thus far we had not sighted a single suspicious sail. Most of us
were of opinion that, having been permitted to come thus far without
interference, we were now safe, and that with a strong trade-wind
wafting along even the slowest coaches among us, at a pace of from six
to seven knots an hour, our troubles were all over. But the more
knowing ones shook their heads, smiled compassionately at our ignorance,
and said, "Wait a bit!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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