Great Britain -- History, Naval -- 19th century -- Fiction; Napoleonic Wars, 1800-1815 -- Fiction
The action was still continued between the two schooners, but now the
shot no longer hit the Stella, nor were there any more wounded men
brought down; it was evident that the two vessels were now firing at
each other's masts and rigging, the one to prevent, and the other to
effect her escape, by dismantling her antagonist. I felt as if I could
have given my left hand to have gone on deck. I waited half an hour
more, and then, curiosity conquering my fear, I crept gradually up the
fore ladder. The men were working the guns to windward, the lee-side of
the deck was clear, and I stepped forward, and got into the head, where
I could see both to windward and to leeward. To leeward I perceived the
frigate about four miles distant with every stretch of canvass that she
could set on a wind; I knew her directly to be the Calliope, my own
ship, and my heart beat quick at the chance of being once more on board
of her.
To windward, as the smoke occasionally cleared away, I saw the Arrow
schooner close hauled on the same tack as the Stella, and distant about
a mile, every ten seconds the smoke from her guns booming along the
water's surface, and the shot whizzing through our rigging; she had not
suffered much from our fire: her sails were full of shot-holes, it is
true, but her spars were not injured. I then turned my eyes upon the
masts and rigging of the Stella: apparently, the damage done was about
equal to that received by the Arrow; our sails were torn, but our spars
were unscathed.
The water was smooth, although the breeze was fresh, and both schooners
were running at the rate of six or seven miles an hour; but the Stella
had evidently the advantage of sailing, and fore-reached upon her
opponent. I perceived that everything depended upon a lucky hit and
having satisfied myself with what I had seen, I hastened down below.
For more than half an hour the firing continued without advantage on
either side, when a yell was given by the negro crew, and I heard them
cry on the deck that the Arrow's foretop-mast was shot away. I heard
the voice of Vincent cheering his men, and telling them to be steady in
their aim. My heart sunk at the intelligence, and I sat down on a
chest.
The firing now slackened, for the Stella had shot ahead of the English
schooner, and the negroes on deck were laughing and in high good-humour.
For a few minutes the firing ceased altogether, and I took it for
granted that the Stella had left her pursuers far behind; when of a
sudden, a whole broadside of guns were poured into us, and there was a
terrible crashing and confusion on the deck.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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