Great Britain -- History, Naval -- 19th century -- Fiction; Napoleonic Wars, 1800-1815 -- Fiction
I ran up the ladder to see what had happened. It appeared that as the
Stella was crossing the bows of the Arrow, the latter had, as a last
chance thrown up in the wind, and discharged her whole broadside into
us: two shots had struck our mainmast, which had fallen by the board. I
perceived at once that the Stella's chance was over--nothing could save
her; she might resist the schooner but could not escape the frigate.
I ran down below, and went into the cabin; I was afraid that the negroes
might perceive the joy in my countenance. I heard the angry voice of
the negro captain--I heard him stamping with rage, and I thanked God
that I was not by his side. The wreck of the mast was soon cleared
away; I heard him address his negroes, point out to them that it was
better to die like men at the guns, than swing at the yard-arm like
dogs. Some of them came down and took on deck a quarter-cask of
spirits, which was plentifully supplied to all.
The English schooner had borne down upon us, and the action now
commenced at pistol-shot. Never shall I forget what took place for
nearly three-quarters of an hour; the negroes, most of them intoxicated,
fought with rage and fury indescribable--their shouts--their screams--
their cursing and blasphemy, mingled with the loud report of the guns,
the crashing of the spars and bulwarks, the occasional cry of the
wounded, and the powerful voice of Vincent. It was terrific between
decks; the smoke was so thick, that those who came down for the powder
could not see, but felt their way to the screen. Every two seconds, I
heard the men come aft, toss off the can of liquor, and throw it on the
deck, hen they went to resume their labour at their guns.
At the end of the time I have mentioned, the shot flew from to leeward,
as well as from to windward: the frigate had got within range, and was
pouring in her broadside; still the firing and the shouting on the deck
of the Stella continued, but the voices were fewer; and as the firing of
the frigate became more severe, they became fainter and fainter; and at
last but an occasional gun was fired from our decks.
I became so uneasy, that I could remain where I was no longer; I went
forward on the lower deck again, and tumbling over the wounded and the
dead, I crept up the fore-ladder. I looked over the coamings of the
hatchway; the decks were clear of smoke, for not a gun was being fired.
Merciful Heaven! what a scene of slaughter! Many of the guns were
dismantled, and the decks were strewed with the splinters and plankings
of the gunwale, broken spars, and negroes lying dead, or drunk, in all
directions--some cut and torn to pieces, others whole, but mixed up with
the fragments of other bodies: such a scene of blood I have never since
witnessed. Out of the whole crew, I do not think there were twenty men
left unhurt, and these were leaning or lying down, exhausted with
fatigue or overcome with liquor, on various parts of the deck.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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