Half an hour more passed, and by our calculation the privateer should
have been on board of us, but we could see nothing of her, although the
fog had cleared up a little. The soldiers were now ordered to load their
muskets. I was on the poop with Bramble, when, happening to turn and
look aft (the very opposite direction from which the privateer was to be
expected), I saw her three lugsails looming in the mist, just on the
quarter, not half a cable's length from us. I jumped down to where the
captain was standing, and said to him, "There she is, sir, close on our
lee quarter." The captain sprang on the poop, saw the vessel, and
ordered the men to come aft in silence. The tramp of the soldiers' feet
was scarcely over when the lugger was alongside of us, her masts banging
against our main and mizzen chains as she rolled with the swell under
our lee. The Frenchmen gave a cheer, which told us how very numerous
they were: they climbed up the side and into the chains like cats, and
in a few seconds all was noise, confusion, and smoke. It was impossible
to know what the result was to be for about a minute, when the cheers
from our own men announced that the assailants had been beaten back. But
hardly had the cheering ceased on our side when another cheer was heard
from the lugger, and the attempt to gain our decks was repeated. This
time the Frenchmen fought more obstinately than before, and it was
nearly five minutes before they were repelled. It was not yet dark
(although the fog was thick), and you could make out their countenances
pretty clear; a more wild reckless set of fellows I never beheld, and
they certainly fought very gallantly, but they were driven back again;
and once more were the cheers from the British seamen and soldiers mixed
up with the execrations and shouts of the still contending, although
retreating, Frenchmen.
Just at this period of the conflict I was standing on the poop by
Bramble, who had been watching the result, when he said, "Tom, come with
me: do you jump into the main chains with a double part of the topsail
halyards fall, and when the lugger's mast strikes against the chains as
she rolls into us, pass the fall round it underneath the rigging, and
hand the end in to me."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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