CHAPTER XIII

AFTER THE FIGHT

I

All was very still on the deck of the _Tremendous_; and those quiet men lolling in the sun added to the hush.

They sprawled about in all attitudes--on their faces, on their backs, in each other's arms, as though snoozing. And the snoring noise that came from one or two of them enhanced the illusion. Only the blank unwinking eyes of those upon their backs, the expression of the upturned faces, and the wet red stuff smeared everywhere, showed that they were not holiday picnickers.

Aft by the binnacle a man sat up against the side watching with appalling solemnity the blood pat-pat-patting down from a wound in his side. He dabbed a finger in the mess, and scrawled his name on the deck,

Tom Bleach. R.I.P._

"Tom Bleach--Remember Im Please," he repeated, nodding his head with portentous gravity.

A white and crimson huddle beside him groaned.

The man of letters frowned at it.

"How d'ye feel, cookie?" he asked.

"Mortal queer," whispered the dying man.

"It do feel queer, dyin," admitted the other solemnly.

A French officer close by opened glazed eyes.

"I too I die," he announced. "What then will I do?"

"Why, pray God forgive you bein French," growled old Ding-dong, propped against the wheel. "That's your worst crime."

II

The boy came up from below, deathly pale, the wind lifting his hair. He crossed to the old Commander, reeling faintly among the dead as he came.

"Lanyon alive?"

"Yes, sir. All well below," in thin and ghostly voice.

The old man nodded satisfaction.

"Starry fighter, ain't he?--Wonderful gift that way. Don't know as I ever saw his ekal at a pinch."

He looked up at the lad, swaying above him.

"Feel funny?"

The boy did not reply, leaning against the side, a far-away look in his eyes.

Then he burst into tears.

"There, there!" said the old man soothingly. "Sure to come a bit okkud-like first start-off. It's been a nasty beginning for you too--messy fightin, I call it. Look at my quarter-deck! More like a slaughter-house nor a King's ship."

He mopped at his leg.

"And all the shore-goin folk on their knees in Church all the time!--Funny to think on, ain't it?"

III

The Gunner came up the ladder.

A sack was cast about his naked shoulders; his cocked hat was on the back of his head; and a tooth-pick between his lips.

He strolled to the side.

Beneath him the _Cocotte_, smoking like a damped furnace, the blood trickling from between her seams, was settling fast.

"Got her bellyful all snug," said the Gunner complacently, picking his teeth.

He strolled off to old Ding-dong, propped on his corpse beside the wheel.

"Well, sir, you play a pretty stick with a handspike still!--how's yerself?"

"Tidy," grunted the veteran. "How fur's yon frigate yet? I can't see over the side, settin on my little sofia."

"Within random shot, sir. She's got a slant of wind, and is crowding all sail to get alongside."

"Then we'd best be sturrin. How are we ridin?"

The Gunner looked over the side.

"Why, middlin deep, sir."

"Then cut the boats away, and the anchors. Stave in the water-casks. Heave all spare shot and tackle overboard--we need nowt but the boards we stand on and the guns we fight; and make what sail you can on her.... I shall bear away for the shore. Don't mean bein took at my time o life."

IV

A breeze light as a lady's kiss smote the water. The topsails of the sloop began to fill and flutter.

Deep in the water as a barge, she drew away from her floundering antagonist. As she did so, the privateer, as though loth to let her depart unsaluted, barked a sullen farewell.

A roar of triumph from the _Coquette_, clearing now on the port-bow and a fainter shout from the frigate to starboard, told their own tale.

The mizzen, struck twenty foot above the deck, came down with a crash. With it fell the red-cross flag, and the faces of the crew.

"Hand me that striped petticut!" roared the Gunner, pointing to the tricolour lying entangled in the ruins of the privateer's main-top on the deck of the sloop. "I want to blow me nose."

He leaped on to the bulwark, flag in hand; and staying himself by the shroud, blew his nose boisterously on the enemy's colours.

The crew, busy clearing the wreckage of the mizzen, roared delight.

The Gunner jumped down, and spread the flag over the old Commander's feet as he lay.

"There's the first on em, sir. There's two more to follow."

"Make it so," said the old man grimly.

He was chewing a quid, and a battered cocked hat tilted over his eyes.

V

The Gunner marched away, eyes to his right, eyes to his left. And as he marched, he swept off his cocked hat.

"Chaps," he called to the remnant of the crew gathered grimy about the after-hatch. "I thank my God for this booriful sight. Frenchman to port!" shooting his left arm. "Frenchman to starboard!" shooting his right. "Frenchman astarn!" with a backward toss. "And God A'mighty aloft. What more can a Christian ask?"

A shot from the frigate splashed under the bows of the sloop, sluicing her deck.

"There she spouts!" roared the Gunner, and clapping on his hat ran, kicking his heels behind him. "Come along, the baby-boys!--the last fight o the little _Tremendous_--and the best."

III

UNDER THE CLIFF

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