CHAPTER VIII.

A "CUTTING-OUT" EXPEDITION.

YOU may be sure that both officers and men kept a bright look-out for the opening of the door of the captain's cabin. It was surprising how many of the officers found themselves on deck, though it was a broiling day, and they would have been cooler in the wardroom. Little Charlie Egerton, the youngest midshipman, so far forgot himself as to presume upon being the captain's son, and went to the door, knocking timidly. But he probably heard something not pleasant to his feelings, for he ran away with more haste than dignity.

Presently Mr. Duncan, first lieutenant (and in those days a frigate carried no commander, so that the "first luff" was second in command), was sent for, which greatly increased the excitement on board.

After some time, Mr. Duncan and Mr. Yeo came on deck together. Mr. Duncan briefly gave the order, "Pipe the side," and while Mr. Yeo's boat was being brought into position, these two talked together very earnestly.

Captain Egerton came on deck before Mr. Yeo departed. He looked about for a moment, and then said—

"We shall have to beat up against the wind the whole way. The 'Imogene' is pretty lively, so I dare say we shall keep together easily. Good-bye, Yeo; we shall have fine weather, I think."

"I think so, sir; good-bye."

And with a last shake hands, Mr. Yeo was gone.

"Mr. Duncan, I wish the men to come aft. I want to speak to them."

Mr. Duncan passed the order on to the boatswain, "All hands aft, Mr. Kenyon."

And in no time, so eager were they, every man not actually busy was ready for the captain's speech.

Mr. Duncan, who knew all about it, went and took the place of the man at the wheel—one of those small acts of good fellowship by which the English naval officer makes his men ready to follow him anywhere.

"My men," said the captain, "the 'Warspite' has brought us great news—some of it sad enough. The United States have declared war; rather unexpectedly, for it was supposed that we had arranged that difficulty. The American frigate 'Ontario' met, fought, and captured our frigate the 'Corinna.' Admiral Kinnaird has died of yellow fever. Thus the two officers senior to me on this station are removed, and the command is in my hands for the present. But I cannot rejoice in this, for Admiral Kinnaird is a terrible loss to the service, and Captain Hervey, of the 'Corinna,' is one of my dearest friends, and they say he is wounded.

"It becomes our duty, of course, to fight the Yankees wherever we can find them, and Mr. Yeo has brought me intelligence on which I mean to act. He had an encounter with an American brigantine two days ago, when they pounded at each other for some hours, until night overtook them. The brigantine was getting the worst of it, and she made off during the night. Mr. Yeo, after some searching, found that she had slipped into a certain creek on the north side of the little French island of S. Grégoire. She is larger and carries more men than the 'Warspite,' and there was the chance that the French officer in the fort might be able to send some men to help her. So Mr. Yeo thought it imprudent to follow her in, but knowing that we were not far off, he came down here in the hope of meeting us. And I have determined to attempt the capture of the brigantine; if possible, to surprise her and cut her out."

Tremendous cheering.

"What's cutting-out?" asked Tom, as soon as Gideon could hear him.

"I'll explain by-and-by. Hark, what more?"

"I am going to ask for volunteers," said the captain. "Mr. Duncan will command—"

"Three cheers for Mr. Duncan!" roared some one.

More cheering.

"He'll command. There will be our pinnace, yawl, and gig, and Mr. Yeo's gig—I want sixty men."

Sixty! He might have had every man there. But as all could not go, the captain proceeded to make his selection. And, to the unbounded pride and delight of Tom Adderley, he was chosen as one of the sixty.

After a while, Gideon and he being again together, Tom asked him for the promised explanation of the mysteries of "cutting-out."

"You get to know," said Gideon, "that the enemy is lying in some harbour or creek, as this here brigantine is said to do. You get as near as may be after dark. You send your boats, full of well-armed men—picked men—it's a thing for you to be proud of, Tom. Quiet—no noise, no cheering—you rows up alongside that ship, and you boards her. Then, mostly, there's a scrimmage, even if they don't see you and begin before you get alongside—though once I helped to cut out a small privateer, and every soul on board was asleep, and showed no fight at all. You beats them, claps them under hatches, let the anchor slip, and h'istes sail and away."

"What fun!" cried Tom, his eyes brightening.

Gideon looked approvingly at him.

"You're a chip of the old block," said he. "No fear but there'll be plenty of sailors, even when me and my mates are gone."

The love of fighting is, I think, one of the strangest things in our strange nature. Here was Tom, hitherto a youth of peaceful pursuits, and a particularly good-tempered one. Yet he no sooner hears that he is going to have a chance of being knocked on the head, than he is in such a state of delight and impatience that every hour seems four times as long as usual. And here is good, kind-hearted old Gideon, highly pleased to see his dear Tom in such a courageous frame of mind! Men are certainly very strange creatures.

Captain Egerton kept the "Imogene" beating up to the north-west all that day. Late in the evening she had got as far in that direction as he thought necessary, and now ran gaily before the wind for the tiny French island of S. Grégoire. The "Warspite" was not far off. Darkness fell just as they sighted the island, which was defended by a small fort on the south side, where there was a little harbour. The creek into which the American ship had crept, was not known to be fortified or defended in any way.

By nine o'clock the boats were ready. Every man had his cutlass, pistol, and knife, and the rowers were armed as well as the others. The "Warspite's" boats were with them, Mr. Yeo in command. Captain Egerton stood looking at his men as they went over the side one by one, saying a few words of encouragement and caution.

The oars were all muffled—a device quite new to Tom. His heart was beating wildly with excitement when his turn came to pass the captain. But he paused, for little Charlie Egerton had rushed up to his father in excitement even greater than Tom's.

"Father, Geering has fallen and hurt himself; the surgeon is with him now. I've got my dirk and my pistols; I can go at once. Let me go! Oh, do let me go instead of Geering."

Geering, the somewhat older mid, who was to have gone, had, indeed, contrived in his hurry to get a very bad fall, and could by no means go. Captain Egerton looked at his son. The words in his heart were, "What will his mother say to me?" The words on his lips were, "Off with you, then. Now, remember, my lads, no noise, and—and good-bye, Charlie."

Charlie tumbled into Mr. Duncan's boat as fast as he could. Tom looked in the captain's set, stern face, and said, half ashamed of himself—

"I'll be there, sir."

The captain gave him a quick glance and nodded. Tom took his place in the boat, almost wishing that he might be killed in saving Mr. Midshipman Egerton for his father's sake.

Away over the dark water, with here and there a strange light shining on the surface, some phosphorescent appearance with which they were quite familiar, but it has an eerie look to those who see it for the first time. They soon lost sight of the ships; then they were near enough to see the land by the soft starlight. The creek had a narrow mouth, and there was a tiny basin, and then a sudden turn to the west; the boats could only enter one by one. Not a word was spoken—there was no noise to betray them; three boats had entered by the narrow passage, when suddenly a blaze of light burst upon them. On the flat rock, on one side of the passage, a flame shot right up to the sky, and at the same moment a little battery, which must have been built quite recently, opened a brisk fire on the leading boat. This was the pinnace, and in it were Mr. Duncan, little Egerton, and Tom Adderley.

A yell burst from the sailors; the boat's advance was checked, for several of her rowers were killed or wounded. Mr. Duncan had fallen, and lay senseless in the bottom of the boat. The next boat nearly ran the pinnace down before it could be checked. The confusion was frightful. Mr. Yeo, who was in the third boat, was luckily a cool, clear-headed man. He took in the situation at a glance, called to his men to follow him, ran his boat close to the rocks, and landed. In five minutes he had driven the handful of Frenchmen out of the battery.

Young Egerton, gazing round, hardly knowing what had happened, heard an old sailor say in a low voice—

"Give the order to put back, Mr. Egerton. It's all up; we can do naught to-night."

The fair little face flushed. The boy looked at Mr. Duncan, and realized what had happened.

"I'm in command of this boat," said he. "Give way, my men; we'll do it yet."

But, very fortunately, poor Mr. Duncan had begun to come to his senses, and heard these words. He stretched out his hand and caught hold of the boy.

"No, Egerton, no. We must run for it."

All this passed very quickly, far more quickly than it can be told. None of the other boats had suffered as much as the pinnace, though when the "Warspites" came tumbling back into their boat, they had several wounded among them. Some unhurt men took the place of the rowers who could do no more, and Mr. Yeo gave his orders with perfect coolness. Poor Mr. Duncan had fainted again. The confusion was over; one by one the boats made for the passage, but as each boat reached it, a fire of musketry was opened on them from both sides.

The "Imogene's" pinnace was the last but one to pass through (Mr. Yeo, of course, remained to the last), and in the narrowest part of the passage, little Egerton, who had been bending over Mr. Duncan, suddenly raised himself, gave a faint cry, and fell into the water. And Tom Adderley was after him before the gleam of the fatal fire, which still blazed high, had ceased to glint on the boy's golden hair.

The last boat was close behind; there was no possibility of pausing, even for a moment.

Presently a rocket shot up from the "Imogene" to guide them; for, of course, the light had made Captain Egerton aware that there was something wrong.

When the pinnace lay alongside, Captain Egerton was there, giving his orders as quietly as if his heart had been at rest, instead of torn with cruel anxiety for his boy. Mr. Duncan was got up the side, and carried to his cabin; the other wounded were all brought up as carefully as possible. Then those who were unhurt began to follow, but the brave fellows came slowly, and not one of them could look at the captain.

"Is that all?" he said, after a pause.

"Captain, 'twere in the narrow place; 'twere a musket-shot did it."

The speaker, a big strong man, was crying like a child.

"Is—he—in the boat?" said the captain.

"No, sir. He fell overboard; and some one jumped after him, but I could not see who 'twas."

"'Twould be my poor Tom," said old Gideon. "Well, he did right."

"Mr. Egerton never blenched, sir. When the fire began, and Mr. Duncan fell, he took command of the boat as if he'd been a man grown, as bright and as cool."

Here the man broke off with a sudden shout—

"Hullo! Look at that!"

The "Warspite's" boat had come alongside during this conversation, and at this moment a small figure rushed into Captain Egerton's arms.

"Father, I'm safe!"

"My boy!"

For a few moments, I do not think there was a dry eye among the onlookers. Then the captain, making a tremendous effort to recover himself, set the boy on his feet, and said, in a voice that 'would' not be steady—

"Not wounded, Mr. Egerton?"

"No, sir. I don't know yet why I fell into the water."

But he knew presently, when he found his watch perfectly ruined, with a bullet well embedded in its works!

"How were you saved?"

"Some one caught hold of me, and the 'Warspite's' boat picked us both up. Here he is. I haven't seen his face yet."

It was a very red face, but it was the face of Tom Adderley. Captain Egerton shook hands with him then and there, and broke down in trying to thank him. Then Mr. Yeo came on board, and he, with the captain and Mr. Carteret, retired for a consultation. Gideon bore Tom off. It would be hard to say which of them was the happier at that moment.

It is not to be supposed that British sailors were going to put up with a rebuff like this! Next day, as many men as could be safely spared entered that creek in broad daylight, under Captain Egerton's command. They landed, routed the small force of men armed with muskets, who proved to be sailors from the brigantine, carried the battery, spiked the guns, and blew up the place. They took the brigantine, and, being fairly started on a career of conquest, they dashed across the little island to the fort, carried it by storm, and made the garrison prisoners. It was a very small fort, and the garrison consisted of forty half-starved looking Frenchmen, with two or three elderly officers, who swore such strange oaths that it was as well that there were few who understood them. Thus S. Grégoire became a part of the British empire.

N.B.*—Do not look for S. Grégoire on the map. But much of what this chapter contains really occurred.

* [N.B.—nota bene]

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