by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XIX.
THE BATTLE OF CAMPERDOWN.
"The flag of Britannia, the flag of the brave, Triumphant it floateth on land and o'er wave, And proudly it braveth the battle and blast, For when tattered with shot it is nailed to the mast." _Old Song._
It was early on the morning of one of those bright and bracing days inthe beginning of October, when summer seems to return as if to saygood-bye before giving place to winter with its wild winds, its stormyseas, its driving mist and sleet. The _Tonneraire_ had sailed in towardsHavre on the previous evening. To put it in plain English, she was onthe prowl. Jack had received word from a fisherman that lying at anchorwas a very large store-ship belonging to the French, and he meant to cuther out or destroy her. But either the fisherman had deceived him orthe vessel had sailed. He found no vessel that he could make a prize of,nor any foeman worthy of his steel.
Having been up half the night, Jack Mackenzie was tired, and had laindown to sleep. The ship was under easy sail, and going to the north andwest, right before the wind. Jack was dreaming about his old home ofGrantley Hall. He was walking in the garden on a bright moonlight nightwith his sister and Gerty; but the sister had gone on, up the broadgreen walk, while the other two stopped beside the old dial-stone, thefigures on which were quite overgrown with green moss and graypink-tipped lichens.
"See, see, Gerty," he was saying, as he hurriedly cleared the stone,"the old time appears again, the dear old days have come once more. Thefigures were always there though we could not see them. Our old love,Gerty, like the figures in the dial, has been obscured, but never, neverlost." A bonnie blush had stolen over her face, and her long eyelashesswept her cheeks, as she glanced downwards at a bouquet of blue flowersJack had given her. She was about to reply, when sharp as a pistol-shoton the quiet morning air rang out the voice of the outlook aloft,--
"Sail ahead, sir; right away on the starboard bow!"
Gerty with her flowers of blue, Gerty with the bonnie blush on her cheekand the love-light in her eye, Grantley Hall, green grassy walks,dial-stone, and all vanished in a hand-clap, and next moment Jack washurriedly dressing to go on deck.
She was a French sloop of war. Disappointed at his want of success onthe previous night, Jack announced to Tom Fairlie his generous intentionof blowing her sky-high.
So all sail was crowded in chase.
The sloop bore away before the wind. She knew, perhaps, her best coursefor safety and escape.
It was very tantalizing but very exciting withal. She might have been aphantom ship, so steadily did she crack on all day long, Jack nevergetting a knot nearer, nor she a knot farther off. Stun'-sails were setand carried away, all was done that could be done; but when at last thecrimson sun sank in a pink and purple haze, all on board could see thatthe sloop had won the race.
But strange things happen, and but for this sloop Jack would never havehad the honour of being at the battle of Camperdown. They had sailedvery far north; and about five bells in the morning watch, while it wasstill dark, the _Tonneraire_ found herself surrounded with mightymen-of-war. Now, if these were Frenchmen, the days and years of theswift _Tonneraire_ were assuredly numbered. But they were not. They werethe ships of Britannia, who was even then ruling the sea--the fleet ofbold Scotch Duncan, who had been refitting at Yarmouth, when he hadheard that the great Dutch fleet of De Winter had at last crawled out ofthe Texel, and was on its way south to effect a junction with theFrench, then--Heaven help Britannia!
"Going to join the French fleet De Winter is, is he?" Scotch Duncan saidwhen he heard the news. Duncan never said a bad word, but on thismemorable occasion he hitched up his Scotch breeks and added, "I'll bedashed if he does. Make the signal 'Up anchor!'" Having issued thisorder, he coolly entered his state-room to lock his drawers and put awayhis papers and jewellery, for he knew the ship would be knocked about abit. As he did so he whistled "Johnnie Cope."
And now the _Tonneraire_ was hailed by the flagship, and told to fall inwith the fleet.
Tom Fairlie rubbed his hands with delight, M'Hearty chuckled, and oldSimmons rumbled out some remark to the effect that he knew Duncan well,and that "you youngsters" (that was Tom and Jack) "will soon have yourfill of honour and glory."
So they did.
And braver battle than Camperdown was never fought. Not only did ourfellows exhibit the greatest of courage, but gallant De Winter as well.
The Dutch had about twenty ships, and we nineteen in all. Since thesuppression of the mutiny at the Nore, Duncan had regained all hisfleet; and the men seemed determined to wipe out the stain that hadblackened their characters. And right well they succeeded.
You must go to history for a complete account of the battle. Suffice itfor me to say that on coming up with the enemy's fleet on the 11th ofOctober, Duncan broke right through it and got inshore. De Winter couldnot have got away had he wanted to ever so much. The great battle wasfought dangerously near to the coast indeed, for here were shoals andsands that were quite unknown to our fleet. The beach was lined withspectators, who must have been appalled at this terrible conflict ofgiants.
The _Tonneraire_ was splendidly handled. Old Simmons himself took thewheel, and carried her grandly alongside a Dutchman nearly double hersize, so close that the guns touched, and seemed to belch fire anddestruction down each other's iron throats. But Jack had no intention ofstopping there to be blown out of the water by the Dutchman'sbroadsides.
"Away, boarders!" It was Jack's own brave voice sounding through thetrumpet, high over the din of battle.
Then, ah then! a scene ensued that it may be just as well not todescribe too graphically. Our marines and blue-jackets boarded pell-melland together, and amid the roar of cannon from other ships, theincessant rattle of musketry from the tops, the hand-to-hand fight ragedon, with shouts and groans and shrieks of execration. Hitherto nowounded man had been borne below to the cockpit, so that M'Hearty wasidle as yet. He was on the rigging with the captain, from which they hada bird's-eye view of the battle.
"Look, sir, look, the captain of marines has fallen. Oh, I can't standthis!"
Next moment he had leaped below. Off went his coat and waistcoat andhat. He seized a cutlass, and in a minute more was on the Dutchman'sdeck, flailing away like a perfect Wallace Redivivus. Many a head hebroke, for he literally showered his blows like wintry rain.
He saved the marine captain's life, although that sailor-soldier wasseverely wounded. It is almost unnecessary to say that, under thecircumstances, Captain Jack Mackenzie forgave the gallant doctor forleaving his ship without permission.
But the toughest fight of all raged around Duncan's flagship, the_Venerable_, when she tackled that of the Dutch admiral DeWinter--namely, the _Vreyheid_. Just as in days of long, long ago thechiefs of opposing armies used to delight to single each other out andfight hand-to-hand, so did bold Duncan keep his eye on the Dutchman, andas soon as the battle had commenced he went straight for her. As he boredown towards her, however, the _States-General_ presented a target thathe could not resist, for she was stern on to the _Venerable_. Murderousindeed was the broadside Duncan poured into her, raking her from aft tofore. This vessel soon after left the battle ranks, with a loss of overtwo hundred and fifty killed and wounded.
"_Bold Jack Crawford nailed the colours to the mast._" Page 169.]
And now the great tulzie commenced in awful earnest, for Duncan rangedhimself up against the _Vreyheid_ to the lee, while to windward ofher was the _Ardent_. But three mighty Dutchmen came down hand-over-handto the defence of their brave admiral's ship. So fearful was the fire ofthese latter that Duncan's ship would speedily have been placed _hors decombat_, had not others come to his rescue and restored the balance. Butnothing could withstand the fury of Duncan's onslaught; and at last,with every officer dead or wounded, the brave Dutch admiral hauled downhis flag. Twice during the terrible combat had Admiral Duncan's flagbeen shot away. It was then that bold Jack Cr
awford, whose nameindicates his Scottish origin, wrapped the colours round his waist, andproviding himself with nails and a hammer, climbed nearly to themain-truck and nailed the ensign to the mast.
Duncan received De Winter's sword, and soon after the battle was overand the victory ours. A glorious day and a glorious victory, but, ah!how dearly bought. It gives us some faint notion of the pluck and go ofour navy in those fighting days of old, to learn that the _Ardent_ hadher captain and forty officers and men slain outright, and no less thanone hundred and seven wounded.
The scene in the cockpit during a fight like this is one that geniusalone could graphically depict. The centre-ground of the picture is thebig table, around which the surgeons are at work, stripped to theirshirts, their faces stained, their hands and garments dripping gore. Thewhole place is filled with stifling smoke, through which the glimmeringlights are but faintly seen; but all around are ranged the wounded, thegashed, the bleeding, awaiting their turn on the terrible table. You canhear them if you cannot see them--hear them groaning, sometimes evenshrieking, in their agony; and the mournful call for "Water! water!" isheard in every lull of the fight or momentary cessation of cannon'sroar. And bending low as they move among them are the stewards andidlers of the ship, serving out the coveted draught. But down theblood-slippery companion-ladder come the bearers incessantly, carryingas gently as a Jack can their sorely-stricken messmates. Verily a sadscene! On deck war is witnessed in all its pomp and its panoply, on deckis honour and glory; the dark side is seen in the cockpit--the sorrow,the despair, the hopelessness, the agony, the death.
