The Battle and the Breeze, R. M. Ballantyne [best e ink reader for manga .txt] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Battle and the Breeze, R. M. Ballantyne [best e ink reader for manga .txt] 📗». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“It ain’t spiflication, anyhow,” said Bolter. “Spell it right through.”
“Oh! I’ve got him, it’s specification,” cried Riggles; “well—”
“‘Specification. Many things will cost more than we anticipated. We had to turn the family out who had squatted here, at two days’ notice, as we could not afford to live at Kinmonday—that’s the nearest town, I s’pose. How they managed to live in the log cabin I do not know, as, when it rained—and it has done so twice since we came, furiously—the whole place was deluged, and we had to put an umbrella up in bed. We have had the roof raised and newly shingled, and are as comfortable as can be expected. Indeed, the hut is admirably adapted for summer weather, as we can shake hands between the logs.
“‘The weather is very hot, although there has been much more rain this season than usual. There can be no doubt that this is a splendid country, both as regards soil and climate, and it seems a pity to see such land lying waste and unimproved for so many years. It far surpasses my expectations, both in natural beauty and capabilities. We have a deal of work to do in the way of fencing, for at present everybody’s livestock is running over a large part of our land; but we haven’t got money to buy fencing! Then we ought to have two horses, for the boy that was sent to me from the Reformatory can plough; but again, we haven’t a rap wherewith to buy them. One reason of this is that in a new place a fellow is not trusted at first, and the last two hundred dollars we had went in tools, household furniture, utensils, etcetera. We have been living on credit for an occasional chicken or duck from our neighbours, which makes but a poor meal for three—not to mention baby, being very small—and George, that’s the boy, having a tremendous appetite!
“‘I walked into town twice to try to get some meat, but although there are ostensibly two butchers, I failed to get any. They actually wanted payment for it! Heigho! how I wish that money grew on the trees—or bread. By the way, that reminds me that there are bread-fruit trees in the South Sea Islands. I think I’ll sell the farm and go there. One day I had the good luck to rescue a fine young chicken from the talons of a big hawk, upon which we all made a good meal. I really don’t know what we should have done had it not been for the great abundance of blackberries here. They are fine and large, and so plentiful that I can gather a bucketful in an hour. We have made them into jam and pies, and are now drying them for winter use. We have also hazel-nuts and plums by the cart-load, and crab-apples in numbers almost beyond the power of figures to express. There is also a fruit about the size of a lime, which they call here the “May apple,” but which I have named “omnifruct,” as it combines the flavour of apples, pears, peaches, pine-apples, gooseberries, strawberries, rasps—in fact, it is hard to tell what it does not resemble. But after all, this is rather light food, and although very Eden-like living—minus the felicity—it does not quite satisfy people who have been used most part of their lives to beefsteak and stout.
“‘George came to me a week ago. The little rascal would have been here sooner, but first of all the stage-coach upset, and then he fell asleep and was carried ten miles beyond our clearing, and had to walk back as best he could with a big bundle on his shoulder. He is an uncommonly silent individual. We can hardly get him to utter a word. He does what he is told, but I have first to show him how, and generally end by doing it myself. He appears to be a remarkably dead boy, but my excellent wife has taken him in hand, and will certainly strike some fire out of him if she can’t put it into him! She has just gone into town on a foraging expedition, and I fondly hope she may succeed in making a raise of some edibles.
“‘I have distinguished myself lately by manufacturing a sideboard and dresser, as well as a table and bench for the female authority, and expect to accomplish a henhouse and a gate next week. You see we work in hope. I fervently wish we could live on the same. However, I’m pretty jolly, despite a severe attack of rheumatism, which has not been improved by my getting up in the night and rushing out in my shirt to chase away trespassing cows and pigs, as we have not got a watch-dog yet.
“‘When my wife shuts her eyes at night her dreams are of one invariable subject—blackberries! She cannot get rid of the impression, and I have serious fears that we shall all break out in brambles. There are not so many mosquitoes here as I had expected; just enough to keep us lively. How I shall rejoice when we have got a cow! It will be a great saving in butter and milk to our neighbours, who at present supply us with such things on credit! We can raise here wheat, oats, Indian corn, etcetera. The only difficulties are the want of seed and money! But it is unkind in me writing to you, mother, in this strain, seeing that you can’t help me in my difficulties. However, don’t take on about me. My motto is, “Never give in.” Give our love to father, also to Tom. He’s a good-hearted fellow is Tom, though I fear he’ll never come to much good.—Believe me, your affectionate son, Sam. Riggles.’”
“There,” said Tom, folding up the letter; “what d’ye think o’ that, mates?”
Tom did not at that time get an answer to his question, for just as he spoke the order was given to beat to quarters for exercise, and in a few minutes the decks were cleared, and every man at his post.
But the order which had been given to engage in mimic warfare, for the sake of training the new hands, was suddenly changed into the command to clear for action in earnest, when the look-out reported a French vessel on the weather-bow. Sail was immediately crowded on the Waterwitch, and all was enthusiasm and expectation as they gave chase to the enemy.
The Waterwitch was commanded at this time by Captain Ward, a man possessed of great energy and judgment, united to heroic courage. He had received orders to join that portion of the British fleet which, under Nelson, was engaged in searching for the French in the Mediterranean, and had passed Cape St. Vincent on his way thither, when he fell in with the French vessel.
During the morning a thick fog had obscured the horizon, concealing the enemy from view. When the rising sun dispersed it he was suddenly revealed. Hence the abrupt order on board the Waterwitch to prepare for action. As the fog lifted still more, another French vessel was revealed, and it was soon found that the English frigate had two Frenchmen of forty-four guns each to cope with.
“Just as it should be!” remarked Captain Ward, when this was ascertained. “There would have been no glory in conquering one Frenchman equal to my own ship in size!”
The Waterwitch was immediately steered towards the ship that was nearest, in the expectation that she would show fight at once, but the French commander, probably wishing to delay the engagement until his other vessel could join him, made sail, and bore down on her. Captain Ward, on perceiving the intention, put on a press of canvas, and endeavoured to frustrate the enemy’s design. In this he was only partially successful.
“Surely,” said Bill Bowls to his friend Ben Bolter, with whom he was stationed at one of the starboard guns on the main deck, “surely we are near enough now to give ’em a shot.”
“No, we ain’t,” said Tom Riggles, who was also stationed at the same gun; “an’ depend on it Cap’n Ward is not the man to throw away his shot for nothin’.”
Ben Bolter and some of the other men at the gun agreed with this opinion, so our hero, whose fighting propensities were beginning to rouse up, had to content himself with gazing through the port-hole at the flying enemy, and restrained his impatience as he best could.
At last the order was given to fire, and for an hour after that a running fight was maintained, but without much effect. When, however, the two ships of the enemy succeeded in drawing sufficiently near to each other, they hove to, and awaited the advance of the Waterwitch, plying her vigorously with shot as she came on.
Captain Ward only replied with his bow chasers at first. He walked the deck with his hands behind his back without speaking, and, as far as his countenance expressed his feelings, he might have been waiting for a summons to dinner, instead of hastening to engage in an unequal contest.
“Cap’n Ward niver growls much before he bites,” said Patrick Flinn, an Irishman, who belonged to Bowls’s mess. “He minds me of a spalpeen of a dog I wance had, as was uncommon fond o’ fightin’ but niver even showed his teeth till he was within half a yard of his inemy, but, och! he gripped him then an’ no mistake. You’ll see, messmates, that we won’t give ’em a broadside till we’re within half pistol-shot.”
“Don’t take on ye the dooties of a prophet, Paddy,” said Ben Bolter, “for the last time ye tried it ye was wrong.”
“When was that?” demanded Flinn.
“Why, no longer ago than supper-time last night, when ye said ye had eaten such a lot that ye wouldn’t be able to taste another bite for a month to come, an’ didn’t I see ye pitchin’ into the wittles this mornin’ as if ye had bin starvin’ for a week past?”
“Git along wid ye,” retorted Flinn; “yer jokes is as heavy as yerself, an’ worth about as much.”
“An’ how much may that be?” asked Ben, with a grin.
“Faix, it’s not aisy to tell. I would need to work it out in a algibrabical calkilation, but if ye divide the half o’ what ye know by the double o’ what ye don’t know, an’ add the quarter o’ what ye might have know’d—redoocin’ the whole to nothin’, by means of a compound o’ the rule o’ three and sharp practice, p’r’aps you’ll—”
Flinn’s calculation was cut short at that moment by the entrance of a round shot, which pierced the ship’s side just above his head, and sent splinters flying in all directions, one of which killed a man at the next gun, and another struck Bill Bowls on the left arm, wounding him slightly.
The exclamations and comments of the men at the gun were stopped abruptly by the orders to let the ship fall off and fire a broadside.
The Waterwitch trembled under the discharge, and then a loud cheer arose, for the immediate result was that the vessel of the enemy which had hit them was partially disabled—her foretopmast and flying jibboom having been shot away.
The Waterwitch instantly resumed her course and while Bill Bowls was busily employed in assisting to reload his gun, he could see that the two Frenchmen were close on their lee bow.
Passing to windward
Comments (0)