O'Brien, Buccaneer by H. Bedford-Jones

Author:H. Bedford-Jones [Bedford-Jones, H.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Action and Adventure
Publisher: Altus Press
Published: 2014-04-04T00:00:00+00:00

For Glory and the Main

THEIR Majesties’ ship Bristol, decidedly in a bad way. She was fourth rate, forty-two guns, was by no means new, for she had been launched at Portsmouth under Cromwell in 1653, and was now forty years old almost to a day, as proved by the Navy List.

The morning had broken in warm splendor, as it is so apt to do between the Canaries and the African coast, but it found Captain the Hon. Sir Philip Boteler in a devilish bad humor on his wakening. A heavyset and somewhat nearsighted man who loved the bottle and a good horse rather than the sea, Sir Philip was hugely disgusted with the alleged life of glory that had beckoned when, on a drunken wager, influence at court appointed him to a good ship and he set forth to better the exploits of Clowdisley Shovell in six months’ time.

He had every right to be disgusted on this sunny morning. Only the previous afternoon he had come up with two French privateers who refused to run or even to strike, as he had a right to exact of all who met the blue flag. Against the urging of his officers, Sir Philip started to give the “mounseers” a hot lesson—with the result foreseen by his officers, who were well aware what would happen when forty-two culverins tried distance against a dozen twenty-four-pound guns, ably manned by Malouins who knew their business. Luckily for Sir Philip, a black squall broke about sunset and saved him from disgrace, but it also settled his ship, and sent him to bed a most seasick gentleman.

He arose to a warm and sunny morning, quaffed his pint of Canary and ordered his officers admitted to his presence. His manservant, after adjusting his wig properly, informed him that there were no officers except Lieutenant Houghton, in the sickbay with a smashed leg, but the master gunner was waiting.

“Sink me!” exclaimed Sir Philip in dismay. “Have him in, have him in! Good morning, Master Gunner. What’s this I hear, man? No officers?”

“True enough, Sir Philip,” said the brawny, dour officer. “None but me and Lieutenant Houghton, your Worship. The master was swept off the for’ard deck when the squall hit us, and the chaplain was hit at the last broadside—”

“Damme and sink me!” said Sir Philip. “They’re lucky. What a night I’ve had! Never so devilish sick in my life. Sick, d’ye hear? Not ill—sick. What’s that paper ye have there?”

“Casualty list, your Worship,” said the master gunner. “Out of a hundred and twenty fit men, we’ve not forty left. Near as we can reckon, there were some two score killed during the fighting, but the storm was worse. Half of them that are left be talking mutiny. They’re out o’ that pressed lot we took aboard—”

“Good!” said Sir Philip with energy. “Pick out the chief men and have them triced up at the capstan and given thirty lashes. Damme and sink me! I’ll teach these dogs the meaning of discipline!”

“Who’s to do it, sir?” said the master gunner bluntly.

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