A HEAVY GALE AHEAD — THE WIND BECOMES FAIR — GERALD’S PLAN TO RECOVER THE SHIP — CARRIES IT OUT — NORAH’S RESOLUTION — THE LIEUTENANT CAUGHT NAPPING — THE FRENCHMEN’S WEAPONS SECURED — BUSSON AND THE FRENCH CREW OVERPOWERED — GERALD AND NORAH HOLD LIEUTENANT VINOY IN CHECK — THE OUZEL GALLEY REGAINED — A COURSE STEERED FOR WATERFORD — PRECAUTIONS AGAINST RECAPTURE — APPROACH THE LAND.

The Ouzel Galley had run very nearly as far north as the latitude of Ushant, though she was still some way to the westward.  Her crew had got on very well with their captors, who called them bons garcons, and were perfectly willing to fraternise with them.  No one coming on board would have suspected their relative positions.  The lieutenant made himself at home in the cabin; he was polite and courteous to Norah and Captain Tracy, and in no way presumed on being, as he was, the real commander of the ship.  Gerald, however, did not seem inclined to associate with him, and seldom came into the cabin when he was there.  Gerald, indeed, spent most of his time in assisting Norah to attend on Owen, by whose side he would sit patiently for hours together; or else he was holding secret confabulations with Dan Connor and Tim Maloney.  Although Owen had been greatly weakened by loss of blood, it saved him from fever, and his wound, which was not deep, rapidly healed.  Of this, however, Gerald advised Norah not to tell the lieutenant.  The other wounded and pick men continued in their berths, apparently making no progress towards recovery; so that, of the original crew of the Ouzel Galley, there were only five hands besides Gerald and Tim fit for duty.  These, of course, the Frenchmen, with their officer, considered that they were perfectly able to keep in order.  The weather, which had hitherto been especially favourable, now greatly changed for the worse; a strong north-easterly gale springing up threatened to blow the Ouzel Galley far away to the westward.  Lieutenant Vinoy was in despair; he had been anticipating the pleasure of carrying his prize into Boulogne, the port to which Captain Thurot had ordered him to take her, in the course of two or three days — and now she might be kept out for a week, or three weeks for that matter, and the risk of being recaptured greatly increased.  Still he did his best to hold his ground, keeping the ship close-hauled, now on one tack, now on the other; while either he or his mate, Jacques Busson, were ever on deck ready to take advantage of any change of wind.

“I shall sleep soundly when this vile wind from the eastward has ceased to blow,” exclaimed the lieutenant one day, on coming down to dinner.

“I hope you will,” said Gerald, looking him boldly in the face.  “You deserve some rest after keeping watch and watch so long.”

“Gerald,” said Norah, when they were together in the cabin, the captain being on deck, “I suspect that you are thinking of attempting to recover the vessel, and that our father has not been told what you intend to do.”

“Why should you suppose so?” asked Gerald.

“Because I see you constantly talking to the men in a way you never used to do, and because you avoid the French lieutenant and speak to him in so strange a manner,” answered Norah.

“I won’t deny that I have a plan in my head; but you are to know nothing about it till it has succeeded,” replied Gerald.  “One thing I’ll tell you, that I’m very sure it can’t fail of success if all hands are true to each other — and, Norah, don’t be alarmed if you hear that two or three more of our people are down with the fever; and if our father says anything, you can just remark that I told you I was sure they would very soon be well again.”

“I have confidence in your discretion,” said Norah, “but I pray that there may be no necessity for violence, and that neither the young officer nor any of the men may be injured.”

“That depends on circumstances,” said Gerald; “no one wishes to hurt a hair of their heads if they behave themselves — if not, they must take the consequences.”

The gale increasing, it taxed all the strength of the Frenchmen, and the few of the original crew who remained, to shorten sail; but anxious as Lieutenant Vinoy was to get into port, he refused to heave to, and continued beating the ship to windward.  At length, one day, soon after noon, the wind began to decrease, and before dark a moderate breeze was blowing from the southward.  Captain Tracy had every day taken an observation, the French officer not objecting to his doing so, and Gerald always asked him whereabouts they were, noting the spot carefully down on the chart when the lieutenant was on deck, so that his proceedings might not be remarked.  This day, according to Gerald’s calculations, they were exactly a hundred and fifty miles to the southward of Waterford.  The night was cloudy, and, as there was no moon, it was darker than usual.  One-half of the Frenchmen had turned in, as had Lieutenant Vinoy; Jacques Busson had the middle watch.  Gerald had gone to his berth, but not to sleep; he merely pulled off his shoes and jacket, and then, lying down, drew the blanket over him.  After waiting for about an hour he got up and groped his way to Lieutenant Vinoy’s cabin; the door was partly open — the sound which issued from within showed that the French officer was fast asleep.  Gerald cautiously entered and possessed himself of a brace of pistols which hung within reach of the lieutenant’s hand at the head of his cot, as also of a sword suspended to the bulkhead.  Carefully carrying them out, he then, quietly closing the door, made his way to Owen Massey’s cabin.

“We could not have a better opportunity than the present,” he whispered.  “If you will get ready, I will call my father and warn Norah to keep quiet.  Here are the lieutenant’s pistols — do you take one of them, and I will carry the other and a sword to my father.  You will have no difficulty in keeping the lieutenant shut up in his cabin, while I creep forward and get Pompey and Dan to come aft and secure Jacques Busson.  Just as they do so I will give a whistle loud enough for you and my father to hear, and immediately you do so you both will spring on deck and overpower the man at the helm.  The rest of our people are prepared to act as you have arranged; one of them will knock down the look-out forward, while the others will throw themselves upon the other Frenchmen and secure the hatches on those below.  You wished Tim and me to keep ourselves free to act according to circumstances; Tim was to get into the boatswain’s storeroom, and to cut as many lengths of rope as we shall require.  He will have them in readiness for the moment they are wanted.  There can be no mistake, I hope?”

“None, provided the Frenchmen don’t take alarm,” answered Owen.  “You, at all events, understand the plan perfectly.”

“We may carry it out, too, I trust, without bloodshed,” said Gerald.  “Shall I go forward and give the signal?”

“Yes.  I feel well able to do my part, though my left arm may not be of as much use as I should wish,” answered Owen.  “Call your father and Norah, and then lose no time, or the lieutenant may be waking and give us more trouble than is necessary.”

Gerald then crept back into the state cabin.  He first went into Norah’s berth, and uttered a few words in her ear in a low voice.  She had not undressed, having been warned by Owen of what was likely to happen, and she had resolved to give every assistance in her power; though her arm was weak, she possessed nerve and courage, and might be able to keep watch over the French officer, or even to turn the scale in favour of her friends, should any part of the plan miscarry.

“Give me the pistol,” she whispered; “I know that it is ready for use, as I saw the lieutenant loading it this afternoon.”

“Do you think he suspected anything?” asked Gerald.

“That was no sign of his doing so,” answered Norah; “he has frequently withdrawn the charges and reloaded his pistols since he came on board.”

“All right, you shall have it,” said Gerald; “but you mustn’t mind shooting him if it is necessary.  Remember, if you don’t we may possibly be overpowered, and shall be much worse off than we are now.”

“I hope that no such necessity may arise,” answered Norah, and her voice trembled as she spoke.

“There, stay quiet till you’re called, and I’ll take the sword to our father,” said Gerald.  The captain was awake, and prepared for the attempt to recapture the ship, he and Owen having decided on the best plan for carrying it out.  He took the sword which his son brought him — the lamp which swung from the deck above shed a feeble light throughout the cabin — he had just quickly dressed, when Norah appeared.

“I had wished you to remain in your berth till we had secured the Frenchmen,” he whispered.

“Pray do not insist on my doing so,” she answered.  “I may be able to help you, and I cannot bear the thoughts of hiding away while you are exposed to danger.  Do let me try to be of use, father; I shall run no greater risk than I should by keeping in my berth.  See, Gerald has given me a pistol, and I know how to use it.  It will serve, at all events, to frighten the Frenchmen.”

The captain, seeing Norah was determined, at length consented to do as she proposed.  Owen now joined them, and he and the captain crept to the foot of the companion-ladder, up part of which they mounted, to be in readiness to attack the man at the helm as soon as Gerald’s signal should be heard.  Meantime, Gerald had made his way on deck.  He had on a dark jacket and trousers and dark worsted socks, and by creeping along close under the bulwarks he would be able, he hoped, to get forward without much risk of being seen.  Jacques Busson, the officer of the watch, was slowly pacing the deck, now looking up at the canvas which like a dark pyramid seemed to tower into the sky, now addressing the man at the helm to keep the sails full or else to steer rather closer to the wind, now shouting to the look-out forward to ascertain that he was awake and attending to his duty.  Gerald stopped to observe what Jacques Busson was about; he could distinguish the Frenchman’s figure against the sky, as he paced backwards and forwards on the raised poop, halting now and then to take a glance to windward, and again taking a few steps towards the stern.  The moment Gerald thought that his back was turned he again crept forward.  He had no fear of being discovered by the man at the helm, whose eyes, dazzled by the binnacle lamp, were not likely to distinguish him.  Thus on he went, quickly doubling round the guns, till he reached the fore hatchway, down which he slipped without being perceived by either of the Frenchmen on deck, who were seated under the weather bulwarks, and, as he rightly concluded, with their eyes shut.

“We shall have no difficulty in tackling those two fellows,” he thought.  The Frenchmen were berthed on the starboard side of the forecastle, the Ouzel Galley’s people on the larboard side; Gerald was thus easily able to find his friends.  He had previously made all the arrangements with Dan and Pompey — they had communicated them to the rest of the crew, who only waited his arrival to carry them out.  Gerald and Dan had undertaken to get possession of the Frenchmen’s pistols.  It was the most perilous part of the work to be performed, for should they be awakened they might give the alarm, and put the watch on deck on their guard.  Both Dan and the black had noted accurately the places where the Frenchmen had put their weapons, who, instead of depositing the pistols under their pillows, had hung them up just above their heads, within reach of their hands, while their cutlasses lay by their sides.  To remove the latter might be difficult without making a noise, and it was, besides, considered of less importance to get hold of them.  Stealing silently across the fore-peak, Gerald and Dan reached one of the bunks; Dan then leaning over, felt for the occupant’s pistol, which he carefully unhooked and handed to Gerald, who, almost breathless with eagerness, grasped it tightly.  They then went to the next berth, and possessed themselves of the other weapons in the same manner.  The third man turned as they approached, and uttered a few incoherent words; Dan and Gerald crouched down out of sight lest he should awake, but a loud snore showed them that there was no great fear of his doing that, and his pistols were successfully abstracted.  The fourth man seemed restless, and at length raised himself on his shoulder, and looked out.

“Qui va la?” he asked in French.  Gerald and Dan were standing in deep shade, and remained still as mice, scarcely daring to breathe.  The Frenchman, seeing no one, must have thought that he had been dreaming, and again lying down composed himself to sleep.  They waited till they heard him also begin to snore, and Dan then crept forward and got hold of his pistols.  They each took one, and gave the remainder to their shipmates.  Tim was then sent up, furnished with a piece of line, with directions to conceal himself close to the hatchway, down which he was to let the line hang, and his pulling it up was to be the signal that the Frenchmen were off their guard.  On feeling it pulled all the party below were to spring up on deck and overpower the crew forward.  Gerald accompanied by Dan and Pompey were, however, to make their way aft in the same cautious manner in which he had come forward.  The black, in order to run less risk of being discovered, had stripped himself naked, and oiled his body all over.  The doing so was his own idea, and he grinned when he proposed it to Dan.

“I like one big eel, and if dey try to catch me I slip out of dere hands,” he observed, chuckling.

“We could not hope for a better opportunity than the present,” whispered Gerald into Dan’s ear.

“All right, sir,” answered Dan, touching Pompey and Tim.  The former, as agreed on, noiseless as a cat, crept up on deck, when he immediately gave a tug to the string.  Gerald, with Dan and Pompey, followed, and, crawling on all-fours, began to make their way aft.  The booms and boats would have concealed them for some part of the distance from Jacques Busson even had it been daylight; they therefore ran no risk of being discovered till they reached the after-part of the quarter-deck.  Pompey had now to play the chief part in the drama.  Crawling up on the lee side of the poop, he lay flat on the deck, while Gerald and Dan stole after him, ready to spring up to his aid directly he had thrown himself on Busson, leaving the helmsman to be dealt with by the captain and Owen.  Pompey had just reached the break of the poop, having waited for the moment that Jacques Busson’s back was towards him:  a few seconds passed, when the Frenchman again turned round, and, advancing a pace or two forward, shouted to the man on the look-out.  No answer came.  “Bete,” he exclaimed, “he is asleep.  I must arouse him with a rope’s end.”

As he spoke he advanced, about to descend the steps leading to the quarter-deck — at that moment Pompey, who had been watching him as a serpent does its expected victim, springing to his feet, threw his arms round the Frenchman’s neck, while he at the same moment shoved a large lump of oakum into his mouth before he could even utter a cry.  Dan, quick as lightning, joined him, while Gerald whistled shrilly the promised signal to his father and Owen.  It was heard too by Tim, who pulling the line, the rest of the Ouzel Galley’s crew sprang up, some throwing themselves on the two Frenchmen slumbering under the weather bulwarks before they had time to draw their pistols.  The men on the forecastle, however, aroused by the noise, fired theirs at their advancing opponents; but owing to the darkness and their hurry the bullets missed their aim, and just as they got their hands on their cutlasses they were both knocked over with well-planted blows in their faces, and brought to the deck, at the same instant that Tim, to whom the duty had been confided, closed down the hatch on the watch below.  The helmsman, on hearing the scuffle, was turning his head to see what was the matter, when he found his arms pinioned by the captain and Owen.  On seeing this, Gerald ran forward to where Tim had concealed the rope.  He soon returned with a sufficient number of lengths to lash the arms of Busson and the men, while Tim carried the rest of the rope to his shipmates forward, who were not long securing the three Frenchmen.  The remaining four of the French crew, who had been aroused by the scuffle, were now making desperate efforts to force their way up on deck, and one on the top of the ladder had just succeeded in lifting up the hatch, when Tim saw his head protruding above the combing.

“Bear a hand here, or shure the mounseers will be out of the trap,” he shouted, at the same time seizing a capstan-bar, which was close at hand, and dealing a blow with it at the head of the Frenchman, who fell stunned off the ladder, back upon his companions following at his heels.  Notwithstanding this, immediately they had recovered themselves they again attempted to get up, and another man had succeeded in raising half his body above the hatchway.  Tim attacked him as he had done the first; the man, however, who was a powerful fellow, grasped the capstan-bar, and getting his knee on the combing was about to deal a blow at Tim which would have felled him to the deck, when one of the English crew, attracted by his cries, sprang to his assistance, and, wrenching the weapon from the Frenchman’s hands, struck him dead.  Two more only had now to be disposed of; they, still in ignorance of the fate of their companions, sprang up the hatchway, and before they had time to gain their feet were thrown down and secured.  The man who had fallen below was groaning heavily.

“He’ll do no harm,” observed Pat Casey.

“Arrah, don’t be too shure of that,” said Tim; “if he was to come to life, he’d be after letting loose the others.  It will be wiser to lash him too; and unless the dead man is kilt entirely, I’d advise that we prevent him from doing mischief.”

Pat felt the Frenchman’s head.  “Shure, I never knew a man come to life with a hole like this in his skull,” he remarked, “but to make shure in case of accidents, we’ll heave him overboard;” and without more ado the body of the Frenchman, who was undoubtedly dead, was shoved through the foremost port.

Lieutenant Vinoy had not vainly boasted that he was a sound sleeper, for notwithstanding the scuffle over his head, he did not awake; and happily Norah, who had been stationed at his cabin door to keep him in check should he attempt to break out, was not called upon to exercise her courage.  The two events which have been described were, it will be understood, taking place at the same time.  During those exciting moments no one thought of what the ship was about; the consequence was that she flew up into the wind, and it became necessary to box her off.  All hands were required for this purpose — the fore-yards had to be braced round, the after-yards squared away.  Owen, from his wound, being the least able to exert himself, went to the helm, the captain hauling away with the rest of the crew.

“Gerald, do you go forward and keep a look-out on our prisoners,” cried the captain.  “If their arms by chance are not securely lashed, one or more of them may be getting free and setting the others at liberty.  Call Tim Maloney to help you.”

Gerald was about to obey this order, when the sound of loud knocking and Norah’s voice came from below, exclaiming, “The lieutenant is awake and trying to break out of his cabin.”  Gerald heard it, and shouting to Tim to look after the Frenchmen forward, he sprang down the companion-ladder.  He was not a moment too soon, for the French officer, awaking and believing from the sounds which reached him that something was the matter, had leaped out of bed with the intention of hastening on deck, when he found the door fastened on him — then, hearing the captain issuing orders, he guessed truly what had occurred.  Supposing that there might yet be time to regain possession of the ship, he frantically endeavoured to break open the door.  The only weapon he could discover was the leg of a stool, which having wrenched off, he managed with it to prise open the door.  The light from the state cabin fell on him as he appeared at the opening; just at that moment Gerald sprang down from the deck.  Catching sight of the lieutenant, he presented his pistol.

“Stay, monsieur,” he exclaimed, “if you venture out of your cabin, I shall be under the disagreeable necessity of shooting you.”

The Frenchman hesitated, for, the light glancing on the pistol-barrel, he recognised his own weapon, which he knew never missed fire, and showed him also that he was totally unarmed.  Gerald saw his advantage.  “Let me advise you, monsieur, to go back and sit down quietly, and no harm will happen to you,” he continued.  “The ship is ours, and we intend to keep her.”

“Parbleu!” exclaimed the Frenchman, shrugging his shoulders; “you have indeed gained an advantage over me.”

“Very true — but not an unfair one,” said Gerald, laughing, but still keeping his pistol pointed at the officer, who now caught sight of Norah, also with a pistol in her hand, standing a little behind her brother.  He might have made an attempt to spring upon Gerald and wrench the weapon from his hand, but from the determined look of the young lady he thought, in all probability, that she would fire over her brother’s head should he do so.  He therefore stepped back and sat down on the only remaining stool in the cabin, folding his arms with an air of resignation.

“I acknowledge myself defeated,” he exclaimed; “but when I have a young lady as an opponent my gallantry forbids me to resist.”

“It all comes of being a sound sleeper, monsieur,” said Gerald, “but if you had kept your weather eye open it might not have happened.  However, you may turn in again now and sleep as soundly as you like till we got into Waterford harbour, where we shall be, I hope, if the wind holds fair, in another day or two.  But don’t agitate yourself we’ll treat you as politely as you treated us, except that we shall be compelled to keep you a prisoner, in case you should try again to turn the tables on us.”

The ship had now been brought round; the head-yards were squared, and the course laid for Waterford.  Still there was a great deal to be done; it was necessary to secure the prisoners, so that there might be no risk of their rising.  Jacques Busson was a powerful and determined fellow, and he would to a certainty, if he had the opportunity, get free and try to set his countrymen at liberty.  The lieutenant also, though addicted to sleeping soundly, was likely to be wide enough awake for the future, and would in all probability try to regain possession of the ship.  He was therefore requested to confine himself to his cabin.

“I am sorry to treat you so inhospitably,” said Captain Tracy, “but necessity compels me, and I hope that it will be but for a short time.  I must warn you, however, if you attempt to break out, that we shall be obliged to secure you as we have done your men; but to save you from temptation, we shall secure your cabin door on the outside in a way which will prevent you from doing so.  If, however, you will give me your promise not to attempt to regain your liberty, you will be treated with no further rigour.”

“I must make a virtue of necessity,” answered the lieutenant; “it is a very disagreeable one, but I submit.”  And without more ado he threw off his coat and quietly turned into his cot.

“Don’t trust him, Gerald, whatever he may say,” whispered Captain Tracy, “till we have the door firmly secured.”

“Ay, ay, father,” answered Gerald; “if he shows his face at the door without leave, I’ll make him draw it back again pretty quickly.”

Pompey had been left to watch over Jacques Busson and the man who had been serving at the wheel.  He had no pistol, but instead he held in his hand a sharp, long-bladed sheath-knife, which effectually kept the prisoners from stirring.  He evidently took especial delight in his office, and reluctantly consented to drag Jacques Busson into a cabin, where it was arranged that he should be confined, but at the same time with his arms and legs firmly secured.  The rest of the men were carried down into the forecastle, and were placed in their bunks, the captain having examined each of them to be certain that they were lashed in a way from which they could not liberate themselves.

Morning dawned soon after these arrangements had been made.  Jacques Busson grumbled greatly at the treatment he had received.

“What for you make all dis fuss?” said Pompey, who was standing sentry over him.  “You want to take us into French port — we take you into Irish port.  Waterford berry nice place, and when we get dere we take you out of limbo, and you live like one gentleman.”

“Sacre!” answered the Frenchman, who had only caught a word or two of what Pompey had said, “if we fall in with a French ship before we get there, I’ll pay you off, mon garcon, for nearly strangling me with your greasy arms.”

Pompey only grinned a reply.  There was no use wasting words, considering that neither understood the other’s language.  The lieutenant took matters more philosophically than his inferior.  He was, however, not to be trusted, and either Gerald or Dan kept watch at his door with a loaded pistol.  The arms and legs of the other men were too securely lashed to afford much risk of their getting loose; still, a trusty man was stationed over them, as there was no doubt that they would make the attempt could they gain the opportunity, and if one could cast off his lashings he might speedily set the others at liberty.

The sea was smooth; the sun shone brightly; and the Ouzel Galley made good way towards Waterford.  She was, however, upwards of a hundred miles from that port, and might before reaching it fall in with another French ship.  She was, indeed, now in a part of the ocean in which privateers were likely to be cruising, on the look-out for homeward-bound vessels.  It was necessary, therefore, to avoid any strange sail till her character could be positively ascertained.  A hand was accordingly stationed aloft to give timely notice should a sail appear in sight.  This, of course, weakened the crew, who were already insufficient to work the ship; the wounded men, though they had aided in overpowering the Frenchmen, were but little capable of performing continuous work.  Owen felt his wound very painful, yet he persisted in attending to his duty, and could scarcely be persuaded to lie down on the sofa for a short time to rest, while the captain took his watch on deck.  Gerald was highly applauded by his father and Owen for his courage and judgment, which had so much contributed to the recapture of the vessel; even the French lieutenant expressed his admiration of the way he had behaved.

“If young English boys are so brave and cool, no wonder that we should have been overpowered,” he observed.  “I only wish that we had had a French boy on board, and it is not impossible that he might have discovered your plot and counteracted it.  The next time I have charge of a prize, I will place a French boy to watch the English boys, and then we shall see which is the sharpest.”

“I don’t know which may prove the sharpest, but I am ready to fight any two French boys of my own age I have ever met in my life,” answered Gerald, laughing; “first one come on, and then the other, or both together, provided they’ll keep in front, or let me have a wall at my back, when they’re welcome to do their worst.”

“Ah, you are too boastful,” said the lieutenant.

“Pardon me, monsieur, not at all.  I am only sticking up for the honour of Old Ireland,” answered Gerald.

The Ouzel Galley was drawing nearer to her port, and the chances of recapture diminished; still there was another night’s run, and no one liked to boast till they were out of the fire.  The crew of the Ouzel Galley were pretty well worn out, and it was with the greatest difficulty many of them could keep their eyes open.  Perhaps the Frenchmen counted on this, and the hope that they yet might regain their liberty prevented them from losing their spirits, and they amused themselves by singing snatches of songs and every now and then shouting out to each other.  They were also well supplied with food, and as much grog as they chose to drink.

“It’s shure to comfort their hearts,” observed Dan, as he went round with a big can and a tin cup; “besides, they’ll be less likely to prove troublesome.”

The night came on; the captain, Owen, and Gerald did their best to encourage the men and to urge them to keep awake, however sleepy they might feel, continually going among them and reminding them that in a few hours more they might turn in and sleep for as many hours as they might like at a stretch, without the fear of being knocked on the head and thrown overboard.  “And, my lads,” observed the captain, “if the Frenchmen retake us, depend upon it that’s the way we shall be treated — they’ll not give us another chance.”

The only person who slept that night was Norah, who, although she had not gone through any physical exertion, had felt more anxiety than any one, from knowing the risk those whom she loved were about to run.  It would be difficult to describe her feelings as she saw her father and Owen steal upon dock to attack the man at the helm; and often during that night she started up, believing that the scene was again being enacted.

The wind continued fair; the Ouzel Galley held on her course, and no suspicious sail came near her during the night.