Three cheers! three cheers! Again! again! again!"
From the sea far below, and far away, came also the volume of a noble
English shout, as the flag began to flutter in the quickening breeze,
and the sea arose and danced with sunshine. No one, who had got all his
blood left in him, could think of anything but glory.
"My certy, they had better mind their soundings, though!" said the old
navy-man, with a stitch in his side and a lump in his throat, from loud
utterance; "five fathoms is every inch of it where they be now, and
the tide making strong, and precious little wind to claw off with. Jem
Prater! Jem Prater! Oar up, and give signal. Ah, he's too far off to
do any good. In five minutes more they'll be on the White Pig, where no
ship ever got off again. Oh, thank the Lord, mates, thank the Lord, for
his mercy endureth forever! The other froggy is stuck hard and fast, and
our lads will just fetch out in time."
Old Navy-Mike had made no mistake. The consort of the captured frigate,
a corvette of twenty-four guns, had boldly stood on with the intention
of rounding to the wind, crossing the bows of the other twain, and
retrieving the fortunes of the day perhaps, by a broadside into the
shattered upper works of the terribly hampered British ship. The idea
was clever and spirited, and had a very fair chance of success; but
the land below the sea forefended it. Full of fine ardour and the noble
thirst for fame, speeding on for the palm of high enterprise and the
glory of the native land, alas, they stuck fast in a soft bit of English
sand! It was in their power now to swear by all they disbelieved in,
and in everything visible and too tangible; but their power was limited
strictly to that; and the faster they swore, the faster they were bound
to stick.
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