On board the Nymph—A hot engagement—Escape of the enemy—I am transferred to the Pelican—Action off the Isle of Bas—I fancy myself with a wooden leg—We put into Plymouth—Writing under difficulties—A sad disappointment—We sail—A chase—Trying time—Action between the Venus and Sémillante—In search of the enemy.

Captain Edward Pellew, who commanded the Nymph, was, I was told, one of the smartest officers in the British navy.

“Where there is anything to do, he’ll do it; and if there is nothing to do, he’ll find something,” was the opinion expressed of him on board.

He had during the last war been first lieutenant of the Apollo, Captain Pownoll.

“I belonged to her at the time,” said my messmate Dick Hagger. “We were in company with the Cleopatra, Captain Murray, who, one morning, sent us in chase of a cutter seen in the north-west quarter. About half-past ten, when we had got nearly within gun-shot of the cutter, we saw a large ship standing out from the land. That she was an enemy, there was no doubt; so Captain Pownoll at once did his best to close her. The wind was about north-east, and the stranger, standing to the nor’ard on the starboard tack, was enabled to cross our bows. Soon afterwards she tacked to the eastward, and we also hove about until, she being on our weather quarter, we again tacked, as did also the stranger. We exchanged broadsides with her in passing, when we once more tacked and brought her to close action about noon. It was the hottest fight I had ever then been engaged in. We tossed our guns in and out, determined to win. It was sharp work; numbers of our men were falling, several killed and many wounded. Among the former was our brave captain, who was shot down about an hour after the action commenced, when our first lieutenant, Edward Pellew, who was now our captain, took command of the ship. You may be sure that he continued the fight bravely, cheering us on. What we might have thought about the matter had another man been in his place, I don’t know; but we knew him, and felt sure that he would keep it up as long as we had a stick standing or a shot in the locker.

“We were now edging away off the wind towards Ostend. It was soon seen that it was the intention of the enemy to run ashore. We had by this time made her out to be the Stanislaus, a French thirty-two gun frigate, though she was only carrying at the time, so we afterwards found out, twenty-six long twelve-pounders, so that she was no match for us.

“Our young commander now did his best to prevent the Stanislaus from running ashore by crossing and recrossing her bows; but on heaving the lead, we found that we were in little more than twenty feet of water, and that if we stood on, we ourselves must be aground before long.

“The master and other officers now came up to Mr Pellew, and strongly advised him to wear ship. You may be sure we were very sorry when we had to bring the Apollo to the wind, with her head off shore; and a few minutes afterwards the Stanislaus took the ground, when her foremast and main-topmast fell over the side. Still greater was our disappointment when we heard that Ostend was neutral ground, and that we should be violating what was called the neutrality of the port by renewing the engagement. I am not certain that our commander would not have run all risks, had not the enemy fired a gun to leeward to claim the protection of the Dutch. It is but right to say that the French fought well, for besides our captain, we hid five poor fellows killed and twenty wounded. Our rigging was cut to pieces, and we had three feet of water in the hold. The French loss was much more severe.

“Mr Pellew got his promotion to the rank of commander for this action. I next served with him on board the Pelican, a fourteen gun brig to which he was soon afterwards appointed. We were off the Isle of Bas, towards the end of April 1782, I mind, when we made out several vessels at anchor in the roads.

“Our commander at once resolved to attack them, and for this purpose stood inshore, when we saw two privateers—a brig and a schooner, each of equal force to the Pelican—spring their broadsides towards the entrance of the roads, to prevent us entering. Our commander was not the man to be stopped by threats of that sort. Standing on, we opened a brisk fire on the two privateers, and soon drove them, as well as a third which appeared inside, on shore, close under the shelter of some heavy batteries, whose guns at once began blazing away at us. We were struck several times, and two of our men were wounded, but no one was killed. It was about as pretty and well-executed an affair as I ever saw, and we were all right glad to hear that our commander had obtained his post rank for it. So you see, Will, we’ve got a man to be proud of.”

I agreed with Hagger, but yet my heart was too sore to feel any satisfaction at knowing this, and I would a thousand times rather have been on shore with my dear wife; and who, under my circumstances, would not? Still I might hope by some means or other to be able to rejoin her. The frigate, I found, had been fitted out at Portsmouth, and to Portsmouth she would in all probability return. I would thankfully have received a wound sufficiently severe to have sent me to hospital. Then, if I once got home, discharged from the ship, I determined to take very good care not again to be pressed. It would be hard indeed if Charles Iffley should discover me. In the meantime, I resolved, as I had done before, to perform my duty.

I prayed, for my wife’s sake, should we go into action, that my life might be preserved. For myself, just then, I cared very little what might become of me.

I remember, however, laughing as I thought, if my right leg were to be shot away, how Uncle Kelson and I should go stumping about Southsea Common together,—he had lost his left leg,—now our heads almost knocking against each other, now going off at tangents. I pictured to myself the curious figure we should cut.

Hagger thought, as he looked at me, that I had gone daft.

“What is the matter, Will?” he asked. I told him.

“Don’t let such fancies get hold of your mind, man,” he answered. “You’ll keep your two legs and get safely on shore one of these days, when we have well trounced the mounseers. Ever bear in mind that ‘there’s a sweet little cherub who sits up aloft, to take care of the life of poor Jack.’

“He’ll take care of both your legs for your wife’s sake, as I doubt not it would be better for you to keep them on.”

After cruising up and down the Channel for some time, we put into Plymouth, where we found the Venus frigate. Commander Israel Pellew, our captain’s brother, came on board to keep his brother company, he having no command at the time.