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Page 64
The Richard carried a motley, crew, to keep whom in order one hundred
and thirty-five soldiers--themselves a hybrid band--had been put on
board, commanded by French officers of inferior rank. Her armament was
similarly heterogeneous; guns of all sorts and calibres; but about equal
on the whole to those of a thirty-two-gun frigate. The spirit of baneful
intermixture pervaded this craft throughout.
The Serapis was a frigate of fifty guns, more than half of which
individually exceeded in calibre any one gun of the Richard. She had a
crew of some three hundred and twenty trained man-of-war's men.
There is something in a naval engagement which radically distinguishes
it from one on the land. The ocean, at times, has what is called its
_sea_ and its _trough of the sea_; but it has neither rivers, woods,
banks, towns, nor mountains. In mild weather it is one hammered plain.
Stratagems, like those of disciplined armies--ambuscades, like those of
Indians, are impossible. All is clear, open, fluent. The very element
which sustains the combatants, yields at the stroke of a feather. One
wind and one tide at one time operate upon all who here engage. This
simplicity renders a battle between two men-of-war, with their huge
white wings, more akin to the Miltonic contests of archangels than to
_the comparatively squalid_ tussles of earth.
As the ships neared, a hazy darkness overspread the water. The moon was
not yet risen. Objects were perceived with difficulty. Borne by a soft
moist breeze over gentle waves, they came within pistol-shot. Owing to
the obscurity, and the known neighborhood of other vessels, the Serapis
was uncertain who the Richard was. Through the dim mist each ship loomed
forth to the other vast, but indistinct, as the ghost of Morven. Sounds
of the trampling of resolute men echoed from either hull, whose tight
decks dully resounded like drum-heads in a funeral march.
The Serapis hailed. She was answered by a broadside. For half an hour
the combatants deliberately manoeuvred, continually changing their
position, but always within shot fire. The. Serapis--the better sailer
of the two--kept critically circling the Richard, making lounging
advances now and then, and as suddenly steering off; hate causing her to
act not unlike a wheeling cock about a hen, when stirred by the contrary
passion. Meantime, though within easy speaking distance, no further
syllable was exchanged; but an incessant cannonade was kept up.
At this point, a third party, the Scarborough, drew near, seemingly
desirous of giving assistance to her consort. But thick smoke was now
added to the night's natural obscurity. The Scarborough imperfectly
discerned two ships, and plainly saw the common fire they made; but
which was which, she could not tell. Eager to befriend the Serapis, she
durst not fire a gun, lest she might unwittingly act the part of a foe.
As when a hawk and a crow are clawing and beaking high in the air, a
second crow flying near, will seek to join the battle, but finding no
fair chance to engage, at last flies away to the woods; just so did the
Scarborough now. Prudence dictated the step; because several chance
shot--from which of the combatants could not be known--had already
struck the Scarborough. So, unwilling uselessly to expose herself, off
went for the present this baffled and ineffectual friend.
Not long after, an invisible hand came and set down a great yellow lamp
in the east. The hand reached up unseen from below the horizon, and set
the lamp down right on the rim of the horizon, as on a threshold; as
much as to say, Gentlemen warriors, permit me a little to light up this
rather gloomy looking subject. The lamp was the round harvest moon; the
one solitary foot-light of the scene. But scarcely did the rays from the
lamp pierce that languid haze. Objects before perceived with difficulty,
now glimmered ambiguously. Bedded in strange vapors, the great
foot-light cast a dubious, half demoniac glare across the waters, like
the phantasmagoric stream sent athwart a London flagging in a night-rain
from an apothecary's blue and green window. Through this sardonical
mist, the face of the Man-in-the-Moon--looking right towards the
combatants, as if he were standing in a trap-door of the sea, leaning
forward leisurely with his arms complacently folded over upon the edge
of the horizon--this queer face wore a serious, apishly self-satisfied
leer, as if the Man-in-the-Moon had somehow secretly put up the ships
to their contest, and in the depths of his malignant old soul was not
unpleased to see how well his charms worked. There stood the grinning
Man-in-the-Moon, his head just dodging into view over the rim of the
sea:--Mephistopheles prompter of the stage.
Aided now a little by the planet, one of the consorts of the Richard,
the Pallas, hovering far outside the fight, dimly discerned the
suspicious form of a lonely vessel unknown to her. She resolved to
engage it, if it proved a foe. But ere they joined, the unknown
ship--which proved to be the Scarborough--received a broadside at long
gun's distance from another consort of the Richard the Alliance. The
shot whizzed across the broad interval like shuttlecocks across a great
hall. Presently the battledores of both batteries were at work, and
rapid compliments of shuttlecocks were very promptly exchanged. The
adverse consorts of the two main belligerents fought with all the rage
of those fiery seconds who in some desperate duels make their
principal's quarrel their own. Diverted from the Richard and the Serapis
by this little by-play, the Man-in-the-Moon, all eager to see what it
was, somewhat raised himself from his trap-door with an added grin on
his face. By this time, off sneaked the Alliance, and down swept the
Pallas, at close quarters engaging the Scarborough; an encounter
destined in less than an hour to end in the latter ship's striking her
flag.
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