The Cruise of the Midge. Michael Scott

the youth bore up, and stood right for the bar.

      "So, so," quoth Davie Doublepipe—"we are away on a party of pleasure together, I perceive, señor?"

      We carried on, but the Don, from superior sailing, kept well on our bow; and we were now, as we could judge from the increasing roar of the breakers, rapidly approaching the river's mouth.

      At this time we had a distinct view, not only of our formidable antagonist, a large topsail schooner, and apparently full of men, but of the bar which we were about to pass, in such uncomfortable fellowship.

      The canal of deep water that our steady and most excellent master aimed at, was about fifty yards wide. In it there was depth enough to allow the swell from without to roll in, clear and unbroken, had it not been met by the downward current of the river, aided, as in the present case, by the land-breeze, which made it break in short foam-crested waves.

      We carried on. All firing for the moment was out of our craniums on either side.

      "Do you see your marks now, Mr. Brail—there in the clear?" cried the master.

      "Yes; I have the two trees on with the hummock—we are running straight as an arrow for the channel."

      "Steady then," sung out the old master.

      "Steady," I returned once more.

      On the right hand and on the left the swell was by this time breaking in thunder, flashing up in snowflakes, and sending up a misty drizzle into the cold moonlight sky; but the channel right a-head was still comparatively quiet.

      The schooner made an attempt to luff across our bows.

      "Aim at him again," sung out old Bloody Politeful. "Aim at him again, Lanyard; to heave-to here is impossible."

      "Boarders, stand by," cried Lanyard; but he once more, as we approached him, kept away.

      We were now actually on the bar. The noise was astounding—deafening. The sea foamed and raged, and flew up in mist, and boiled in over our decks on either hand, as if we had been borne away in some phantom ship, that floated on white foam instead of water; while, in the very channel we were running through, the heave of the sea from without was met by the rush of the stream downwards, and flashed up in numberless jets of sparkling water, which danced about in the moonlight, and curled, and hissed, and vanished, as if they had been white-shrouded, unreal midnight spectres. We ran on, the strange sail on our lee-beam.

      "Now is your chance," shouted old Pumpbolt; "jam him down against the long reef there—up with your helm, Mr. Brail."

      "Ease off the sheets," chimed in the first lieutenant. "Handsomely, men—handsomely."

      In an instant our broadsides were rasping.

      "Starboard—shove him down, Mr. Brail!" again shrieked the master; "hard-a-weather—keep her away, and ram him on the reef there, or let us board him—time enough to luff when he strikes."

      I was fully alive to all this. The whole scene was now brightly lit up by the glorious moon, and we could perfectly see what we were about. We sheered close aboard of the schooner.

      "Fire, small-arm men—boarders, be ready."

      He still eschewed the combat, however, and kept off the wind also. A bright rainbow was at this moment formed by the moonbeams in the salt spray—the blessed emblem of peace and forgiveness—here! thought I, even in that overwhelming moment. Yes; the bow of the Immutable, of Him who hath said, "My ways are not like your ways!" spanned the elemental turmoil, the scene of the yet more fearful conflict of man's evil passions, in a resplendent arch, through which the stars sparkled, their bright rays partaking of the hues through which they shone. Oh, it was like the hope of mercy breaking through, the gloom, and sanctifying, if it could not still, the troubled heavings of a sinner's deathbed!

      "A good omen—a glorious omen!" shouted young de Walden in the excitement of the moment.

      "Jam her on the reef!" again yelled the master.

      I did so. Crash—the schooner struck. Her foremast bent forward like a willow wand, the cordage and blocks rattling, and then went over the bows like a shot. The next sea broke over her in smoke, and hove her broadside on upon the reef—another shock, and the mainmast was lumbering and rasping over the sides. She now fell off with her broadside to the sea, which was making a fair breach over her; and while the cries of the unfortunates aboard of her rent the air, and it was clear she must instantly go to pieces, we all at once slid out of the infernal turmoil of dashing waves—"the hell of waters"—and rose buoyantly on the long smooth swell, that was rolling in from the offing. For a minute before not a word had been spoken by officers or men, all hands being riveted to the deck, looking out, and expecting every instant to see the vessel under foot driven into staves; but now, as each man drew a long breath, old Davie, with most unlooked-for agility, gave a spang into the air; and while he skiffed his old hat over the mast-head, as an offering to Neptune, the gallant little Midge bent to the freshening blast, like a racehorse laying himself to his work, and once more bounded exultingly "o'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea," as if the sweet little craft had been instinct with life, and conscious that she had once more regained her own proper element—the cloven water roaring at her bows, as the stem tore through it, like a trenchant ploughshare; and dashing it right and left into smoke, until it rushed past us in a white sheet of buzzing water, that spun away in a long straight wake astern; in the small yeasty swirls of which the moon and stars sparkled diamond-like, but of many hues, as if the surface of the ever-restless ocean had been covered with floating prisms.—"Hurrah—hurrah—we are once more in blue water!"^[1]

      MURDER OF RICHARD LANDER.

      (Official Despatch.)

      "SIR—Admiral Warren having mentioned to me your wish, that any intelligence respecting the expedition on this coast might be addressed to you privately, I take the advantage of this communication to state, that on my arrival here this day from the Cape and Sierra Leone, I found Mr. Lander had died on the 2d instant of a wound in the thigh.

      "Mr. Lander left here some time since for Cape Coast Castle, to procure boats, &c.; and having got one boat and two canoes, manned by four Englishmen, seventeen black men, and two boys, had proceeded up the Niger nearly to the town of Hiammock (about 100 miles). Confident of the friendship of the natives, he was tracking the boat along there near the turn of the river, and abreast of the island, which much narrowed the passage, when, at 2 P.m., on the 20th ultimo, the boat grounding, a heavy fire was opened from the bush on both sides, and from the island, which killed two men, and wounded himself with three others. A number of large armed canoes coming round the point at the same time, they were obliged to abandon the boat, take to the canoes, and make a running fight for four hours, in which they lost another Englishman, killed, and four blacks wounded—making a total of three killed, and eight wounded.

      "He got to the Craven cutter, waiting at the mouth of the river, late in the afternoon of the 21st, arrived here on the 25th, and died on the 2d of this month.

      "Mr. Lander estimated the parties that attacked him at from eight to ten thousand, all armed with swords or muskets—a number, no doubt, much exaggerated—and felt convinced, from the judicious position they occupied, that some Europeans were assisting, which, from the slavers being much opposed to the English, and any trade on the coast, is very probable.

      "A Mrs. Brown (wife of an English merchant up the river), with her child, passengers, and a wounded black boy, were unavoidably left in the boat when she was abandoned; but Mr. Lander communicated with King Boy, who immediately sent about them, and had great hopes they would be returned uninjured. The loss to the company in arms, goods, &c. on the occasion is stated to be about L.450.

      "I trust I have not troubled you with unnecessary details, and beg to remain, sir, your most obedient and humble servant,

      "RICHARD MEREDITH,

       "Commander of his Majesty's sloop Pelorus.

      "Fernando Po, February 5, 1834.

      "P.S.—Two