BOOK V
IN THE HELL OF BATTLE, ALL
CHAPTER XVIII
The Boys in Command
"The ship is clear, sir," said Lieutenant Richard Dale, saluting smartly. He was a handsome, dashing young sailor, the picture of sea gallantry, as he ran lightly up the ladder from the main-deck and stopped before the little captain of the Bon Homme Richard, standing on the weather side of the poop, keenly surveying the scene.
"Very good, sir," said the little man, nodding his head but not turning toward his executive officer. "Look yonder," he added, pointing ahead and toward the shore. "What do you make that, sir?"
"It cannot be the Alliance!" exclaimed Dale, in great surprise, as he shaded his eyes and gazed intently in the direction of the setting sun at a large war-ship which was edging in shore toward the harbor of Scarborough, which apparently sheltered a numerous convoy of merchant ships.
"'Tis indeed she!" replied Jones, sternly; "I have repeatedly signalled to Captain Landais to follow in our wake, – to form line ahead. If we get out of this thing safely-" He stopped, repressed his feeling by a strong effort, compressing his lips passionately in a way which promised trouble for Captain Landais and the Alliance, a new and handsome frigate, the best of Jones's squadron. After a momentary pause the commodore, a man of few words in time of action at least, turned toward the stern of his ship.
"Look aft there, too," he added.
"That will be the Pallas, of course," said Dale, as his eye fell upon a smaller ship which was following the Bon Homme Richard. "And the Vengeance, sir?"
"There! Hull down on the horizon, fleeing like a coward," said Jones, bitterly.
"And those two white fellows forward there," continued Dale, "reaching out from the harbor-"
"Are the Serapis and the Scarborough," interrupted the captain, "if the information sent us by O'Neill be correct."
"Would he were here!" exclaimed Dale.
"Yes, he is himself a host," said Jones, sadly. "We are fearfully short-handed. O'Neill gone, and Henry and Cutting Lunt, our third and fourth officers, both absent. The Frenchmen are an unknown quantity. I have only you, Dale, and Stacey and Mease, and the boys, of course; but I can depend upon you."
"Upon me-upon all of us," replied Dale, gallantly, "to the death itself!"
"I know it," said the captain, smiling and laying his hand affectionately upon the young man's shoulder. "They are very young, though," he continued gravely, "for such desperate work as this promises to be, but they are brave hearts and true. They will do their best, I doubt not."
"With you to command them, sir, they'll not be found wanting, I am sure," said the enthusiastic Dale, who was devotedly attached to his great commander. There was a little pause.
"Messieurs," said Jones, turning toward a little group of French officers who were standing on the lee side of the poop. At the captain's word they stepped forward and saluted gracefully.
"Colonel de Weibert, you have served in the artillery, I believe?" asked the captain of a fine-looking veteran. The Frenchman bowed. "Will you assist Lieutenant Dale in working the battery on the main-deck? It is an unusual place for a soldier, but we are very short of experienced officers. You understand the handling of great guns. It would be a great favor."
"Any place which enables him to fight the enemy is a good place for a soldier, my captain. I am at Lieutenant Dale's service," replied the gallant old soldier.
"You, vicomte, and gentlemen," said Jones, turning to De Chamillard, who was attended by several subalterns, "will take charge of the soldiers on the quarter-deck and forecastle. I desire a continuous small-arm fire to play upon the decks and tops of the English ships."
"Sir captain," smilingly answered De Chamillard, a dapper, dainty little man, as he in turn bowed profoundly, laying his hand on his sword, "not a man shall escape my marine infantry; I answer for them and for my friends here as well," he added indicating his gay-clad lieutenants, who emulated the vicomte in the profundity of their salutations.
"Remember, gentlemen," said Jones, his face lighting, "'tis for the honor of America-and of France. Mr. Brooks," he said to an alert young midshipman who was acting as his signal officer and aide, "signal the Pallas to edge off to the east and engage the smaller ship of the enemy. The big fellow is our game, messieurs. See! they are forming line ahead and are waiting for us. Brave fellows! Quartermaster," he cried, stepping to the break of the poop and looking down at the old seaman and his mates stationed at the wheel, "d'ye see those two ships?"
"Ay, ay, sir," answered the veteran tar, shading his eyes with his hand and peering eagerly ahead; "I sees 'em, yer Honor."
"That's well. The one ahead, nearest the shore, is our mark. I intend to round to on her port bow. Mind your course!"
"Very good, sir," answered the steersman, giving a knowing squint at the lifting sails, and shifting the wheel a few spokes.
"Now, gentlemen," continued the captain, "to your stations all! But stay-Mr. Brooks, direct the sailing-master, purser, and the junior officers to come up on the quarter-deck."
In a short time the two older officers and a little band of youths whose ages ranged from twelve to seventeen years stood before the captain and saluted. His eyes fell tenderly upon the boys; so youthful and immature were they to be charged with the heavy responsibilities of the coming hour, which would have devolved upon the older men but for their unfortunate absence.
"Young gentlemen," he said quietly, "accident has thrust you into positions of great responsibility which otherwise you might not have been called upon to fill for years. We are about to engage two powerful ships of the enemy. The Richard is heavily overmatched in everything except in the spirit and courage of her officers and men. I am determined-nay, we are all determined, are we not? – that the flag which floats above us shall never be struck. We may be sunk, but we will not surrender. I shall try to do my part; you will, I doubt not, do yours?"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"We will, sir."
"Count on us to the death, sir," broke forth from the impetuous youths who clustered about the captain.
"Remember that we are fighting not only to uphold the honor of our flag in the face of the most arrogant navy on the ocean, but to rescue from a shameful death-if it be not unhappily too late-one of our brother officers who would give his life to be here."
"O'Neill, O'Neill!" cried one and another, the brave Irishman being a great favorite with all.
"I enjoin upon you the utmost vigilance and care. Supplement your inexperience by redoubled effort. Be as brave as youths and as cool as veterans. Give implicit obedience to the orders you receive from Mr. Dale, Mr. Stacey, or from me, and exact the same compliance with your orders from your men. They are a hard lot to handle; don't lose control of them." He paused a moment, scanning the intent faces of the lads close about him, and then continued: "Remember, too, we have more than one foe to fight, – the prisoners below, the enemies yonder on the sea, and disobedience in our own squadron. Who keeps guard over the prisoners in the hold?"
"I, sir, with the master-at-arms," answered Payne, a resolute-looking youth of fifteen. "I wanted to be on deck in the batteries, sir-"
"You could have no more important station, my lad," replied the captain. "Keep them under hatches! Do not hesitate to shoot the first man who makes a move to break out! They must not be allowed to gain the deck. At all hazards, keep them down! I repeat it, sir, keep them down! Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," gravely answered the boy, awed by the emphasis of the captain's manner.
"You, Mr. Mayrant, with Mr. Mease the purser and Mr. Brooks, will remain on deck with Mr. Stacey and me," continued the captain. "You, Mr. McCollin, will take charge of the old eighteen-pounders on the berth-deck. You, too, have a post of danger! Be careful of them! I distrust them greatly, yet they must be tried."
"Ay, ay, sir. Thank you, sir," said the young midshipman, delighted at being thus distinguished.
"Mr. Caswell," he added, turning to the largest and oldest, "you will take charge of the forecastle. Mr. Fanning, I confide the maintop to you. The rest of you will command the several divisions in the main batteries and the other tops. Now, young gentlemen, before you go to your stations, I would take you by the hand; and so," lifting his cocked hat reverently, an example all present followed, "may God guard the right!" There was a suspicious moisture in some of the eyes looking upon the captain, but the midshipmen would have died rather than permit an actual tear to be seen.
"Three cheers for Commodore Jones and the bully Richard!" at last shouted Payne, breaking the insupportable silence. The little party, somewhat forgetful of discipline for the moment, crowded around their captain, shaking him by the hand, and turned away. They had come up to the quarter-deck a rollicking set of boys; they returned from it a group of grave-eyed men.
"What a splendid set of youngsters!" said Jones to himself, as he watched them spring lightly toward their stations. Then he turned toward the sailing-master: "Mr. Stacey, take the deck for a few moments and hold on as we are. Ah!" he said, pausing with his foot on the ladder as he saw the Pallas, a much swifter sailer than the Richard, rushing by on the starboard side with every breath of canvas drawing, heading for the smaller of the two English ships before them, "there goes the Pallas. Cottineau, at least, is a brave man. I shall remember him. Come, Dale." As he stepped down the ladder a hearty cheer rang out from the passing frigate, which, without order, was lustily returned from the Richard, and then the two officers walked through the batteries.
The sun had set for some time, and night had long since fallen over the sea. The lighthouse on Flamborough Head was sending out a great beam of warning from that jutting point. Far on the horizon a silvery brightness had spread itself in the heavens, bespeaking the harvest moon, the burnished rim of which even before sunset had leaped into being on the edge of the water. Lights twinkled here and there on the English ships before them and crowned the hills of the distant town and harbor. Battle lanterns were lighted between decks on the Richard, the yellow flickering radiance from which was reflected from the sinewy, half-naked, sweat-covered bodies of the stalwart men at their quarters, as the captain walked through the crew.
It was a varied assemblage of about three hundred men which manned the guns and filled the tops. The crew had been made up in France out of such materials as came to hand. There were about seventy-five tried and true American seamen, most of them veterans of many a hard fight and bold adventure. These commanded the different guns and filled the more important stations. There were, perhaps, one hundred and fifty veteran French soldiers, – old artillerists, – some of whom had volunteered at the guns; a few of the most expert marksmen among them were stationed in the tops, but the greater portion was divided into two large bodies drawn up on the quarter-deck and forecastle. The balance of the crew had been gathered from the riff-raff of all nations; perhaps a tougher, rougher, harder, more desperate body of men never fought a ship; they had but one virtue, – they would fight.
Only a resolute hand and an indomitable will like that of Jones had ever held the motley crowd in any kind of discipline. He had ruled the Richard with an iron heart, and in spite of bitter murmurs had forced the men to do his will. The ship had been a slumbering volcano of incipient mutiny and latent rebellion; but in the presence of the enemy, these men whose passion it was to fight forgot their personal grievances, and mindful of the finished skill and superhuman courage of their captain, looked favorably upon him and eagerly anticipated the conflict. Rude jests and bits of sea pleasantry, usually permitted in moments like these, flew up and down the line between the captain and the ruffians under his command as he passed by them in rapid review.
The watches had been piped to supper earlier than usual, and afterward a double ration of grog had been served out. The men were in good spirits, and good spirits in them! The captain carefully examined every part of the ship. The young midshipmen who filled the unwonted stations, evidently deeply impressed by their opportunities and responsibilities, were pacing restlessly up and down, eagerly scrutinizing every detail of their several commands. On the berth-deck, standing before the hatch which led into the hold in which over two hundred English prisoners were confined, the commodore found young Payne, attended by the master-at-arms, two American seamen, and three French soldiers, keeping guard.
"Ah! I am glad to see you at your station," said the captain, raising his voice, as the young midshipman, full of pride, saluted him. "You remember my orders, sir, which were to shoot the first man who shows his head above the hatch?"
There was a hoarse murmur from the prisoners beneath the gratings which covered the hatchway, at this speech of the captain's, which was, as he had intended, clearly heard by them.
"Ay, ay, sir. I'll do it; never fear," answered the lad, in his boyish treble.
"Remember, sir, that I regard your station as one of the most important on the ship! Those men must not be allowed on deck!"
"They shall not be!" answered Payne, resolutely. "If the ship goes down, they go with it!"
There was a harsh roar below; oaths, curses, imprecations, and cries were blasted up from the deck beneath them.
"Silence there!" shouted Jones. "Remember!" he said to the midshipman as he turned away.
"I shall not forget, sir," replied the boy, saluting proudly.
"Do what you can," said Jones, turning to McCollin, – "do what you can with the old eighteens."
"They shall be fought as long as they exist, sir," answered the young officer.
"I know that, sir," said Jones, glancing approvingly from him to the little groups of half-naked men clustered about the guns, the sweat streaming from their muscular bodies in the heat of the narrow, confined quarters, "and you have the men with you who will back you up."
A hoarse cheer which resounded throughout the dim recesses of the berth-deck bespoke the hearty acquiescence of the men in their captain's shrewd estimate of their qualities.
CHAPTER XIX
'Tween Decks with the Men
The captain, not ill pleased at this and other manifestations of hearty spirit which had met him on every hand, mounted the ladders and resumed his station on the high poop-deck of the frigate.
Anything less like a war vessel could hardly be imagined. The Bon Homme Richard had been an old-fashioned, high-pooped East Indiaman with a towering forecastle. This antiquated makeshift, formerly called the Duc de Duras, had been turned over to Jones for a ship-of-war through the grudging kindness of France. It was the best ship Franklin and the other commissioners of the new American Republic could procure for their greatest sea captain. Jones, out of compliment to Franklin, author of the "Poor Richard" papers, had renamed her; the name was the only thing new about her. She had been pierced for thirty-six guns, twenty-eight twelve-pounders on the main-deck, and eight nine-pounders on the quarter-deck and forecastle. In utter desperation at her entire inadequacy, Jones had recourse to the dangerous experiment, not often resorted to, of mounting six eighteen-pounders in ports pierced for them on the berth-deck, and of course very near the water line. The guns were all of an obsolete pattern and much worn by use, the eighteen-pounders being especially bad; as dangerous, in fact, to friends as foes. Bad as they were, they were all he could obtain, and, with characteristic determination, Jones resolved to make the best of them.
The ship herself was so old and rotten that she was not even fit for an ordinary merchant cruise, much less prepared for the shocks of battle. Through an unfortunate combination of circumstances, all of her senior officers were absent except Dale, the first lieutenant, Stacey, the sailing-master, and Mease, the purser. Among that half of her crew who were soldiers, many had scarcely yet acquired their "sea-legs," and some of them were actually seasick during the battle! The Serapis, with which they were about to engage and to which they were rapidly drawing near, was a brand-new, double-banked frigate, mounting fifty guns on two covered and one uncovered decks, twenty eighteen-pounders, twenty nines, and ten sixes. She was manned by three hundred and fifty well-drilled able seamen and commanded by one of the best officers in the English navy, who was ably seconded by a full quota of capable and experienced subordinates.
Pearson had no more doubt of winning the victory than he had of the rising of the sun next morning. Leaving one factor out of a comparison of the opposing forces, his confidence was absolutely warranted. But Jones had no more doubt of winning the victory than Pearson had. Pearson knew his ship and his crew; Jones knew himself. He was the unconscious factor which vitiated Pearson's conclusions. When a man like the little Scotch-American captain makes up his mind to do a thing, there is only one thing to prevent his doing it, and that is to remove the man! Jones intended to conquer. There never was a man who had more of the spirit of absolute determination, of unconquerable, unshakable, unbreakable pertinacity in continuing a conflict, than he. He never knew when he was beaten; perhaps because he never was. There was something in the sheer determined, persistent pugnacity of the man which absolutely compelled success. He wrenched victory from overwhelming odds, superior force, fortuitous chance, – everything.
The men understood this, too. There is nothing your real hard-bitten dare-devil, your imprudent ruffian, likes so much as a man who is not afraid of him and who will be his master. Your ruffian curses and swears at your man, plots against him, rebels, mutinies, conspires, and in the moment of action follows him like a devotee. The little man standing at the break of the poop, cool, calm, thoughtful, with his student face and somewhat poetic, dreamy smile, did not look like the iron-handed, iron-willed, indomitable master of the motley ruffian band which had been dumped upon his deck-which he certainly was. With the dainty manner of a Frenchman, the courteous deference of a gentleman of the oldest and best school, the calmness of an ancient philosopher, there was in his appearance no outward evidence of the tremendous qualities inherent in the man, save in the sparkling, flashing, piercing eye which plunged through and through those upon whom its glances were fastened, with the keenness of a sword-blade.
His men were wont to say that he could look even a frigate into striking her colors if given an opportunity! The hardest ruffian cringed like a cur before him, and this when he was peaceful and quiet. When he grew angry, which was rare, his passion was like Washington's, blasting and appalling. He was perfectly quiet now, however, and he stood by Dale's side at the break of the poop looking over the bows of the ship toward the enemy.
As they swept forward through the peaceful sea, a fragrance of balm and spicery and myrrh, which seemed to suggest the many voyages of the old ship in the distant tropic latitudes, clung about the decks and pervaded the gentle air already redolent with the sweet scent of new-mown hay from the not distant shore. It was as calm and sweet an autumn night as ever falls across the tired earth. The land breeze blew softly across the decks; the bright radiance of the glorious moon of harvest sparkled and wavered and flickered with sinuous, restless brilliancy on the tossing water ahead. All the busy notes of preparation had died away. There had come over the hearts of all, in that moment before the approaching crisis, a little silence which bespoke a recognition of the gravity of the impending conflict The mellow-toned bell forward was striking the time; two, four, six, seven bells in the second dog watch, half after seven o'clock. The minutes were being rung away for some of the men upon the decks of the great old ship; for many of them the bell would strike no more. Some who had gazed carelessly upon the setting sun would not see it rise again. Laughter ceased, jests failed, and some unwonted lips, while eyes were heavenward turned, murmured the name of God in belated petition. Even the most hardened and indifferent sailor felt the influence of the hour and was still.
Off on the starboard bow, the Pallas was gallantly speeding toward her distant foe. The Alliance, having paid no attention to repeated signals, was still edging in toward the convoy. The Serapis with her topsail to the mast, her men at quarters, ports open, lanterns lighted, was grimly waiting. As Jones's eye fell upon the Alliance, his lips were tightened; a black shadow swept across his face which boded ill for Landais again. When Dale, standing by his side, ventured to break his reverie by a bitter comment upon the defection of the frigate, Jones remarked, -
"Never mind, sir. The fewer we are, the more honor we shall gain by taking them."
But in the main the two officers kept silent watch together. Even the chattering Frenchmen caught the contagion of the portentous moments and stood in quiet ranks prepared and ready. It was no quarrel of theirs, this in which they fought, but their old and ever present hatred of England gave them inspiration enough for the conflict. The breeze freshened slightly; and as the Richard drew nearer the Serapis, the latter swung her ponderous main-yard and slowly filled away. The two ships were sailing at right angles to each other, the Richard slightly ahead of the Serapis, which was moving to cross her bow.
"Shall I go to the batteries now, captain?" asked the first lieutenant.
"Yes, I think you would better," answered Jones, stretching out his hand.
"Good-bye, sir," said the other, grasping it firmly.
"Good-bye; God bless you, Richard," said the older man, looking gravely at his beloved subordinate.
"And you, sir," returned Dale, with an unusual accent of tender affection; then he turned and ran rapidly to his station.
"Pass the word quickly," said Jones to young Brooks, "for the men to deliver their fire promptly and together when the word is given. Not a gun is to be discharged until the order. After that, as rapidly as possible."
As the fleet-footed midshipman ran along the decks, a little murmur of excitement arose. There was a shifting of positions; men sprang to their stations; hoarse whispers came from the gun captains, as the smouldering matches, or glowing loggerheads, were handed to them by their subordinates.
"Silence fore and aft the decks!" came the clear voice of the captain.
The murmurs died away as young Brooks sprang up the ladder and reported that everything was ready. The boy officers choked down something that rose in their throats as they walked nervously up and down their divisions. A fleeting thought they gave to home, mother, hours of play, so far away. It was the first battle for many of them. Down on the berth-deck in front of the hatchway, little Payne looked to the priming of his pistols and whispered a word or two to his men, who stood with their muskets pointing down through the gratings covering the hatchway. He wished he had been up on deck with the rest, fighting a great gun, or attached to the side of the captain; but the captain had told him that the post of honor and importance was here, and here he would stand. There, on the starboard side, his young messmate and friend, McCollin, gave another careful inspection to his three old eighteen-pounders, firmly resolved to give such an account with them, if they did not burst, as would decide the action.
Caswell and Mayrant were in the forecastle to fight the two guns there. Mr. Mease, the purser, as brave a man as ever stepped a deck, though no sailor, had charge of the quarter-deck guns. Stacey, the sailing-master, stood aft by the wheel to assist in working the ship. Brooks and De Chamillard were on the poop near Jones. Fanning, with his bullies in the maintop, was anxiously wishing that he, too, might have a place in the centre of the conflict, the gun-deck, little knowing what decisive moment was in store for him.
They were nearer now, well within gun-shot, yet there was no sound from either ship. The tense expectancy of the moment was becoming unbearable to the younger hands. What were the captains of the ships about? Why didn't they fire? Away off on the horizon, flashes of light and the deep boom of artillery reverberating across the water, told that their consort had joined in battle with the Scarborough. Why were they so slow? Suddenly, in the midst of the silence, broken only by the soft sigh of the summer wind through the top-hamper, the splashing of the bluff bows, as they forced themselves through the rippling water, came the sound of a hail from the English ship, the words of which were indistinguishable.
"I don't understand you," cried Jones, then he turned to the quartermaster and said softly, -
"Over with the helm! Hard-a-starboard!" As the wheel was put over by the skilful hands of the quartermaster and his mate, the great ship swung slowly to port and rounded to off the port bow of the English ship.
The Englishman hailed again.
"This is the United States ship Bon Homme Richard," shouted Paul Jones in reply, at the top of his voice, springing up on the rail the while. "Stand by!" A quiver and shiver went through the ship from her tops to her very vitals. "Fire!"
Streams of light leaped out in the darkness; clouds of smoke rose at once from the sides of the Richard only to be met and brushed away by a broadside which had been delivered no less promptly from the English ship. Groans and curses and yells and cheers rose from the blood-stained decks upon which men writhed in the agony of ghastly wounds, or lay contorted in hideous death where they had fallen, for at close range both broadsides had done fearful execution.
The desperate men ran the huge guns in and out and loaded them with frantic energy and kept up a continuous cannonade upon their foes. The roar of the great guns drowned every other sound as the two ships sailed side by side in bitter conflict, but the trained ear of the American captain had detected another sound coincident with the first broadside which told a tale of disaster. When the loggerheads had been applied to the priming of two of the eighteens, they had exploded with a terrific concussion, killing and wounding nearly every man of their crews.
McCollin, who commanded the battery, was struck by a piece of iron and received a dreadful wound. He remained at his post, however, clinging tenaciously to a broken stanchion for a moment until he recovered himself a little. As the frightened and appalled men shrank away from the remaining gun of the battery, not yet discharged in view of the dreadful explosion, he seized the hot iron from the dead hand of the captain of number one gun, and setting his lips grimly staggered over to the last cannon.
"Don't do it, sir!" hoarsely cried the old boatswain's mate who served under him. "It'll blow up with ye, as the others ha' done!" There was no reply. McCollin was beyond words. With set lips and grim face, in silence he wavered on before the awestruck men. With tottering steps he reached the gun and applied the iron. There was a blinding roar and the gun whirled inboard in rapid recoil from the force of the discharge.
"Load it again," said the gasping boy, striving to stop the blood with his hand against his side. Before the men, who, inspired by such heroism, had sprung eagerly forward, could reach the piece, an eighteen-pound shot from the Serapis' lower deck struck it fair and square on the trunnion and dismounted it. That battery was useless. The explosion had made a gaping hole in the side of the Richard, through which the red-lighted side of the Serapis but a short distance away could be seen plainly; the deck above and below was badly shattered by the blowing up of the guns.
"All the men alive of this division," said McCollin, thickly, "will find places at the divisions on the gun-deck. We can do nothing more here. Good-bye, Payne."
A few moments later a powder-blackened, blood-stained, white-faced, desperate little figure appeared out of the smoke before the captain.
"McCollin, you here!" he cried sternly, "why are you not with your battery, sir?"
"I have to report, sir," said the boy, grasping the rail with one hand to keep from falling, while he saluted with the other, "that two of the berth-deck guns blew up, sir, and the other was dismounted. Have you any orders for me, sir?"
"Too bad!" cried Jones. "Orders! – but you are wounded!"
At this moment a round shot struck the lad fair in the chest. With his hand still at salute he was whirled across the deck and thrown against the taffrail, a broken mass of what had been humanity.
"Good Heaven!" exclaimed the captain, staring and almost losing his iron nerve at this double shock, – the loss of the battery and the death of the midshipman. "Poor lad! A hero!"
The ships were nearer now; the rifles of the Frenchmen were cracking and the fire from the great guns was continuous. The Richard had drawn well ahead; and fearful that the Serapis would cross his stern and rake, Jones now shivered his headsails, threw his after-sails aback, checked the way of his own ship, and the Serapis, firing madly into the smoke, drew ahead of the Richard. Jones then put his helm up to try to cross her stern and rake. The quick handling of the English ship frustrated this plan. The bow of the Richard struck the port quarter of the Serapis. The two ships hung together a moment, boarders were called on both sides; but before they could be used, the two ships drifted apart and formed a line ahead, with not a single gun bearing on either ship. The roar of the guns gradually subsided and even the crack of the small arms died away. The smoke drifted slowly off to leeward.