In the first place, ten men look forward in a ship,
where one looks aft. Those who looked aloft, too, were generally on
the quarter-deck, and this prevented them from looking astern. Then
the Frenchman's crew had just gone to their breakfasts, most of them
eating below. She was so strong-handed, moreover, as to give a
forenoon's watch below, and this still left many of the sluggards in
their hammocks. In that day, even a French ship-of-the-line was no
model of discipline or order, and a letter-of-marque was consequently
worse. As it afterwards appeared, we were first seen by the mate of
the watch, who ran to the taffrail, and, instead of giving an order to
call all hands, he hailed us. Mr. Forbank, our second-mate, answered;
mumbling his words so, that, if they were bad French, they did not
sound like good English. He got out the name "Le Hasard, de Bordeaux,"
pretty plainly, however; and this served to mystify the mate for a few
seconds. By the end of that time, our bows were doubling on the
Frenchman's quarter, and we were sheering into him so fast as quite to
distract the Nantes man. The hail had been heard below, however, and
the Frenchmen came tumbling up by the dozen, forward and aft.
Captain Williams was a prime seaman, and one of the coolest men that
ever lived.
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