The “Fortune”
Another spirited incident of a similar description is the defence of the Fortune, armed ship, Captain Hodgson, against a French privateer, on April 13th, 1811. The odds were, as usual on such occasions, very greatly in favour of the privateer, which was a brig, carrying 16 guns and about 120 men; while the Fortune, which was not intended for aggression, had 8 small guns and 2 swivels, and 19 persons on board, all told.
The action took place in the Atlantic some distance west of Ireland, and lasted for an hour and twenty minutes. The Frenchman, as usual, hoisted English colours at first, and, getting within hail, desired Captain Hodgson to send his boat on board. This was too stale a trick to meet with any success: “If you have any business with me, send your boat here,” was the reply.
Failing in his ruse, the privateer captain immediately hoisted French colours and fired, first a single shot between the Fortune’s masts and then a broadside, which was promptly returned with 100 per cent. interest. Then the enemy, very naturally, sought to bring matters to a conclusion by boarding; but, in spite of their numbers, they could not obtain any footing on the Fortune’s deck. Eight of them managed to get into the jolly-boat, which hung from the stern—a very convenient method of boarding, provided that no one happens to be handy with a sharp knife. Unluckily for the eight Frenchmen, an English seaman with a cool head and a keen knife happened to be close by—possibly he was steering—and in a moment the jolly-boat’s tackles were cut, and she disappeared with her freight. On the forecastle, however, a considerable number had got on board at one moment, but Hodgson, nothing daunted, ordered a volley and led a charge with such impetuosity that the enemy was driven from the deck—mostly overboard.
The Fortune’s colours were shot away twice, and, after the second time, were nailed to the gaff by a young lad, who, of course, immediately became a mark for the enemy’s small-arms; but it is said that he very coolly completed his operations, encouraging the Frenchmen to “fire away.” This is very probably true; it is just the kind of thing an English boy delights in doing—more readily, perhaps, than one of more experience.
The Fortune, however, in spite of the sustained and courageous resistance of her company, was soon in a bad way: her sails riddled, her rigging cut to pieces, and too large a proportion of her crew wounded or killed, it seemed inevitable that she must surrender; but a lucky shot—or rather, let us say, a skilful shot, and give the gunner the credit, instead of “luck”—brought down the privateer’s foretopmast. The “Fortunes” raised a hearty cheer, and the enemy, hampered by the wreck, sheered off, receiving a parting kick in the shape of a broadside. Hodgson and his men hurried up to repair damages, expecting a renewal of the attack; but the privateers had had what is known in sporting circles as a “bellyful,” and did not come up to the scratch again. Out of her small ship’s company, the Fortune had four killed and six wounded—which only leaves nine to fight!