But great was our sorrow and disappointment when we discovered that
we had shed the blood of our friends, while we had lost our own. The
vessel, it appeared, was a Gibraltar privateer; they took us for
French, our boats being fitted with thoels and grummets for the oars,
in the French fashion; and we supposed them to be French from their
colours and the language in which they hailed us. In this affair we
had three officers killed or wounded, and some of our best men. The
privateer was manned by a mixed crew of all nations, but chiefly
Greeks; and although ostensibly with a commission signed by the
Governor of Gibraltar, were no doubt little scrupulous as to the
colours of any vessel they might encounter, provided she was not too
strong for them.
After this unfortunate mistake we proceeded to Malta: the captain
expecting a severe rebuke from his admiral, for his rashness in
sending away his boats to attack a vessel without knowing her force.
Fortunately for him, the admiral was not there; and before we met him,
the number of prizes we had taken were found sufficient in his eyes to
cover our multitude of sins, so the affair blew over.
While we lay in Malta Harbour, my friend Murphy fell overboard one
night, just after all the boats were hoisted in; he could not swim,
and would have been drowned if I had not jumped overboard and held him
up until a boat was lowered down to our assistance. The officers and
ship's company gave me more credit for this action than I really
deserved.
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