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Dick Rogers was short and broad in the shoulders, though not fat, with a huge, sandy beard, a clear blue eye, and an honest smile on his lips, and saying that he was a seaman every inch of him, he needs no further description. Verner let it be known, among their new messmates, that Pearce Ripley was only the boatswain’s son; and hearing this, Bonham took great care to recount to them his gallant act on the 1st of June, and to speak otherwise in his praise. Dick forward did not fail to make the young midshipman his theme, and there the fact of his parentage was undoubtedly in his favour. “We shall be, no doubt, alongside an enemy some day soon, and then will be seen what stuff the youngsters are made of,” was the remark of several on board. They were not wrong in their prognostications. The Island of Desiderade, near Guadeloupe, was in sight to windward. “A sail on the weather bow!” was shouted by the look-out at the mast’s head, always the keenest sighted of the seamen on board in those days.

The frigate made all sail in pursuit of the stranger, a large schooner under French colours. The chase stood into a bay defended by a fort, where she was seen to anchor with springs to her cables. Along the shore a body of troops were also observed to be posted. The drum beat to quarters as the “Blanche” worked up towards the fort, when, the water shoaling, she anchored and opened her fire in return for that which the fort, the schooner, and the soldiers were pouring in on her. Captain Faulkner’s first object was to silence the fort. This was soon done. The schooner, which it was clear was heavily armed, must be brought out. The boats were called away, under command of the second lieutenant. Pearce leaped into the one to which he belonged. A master’s mate, Fitzgibbon, had charge of her, and Dick Rogers formed one of her crew. Harry Verner was in another. Away the boats dashed, at a rate boats always do move pulled by British seamen when a prize is to be taken. The Frenchmen worked their guns bravely. A shot disabled the leading boat. Pearce, sitting by Fitzgibbon’s side, heard a deep groan, and before he could even look up the master’s mate fell forward, shot through the head. His boat took the lead. “Now’s your time,” cried Dick Rogers; “we’ll be the first aboard, lads.” The crew were not slack to follow the suggestion. In another moment they were up to the schooner, and, leaping on her deck, led by Pearce, laid on them so fiercely with their cutlasses that the Frenchmen, deserting their guns, sprang over the bulwarks into their boats on the other side nearest the shore, and, before another boat reached the vessel, pulled away towards where the troops were marching down to their support. The cables were quickly cut, and amid a shower of ballets sail was made, and the prize carried out. “I said as how he’d do it–I said he wouldn’t be wanting,” exclaimed Dick Rogers, as he gave his account of the cutting out expedition to his chums on board. “He’ll do more too come another occasion.” That occasion did occur before many days were over. Two days afterwards the “Blanche” was joined by the “Quebec” frigate, and together, when sailing by Guadeloupe, they discovered the French thirty-six-gun frigate “Pique” lying at anchor in the harbour of Pointe-a-Pitre, ready for sea. Not to deprive his brother captain of the honour he might obtain by engaging an antagonist so worthy of him, Captain Carpenter parted company, and the “Quebec,” steering westward, was soon out of sight. The next thing to be done was to get the French frigate to come out from under her protecting batteries to fight. This seemed no easy matter, for prizes were captured and sent away under her very nose, and still she did not venture forth. At length, however, on the memorable evening of the 4th of January, the “Blanche,” towing off another prize in triumph, the “Pique” was seen to follow. The sun went down. It was the last many a brave man was destined to see. Darkness had come on, when the French frigate was observed through the gloom astern. The “Blanche” tacked in chase.