Tom Cringle's Log

by Michael Scott

“They are driven in on the infantry,” said Mr * * *. He was right—but the light battalion immediately charged over the hill, with a loud hurrah, after admitting the beaten horse through their intervals, who, however, to give the devils their due, formed again in an instant, under the shelter of the high ground. The artillery again opened their fire—the cavalry once more advanced, and presently we could see nothing but the field-pieces, with their three separate groups of soldiers standing quietly by them—a sure proof that the enemy’s pickets were now out of cannon-shot, and had been driven back on the main body, and that the reconnoissance was still advancing.

  What will not a habitual exposure to danger do, even with tender women?

  “The French have advanced, so let us have our breakfast, Julia, my dear,” said Mr * * *, as we entered the house. “The Allied forces would have been welcome, however; and surely, if they do come, they will respect our sufferings and helplessness.”

  The eldest sister, to whom be spake, shook her head mournfully; but, nevertheless, betook herself to her task of making coffee.

  “What rumbling and rattling is that?” said * * * to an old servant who had just entered the room.

  “Two waggons with wounded men, sir, have passed onwards towards the town.”

  “Ah!” said mine host, in great bitterness of spirit.

  But allons, we proceeded to make the best use of our time—ham, good—fish, excellent—eggs, fresh—coffee, superb—when we again heard the field-pieces above us open their fire, and in the intervals we could distinguish the distant rattle of musketry. Presently this rolling fire slackened, and, after a few scattering shots here and there, ceased altogether; but the cannon on the hill still continued to play. We were by this time all standing in a cluster in the porch of the villa, before which stood the tubs with the finny spoil of the fishpond, on a small paddock of velvet grass, about forty yards square, separated from the high-road by a low ornamental fence of green basket-work, as already mentioned. The firing from the great guns increased, and every now and then I thought I heard a distant sound, as if the reports of the guns above us had been reflected from some precipitous bank.

  “I did not know that there was any echo here,” said the youngest girl.

  “Alas, Janette!” said her brother, “I fear that is no echo;” and he put up his hand to his ear, and listened in breathless suspense. The sound was repeated.

  “The Russian cannon replying to those on the hill!” said Mr * * *, with startling energy. “God help us! it can no longer be an affair of posts; the heads of the Allied columns must be in sight, for the French skirmishers are unquestionably driven in.”

  A French officer at this moment rattled past us down the road at speed, and vanished in the hollow, taking the direction of the town. His hat fell off, as his horse swerved a little at the open gate as he passed. He never stopped to pick it up. Presently a round shot, with a loud ringing and hissing sound, pitched over the hill, and knocked one of the fish-tubs close to us to pieces, scattering the poor fish all about the lawn. With the recklessness of a mere boy I dashed out, and was busy picking them up, when Mr * * * called to me to come back.

  “Let us go in and await what may befall; I dread what the ty——” here he prudently checked himself, remembering, no doubt, “that a bird of the air might carry the matter,”—”I dread what he may do, if they are really investing the place. At any rate, here, in the very arena where the struggle will doubtless be fiercest, we cannot abide. So go, my dearest sisters, and pack up whatever you may have most valuable or most necessary. Nay, no tears; and I will attend to our poor old father, and get the carriage ready, if, God help me, I dare use it.”

  “But where, in the name of all that is fearful, shall we go?” said his second sister. “Not back to Hamburgh—not to endure another season of such deep degradation—not to be exposed to the—. O brother, you saw we all submitted to our fate without a murmur, and laboured cheerfully on the fortifications, when compelled to do so by that inhuman monster Davoust, amidst the ribaldry of a licentious soldiery, merely because poor Janette had helped to embroider a standard for the brave Hanseatic Legion—you know how we bore this”—here the sweet girl held out her delicate hands, galled by actual and unwonted labour—”and many other indignities, until that awful night, when—No, brother, we shall await the arrival of the Russians, even should we see our once happy home converted into a field of battle; but into the city we shall not go.”

  “Be it so then, my dearest sister.—Wilhelm, put up the stuhl wagen.”

  He had scarcely returned into the breakfast-room, when the door opened, and the very handsome young officer, the aide-de-camp of the prince, whom I had seen the night I was carried before Davoust, entered, splashed up to the eyes, and much heated and excited. I noticed blood on the hilt of his sword. His orderly sat on his foaming steed, right opposite where I stood, wiping his bloody sabre on his horse’s mane. The women grew pale; but still they had presence of mind enough to do the honours with self-possession. The stranger wished us a good morning; and on being asked to sit down to breakfast, he unbuckled his sword, threw it from him with a clash on the floor, and then, with all the grace in the world, addressed himself to discuss the comestibles. He tried a slight approach to jesting now and then; but seeing the heaviness of heart which prevailed amongst the women, he, with the good-breeding of a man of the world, forbore to press his attentions.

  Breakfast being finished, and the ladies having retired, he rose, buckled on his sword again, drew on his gloves, and taking his hat in his hand, he advanced to the window, and desired his men to “fall in.”

  “Men!—what men? “ said poor Mr * * *.

  “Why, the marshal has had a company of sapeurs for these three days back in the adjoining village—they are now here.”

  “Here!” exclaimed * * *; “what do the sappers here?” Two of the soldiers carried slow matches in their hands, while their muskets were slung at their backs. “There is no mine to be sprung here?”

  The young officer heard him with great politeness, but declined giving any answer. The next moment he turned towards the ladies, and was making himself as agreeable as time and circumstances would admit, when a shot came crashing through the roof, broke down the ceiling, and, knocking the flue of the stove to pieces, rebounded from the wall, and rolled harmlessly beneath the table. He was the only person who did not start, or evince any dread. He kicked the bullet out of the way, and merely cast his eyes upward and smiled. He then turned to poor * * *, who stood quite collected, but very pale, near where the stove had stood, and held out his hand to him.

  “On my honour,” said the young soldier, “it grieves me to the very heart; but I must obey my orders. It is no longer an affair of posts; the enemy is pressing on us in force. The Allied columns are in sight; their cannon-shot have but now penetrated your roof; we have but driven in their pickets; very soon they will be here; and in the event of their advance, my orders are to burn down this house and the neighbouring village.”

  A sudden flush rushed into Mr * * *’s face. “Indeed! does the prince really—”

  The young officer bowed, and with something more of sternness in his manner than he had yet used, he said, “Mr * * *, I duly appreciate your situation, and respect your feelings; but the Prince of Eckmuhl is my superior officer; and under other circumstances”—Here he slightly touched the hilt of his sword.

  “For myself I don’t care,” said * * *, “but what is to become of my sisters!”

  “They must proceed to Hamburgh.”

  “Very well—let me order the stuhl wagen, and give us, at all events, half an hour to move our valuables.”

  Here Mr * * * exchanged looks with his sisters.

  “Certainly,” said the young officer, “and I will myself see you safe into the city.”

  Who says that eels cannot be made used to skinning? The poor girls continued their little preparations with an alacrity and presence of mind that truly surprised me. There was nei
ther screaming nor fainting, and by the time the carriage was at the door, they, with two female domestics, were ready to mount. I cannot better describe their vehicle, than by comparing it to a canoe mounted on four wheels, connected by a long perch with a coach-box at the bow, and three gig bodies hung athwart ships, or slung inside of the canoe, by leather thongs, At the moment we were starting, Mr * * * came close to me and whispered, “Do you think your ship will still be in the river?”

  I answered that I made no doubt she was.

  “But even if she be not,” said he, “the Holstein bank is open to us. Anywhere but Hamburgh now.” And the scalding tears ran down his cheeks.

  At this moment there was a bustle on the hill top, and presently the artillery began once more to play, while the musketry breezed up again in the distance. A mounted bugler rode halfway down the hill, and sounded the recall. The young officer hesitated. The man waved his hand, and blew the advance.

  “It must be for us—answer it.” His bugle did so. “Bring the pitch, men—the flax—so now—break the windows, and let the air in—set the house on fire; and, Sergeant Guido, remain to prevent it being extinguished—I shall fire the village as we pass through.”

  He gave the word to face about; and, desiring the men to follow at the same swinging run with which the whole of the infantry had originally advanced, he spurred his horse against the hill, and soon disappeared.

  My host’s resolution seemed now taken. Turning to the sergeant—”My good fellow, the reconnoissance will soon be returning; I shall precede it into the town.”

  The man, a fine vieux moustache, hesitated.

  My friend saw it, and hit him in a Frenchman’s most assailable quarter.

  “The ladies, my good man—the ladies!—You would not have them drive in pell-mell with the troops, exposed most likely to the fire of the Prussian advanced-guard, would you?”

  The man grounded his musket, and touched his cap—”Pass on.”

  Away we trundled, until, coming to a cross-road, we turned down towards the river; and at the angle we could see thick wreaths of smoke curling up into the air, showing that the barbarous order had been but too effectually fulfilled.

  “What is that?” said * * *.

  A horse, with his rider entangled and dragged by the stirrup, passed us at full speed, leaving a long track of blood on the road.

  “Who is that?”

  The coachman drove on, and gave no answer; until, at a sharp turn, we came upon the bruised and now breathless body of the young officer, who had so recently obeyed the savage behests of his brutal commander. There was a musket-shot right in the middle of his fine forehead, like a small blue point, with one or two heavy black drops of blood oozing from it. His pale features wore a mild and placid expression, evincing that the numberless lacerations and bruises, which were evident through his torn uniform, had been inflicted on a breathless corpse.

  The stuhl wagen had carried on for a mile farther or so, but the firing seemed to approximate, whereupon our host sang out, “Fahrt zu, Schwager—Wir kommen nicht weiter.”

  The driver of the stuhl wagen sculled along until we arrived at the beautiful, at a mile off, but the beastly, when close to, village of Blankenese.

  When the voiture stopped in the village, there seemed to be a nonplusation, to coin a word for the nonce, between my friend and his sisters. They said something very sharply, and with a degree of determination that startled me. He gave no answer. Presently the Amazonian attack was renewed.

  “We shall go on board,” said they.

  “Very well,” said he; “but have patience, have patience!”

  “No, no. Wann wird man sich einschiffen müssen?”

  By this time we were in the heart of the village, and surrounded with a whole lot, forty at the least, of Blankenese boatmen. We were not long in selecting one of the fleetest-looking of those very fleet boats, when we all trundled on board; and I now witnessed what struck me as being an awful sign of the times. The very coachman of the stuhl wagen, after conversing a moment with his master, returned to his team, tied the legs of the poor creatures as they stood, and then with a sharp knife cut their jugular veins through and through on the right side, having previously reined them up sharp to the left, so that, before starting, we could see three of the team, which consisted of four superb bays, level with the soil, and dead; the near wheeler only holding out on his fore-legs.

  We shoved off at eleven o’clock in the forenoon; and after having twice been driven into creeks on the Holstein shore by bad weather, we arrived about two next morning safely all board the Torch, which immediately got under weigh for England. After my story had been told to the captain, I left my preserver, his father, and his sisters in his hands, and I need scarcely say that they had as hearty a welcome as the worthy old soul could give them, and dived into the midshipmen’s berth for a morsel of comfort, where, in a twinkling, I was far into the secrets of a pork-pie.

  CHAPTER II.

  THE CRUISE OF THE TORCH.

  “Sleep, gentle sleep—

  Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,

  Seal up the ship-boy’s eyes, and rock his brains

  In cradle of the rude imperious surge;

  And in the visitation of the winds,

  Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

  Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them

  With deaf’ning clamours in the slippery clouds

  That, with the hurly, death itself awakes.

  Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose

  To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude?”

  King Henry IV., Part II.

  HELIGOLAND LIGHT—north and by west—so many leagues—wind baffling—weather hazy—Lady Passengers on deck for the first time.

  Arrived in the Downs—ordered by signal from the guardship to proceed to Portsmouth. Arrived at Spithead—ordered to fit to receive a general officer, and six pieces of field artillery, and a Spanish Ecclesiastic, the Canon of ——. Plenty of great guns, at any rate—a regular park of artillery.

  Received General * * * and his wife, and aide-de-camp, and two poodle-dogs, one white man-servant, one black ditto, and the Canon of——, and the six nine-pound field-pieces, and sailed for the Cave of Cork.

  It was blowing hard as we stood in for the Old Head of Kinsale—pilot boat breasting the foaming surge like a sea gull—”Carrol Cove” in her tiny mainsail—pilot jumped into the main channel—bottle of rum swung by the lead line into the boat—all very clever.

  Ran in, and anchored under Spike Island. A line-of-battle ship, three frigates, and a number of merchantmen at anchor—men-of-war lovely craft— bands playing—a good deal of the pomp and circumstance of war. Next forenoon, Mr Treenail, the second-lieutenant, sent for me.

  “Mr Cringle,” said he, “you have an uncle in Cork, I believe?”

  I said I had.

  “I am going there on duty to-night; I daresay, if you asked the captain to let you accompany me, he would do so.” This was too good an offer not to be taken advantage of. I plucked up courage, made my bow, asked leave, and got it; and the evening found my friend the lieutenant, and myself, after a ride of three hours, during which I, for one, had my bottom sheathing grievously rubbed, and a considerable botheration at crossing the Ferry at Passage, safe in our inn at Cork. I soon found out that the object of my superior officer was to gain information amongst the crimp shops, where ten men who had run from one of the West Indiamen, waiting at Cove for convoy, were stowed away, but I was not let farther into the secret; so I set out to pay my visit, and after passing a pleasant evening with my friends, Mr and Mrs Job Cringle, the lieutenant dropped in upon us about nine o’clock. He was heartily welcomed; and under the plea of our being obliged to return to the ship early next morning, we soon took leave, and returned to the inn. As I was turning into the public room, the door was open, and I could see it full of blowsy-faced monsters, glimmering and jabbering, through the mist of hot brandy grog and
gin twist; with poodle Benjamins, and greatcoats, and cloaks of all sorts and sizes, steaming on their pegs, with Barcelonas and comforters, and damp travelling caps of seal-skin, and blue cloth, and tartan, arranged above the same. Nevertheless, such a society in my juvenile estimation, during my short escapade from the middy’s berth, had its charms, and I was rolling in with a tolerable swagger, when Mr Treenail pinched my arm.

  “Mr Cringle, come here into my room.”

  From the way in which he spoke, I imagined, in my innocence, that his room was at my elbow; but no such thing—we had to ascend a long, and not over-clean staircase, to the fourth floor, before we were shown into a miserable little double-bedded room. So soon as we had entered, the lieutenant shut the door.

  “Tom,” said he, “I have taken a fancy to you, and therefore I applied for leave to bring you with me; but I must expose you to some danger, and, I will allow, not altogether in a very creditable way either. You must enact the spy for a short space.”

  I did not like the notion, certainly, but I had little time for consideration.

  “Here,” he continued—”here is a bundle.” He threw it on the floor. “You must rig in the clothes it contains, and make your way into the celebrated crimp-shop, in the neighbourhood, and pick up all the information you can regarding the haunts of the pressable men at Cove, especially with regard to the ten seamen who have run from the West Indiaman we left below. You know the Admiral has forbidden pressing at Cork, so you must contrive to frighten the blue jackets down to Cove, by representing yourself as an apprentice of one of the merchant vessels, who had run from his indentures, and that you had narrowly escaped from a press-gang this very night here.”

  I made no scruples, but forthwith arrayed myself in the slops contained in the bundle; in a pair of shag trousers, red flannel shirt, coarse blue cloth jacket, and no waistcoat.

  “Now,” said Mr Treenail, “stick a quid of tobacco in your cheek, and take the cockade out of your hat; or stop, leave it, and ship this striped woollen night-cap—so—and come along with me.”