Jane Austen Made Me Do It

by Laurel Ann Nattress

  Austen gestured towards the brig. “Pass the word that we have one more ship to take this afternoon.”

  Mr. Packer grinned. “The men will be glad to hear it, sir.”

  No one aboard could match Austen’s own anticipation. He loved the thrill of the chase. Let other gentlemen hunt foxes on horseback, racing across open fields amid the baying of hounds. Austen pursued his quarry on planks of oak across the open sea, amid the explosion of cannons, to an end more noble than mere sport. And this particular quarry had eluded capture long enough.

  The Mermaid approached from leeward. If she maintained her course and speed, within half an hour she might be close enough to assist the action. But the wind yet blew so strong that he could not be confident of her participation. He was prepared, if necessary, to attempt to capture the brig alone.

  “Are you ready to finish our chase, Mr. Thompson?”

  “Ready indeed, sir.”

  The brig required time to reverse her course, and for half an hour the sloop advanced on her. By the time she was sailing south, the Petterel was nearly upon her.

  “Mr. Packer, our bow-chasers have served us well today,” Austen said. “Let us provide them more exercise.”

  They fired the chase-pieces, getting off several successful shots that were answered by the brig’s stern-chasers. She cut closer to shore, leading the Petterel toward the battery. This time, Austen followed—if the battery fired upon his sloop, it also risked damaging the brig.

  Fire, it did. The battery’s four heavy guns launched thirty-two pound shot at the Petterel. The first round sailed overhead, falling to starboard.

  The French ship slowed in the rocky waters.

  “You know what to do, Mr. Thompson.”

  “I do, sir.”

  With the grace of the seabird for which she was named, the Petterel glided a-starboard of the brig.

  When she reached position, the sloop released a broadside that cut the brig’s sails and brought rigging raining down to its deck. The brig answered, making a few holes in the Petterel’s sails and dismounting one of the forecastle carronades.

  The battery fired again. More shot fell over the Petterel.

  “Report, Mr. Packer?” Austen shouted.

  “No damage, sir!”

  The Mermaid, at last near enough to use her guns, fired random shot at the brig. None, however, hit. The frigate made sail, attempting to draw closer, but the strength of the wind prevented her.

  The Petterel would have to win this on her own. Austen could not account for his incredible fortune up to the present, but he prayed it would hold.

  “Fire again!”

  The Petterel and brig exchanged another broadside. The French ship fired mostly into—and, thankfully, mostly missed—the sloop’s rigging. For some inexplicable reason, the brig was firing round shot instead of bar or chain, which would have been much more effective against the ropes and sails. Unfortunately, some of the lower shots did manage to dismount the Petterel’s remaining three larboard carronades.

  The sloop’s guns found their targets.

  Shot smashed into the hull of the brig, sending deadly splinters flying across the deck. Despite the wind, smoke and the smell of powder clouded both vessels. When it cleared, the brig struck its colors.

  Again, the Petterel’s crew cheered—then set back to work.

  “Hoist out the launch,” Austen ordered. “Mr. Packer, choose fourteen men to accompany you and take possession. Include our carpenter among the party, so that Mr. Robinson can assess the damage.”

  Two hours later, the launch returned with eleven officer prisoners. Lieutenant Packer handed Austen a sword.

  “It belongs to this gentleman,” the lieutenant said, indicating a short, proud-looking man.

  Austen bowed in acknowledgment. “Capitaine?”

  “Non, je suis Citizen Francis Auguste Pelabon, Lieutenant de Vaisseau. Le capitaine est mort.”

  “Citizen Pelabon has stated that the brig is La Ligurienne, and that she was traveling in company with the corvette Le Cerf and the xebec Le Joiliet,” Mr. Packer said. “The Ligurienne’s captain and one seaman were killed. Two others are injured.”

  Austen put a few questions to Citizen Pelabon—whom he speculated was a political appointee—and learned that the captain was killed by the Petterel’s first chaser shot. Upon his death, Pelabon had taken charge.

  The marine guards took the prisoners below deck. Before returning to the brig to command the prize vessel, Mr. Packer accompanied Austen into his cabin to continue his report.

  “I think you might find the prisoners happier to be in your custody than under Pelabon’s command,” he said. “I received the impression that the orders he issued during the action did not demonstrate a great deal of competence.”

  “For which we, at least, can be grateful,” Austen replied. Pelabon’s failure had enabled the Petterel to emerge from the engagement almost untouched. “In what condition is the vessel?”

  “It was fortuitous that you sent the carpenter with us, for you will hardly believe what Mr. Robinson discovered.…”

  “Well fought, Captain,” Robert Oliver greeted Austen as he boarded the Mermaid. “I am sorry the wind rendered me unable to offer significant assistance yesterday, but it was a glorious battle to witness.”

  Austen appreciated his praise. He liked Oliver, who numbered among the navy’s younger post-captains.

  “Thank you, sir. I have brought my official report for you to forward to the Admiralty.”

  “You single-handedly captured five French vessels in under five hours,” Captain Oliver said. “Whatever you have written, I am certain it is too modest. Come, you must tell me the whole tale over dinner.”

  They entered his cabin, where Captain Oliver opened the dispatch and scanned it. “Not a single man hurt on your part—and no other damage to the ship than four carronades dismounted, and a few shots through the sails. That is extraordinary.”

  “We were most fortunate,” Austen said.

  “But here—what is this? ‘La Ligurienne … is built on a peculiar plan, being fastened throughout with screw bolts, so as to be taken to pieces and set up again with ease, and is said to have been intended to follow Bonaparte to Egypt.’ ” Incredulous, Captain Oliver looked to Austen.

  “Apparently,” Austen said, “Bonaparte planned to portage the ship through the desert, then launch it into the Red Sea.”

  “Had he succeeded, I cannot imagine the consequences. But you prevented him.”

  “Quite by accident.”

  “How it came to happen does not matter nearly so much as that it did.” Captain Oliver folded the report and set it on his desk beside other papers. Then he opened a bottle of wine, poured two glasses, and handed one to Austen.

  “The Admiralty is unpredictable, of course,” Oliver said, “but I would not be surprised if I am about to dine with the navy’s next post-captain.”

  In consequence of the action off Marseilles and his capture of La Ligurienne, Francis Austen was promoted to post-captain on 13 May 1800. Due to the challenges of wartime communication, his sister Jane knew about his promotion before he did. Francis finally received the news in October, after commanding the Petterel through more daring engagements in Genoa and Egypt. He eventually rose to the Royal Navy’s highest position, Admiral of the Fleet.

  Author’s Note: Historical documents related to the Petterel record the name of the sloop under multiple spellings. I have chosen the one used by Captain Austen himself, penned with his own hand aboard that very ship as he recorded hour by hour the events surrounding La Ligurienne’s capture. For access to his logbook and other ship’s records, I thank The National Archives and the Caird Library of the National Maritime Museum. For the truly extraordinary events of that day—a story that begged to be told—I thank Francis Austen.

  CARRIE BEBRIS is best known as the author of the Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mysteries. Winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award for romantic suspense, the series features th
e married Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet as reluctant sleuths who become entangled in intrigues with other Jane Austen characters. The Royal Navy figures prominently in the Darcys’ latest adventure, The Deception at Lyme (Or, The Peril of Persuasion), in which the couple allies with Captain and Anne Wentworth to solve two mysteries—one from the past and one in the present. Carrie also writes for Jane Austen’s Regency World magazine and other publications, and has edited nonfiction books about Austen and Shakespeare. She holds an M.A. in English literature and is a life member of the Jane Austen Society of North America.

  www.carriebebris.com

  Well hidden from the ordinary world, in a little-known corner of jurisprudential hell considered by many to be nothing more than a myth, a relentless flow of pleadings, motions, and briefs have led to a legal drama of literary proportions.

  A bailiff’s high-pitched nasal voice pierced the packed courtroom. “All rise and give homage to the honorable Judge Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Draw near and you shall be chastised. Court is now in session.”

  “Objection!” shouted the gangly young lawyer from the defense table, Adam’s apple bobbing indignantly.

  “Young man,” said Lady Catherine, a severe-looking older woman who nodded and waved like a queen as she entered the courtroom, scarlet robes flowing in her wake, jurors and spectators bowing and curtseying, “I am not accustomed to being interrupted. Though I have not yet deigned to speak. Are you at all familiar with the rules of this court? One does not object until I begin the proceedings. Which I most certainly have not condescended to do.”

  “Your Honor,” persisted the young lawyer, droplets of fear beading his forehead, “I must ask you to recuse yourself from this case.”

  Spectators and jurors gasped as if with one collective breath.

  “How dare you!” said Lady Catherine, bringing her gavel down upon the polished surface of her bench. “Sit down this moment!”

  “With all due respect,” said the lawyer, voice quavering, “you must see that your own interests are directly affected by the outcome of this case, and thus it would be highly prejudicial—”

  “Let me be rightly understood,” said Lady Catherine, fixing him with a death stare. “Your duty is to defend the accused—if such a thing were possible—and allow justice to take its course. In this court I am justice. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “One more word, and I shall hold you in more contempt than I already do.”

  The young lawyer for the defense sank into his seat and, with trembling hands, wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. He’d done his best. It would likely not go well for his client, but there was nothing he could do about that. No one, least of all he, would ever succeed in removing Lady Catherine from any case over which she wished to preside, especially one in which her own nephew was the plaintiff. The wheels of justice, such as they were, would turn inexorably till they reached their inevitable conclusion. Then again, he’d known what the rules were when he agreed to take this case. If rules they could be called. Most did not even believe in the existence of this court, which was hidden away so cleverly that few had ever stepped foot within its walls.

  Its detractors called it the Court of Intolerable Stupidity, and perhaps he had been stupid beyond measure to have put himself in its power. Certainly he did not know anyone who had mastered its workings. Said workings were, in fact, the stuff of legend. Or nightmare, depending on whether you were crushed beneath justice’s wheels or rode them to victory. But that was the lure of the challenge. And he, Fritz Williams, could never resist a challenge. A legal one, that is.

  Besides, there was no accounting for the whims and inconsistencies of a jury, even one sitting under the tyrannical eye of the Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Though as Fritz ran his eyes over the knitting ladies, the bored gentlemen, and the surly youths impaneled for this case, there was little reason to believe they would act any differently than their predecessors had done.

  “Is the prosecution ready?” said Lady Catherine.

  Till now Fritz had not allowed himself to turn his gaze toward the prosecution table, for he would not have had the courage to stand, let alone speak. But now he indulged himself in gazing upon the perfection that was Tawny Wolfson, chief advocate for the plaintiffs.

  “I am, Your Honor,” said Tawny, who spent a great deal of her professional energy attempting to mask the voluptuousness of her form with the iciness of her demeanor and the buttoned-up elegance of her attire. She had never been seen by anyone in court with a hair out of place, a wrinkle in her suit, or a tear in her eye.

  As was her custom at the beginning of every trial, she had starved herself down to a size 8, but it was only a matter of time before she returned to her usual 12. She was all too aware that she would never achieve the thin-hipped, waif-like style of beauty so prized by men nowadays, but there was no reason for that contemptible Fritz Williams to stare at her like a microbiologist examining a particularly rare strain of bacteria.

  It was no different now than it was the first time they had met. A colleague had invited her to a holiday party at Fritz’s firm, and when he introduced Fritz to her, Fritz had stared at her, barely mumbled a greeting, and whisked Tawny’s colleague away, leaving her quite alone in a crowd of strangers. Finally, she retreated to the drinks table, where she overheard Fritz saying to a group of men, “Tawny Wolfson? I can’t argue with that, but she’s definitely not for me,” at which they all had a good laugh.

  Even a year later, the memory still stung. The worst part was that she had no idea what she had done to offend this man, who was unfailingly cold to her whenever their paths crossed.

  She couldn’t be more wrong about Fritz. What she saw as his coldness was actually shyness and embarrassment. And what he had really meant by the comment she overheard at the party was that she would never look twice at a man like him. His flippancy at the time was an attempt to mask his true feelings, for he was smitten by Tawny from the first moment he saw her, which was long before they were introduced. It wasn’t just the beauty of her person that captivated him; it was the depth of her accomplishments, for her reputation as someone who fought for her clients and, most of all, for the law, was well known.

  Not that her beauty was an inconsequential part of her allure. Everything about her, from the scent of her perfume as she’d walk past him in the halls of justice, to the little wisp of hair at the nape of her neck when her hair was up in a twist, which he would stare at whenever he had the good fortune to stand behind her in an elevator, made him tremble with desire. A desire that would never be fulfilled. Fritz had never been successful in love, always too timid to ask out the women he really found interesting, and unwilling to settle for the women who found him so, as they were generally enamored with the idea of a successful lawyer rather than the reality of who he was. And Fritz longed to be known, truly known, by a woman. But there was little chance of that happening with anyone, let alone Tawny. She was unfailingly icy towards him, though he had no idea why she should dislike him so.

  Like now, for instance. She glared at him with her green-gold eyes, and he felt his face grow hot. He pretended to busy himself with the files on the table before him, hoping that no one would notice his discomfort.

  Why was she so intent on intimidating him? As if it weren’t terrifying enough to be her adversary in court—a scenario he had longed for as well as dreaded.

  “Your Honor,” said Tawny, fortified by her small victory over Fritz, “we will prove that the defendants’ so-called literary works have caused grave and irreparable harm to the plaintiffs, who only wish to continue their lives as their Creator conceived them. Since She has long since shuffled off this mortal coil, Her creations must carry Her torch alone, a mission they are hindered from doing with every turn of the page of these heinous works.

  “Your Honor, we had hoped that the conviction of the man who authored the most damaging work on record—the infamous film that dared appropriate t
he name of the Creator’s most cherished work—would have brought relief to my clients, as there has since been an embargo of that film’s sale in all the Empire. However, the State has neither the resources to do a house-to-house search of the citizenry in order to confiscate all copies, nor the means to staunch the flow of illegal downloads.”

  Tawny paused to run her eyes over the jurors and spectators. “The effects on one of my clients have become so severe that the State can only conclude that the screening of this illegal and offensive material has increased rather than diminished since the ruling was made.”

  Fritz noted that many of the spectators and jurors looked down at their laps. Were they as unable to withstand Tawny’s gaze as he was, or were they motivated by guilt?

  “Your Honor,” said Tawny, “I call my first witness—”

  Fritz rose to his feet. “Objection! I have not yet made my opening arguments.”

  “Silence!” said Lady Catherine.

  “But Your Honor,” said Fritz, “how am I to mount a defense if I cannot tell my clients’ side of the story?”

  “Defense? Ha!” said Lady Catherine. “Your clients not only had the effrontery to ‘continue’ the Creator’s work and the vulgarity to peep behind the closed doors of Her creations’ marital bedchamber, they had the assurance to mock the Creator’s work with undead fiends and blood-sucking monsters. This shall not be borne.”

  “Your Honor!” said Fritz. “This is highly prejudicial to my clients. You might as well try this case yourself.”

  “That is the most sensible thing you have said so far, young man,” said Lady Catherine. “I could save the Court a good deal of time and expense.”

  “Your Honor, I beg you!”

  Lady Catherine bestowed a predatory smile upon Fritz’s clients, a group of mostly women and a few men in their thirties, forties, and fifties, all of whom had a shell-shocked glaze in their eyes. “I have taken the liberty of preparing your lodgings in the dungeons,” she said.