THE CRIME OF THE BRIGADIER.
In all the great hosts of France there was only one officer towards whomthe English of Wellington's army retained a deep, steady, andunchangeable hatred. There were plunderers among the French, and men ofviolence, gamblers, duellists, and _roues_. All these could beforgiven, for others of their kidney were to be found among the ranks ofthe English. But one officer of Massena's force had committed a crimewhich was unspeakable, unheard of, abominable; only to be alluded towith curses late in the evening, when a second bottle had loosened thetongues of men. The news of it was carried back to England, and countrygentlemen who knew little of the details of the war grew crimson withpassion when they heard of it, and yeomen of the shires raised freckledfists to Heaven and swore. And yet who should be the doer of thisdreadful deed but our friend the Brigadier, Etienne Gerard, of theHussars of Conflans, gay-riding, plume-tossing, debonnaire, the darlingof the ladies and of the six brigades of light cavalry.
But the strange part of it is that this gallant gentleman did thishateful thing, and made himself the most unpopular man in the Peninsula,without ever knowing that he had done a crime for which there is hardlya name amid all the resources of our language. He died of old age, andnever once in that imperturbable self-confidence which adorned ordisfigured his character knew that so many thousand Englishmen wouldgladly have hanged him with their own hands. On the contrary, henumbered this adventure among those other exploits which he has given tothe world, and many a time he chuckled and hugged himself as he narratedit to the eager circle who gathered round him in that humble cafe where,between his dinner and his dominoes, he would tell, amid tears andlaughter, of that inconceivable Napoleonic past when France, like anangel of wrath, rose up, splendid and terrible, before a coweringcontinent. Let us listen to him as he tells the story in his own wayand from his own point of view.
You must know, my friends, said he, that it was towards the end of theyear eighteen hundred and ten that I and Massena and the others pushedWellington backwards until we had hoped to drive him and his army intothe Tagus. But when we were still twenty-five miles from Lisbon wefound that we were betrayed, for what had this Englishman done but buildan enormous line of works and forts at a place called Torres Vedras, sothat even we were unable to get through them! They lay across the wholePeninsula, and our army was so far from home that we did not dare torisk a reverse, and we had already learned at Busaco that it was nochild's play to fight against these people. What could we do, then, butsit down in front of these lines and blockade them to the best of ourpower? There we remained for six months, amid such anxieties thatMassena said afterwards that he had not one hair which was not whiteupon his body. For my own part, I did not worry much about oursituation, but I looked after our horses, who were in great need of restand green fodder. For the rest, we drank the wine of the country andpassed the time as best we might. There was a lady at Santarem--but mylips are sealed. It is the part of a gallant man to say nothing, thoughhe may indicate that he could say a great deal.
One day Massena sent for me, and I found him in his tent with a greatplan pinned upon the table. He looked at me in silence with that singlepiercing eye of his, and I felt by his expression that the matter wasserious. He was nervous and ill at ease, but my bearing seemed toreassure him. It is good to be in contact with brave men.
"Colonel Etienne Gerard," said he, "I have always heard that you are avery gallant and enterprising officer."
It was not for me to confirm such a report, and yet it would be folly todeny it, so I clinked my spurs together and saluted.
"You are also an excellent rider."
I admitted it.
"And the best swordsman in the six brigades of light cavalry."
Massena was famous for the accuracy of his information.
"Now," said he, "if you will look at this plan you will have nodifficulty in understanding what it is that I wish you to do.These are the lines of Torres Vedras. You will perceive that they covera vast space, and you will realize that the English can only hold aposition here and there. Once through the lines you have twenty-fivemiles of open country which lie between them and Lisbon. It is veryimportant to me to learn how Wellington's troops are distributedthroughout that space, and it is my wish that you should go andascertain."
His words turned me cold.
"Sir," said I, "it is impossible that a colonel of light cavalry shouldcondescend to act as a spy."
He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.
"You would not be a Hussar if you were not a hothead," said he. "If youwill listen you will understand that I have not asked you to act as aspy. What do you think of that horse?"
He had conducted me to the opening of his tent, and there was a Chasseurwho led up and down a most admirable creature. He was a dapple grey,not very tall--a little over fifteen hands perhaps--but with the shorthead and splendid arch of the neck which comes with the Arab blood.His shoulders and haunches were so muscular, and yet his legs so fine,that it thrilled me with joy just to gaze upon him. A fine horse or abeautiful woman, I cannot look at them unmoved, even now when seventywinters have chilled my blood. You can think how it was in the year'10.
"This," said Massena, "is Voltigeur, the swiftest horse in our army.What I desire is that you should start to-night, ride round the linesupon the flank, make your way across the enemy's rear, and return uponthe other flank, bringing me news of his dispositions. You will wear auniform, and will, therefore, if captured, be safe from the death of aspy. It is probable that you will get through the lines unchallenged,for the posts are very scattered. Once through, in daylight you canoutride anything which you meet, and if you keep off the roads you mayescape entirely unnoticed. If you have not reported yourself bytomorrow night, I will understand that you are taken, and I will offerthem Colonel Petrie in exchange."
Ah, how my heart swelled with pride and joy as I sprang into the saddleand galloped this grand horse up and down to show the Marshal themastery which I had of him! He was magnificent--we were bothmagnificent, for Massena clapped his hands and cried out in his delight.It was not I, but he, who said that a gallant beast deserves a gallantrider. Then, when for the third time, with my panache flying and mydolman streaming behind me, I thundered past him, I saw upon his hardold face that he had no longer any doubt that he had chosen the man forhis purpose. I drew my sabre, raised the hilt to my lips in salute, andgalloped on to my own quarters. Already the news had spread that I hadbeen chosen for a mission, and my little rascals came swarming out oftheir tents to cheer me. Ah! it brings the tears to my old eyes when Ithink how proud they were of their Colonel. And I was proud of themalso. They deserved a dashing leader.
The night promised to be a stormy one, which was very much to my liking.It was my desire to keep my departure most secret, for it was evidentthat if the English heard that I had been detached from the army theywould naturally conclude that something important was about to happen.My horse was taken, therefore, beyond the picket line, as if forwatering, and I followed and mounted him there. I had a map, a compass,and a paper of instructions from the Marshal, and with these in thebosom of my tunic and my sabre at my side, I set out upon my adventure.
A thin rain was falling and there was no moon, so you may imagine thatit was not very cheerful. But my heart was light at the thought of thehonour which had been done me and the glory which awaited me.This exploit should be one more in that brilliant series which was tochange my sabre into a baton. Ah, how we dreamed, we foolish fellows,young, and drunk with success! Could I have foreseen that night as Irode, the chosen man of sixty thousand, that I should spend my lifeplanting cabbages on a hundred francs a month! Oh, my youth, my hopes,my comrades! But the wheel turns and never stops. Forgive me, myfriends, for an old man has his weakness.
My route, then, lay across the face of the high ground of Torres Vedras,then over a streamlet, past a farmhouse which had been burned down andwas now only a landmark, then through a f
orest of young cork oaks, andso to the monastery of San Antonio, which marked the left of the Englishposition. Here I turned south and rode quietly over the downs, for itwas at this point that Massena thought that it would be most easy for meto find my way unobserved through the position. I went very slowly, forit was so dark that I could not see my hand in front of me. In suchcases I leave my bridle loose and let my horse pick its own way.Voltigeur went confidently forward, and I was very content to sit uponhis back and to peer about me, avoiding every light. For three hours weadvanced in this cautious way, until it seemed to me that I must haveleft all danger behind me. I then pushed on more briskly, for I wishedto be in the rear of the whole army by daybreak. There are manyvineyards in these parts which in winter become open plains, and ahorseman finds few difficulties in his way.
But Massena had underrated the cunning of these English, for it appearsthat there was not one line of defence, but three, and it was the third,which was the most formidable, through which I was at that instantpassing. As I rode, elated at my own success, a lantern flashedsuddenly before me, and I saw the glint of polished gun-barrels and thegleam of a red coat.
"Who goes there?" cried a voice--such a voice! I swerved to the rightand rode like a madman, but a dozen squirts of fire came out of thedarkness, and the bullets whizzed all round my ears. That was no newsound to me, my friends, though I will not talk like a foolish conscriptand say that I have ever liked it. But at least it had never kept mefrom thinking clearly, and so I knew that there was nothing for it butto gallop hard and try my luck elsewhere. I rode round the Englishpicket, and then, as I heard nothing more of them, I concluded rightlythat I had at last come through their defences. For five miles I rodesouth, striking a tinder from time to time to look at my pocket compass.And then in an instant--I feel the pang once more as my memory bringsback the moment--my horse, without a sob or stagger, fell stone deadbeneath me!
I had not known it, but one of the bullets from that infernal picket hadpassed through his body. The gallant creature had never winced norweakened, but had gone while life was in him. One instant I was secureon the swiftest, most graceful horse in Massena's army. The next he layupon his side, worth only the price of his hide, and I stood there thatmost helpless, most ungainly of creatures, a dismounted Hussar.What could I do with my boots, my spurs, my trailing sabre? I was farinside the enemy's lines. How could I hope to get back again? I am notashamed to say that I, Etienne Gerard, sat upon my dead horse and sankmy face in my hands in my despair. Already the first streaks werewhitening the east. In half an hour it would be light. That I shouldhave won my way past every obstacle and then at this last instant beleft at the mercy of my enemies, my mission ruined, and myself aprisoner--was it not enough to break a soldier's heart?
But courage, my friends! We have these moments of weakness, the bravestof us; but I have a spirit like a slip of steel, for the more you bendit the higher it springs. One spasm of despair, and then a brain of iceand a heart of fire. All was not yet lost. I who had come through somany hazards would come through this one also. I rose from my horse andconsidered what had best be done.
And first of all it was certain that I could not get back. Long beforeI could pass the lines it would be broad daylight. I must hide myselffor the day, and then devote the next night to my escape. I took thesaddle, holsters, and bridle from poor Voltigeur, and I concealed themamong some bushes, so that no one finding him could know that he was aFrench horse. Then, leaving him lying there, I wandered on in search ofsome place where I might be safe for the day. In every direction Icould see camp fires upon the sides of the hills, and already figureshad begun to move around them. I must hide quickly, or I was lost.
But where was I to hide? It was a vineyard in which I found myself, thepoles of the vines still standing, but the plants gone. There was nocover there. Besides, I should want some food and water before anothernight had come. I hurried wildly onwards through the waning darkness,trusting that chance would be my friend. And I was not disappointed.Chance is a woman, my friends, and she has her eye always upon a gallantHussar.
Well, then, as I stumbled through the vineyard, something loomed infront of me, and I came upon a great square house with another long, lowbuilding upon one side of it. Three roads met there, and it was easy tosee that this was the posada, or wine-shop. There was no light in thewindows, and everything was dark and silent, but, of course, I knew thatsuch comfortable quarters were certainly occupied, and probably by someone of importance. I have learned, however, that the nearer the dangermay really be the safer the place, and so I was by no means inclined totrust myself away from this shelter. The low building was evidently thestable, and into this I crept, for the door was unlatched. The placewas full of bullocks and sheep, gathered there, no doubt, to be out ofthe clutches of marauders. A ladder led to a loft, and up this Iclimbed, and concealed myself very snugly among some bales of hay uponthe top. This loft had a small open window, and I was able to look downupon the front of the inn and also upon the road. There I crouched andwaited to see what would happen.
It was soon evident that I had not been mistaken when I had thought thatthis might be the quarters of some person of importance. Shortly afterdaybreak an English light dragoon arrived with a despatch, and from thenonwards the place was in a turmoil, officers continually riding up andaway. Always the same name was upon their lips: "Sir Stapleton--SirStapleton." It was hard for me to lie there with a dry moustache andwatch the great flagons which were brought out by the landlord to theseEnglish officers. But it amused me to look at their fresh-coloured,clean-shaven, careless faces, and to wonder what they would think ifthey knew that so celebrated a person was lying so near to them. Andthen, as I lay and watched, I saw a sight which filled me with surprise.
It is incredible the insolence of these English! What do you supposeMilord Wellington had done when he found that Massena had blockaded himand that he could not move his army? I might give you many guesses.You might say that he had raged, that he had despaired, that he hadbrought his troops together and spoken to them about glory and thefatherland before leading them to one last battle. No, Milord did noneof these things. But he sent a fleet ship to England to bring him anumber of fox-dogs, and he with his officers settled himself down tochase the fox. It is true what I tell you. Behind the lines of TorresVedras these mad Englishmen made the fox-chase three days in the week.We had heard of it in the camp, and now I was myself to see that it wastrue.
For, along the road which I have described, there came these very dogs,thirty or forty of them, white and brown, each with its tail at the sameangle, like the bayonets of the Old Guard. My faith, but it was apretty sight! And behind and amidst them there rode three men withpeaked caps and red coats, whom I understood to be the hunters. Afterthem came many horsemen with uniforms of various kinds, stringing alongthe roads in twos and threes, talking together and laughing. They didnot seem to be going above a trot, and it appeared to me that it mustindeed be a slow fox which they hoped to catch. However, it was theiraffair, not mine, and soon they had all passed my window and were out ofsight. I waited and I watched, ready for any chance which might offer.
Presently an officer, in a blue uniform not unlike that of our flyingartillery, came cantering down the road--an elderly, stout man he was,with grey side-whiskers. He stopped and began to talk with an orderlyofficer of dragoons, who waited outside the inn, and it was then that Ilearned the advantage of the English which had been taught me. I couldhear and understand all that was said.
"Where is the meet?" said the officer, and I thought that he washungering for his bifstek. But the other answered him that it was nearAltara, so I saw that it was a place of which he spoke.
"You are late, Sir George," said the orderly.
"Yes, I had a court-martial. Has Sir Stapleton Cotton gone?"
At this moment a window opened, and a handsome young man in a verysplendid uniform looked out of it.
"
Halloa, Murray!" said he. "These cursed papers keep me, but I will beat your heels."
"Very good, Cotton. I am late already, so I will ride on."
"You might order my groom to bring round my horse," said the younggeneral at the window to the orderly below, while the other went on downthe road. The orderly rode away to some outlying stable, and then in afew minutes there came a smart English groom with a cockade in his hat,leading by the bridle a horse--and, oh, my friends, you have never knownthe perfection to which a horse can attain until you have seen afirst-class English hunter. He was superb: tall, broad, strong, and yetas graceful and agile as a deer. Coal black he was in colour, and hisneck, and his shoulder, and his quarters, and his fetlocks--how can Idescribe him all to you? The sun shone upon him as on polished ebony,and he raised his hoofs in a little, playful dance so lightly andprettily, while he tossed his mane and whinnied with impatience. Neverhave I seen such a mixture of strength and beauty and grace. I hadoften wondered how the English Hussars had managed to ride over theChasseurs of the Guards in the affair at Astorga, but I wondered nolonger when I saw the English horses.
There was a ring for fastening bridles at the door of the inn, and thegroom tied the horse there while he entered the house. In an instant Ihad seen the chance which Fate had brought to me. Were I in that saddleI should be better off than when I started. Even Voltigeur could notcompare with this magnificent creature. To think is to act with me.In one instant I was down the ladder and at the door of the stable.The next I was out and the bridle was in my hand. I bounded into thesaddle. Somebody, the master or the man, shouted wildly behind me.What cared I for his shouts! I touched the horse with my spurs, and hebounded forward with such a spring that only a rider like myself couldhave sat him. I gave him his head and let him go--it did not matter tome where, so long as we left this inn far behind us. He thundered awayacross the vineyards, and in a very few minutes I had placed milesbetween myself and my pursuers. They could no longer tell, in that wildcountry, in which direction I had gone. I knew that I was safe, and so,riding to the top of a small hill, I drew my pencil and note-book frommy pocket and proceeded to make plans of those camps which I could see,and to draw the outline of the country.
He was a dear creature upon whom I sat, but it was not easy to draw uponhis back, for every now and then his two ears would cock, and he wouldstart and quiver with impatience. At first I could not understand thistrick of his, but soon I observed that he only did it when a peculiarnoise--"yoy, yoy, yoy"--came from somewhere among the oak woods beneathus. And then suddenly this strange cry changed into a most terriblescreaming, with the frantic blowing of a horn. Instantly he went mad--this horse. His eyes blazed. His mane bristled. He bounded from theearth and bounded again, twisting and turning in a frenzy. My pencilflew one way and my notebook another. And then, as I looked down intothe valley, an extraordinary sight met my eyes. The hunt was streamingdown it. The fox I could not see, but the dogs were in full cry, theirnoses down, their tails up, so close together that they might have beenone great yellow and white moving carpet. And behind them rode thehorsemen--my faith, what a sight! Consider every type which a great armycould show: some in hunting dress, but the most in uniforms; bluedragoons, red dragoons, red-trousered hussars, green riflemen,artillerymen, gold-slashed lancers, and most of all red, red, red, forthe infantry officers ride as hard as the cavalry. Such a crowd, somewell mounted, some ill, but all flying along as best they might, thesubaltern as good as the general, jostling and pushing, spurring anddriving, with every thought thrown to the winds save that they shouldhave the blood of this absurd fox! Truly, they are an extraordinarypeople, the English!
But I had little time to watch the hunt or to marvel at these islanders,for of all these mad creatures the very horse upon which I sat was themaddest. You understand that he was himself a hunter, and that thecrying of these dogs was to him what the call of a cavalry trumpet inthe street yonder would be to me. It thrilled him. It drove him wild.Again and again he bounded into the air, and then, seizing the bitbetween his teeth, he plunged down the slope and galloped after thedogs. I swore, and tugged, and pulled, but I was powerless.This English General rode his horse with a snaffle only, and the beasthad a mouth of iron. It was useless to pull him back. One might aswell try to keep a Grenadier from a wine bottle. I gave it up indespair, and, settling down in the saddle, I prepared for the worstwhich could befall.
What a creature he was! Never have I felt such a horse between myknees. His great haunches gathered under him with every stride, and heshot forward ever faster and faster, stretched like a greyhound, whilethe wind beat in my face and whistled past my ears. I was wearing ourundress jacket, a uniform simple and dark in itself--though some figuresgive distinction to any uniform--and I had taken the precaution toremove the long panache from my busby. The result was that, amidst themixture of costumes in the hunt, there was no reason why mine shouldattract attention, or why these men, whose thoughts were all with thechase, should give any heed to me. The idea that a French officer mightbe riding with them was too absurd to enter their minds. I laughed as Irode, for, indeed, amid all the danger, there was something of comic inthe situation.
I have said that the hunters were very unequally mounted, and so, at theend of a few miles, instead of being one body of men, like a chargingregiment, they were scattered over a considerable space, the betterriders well up to the dogs and the others trailing away behind. Now, Iwas as good a rider as any, and my horse was the best of them all, andso you can imagine that it was not long before he carried me to thefront. And when I saw the dogs streaming over the open, and thered-coated huntsman behind them, and only seven or eight horsemenbetween us, then it was that the strangest thing of all happened, for I,too, went mad--I, Etienne Gerard! In a moment it came upon me, thisspirit of sport, this desire to excel, this hatred of the fox.Accursed animal, should he then defy us? Vile robber, his hour wascome! Ah, it is a great feeling, this feeling of sport, my friends,this desire to trample the fox under the hoofs of your horse. I havemade the fox-chase with the English. I have also, as I may tell yousome day, fought the box-fight with the Bustler, of Bristol. And I sayto you that this sport is a wonderful thing--full of interest as well asmadness.
The farther we went the faster galloped my horse, and soon there werebut three men as near the dogs as I was. All thought of fear ofdiscovery had vanished. My brain throbbed, my blood ran hot--only onething upon earth seemed worth living for, and that was to overtake thisinfernal fox. I passed one of the horsemen--a Hussar like myself.There were only two in front of me now: the one in a black coat, theother the blue artilleryman whom I had seen at the inn. His greywhiskers streamed in the wind, but he rode magnificently. For a mile ormore we kept in this order, and then, as we galloped up a steep slope,my lighter weight brought me to the front. I passed them both, and whenI reached the crown I was riding level with the little, hard-facedEnglish huntsman. In front of us were the dogs, and then, a hundredpaces beyond them, was a brown wisp of a thing, the fox itself,stretched to the uttermost. The sight of him fired my blood. "Aha, wehave you then, assassin!" I cried, and shouted my encouragement to thehuntsman. I waved my hand to show him that there was one upon whom hecould rely.
And now there were only the dogs between me and my prey. These dogs,whose duty it is to point out the game, were now rather a hindrance thana help to us, for it was hard to know how to pass them. The huntsmanfelt the difficulty as much as I, for he rode behind them, and couldmake no progress towards the fox. He was a swift rider, but wanting inenterprise. For my part, I felt that it would be unworthy of theHussars of Conflans if I could not overcome such a difficulty as this.Was Etienne Gerard to be stopped by a herd of fox-dogs? It was absurd.I gave a shout and spurred my horse.
"Hold hard, sir! Hold hard!" cried the huntsman.
He was uneasy for me, this good old man, but I reassured him by a waveand a smile. The dogs opened in front of me. One or two
may have beenhurt, but what would you have? The egg must be broken for the omelette.I could hear the huntsman shouting his congratulations behind me.One more effort, and the dogs were all behind me. Only the fox was infront.
Ah, the joy and pride of that moment! To know that I had beaten theEnglish at their own sport. Here were three hundred all thirsting forthe life of this animal, and yet it was I who was about to take it.I thought of my comrades of the light cavalry brigade, of my mother, ofthe Emperor, of France. I had brought honour to each and all.Every instant brought me nearer to the fox. The moment for action hadarrived, so I unsheathed my sabre. I waved it in the air, and the braveEnglish all shouted behind me.
Only then did I understand how difficult is this fox-chase, for one maycut again and again at the creature and never strike him once. He issmall, and turns quickly from a blow. At every cut I heard those shoutsof encouragement from behind me, and they spurred me to yet anothereffort. And then, at last, the supreme moment of my triumph arrived.In the very act of turning I caught him fair with such anotherback-handed cut as that with which I killed the aide-de-camp of theEmperor of Russia. He flew into two pieces, his head one way and histail another. I looked back and waved the blood-stained sabre in theair. For the moment I was exalted--superb.
Ah! how I should have loved to have waited to have received thecongratulations of these generous enemies. There were fifty of them insight, and not one who was not waving his hand and shouting. They arenot really such a phlegmatic race, the English. A gallant deed in waror in sport will always warm their hearts. As to the old huntsman, hewas the nearest to me, and I could see with my own eyes how overcome hewas by what he had seen. He was like a man paralyzed--his mouth open,his hand, with outspread fingers, raised in the air. For a moment myinclination was to return and to embrace him. But already the call ofduty was sounding in my ears, and these English, in spite of all thefraternity which exists among sportsmen, would certainly have made meprisoner. There was no hope for my mission now, and I had done all thatI could do. I could see the lines of Massena's camp no very greatdistance off, for, by a lucky chance, the chase had taken us in thatdirection. I turned from the dead fox, saluted with my sabre, andgalloped away.
But they would not leave me so easily, these gallant huntsmen. I wasthe fox now, and the chase swept bravely over the plain. It was only atthe moment when I started for the camp that they could have known that Iwas a Frenchman, and now the whole swarm of them were at my heels.We were within gunshot of our pickets before they would halt, and thenthey stood in knots and would not go away, but shouted and waved theirhands at me. No, I will not think that it was in enmity. Rather wouldI fancy that a glow of admiration filled their breasts, and that theirone desire was to embrace the stranger who had carried himself sogallantly and well.
THE "SLAPPING SAL."
It was in the days when France's power was already broken upon the seas,and when more of her three-deckers lay rotting in the Medway than wereto be found in Brest harbour. But her frigates and corvettes stillscoured the ocean, closely followed ever by those of her rival. At theuttermost ends of the earth these dainty vessels, with sweet names ofgirls or of flowers, mangled and shattered each other for the honour ofthe four yards of bunting which flapped from the end of their gaffs.
It had blown hard in the night, but the wind had dropped with thedawning, and now the rising sun tinted the fringe of the storm-wrack asit dwindled into the west and glinted on the endless crests of the long,green waves. To north and south and west lay a skyline which wasunbroken save by the spout of foam when two of the great Atlantic seasdashed each other into spray. To the east was a rocky island, juttingout into craggy points, with a few scattered clumps of palm trees and apennant of mist streaming out from the bare, conical hill which cappedit. A heavy surf beat upon the shore, and, at a safe distance from it,the British 32-gun frigate _Leda_, Captain A. P. Johnson, raised herblack, glistening side upon the crest of a wave, or swooped down into anemerald valley, dipping away to the nor'ard under easy sail. On hersnow-white quarter-deck stood a stiff little brown-faced man, who sweptthe horizon with his glass.
"Mr. Wharton!" he cried, with a voice like a rusty hinge.
A thin, knock-kneed officer shambled across the poop to him.
"Yes, sir."
"I've opened the sealed orders, Mr. Wharton."
A glimmer of curiosity shone upon the meagre features of the firstlieutenant. The _Leda_ had sailed with her consort, the _Dido_, fromAntigua the week before, and the admiral's orders had been contained ina sealed envelope.
"We were to open them on reaching the deserted island of Sombriero,lying in north latitude eighteen, thirty-six, west longitudesixty-three, twenty-eight. Sombriero bore four miles to the north-eastfrom our port-bow when the gale cleared, Mr. Wharton."
The lieutenant bowed stiffly. He and the captain had been bosom friendsfrom childhood. They had gone to school together, joined the navytogether, fought again and again together, and married into each other'sfamilies, but so long as their feet were on the poop the iron disciplineof the service struck all that was human out of them and left only thesuperior and the subordinate. Captain Johnson took from his pocket ablue paper, which crackled as he unfolded it.
"The 32-gun frigates _Leda_ and _Dido_ (Captains A. P. Johnson and James Munro) are to cruise from the point at which these instructions are read to the mouth of the Caribbean Sea, in the hope of encountering the French frigate _La Gloire_ (48), which has recently harassed our merchant ships in that quarter. H.M. frigates are also directed to hunt down the piratical craft known sometimes as the _Slapping Sal_ and sometimes as the _Hairy Hudson_, which has plundered the British ships as per margin, inflicting barbarities upon their crews. She is a small brig, carrying ten light guns, with one twenty-four pound carronade forward. She was last seen upon the 23rd ult. to the north-east of the island of Sombriero."
"(Signed) JAMES MONTGOMERY,"
"(_Rear-Admiral_). H.M.S. _Colossus_, Antigua."
"We appear to have lost our consort," said Captain Johnson, folding uphis instructions and again sweeping the horizon with his glass."She drew away after we reefed down. It would be a pity if we met thisheavy Frenchman without the _Dido_, Mr. Wharton. Eh?"
The lieutenant twinkled and smiled.
"She has eighteen-pounders on the main and twelves on the poop, sir,"said the captain. "She carries four hundred to our two hundred andthirty-one. Captain de Milon is the smartest man in the French service.Oh, Bobby boy, I'd give my hopes of my flag to rub my side up againsther!" He turned on his heel, ashamed of his momentary lapse."Mr. Wharton," said he, looking back sternly over his shoulder, "getthose square sails shaken out and bear away a point more to the west."
"A brig on the port-bow," came a voice from the forecastle.
"A brig on the port-bow," said the lieutenant.
The captain sprang upon the bulwarks and held on by the mizzen-shrouds,a strange little figure with flying skirts and puckered eyes. The leanlieutenant craned his neck and whispered to Smeaton, the second, whileofficers and men came popping up from below and clustered along theweather-rail, shading their eyes with their hands--for the tropical sunwas already clear of the palm trees. The strange brig lay at anchor inthe throat of a curving estuary, and it was already obvious that shecould not get out without passing under the guns of the frigate.A long, rocky point to the north of her held her in.
"Keep her as she goes, Mr. Wharton," said the captain. "Hardly worthwhile our clearing for action, Mr. Smeaton, but the men can stand by theguns in case she tries to pass us. Cast loose the bow-chasers and sendthe small-arm men to the forecastle."
A British crew went to its quarters in those days with the quietserenity of men on their daily routine. In a few minutes, without fussor sound, the sailors were knotted round their guns, the marines weredrawn up and leaning on their muskets, and the frigate's bowspritpointed straight for her little v
ictim.
"Is it the _Slapping Sal_, sir?"
"I have no doubt of it, Mr. Wharton."
"They don't seem to like the look of us, sir. They've cut their cableand are clapping on sail."
It was evident that the brig meant struggling for her freedom.One little patch of canvas fluttered out above another, and her peoplecould be seen working like madmen in the rigging. She made no attemptto pass her antagonist, but headed up the estuary. The captain rubbedhis hands.
"She's making for shoal water, Mr. Wharton, and we shall have to cut herout, sir. She's a footy little brig, but I should have thought afore-and-after would have been more handy."
"It was a mutiny, sir."
"Ah, indeed!"
"Yes, sir, I heard of it at Manilla: a bad business, sir. Captain andtwo mates murdered. This Hudson, or Hairy Hudson as they call him, ledthe mutiny. He's a Londoner, sir, and a cruel villain as ever walked."
"His next walk will be to Execution Dock, Mr. Wharton. She seemsheavily manned. I wish I could take twenty topmen out of her, but theywould be enough to corrupt the crew of the ark, Mr. Wharton."
Both officers were looking through their glasses at the brig. Suddenlythe lieutenant showed his teeth in a grin, while the captain flushed adeeper red.
"That's Hairy Hudson on the after-rail, sir."
"The low, impertinent blackguard! He'll play some other antics beforewe are done with him. Could you reach him with the long eighteen, Mr.Smeaton?"
"Another cable length will do it, sir."
The brig yawed as they spoke, and as she came round a spurt of smokewhiffed out from her quarter. It was a pure piece of bravado, for thegun could scarce carry halfway. Then with a jaunty swing the littleship came into the wind again, and shot round a fresh curve in thewinding channel.
"The water's shoaling rapidly, sir," repeated the second lieutenant.
"There's six fathoms by the chart."
"Four by the lead, sir."
"When we clear this point we shall see how we lie. Ha! I thought asmuch! Lay her to, Mr. Wharton. Now we have got her at our mercy!"
The frigate was quite out of sight of the sea now at the head of thisriver-like estuary. As she came round the curve the two shores wereseen to converge at a point about a mile distant. In the angle, as nearshore as she could get, the brig was lying with her broadside towardsher pursuer and a wisp of black cloth streaming from her mizzen.The lean lieutenant, who had reappeared upon deck with a cutlassstrapped to his side and two pistols rammed into his belt, peeredcuriously at the ensign.
"Is it the Jolly Rodger, sir?" he asked.
But the captain was furious.
"He may hang where his breeches are hanging before I have done withhim!" said he. "What boats will you want, Mr. Wharton?"
"We should do it with the launch and the jolly-boat."
"Take four and make a clean job of it. Pipe away the crews at once, andI'll work her in and help you with the long eighteens."
With a rattle of ropes and a creaking of blocks the four boats splashedinto the water. Their crews clustered thickly into them: bare-footedsailors, stolid marines, laughing middies, and in the sheets of each thesenior officers with their stern schoolmaster faces. The captain, hiselbows on the binnacle, still watched the distant brig. Her crew weretricing up the boarding-netting, dragging round the starboard guns,knocking new portholes for them, and making every preparation for adesperate resistance. In the thick of it all a huge man, bearded to theeyes, with a red nightcap upon his head, was straining and stooping andhauling. The captain watched him with a sour smile, and then snappingup his glass he turned upon his heel. For an instant he stood staring.
"Call back the boats!" he cried in his thin, creaking voice."Clear away for action there! Cast loose those main-deck guns.Brace back the yards, Mr. Smeaton, and stand by to go about when she hasweigh enough."
Round the curve of the estuary was coming a huge vessel. Her greatyellow bowsprit and white-winged figure-head were jutting out from thecluster of palm trees, while high above them towered three immense mastswith the tricolour flag floating superbly from the mizzen. Round shecame, the deep-blue water creaming under her fore foot, until her long,curving, black side, her line of shining copper beneath and ofsnow-white hammocks above, and the thick clusters of men who peered overher bulwarks were all in full view. Her lower yards were slung, herports triced up, and her guns run out all ready for action.Lying behind one of the promontories of the island, the lookout men ofthe _Gloire_ upon the shore had seen the _cul de sac_ into which theBritish frigate was headed, so that Captain de Milon had served the_Leda_ as Captain Johnson had the _Slapping Sal_.
But the splendid discipline of the British service was at its best insuch a crisis. The boats flew back; their crews clustered aboard; theywere swung up at the davits and the fall-ropes made fast. Hammocks werebrought up and stowed, bulkheads sent down, ports and magazines opened,the fires put out in the galley, and the drums beat to quarters.Swarms of men set the head-sails and brought the frigate round, whilethe gun-crews threw off their jackets and shirts, tightened their belts,and ran out their eighteen-pounders, peering through the open portholesat the stately French man. The wind was very light. Hardly a rippleshowed itself upon the clear blue water, but the sails blew gently outas the breeze came over the wooded banks. The Frenchman had gone aboutalso, and both ships were now heading slowly for the sea underfore-and-aft canvas, the _Gloire_ a hundred yards in advance.She luffed up to cross the _Leda's_ bows, but the British ship cameround also, and the two rippled slowly on in such a silence that theringing of the ramrods as the French marines drove home their chargesclanged quite loudly upon the ear.
"Not much sea-room, Mr. Wharton," remarked the captain.
"I have fought actions in less, sir."
"We must keep our distance and trust to our gunnery. She is veryheavily manned, and if she got alongside we might find ourselves introuble."
"I see the shakoes of soldiers aboard other."
"Two companies of light infantry from Martinique. Now we have her!Hard-a-port, and let her have it as we cross her stern!"
The keen eye of the little commander had seen the surface ripple, whichtold of a passing breeze. He had used it to dart across the bigFrenchman and to rake her with every gun as he passed. But, once pasther, the _Leda_ had to come back into the wind to keep out of shoalwater. The manoeuvre brought her on to the starboard side of theFrenchman, and the trim little frigate seemed to heel right over underthe crashing broadside which burst from the gaping ports. A momentlater her topmen were swarming aloft to set her top-sails and royals,and she strove to cross the _Gloire's_ bows and rake her again. TheFrench captain, however, brought his frigate's head round, and the tworode side by side within easy pistol-shot, pouring broadsides into eachother in one of those murderous duels which, could they all be recorded,would mottle our charts with blood.
In that heavy tropical air, with so faint a breeze, the smoke formed athick bank round the two vessels, from which the topmasts onlyprotruded. Neither could see anything of its enemy save the throbs offire in the darkness, and the guns were sponged and trained and firedinto a dense wall of vapour. On the poop and the forecastle themarines, in two little red lines, were pouring in their volleys, butneither they nor the seamen-gunners could see what effect their fire washaving. Nor, indeed, could they tell how far they were sufferingthemselves, for, standing at a gun, one could but hazily see that uponthe right and the left. But above the roar of the cannon came thesharper sound of the piping shot, the crashing of riven planks, and theoccasional heavy thud as spar or block came hurtling on to the deck.The lieutenants paced up and down the line of guns, while CaptainJohnson fanned the smoke away with his cocked-hat and peered eagerlyout.
"This is rare, Bobby!" said he, as the lieutenant joined him.Then, suddenly restraining himself, "What have we lost, Mr. Wharton?"
"Our maintopsail yard and our gaff, sir."
&nbs
p; "Where's the flag?"
"Gone overboard, sir."
"They'll think we've struck! Lash a boat's ensign on the starboard armof the mizzen cross-jack-yard."
"Yes, sir."
A round-shot dashed the binnacle to pieces between them. A secondknocked two marines into a bloody palpitating mash. For a moment thesmoke rose, and the English captain saw that his adversary's heaviermetal was producing a horrible effect. The _Leda_ was a shatteredwreck. Her deck was strewed with corpses. Several of her portholeswere knocked into one, and one of her eighteen-pounder guns had beenthrown right back on to her breech, and pointed straight up to the sky.The thin line of marines still loaded and fired, but half the guns weresilent, and their crews were piled thickly round them.
"Stand by to repel boarders!" yelled the captain.
"Cutlasses, lads, cutlasses!" roared Wharton.
"Hold your volley till they touch!" cried the captain of marines.
The huge loom of the Frenchman was seen bursting through the smoke.Thick clusters of boarders hung upon her sides and shrouds. A finalbroad-side leapt from her ports, and the main-mast of the _Leda_,snapping short off a few feet above the deck, spun into the air andcrashed down upon the port guns, killing ten men and putting the wholebattery out of action. An instant later the two ships scraped together,and the starboard bower anchor of the _Gloire_ caught the mizzen-chainsof the _Leda_ upon the port side. With a yell the black swarm ofboarders steadied themselves for a spring.
But their feet were never to reach that blood-stained deck. From somewhere there came a well-aimed whiff of grape, and another, and another.The English marines and seamen, waiting with cutlass and musket behindthe silent guns, saw with amazement the dark masses thinning andshredding away. At the same time the port broadside of the Frenchmanburst into a roar.
"Clear away the wreck!" roared the captain. "What the devil are theyfiring at?"
"Get the guns clear!" panted the lieutenant. "We'll do them yet, boys!"
The wreckage was torn and hacked and splintered until first one gun andthen another roared into action again. The Frenchman's anchor had beencut away, and the _Leda_ had worked herself free from that fatal hug.But now, suddenly, there was a scurry up the shrouds of the _Gloire_,and a hundred Englishmen were shouting themselves hoarse: "They'rerunning! They're running! They're running!"
And it was true. The Frenchman had ceased to fire, and was intent onlyupon clapping on every sail that he could carry. But that shoutinghundred could not claim it all as their own. As the smoke cleared itwas not difficult to see the reason. The ships had gained the mouth ofthe estuary during the fight, and there, about four miles out to sea,was the _Leda's_ consort bearing down under full sail to the sound ofthe guns. Captain de Milon had done his part for one day, and presentlythe _Gloire_ was drawing off swiftly to the north, while the _Dido_ wasbowling along at her skirts, rattling away with her bow-chasers, until aheadland hid them both from view.
But the Leda lay sorely stricken, with her mainmast gone, her bulwarksshattered, her mizzen-topmast and gaff shot away, her sails like abeggar's rags, and a hundred of her crew dead and wounded. Close besideher a mass of wreckage floated upon the waves. It was the stern-post ofa mangled vessel, and across it, in white letters on a black ground, wasprinted, "_The Slapping Sal_."
"By the Lord! it was the brig that saved us!" cried Mr. Wharton."Hudson brought her into action with the Frenchman, and was blown out ofthe water by a broadside!"
The little captain turned on his heel and paced up and down the deck.
Already his crew were plugging the shot-holes, knotting and splicing andmending. When he came back, the lieutenant saw a softening of the sternlines about his eyes and mouth.
"Are they all gone?"
"Every man. They must have sunk with the wreck."
The two officers looked down at the sinister name, and at the stump ofwreckage which floated in the discoloured water. Something black washedto and fro beside a splintered gaff and a tangle of halliards. It wasthe outrageous ensign, and near it a scarlet cap was floating.
"He was a villain, but he was a Briton!" said the captain at last."He lived like a dog, but, by God, he died like a man!"
THE END.
The Great Shadow and Other Napoleonic Tales Page 15
