The Dream and the Glory

by Barbara Cartland

  She tried to see the St. Jude for herself, but when she attempted to stand up in the caïque it rolled about and she was almost swept overboard. Hastily she sat down again.

  It took some time to cross the intervening sea between themselves and Mark’s ship, but at last they could see quite clearly the great Eight-Pointed Cross embellished on the sails which were however, half reefed in.

  As they drew nearer still, Cordelia realised that the ship was drifting with another vessel secured alongside.

  'They are taking the cargo aboard, Mistress,” Vella explained.

  Now Cordelia could see that the pirate ship was secured to the St. Jude by grappling irons and not only its main mast was broken but the other two were trailing over its side in the sea.

  It was obvious that the St. Jude’s men were engaged in moving the cargo from the captured ship into their own hold.

  In the stern were the Moslem prisoners, huddled together dejectedly, their hands on top of their heads as they were guarded by one of the soldiers of the Order.

  At last Cordelia could see Mark moving about the deck giving orders and even at a distance she could sense his air of authority.

  Her heart had leapt at the sight of him and she found it difficult to look at anything else.

  All through the night her love for him had seemed to encompass her like a protective wall and now she knew she had been certain that somehow in some magical way she would find him and save him from the French.

  At last they were within hailing distance and Vella was gesticulating wildly and shouting at the top of his voice,

  “Cap-a-tain Stanton! Cap-a-tain Stanton! We bring news!”

  Cordelia saw a sailor draw Mark’s attention to their approach and he came to the rail of the ship.

  When he saw who was aboard the caïque, she saw the astonishment on his face.

  A rope ladder was lowered over the side of the St. Jude and Cordelia was helped aboard, but not before she had thanked the owner and his men.

  Vella himself came up the ladder after her, guiding her feet and helping her until Mark leant over the side and taking her by her arms pulled her to safety.

  For a moment he held her close against him as he exclaimed in an incredulous tone,

  “Cordelia! In God’s name, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to – warn you,” she answered.

  It was hard to speak because the mere fact that she was close to Mark and he had his arms around her made her quiver.

  When her eyes met his, it was hard to remember what she had to say.

  “To warn me?” he questioned.

  “The French have taken Malta!”

  She saw the consternation in his expression and added,

  “David has been – killed.”

  His hand clasped her closely as if in consolation.

  Then he said,

  “The whole French Fleet is there?”

  Cordelia nodded.

  “Then Admiral Nelson cannot have received the communication I sent to him from Naples,” he commented almost beneath his breath.

  “The Count heard that the French had slipped out of Toulon – while the British Fleet was being watered in Sardinia,” Cordelia explained.

  “That would account for it. But what is happening on the island? Surely they are fighting?”

  “There is very – little,” Cordelia replied in a low voice. “The French Knights would not attack their own countrymen – and the defences were – inadequately manned.”

  She spoke unhappily, feeling it shaming that she should bring him such tidings.

  Then almost abruptly he said,

  “This alters things considerably.”

  He walked away from her and she saw him speaking to the Baron and several other Officers who were supervising the removal of the pirates’ cargo.

  Without hearing what they said it was easy to discern their consternation and dismay at the news.

  “Is all the cargo now aboard?” Cordelia heard Mark ask.

  “Only a dozen more bags, sir,” a Petty Officer replied, “and, of course, the prisoners.”

  “We will take no prisoners with us!”

  Cordelia saw the surprise on the faces of those who heard Mark. Then he called the Officer in charge of the pirate ship and speaking slowly and clearly so that he could understand he said,

  “We have taken the cargo that you had stolen already from another ship, but we do not intend to take you or your men prisoners.”

  There was a look of puzzled astonishment on the Moslem’s face as he repeated,

  “No prisoners, Captain?”

  “By the mercy of God you are free!” Mark Stanton told him. “But remember in your turn to show mercy to those you capture.”

  The Moslem Officer seemed too stunned to reply and Mark gave the order to release the grappling irons and hoist the sails.

  He came back to Cordelia’s side.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “To Naples,” he replied. “If we come in contact with the British Fleet on the way we can tell Admiral Nelson where the French are at this moment.”

  His eyes were hard as he went on,

  “I told the Grand Master that Bonaparte would be making for Egypt and that Malta was the obvious place where he take on require water and provisions.”

  “He did not believe you?” Cordelia asked.

  “De Rohan said on his deathbed that he would be the last Grand Master to reign in Malta and the Hospitallers believed that the end would come when there was a German at the head of the Order. Like so many old prophecies this one has come true!”

  He walked away before Cordelia could say anything more.

  The Baron came to her side and she felt that he was half-aware of what she had to tell him before she said in a low voice,

  “David was – killed trying to save the Standard of the Order from the French.”

  “I am so sorry, Lady Cordelia. I am terribly sorry.”

  “It was as he would have – wished to – die,” Cordelia said and turned away so that the Baron would not see the tears in her eyes.

  Because she knew that Mark was busy and she did not wish to be a nuisance, she went below to the cabin she had occupied on the journey from Naples to Malta.

  She thought how happy they had all been then and how to David every mile they travelled brought him nearer to his ‘Promised Land’.

  It was hard to believe that she would never see him again and yet she had known when she knelt beside him in the Church of St. John that his spirit would never die.

  *

  They had been at sea for over an hour before Mark came below and she heard him knock on her cabin door.

  She opened it and he came inside to stand in front of her.

  The evening sun shining through the porthole illuminated her fair hair and encompassed her with an almost unearthly radiance.

  They stood gazing at each other and then quite simply Mark held out his arms and she ran towards him.

  Because she was shy she hid her face against his shoulder.

  “I am very sorry about David,” he said gently. “It was so brave of you and more courageous than I can possibly tell you to come to warn me.”

  His arms tightened as he said,

  “Vella has told me that it was entirely your idea and how you planned it all. Could anyone be more wonderful?”

  Cordelia felt herself tremble at what he said and the deep note in his voice.

  “Look at me, my darling,” Mark whispered.

  But when she would have raised her face shyly towards his, knowing that he was about to kiss her and longing for the touch of his lips, there was a sudden shout.

  “Sail ho! Sail ho!”

  The voice seemed to ring out over their heads and without even a word of apology Mark took his arms from her and hurried from the cabin up the companionway to the deck.

  And Cordelia followed him.

  She moved much more slowly than he did and b
y the time she stepped out into the sunshine he was already on the bridge and looking as was every other man on deck towards the horizon.

  It was undoubtedly a sail, a dark mark against the sky. But it was too far away to see if it was friend or foe.

  The lookout was clinging to his perch, being swung round and round in dizzy circles as the ship swooped over the waves.

  Vella came to Cordelia’s side.

  “You did not wish to go back with your cousin?” she asked him.

  He shook his head.

  “I would wish to serve Captain Stanton and, of course, you, Mistress.”

  “I am very grateful to you for bringing me to the St. Jude,” Cordelia told him.

  “The Captain has thanked me,” Vella replied, “and, Mistress, I have some money for you and also the string of pearls. It was not necessary to sell all your jewels.”

  He held out the pearls as he spoke and Cordelia took them from him and fastened them around her neck.

  “I am so glad to keep them, Vella, they belonged – to my mother.”

  “I got a good price for the diamonds, Mistress,” Vella declared a little boastfully.

  “You have been very clever,” Cordelia smiled.

  But her eye went instinctively towards the ship on the horizon, which now was a little clearer.

  It was a three-master, she could see, but it was impossible to tell at this distance what flag it carried.

  Mark was in consultation with his Officers on the poop and she felt that he must be apprehensive.

  Was the approaching ship bigger than they were and would the fact that they carried a heavy cargo weigh against them in a battle?

  A battle!

  Cordelia felt as if a sword pierced her heart at the thought.

  Suppose having lost David she should now lose Mark?

  She longed to run to his side and ask for his reassurance.

  She wished that he had kissed her as she knew he was about to do before he had been recalled to duty.

  The ship was coming nearer and nearer.

  “Man the braces!” Mark shouted. “Beat to quarters and clear for action!”

  As the drum rolled, the ship was in a turmoil of activity, guns were run out, the decks sanded, the hoses rigged to the pumps and the bulkheads taken down.

  Then as if Mark suddenly realised Cordelia's presence he said sharply,

  “Please go below, Lady Cordelia, and stay there! Whatever happens, do not come up on deck.”

  It was an order and Cordelia obeyed it.

  She went to her cabin, feeling how useless it was to be a woman in the time of war.

  It seemed to her as if hours passed before anything happened.

  It was agony to sit alone in her cabin and not know if the ship, which must now be clearly in sight of those on deck, was French or English.

  If it was English, she thought, it might be possible for Admiral Nelson to save Malta from French occupation.

  If it was French, what would happen to them?

  Suddenly without any warning the guns were fired in a rolling crash that shook the St. Jude to her keel.

  Cordelia was deafened by it.

  A voice she thought was Mark’s shouted,

  “Stand by to go about!”

  She could hear the voices of the ship’s boys as they came running up from below with new charges for the guns.

  She knew that the Maltese crew would be thrusting wet swabs down the bore to extinguish any residual fragments of smouldering cartridge, ramming in the fresh shot and then the charges and heaving the guns up into firing positions again.

  “Cock your locks!” Mark's voice ordered. “Take your aim. Fire!”

  The roar of the broadside was deafening and coincided with the guns of the enemy.

  The St. Jude was enveloped in smoke and there was the sound of rigging tumbling onto the deck.

  Another salvo roared that vibrated and shook the ship.

  Now there was a wholehearted cheer and Cordelia knew without being able to see what was happening that the enemy must have been hit, probably carrying away a mast.

  Another salvo and yet another with the enemy firing in return, but she had an idea that most of the shots went wide of their target.

  One however, must have hit the St. Jude because Cordelia felt the violent impact of it and she was almost thrown from the bed where she had been sitting.

  Yet another salvo appeared to silence the enemy ship and again there was a tremendous cheer.

  Cordelia longed to defy Mark’s orders and go up on deck, but she was afraid of angering him should she do so.

  She did, however, go to the bottom of the companionway to listen, hoping that she could hear what was happening.

  There were orders being given in quick staccato tones and the sound of bare feet running over the deck.

  Then as she listened, again there was that clarion-cry of, “Sail ho!”

  There was almost complete silence for a moment and then she heard Mark give orders but could not understand their significance.

  She had the feeling, however, that this new ship meant danger and, if it was another French ship, then they were likely to be in trouble, especially as she was sure that they had received one if not more hits during the engagement just ended.

  She opened the door of the cabin on the starboard side and wondered why she had not thought of doing so before.

  Now she could see through the porthole the ship they had been fighting, there was no doubt that it was French and that they had damaged it considerably.

  The masts were down, the sails dragging in the water and far away though she was, Cordelia could see bodies of men who had been killed lying about on the deck.

  They had struck their colours in surrender and Cordelia felt that it was some compensation for the surrender of the Fort of St. Elmo.

  But the St. Jude was moving away.

  She knew that the men were setting full sail to catch all the wind possible to carry them out of reach of the oncoming ship.

  It was as if everyone aboard the St. Jude was straining every nerve and muscle, Cordelia thought, to avoid danger.

  Yet she knew with a perception that was unshakable that the second ship was approaching swiftly and it might be impossible for them to escape.

  There was nothing more to be seen from the porthole since they were now out of sight of the stricken vessel and there were only the waves, gold and crimson in the setting sun.

  Restlessly Cordelia walked back to her cabin.

  If only Vella would come and tell her what was happening, she thought. If only she dared defy Mark and go up on deck and see for herself.

  Then frighteningly, although from some distance, there was the report of cannon shot.

  It must have fallen short of the St. Jude, but Cordelia felt the ship alter course.

  There was another salvo and another and she knew the reason that there was no answering fire from the St. Jude was that the approaching ship was out of range of their smaller guns.

  She could remember David asking if the guns they carried were large enough for the new French vessels being built at Toulon and she could remember Mark’s reply.

  These French ships they were encountering must be part of Napoleon’s new Fleet and were hurrying to join him at Malta.

  If that was so, then the St. Jude would be out-gunned and not even Mark’s expertise and brilliant seamanship could save them from destruction.

  Cordelia covered her face with her hands and even as she did so the whole ship shook from the impact of another cannon shot.

  At the same time St Jude lifted to the recoil of her own guns and Cordelia’s ears felt that they were split with the sound of the broadside. Then came the enemy’s crashing reply.

  She heard the thunderous cracking as the rigging was shot away, one of the masts fell and the thud of its sails as they crashed onto the deck.

  After that there was an inferno of sound in which she could distinguish little except an occasi
onal human scream above the roar of the guns, the rat-tat of musket fire, the breaking of wood and the answering salvo from the St Jude.

  The guns were firing as often as they could be loaded but, although Cordelia listened, there was no shout of delight as invariably happened at the fall of an enemy mast.

  The firing went on and on until her head seemed to reel with it and she felt deafened with the agonising impact of its thunder on her eardrums.

  Finally there was silence, a silence so ominous and so frightening that Cordelia could not believe it.

  She hoped that it was her hearing that was at fault, but realised that it was more terrifying than that.

  Finally, feeling as if she had passed through a special hell of her own and was surprised to find herself alive, she crept from her cabin and tentatively climbed the companionway.

  As she emerged on deck, she gave a gasp of sheer horror for it seemed as if it was a place of the dead and no one was left alive.

  All three masts of the St Jude had been shot down, the mizzen mast having snapped off nine feet from the deck.

  Masts and sails and rigging trailed alongside and astern.

  Coils of rope were lying in an indescribable tangle and beneath them and the sails she knew that men were lying either dead or stunned by their fall.

  As she moved a little further from the companionway, she looked up onto the poop and her heart stood still.

  She could see Mark lying on the deck. Beside him lay the Baron and several other Officers.

  Cordelia ran up the steps.

  Mark was lying with his back against the side, his legs stretched out in front of him and one of them was a mass of blood!

  She thought for a moment that he must be dead.

  Then she told herself that he was unconscious and if she did not do something about his leg he would bleed to death.

  The men around him seemed to be in the same predicament and the Baron she could see had been hit in the chest and his coat was already crimson.

  One of the other Officers was moaning and Cordelia saw in horror that his hand had been practically blown away and was but a mangled mass of flesh and bone without shape to it.

  For a moment she felt everything swim in front of her eyes and then she told herself that she was needed and that if she was to save anyone’s life she must work speedily.