NOTES.

THE END.

Act II. Scene I.—Busné, or gentiles, is the name given by the gipsies to all who are not of their race. Calés is the name they give themselves.

Act III. Scene V.—The scraps of song in this scene are from Borrow’s “Zincali; or an Account of the Gipsies in Spain.”

The gipsy words in the same scene may be thus interpreted:

Juan-Dorados, pieces of gold.Pigeon, a simpleton.In your morocco, robbed, stripped.Doves, sheets.Moon, a shirt.Chirelin, a thief.Murcigalleros, those who steal at night-fall.Rastilleros, foot-pads.Hermit, highway robber.Planets, candles.Commandments, the fingers.Saint Martin asleep, to rob a person asleep.

Juan-Dorados, pieces of gold.

Pigeon, a simpleton.

In your morocco, robbed, stripped.

Doves, sheets.

Moon, a shirt.

Chirelin, a thief.

Murcigalleros, those who steal at night-fall.

Rastilleros, foot-pads.

Hermit, highway robber.

Planets, candles.

Commandments, the fingers.

Saint Martin asleep, to rob a person asleep.

THE CHILD’S PRAYER.

———

BY ROBERT MORRIS.

———

Great Being! whose eternal homeIs in the far-off skies,Permit a little child to kneelAnd heavenward turn her eyes!They tell me that our lower worldIs not a world of bliss,And that there is a realm beyondMore beautiful than this!That there are seen angelic throngsConstant in songs of praise,That brothers, sisters, never part,And years are but as days⁠—That smiles illumine every face,And joy cheers every breast,That sighs and sorrows are unknown,And all alike are blest!Oh! I would, when my life shall close,Soar to that happy land,And mingle with the good and fair,And join the angel band⁠—Wings for my spirit I would have,That like a bird at lastUpward and on my soul should soar,Rejoicing as it passed!But oh! I would not go alone,I would not leave behindA mother fond and dear as mine,A father, too, so kind⁠—Oh! no, may these, when Death shall comeTo close these fading eyes,Soar with me to my heavenly home,Or meet me in the skies!As yet I am a feeble child,A poor, frail thing of earth;Great Maker! keep me undefiledAnd sinless e’en in mirth!They tell me that thy guardian careExtends o’er land and sea,That e’en a sparrow may not fallUnseen, unknown to thee!That thou art God o’er great and small,That by thy power was madeAs well the fire-fly as the sun,The bright light as the shade⁠—That the clear stars which shine aboveAre wondrous worlds like ours,Perchance with richer, softer skiesAnd sweeter buds and flowers!They tell me, and my Bible trueConfirms the cheering tale,That thou dost love all human things,That none who seek will fail⁠—That none who bend the suppliant kneeAnd ask thy godlike aid,Will fail to win a mansion brightWhen life and earth shall fade!Then guide, I pray thee, guide my feet,My youthful heart control,Chasten and purify my thoughtsAnd brighten all my soul⁠—Oh! make me true and dutifulTo thee and kindred dear,And lead me to that better land,That world without a tear!

Great Being! whose eternal home

Is in the far-off skies,

Permit a little child to kneel

And heavenward turn her eyes!

They tell me that our lower world

Is not a world of bliss,

And that there is a realm beyond

More beautiful than this!

That there are seen angelic throngsConstant in songs of praise,That brothers, sisters, never part,And years are but as days⁠—That smiles illumine every face,And joy cheers every breast,That sighs and sorrows are unknown,And all alike are blest!

That there are seen angelic throngs

Constant in songs of praise,

That brothers, sisters, never part,

And years are but as days⁠—

That smiles illumine every face,

And joy cheers every breast,

That sighs and sorrows are unknown,

And all alike are blest!

Oh! I would, when my life shall close,Soar to that happy land,And mingle with the good and fair,And join the angel band⁠—Wings for my spirit I would have,That like a bird at lastUpward and on my soul should soar,Rejoicing as it passed!

Oh! I would, when my life shall close,

Soar to that happy land,

And mingle with the good and fair,

And join the angel band⁠—

Wings for my spirit I would have,

That like a bird at last

Upward and on my soul should soar,

Rejoicing as it passed!

But oh! I would not go alone,I would not leave behindA mother fond and dear as mine,A father, too, so kind⁠—Oh! no, may these, when Death shall comeTo close these fading eyes,Soar with me to my heavenly home,Or meet me in the skies!

But oh! I would not go alone,

I would not leave behind

A mother fond and dear as mine,

A father, too, so kind⁠—

Oh! no, may these, when Death shall come

To close these fading eyes,

Soar with me to my heavenly home,

Or meet me in the skies!

As yet I am a feeble child,A poor, frail thing of earth;Great Maker! keep me undefiledAnd sinless e’en in mirth!They tell me that thy guardian careExtends o’er land and sea,That e’en a sparrow may not fallUnseen, unknown to thee!

As yet I am a feeble child,

A poor, frail thing of earth;

Great Maker! keep me undefiled

And sinless e’en in mirth!

They tell me that thy guardian care

Extends o’er land and sea,

That e’en a sparrow may not fall

Unseen, unknown to thee!

That thou art God o’er great and small,That by thy power was madeAs well the fire-fly as the sun,The bright light as the shade⁠—That the clear stars which shine aboveAre wondrous worlds like ours,Perchance with richer, softer skiesAnd sweeter buds and flowers!

That thou art God o’er great and small,

That by thy power was made

As well the fire-fly as the sun,

The bright light as the shade⁠—

That the clear stars which shine above

Are wondrous worlds like ours,

Perchance with richer, softer skies

And sweeter buds and flowers!

They tell me, and my Bible trueConfirms the cheering tale,That thou dost love all human things,That none who seek will fail⁠—That none who bend the suppliant kneeAnd ask thy godlike aid,Will fail to win a mansion brightWhen life and earth shall fade!

They tell me, and my Bible true

Confirms the cheering tale,

That thou dost love all human things,

That none who seek will fail⁠—

That none who bend the suppliant knee

And ask thy godlike aid,

Will fail to win a mansion bright

When life and earth shall fade!

Then guide, I pray thee, guide my feet,My youthful heart control,Chasten and purify my thoughtsAnd brighten all my soul⁠—Oh! make me true and dutifulTo thee and kindred dear,And lead me to that better land,That world without a tear!

Then guide, I pray thee, guide my feet,

My youthful heart control,

Chasten and purify my thoughts

And brighten all my soul⁠—

Oh! make me true and dutiful

To thee and kindred dear,

And lead me to that better land,

That world without a tear!

DE PONTIS.

A TALE OF RICHELIEU.

———

BY THE AUTHOR OF “HENRI QUATRE; OR THE DAYS OF THE LEAGUE.”

———

(Continued from page 175.)

Next morning, at the usual hour, Marguerite was at the door of theConciergerie.

The thread of affairs had become so intricate—matters that she felt at liberty to explain to her father, and other circumstances, which regard for the page’s safety forbade disclosing—that, for the first time in her life, she felt ill at ease in his presence. She was conscious of being, to a certain degree, culpable—the unreserved confidence hitherto subsisting between father and daughter was no more—there was reservation, and it produced distress, regret, and confusion.

Still she was true to her own intent. She had made a deliberate resolve of secrecy when her mind was calm and free to judge, and she would not break it when in a state of fluttering and depression. The veteran was delighted with the progress in his affairs—there was yet some chance, he said, of his being able to make provision for a dutiful daughter—some temporal solace for old age.

Leaving him after a short visit—for, in truth, she felt much of what he said as a secret reproach—Marguerite hastened to the advocate.

“The packet is deposited in sure hands—and not at theTuileries, Monsieur Giraud!” was her salutation.

“And half an hour hence will see me at theHôtel De Fontrailles,” replied the party addressed.

“But I dread the peril you incur, Monsieur,” rejoined the damsel; “is there no”⁠—

“Has Marguerite done her duty?” demanded Giraud, interrupting her.

“I have,” exclaimed the lady, firmly.

“Then have no fear for the advocate,” said her friend, relaxing the piercing gaze he bent on the maiden.

Let us accompany Giraud. Donning hat—plain and featherless—tying a black mantle round his throat, and, with cane in hand—for he was a gentleman of the robe, not of the sword, and bore no weapon—he sallied forth, walking with deliberate air, till he reached a gloomy mansion in theRue D’Orleans.

The gate orporte-cochèrewas opened to his knock by the ever ready porter, and he stood beneath the archway. The count had not yet gone abroad, and would doubtless see him—the name was carried to Monseigneur, and the lackey returned to usher the visiter. A spacious staircase of polished chesnut-wood, so slippery that the advocate had much ado to keep footing, led to a vestibule whence doors opened into various chambers. Passing through an ante-chamber into a saloon, he was at length conducted to the library of theHôtel De Fontrailles.

The folios stood ranged in goodly rows, but the taste of the noble owner appeared more conspicuously in the abundance of maps, charts, plans of cities, models of European fortresses, and arms and armor. A large gothic arched window at the extremity afforded light to the chamber, and looked over a paved yard in the rear of thehôtel.

Fontrailles was seated at a table, his back toward the window. Robed in a loose gown, surrounded with papers, books, opened letters, and others tied with tape, among which had been negligently thrown his walking rapier; the courtier and diplomatist was more apparent in the occupation, than the gambler, gallant, and active political intriguer. The count might have attained forty years, perhaps more. The long dark face and prominent features, softened by the shade in which he sat, were far from unpleasing. In repose, the face might be reckoned handsome, certainly dignified.

A silent gesture to the advocate to take the seat which the lackey placed at the opposite end of the table, and who, upon doing so, immediately quitted the chamber—left the parties alone. The count waited in silence the business of the visiter, who announced himself as Etienne Giraud,avocat du parlement, friend and kinsman of Monsieur De Pontis, confined in theConciergerie du Palais, and engaged in defending him against two suits now before the courts.

The count indicated by a slight motion that he was an attentive listener—then added, after a moment’s pause⁠—

“I am not ignorant of Monsieur Giraud’s merits, but I believe he has mistaken myhôtelfor that of the President Longueil, the thirdporte-cochèrebeyond.”

“I have the honor to address the Count De Fontrailles?” replied the advocate in a tone of inquiry.

“I was at a loss to account for Monsieur connecting me with suits in the courts of parliament!” rejoined the count, smiling, “but I pray him to proceed.”

Giraud detailed concisely the history of De Pontis—his uniform ill luck, the present desperate situation of his affairs, and the probable destitution of Mademoiselle. Fontrailles replied that the case was distressing, but, like every other case of such description, it had originated in culpable negligence. De Pontis was so eager to avail himself of the fruits of thedroit, that he had commenced appropriating the effects ere the necessary legal forms had been gone through—ere, indeed, it could be ascertained whether the deceased died a wealthy man or a bankrupt.

“But why make my ear the receptacle of Monsieur De Pontis’ calamities—I whom, I believe, he has never exchanged a word with,” asked the count, in astonishment, “and who am neither the organ of grace or justice?”

“It is to crave the intercession of Monseigneur with one who is the organ of both—to crave the intercession of the Count De Fontrailles with his eminence to cancel the penal proceedings, being, at best, a prosecution for the mere omission of a legal form which an old soldier could know nothing of,” replied the advocate.

“This pleading, Monsieur Giraud,” said Fontrailles, impatiently, “may prove effective in the proper quarters, but on me it is lost. I believe you mean well, but zeal in the cause of a friend has made you overlook the ordinary usages of society, in forcing the veteran’s tale of error and distress on a stranger. I, therefore, am calmer than I might be—indeed, may remind you that, being principally employed on foreign services, and indulging, unavoidably, in some of the irregularities of those whom it falls to my duty to have affairs with, I have not perhaps that personal weight and consideration with his majesty and with his court, which attends the grave and quiet discharge of offices of trust and responsibility in Paris and the Provinces. Mine has been a life of peril, though not of military warfare—danger has often beset me in foreign lands—but here, in Paris, my services are overlooked, and the disorders incident to a life of travel commented on. It is Monsieur’s zeal for De Pontis, which I admire, that wrings this confession from me—and I would recommend his application to the Tuileries, or thePalais Cardinal, or, if he be seeking a patron for his client, to some personage of more austere and reverential course of life than his humble servant.”

So speaking, the count rose with an air which implied that the interview should here terminate. The advocate could not but be surprised with the language and manner assumed by the dissolute, turbulent noble—his affected candor and sincerity—which he had doubtless acquired by intercourse with foreign courts—a varnish to the vices which disgraced his character.

Notwithstanding, however, this nonchalance, and professed ignorance of the affairs of De Pontis, there was that in his discourse which encouraged the advocate to persevere. His affectation of candor—the confession wrung from him!—rather overshot the mark, and betrayed weakness. Fontrailles was not the man to suffer any thing to be wrung from him; and the plea of want of personal weight and character, a mere mask. But wherefore interpose a mask, if there were nothing to conceal?

’Tis the most difficult part of simulation to refrain from covert defence of an act, of which the party may be acutely self-conscious, but desirous of concealing. With a shrewd, subtle, penetrating adversary—such for instance as Giraud—it defeats the very object, to aid which it is evoked. In the mild, moderate language of the count, the advocate felt that he was speaking in a falsetto key—that the sentiments were foreign to his natural character; and there was not, or ought not to be, any necessity for extreme complaisance, and disguise of feeling, with one of the comparative humbleness of the auditor.

Giraud arose from his seat in unison with the count’s movement, but had no intention of taking leave.

“It is reported,” said he, “that Monseigneur is interested in thedroit d’aubainefor which Monsieur De Pontis holds the sign manual, which may, perhaps, furnish a better argument than I have yet advanced for my appeal.”

“I know of no such report!” exclaimed the count, in a stern voice, “evil news flies quick, and had such been current, I have too many friends, glad of an opportunity to retail the slander, that they might watch its effect. But I must retract the high opinion I had of Monsieur Giraud, in carrying these fools’ messages—perhaps inventing. But we had better part, sir, ere I have reason to suspect worse of your motives.”

With these words, the count approached the table and rang a silver bell, a signal to the lackey in attendance to conduct the visiter to the gate.

“I have that to say, Monsieur le Comte, which it were better your household should not hear,” said the advocate, retaining his place.

“Ah! has it come to that?” exclaimed Fontrailles, darting a glance of anger; “so, the pleader threatens! Like the Spanish mendicant, he first solicits alms, and when refused, points the fusil which he had concealed in the grass.”

The lackey here entered in obedience to the summons, but the count motioned him to retire.

The advocate remarked in reply, that, as Monseigneur seemed bent on retaining his vantage-ground of professed ignorance of any special knowledge of the affairs of his client—and disclaimed the report respecting thedroit d’aubaine—it became necessary that he should inform the count that an individual, one Pedro Olivera, whom he believed was not unknown to Monseigneur, had, like his superiors, occasion for more money than he could legitimately obtain, and that, often borrowing of his deceased countryman, the Spaniard, without the power or will of refunding, he was at length reduced, in efforts to obtain further supplies, to place in the hands of his rich friend, what was deemed good security, although of a strange character. He professed to have certain unsettled claims on the Count De Fontrailles for services of espionage, and holding intercourse with underlings of the ministerial bureau in Madrid. From his showing, it appeared that he had been the medium of a negotiation between the Spanish ministry and the count. For this service Fontrailles had not yet bestowed an equivalent, alleging the urgency of his own necessities; but, in one instance, certainly an unguarded one, he had given Pedro an authority in writing to appropriate to himself a certain portion of a sum of money, receivable at the bureau, in Madrid, and to be handed the count. Pedro, however, was unlucky, for, on application, he was informed that satisfaction had been afforded Fontrailles in person. He felt that this conduct of his patron was unhandsome—hence, perhaps, the betrayal of the count’s secrets—there was no proof, indeed, that the money had been paid Monseigneur—but the authority of Pedro to appropriate a portion of what he should receive, was still in existence in the count’s handwriting.

Pedro, as before intimated, having drawn all he could obtain by ordinary means from the deceased, inscribed a formal claim on the count for the heretofore named services, which he specially enumerated, and in which he made reference to the count’s authorization appended to the statement. The deceased upholsterer saw in this document, not only a security for the money owing by Pedro, but also a collateral guarantee for the refunding of what Fontrailles, who was also heavily his debtor, owed him.

In short, added Giraud, the evidence appeared clearly to convict the Count De Fontrailles of receiving money from Spain. The papers came into the possession of Monsieur De Pontis, and were by him handed to the advocate.

It would have baffled the painter’s art to have depicted the changing aspects which dwelt for awhile, and then fled the countenance of the noble. One minute listening attentively—the next he appeared lost in abstraction, or meditating some course of action—then starting up suddenly with menacing looks, the features took such a semblance, that his most intimate friend could not have indentified the face as belonging to the Count De Fontrailles.

“And this cunning cheat of forgery—this deep laid villany,” exclaimed the favorite of Richelieu, “what if I were so weak as to quail beneath it? What would the worthy, zealous, Monsieur Giraud require of me?”

“That the Count De Fontrailles cause Pedro Olivera to relinquish his fabricated claim—prevail on the cardinal to cancel theprocureur’sproceedings, and leave the poor veteran in possession of thedroit d’aubaine,” replied the undaunted advocate.

“A moderate request,” gasped the count, with suppressed rage, “what, give up all?”

“I knew not, so far as his own declaration went,” said Giraud, calmly, “that there was any thing for Monseigneur to give up. Unlike his friends, Pedro, and the deceased, we do not make the possession of these documents a pretext of extortion to be held over his headin terrorem—we ask of the count not the slightest pecuniary sacrifice, not a livre—we ask him merely to use his intercession, to act the honorable and coveted part of an interceder for mercy between justice and an innocent defendant. Such conduct will go far to lend the count that personal weight and respectability of character which he so much feels the want of.”

“Liar! It is false!” shouted the bitterly enraged noble, rushing upon the advocate. Seizing him by the throat, he bent his body over the table, depriving the victim both of power of speech and motion. “It is false, old dotard!” continued Fontrailles, without relaxing his grasp, “thou believest thedroitis mine—and wouldst have me surrender it to gratify thy paltry pride. I have sweet revenge in store, or thou shouldst never have the chance of coining fresh lies!”

Being a powerful man, he was enabled to hold the advocate, prostrate and gasping for breath, with the right hand on his throat, whilst his left searched for the hand bell, which he rung violently. On the lackey entering, he commanded the attendance of Eugene and Robert, both armed, and to come without delay. Poor Giraud was nearly choked, and his back almost broken by the torturing position in which he was pinned to the library-table; nor did the count afford a moment’s respite till his creatures arrived armed to the teeth.

“Stand guard over the wretch,” cried Fontrailles, quitting his victim—“stand guard, at the peril of your lives, till I return—and if he offer the least resistance, or utters a single cry to raise an alarm, both of you fire—let him not escape, happen what may!”

The men mutely signified acquiescence by each taking a position, with pistols cocked, at the doors of the library.

“Monsieur le Comte!” said Giraud, in a feeble voice, recovering from the violence, “if you seek to commit a robbery, I promise you will be foiled—if you perpetrate violence on an unarmed man, it will not pass unrevenged. There are those able and willing waiting my return in safety—if I return not, then let the Count De Fontrailles tremble!”

“Peace, old dotard! You are not addressing a president of theCour Royale!” said the count, now busily engaged in locking up his private papers.

“I warn you that what you seek will prove beyond reach,” added Giraud.

The count glanced at him for one moment without speaking, and then finished his occupation. Snatching the rapier, he quitted the chamber.

——

In the close immurement suffered by the advocate, he had leisure to reflect on his situation, and it was far from cheering. The count’s passion had carried him beyond bounds, more than Giraud had calculated on. He had believed Fontrailles to be a man of the world, so sensitively alive to his own interest, that the gratification of revenge would have held only a secondary place in his thoughts.

But from the specimen of anger, the effects of which were painfully visible, he began to dread the return of the incensed noble—disappointed of his prey, he might, regardless of consequences, abandon himself to a cruel revenge. There was no help in a house, and among creatures subservient to such a master. And where could aid spring from, even if it were posthumous only, but from the quarter where Marguerite had deposited the documents.

To this unknown refuge his thoughts fled for solace and support. If Marguerite’s friend failed her not—then, though his own life should be sacrificed—his character and heroism would be preserved—De Pontis and his daughter triumph, and infamy, ruin and disgrace be the portion of Fontrailles.

Some hours passed in this sad tribulation. He requested food—it was denied—water, if nothing else—Eugene shook his head. He was sorry for Monsieur, but he had received no orders on that point, and it might be, for aught he knew, the count’s desire that Monsieur should be kept without nourishment. If Monsieur felt very hungry, he had better compose himself to sleep—he had liberty to make a couch of the chairs—in his campaigns, Eugene had often found such a plan the only remedy for a barking stomach.

“But you had a contented mind, Eugene,” remarked the distressed advocate.

At length came a change. A knocking was heard below; Giraud trembled, for the footsteps of the count were on the stairs, and he presently entered the chamber.

Casting a glance round the library, he ordered the two sentinels to retire, but hold themselves in readiness. They obeyed the command, and Giraud and the noble were once more alone. The advocate scanned the countenance of Fontrailles attentively; there was a marked change, more of disappointment than anger. For awhile he made no remark, busying himself, or appearing to do so, with his papers—Giraud was equally silent.

The count, at length, broke silence. “I think, Monsieur Giraud,” said he, “that we are now on an equality to treat. You have suffered some violence at my hands, and I, since I left you, have found your pretensions to my interference better founded than I expected. My conditions are these. I will quash Pedro’s suit—I will cause his eminence to cancel theprocureur’sproceedings, with guarantee from both that they shall not be renewed. De Pontis shall be liberated, and remain in undisturbed enjoyment of thedroit d’aubaine. From you I expect a perfect silence, now and ever, in relation to these affairs—also a restitution of all papers which affect me. Further, the immediate payment of sixty thousand livres, and quittance of what I owe the estate—you will see, by the inventory, the abstraction of such a sum will leave De Pontis a very handsome maintenance for one of his rank. There are several minor conditions—but I wait your reply.”

“Has the Count de Fontrailles been to my house?” asked Giraud.

“I have—I searched it with Richelieu’s warrant,” replied Fontrailles.

“Is Monseigneur aware that that action would tend, in the estimation of the cardinal, to confirm the statement of Pedro Olivera?” demanded the advocate.

“Let me reply by asking a question,” rejoined the count. “Is Monsieur Giraud aware that, as affairs now stand, whatever the cardinal might affect toward me—even the withdrawal of his favor—it would not liberate De Pontis—would not leave him with thedroit d’aubaine?”

“I know your agency is wanting—and I agree to the terms,” said the advocate.

“My other conditions are,” continued Fontrailles, “that you make no complaint of my search this morning—that you tell his eminence, should you chance to meet him, that by advising Monsieur De Pontis to surrender a portion to me, who, you are aware, had, even before the Spaniard’s death, asked the futuredroitof the cardinal, that you secured thereby the remainder to your friend.”

“Well! I do not object to building a bridge for Monseigneur’s retreat,” observed the advocate.

“It would be ridiculous toward one of your profession, and, above all, age, to offer the satisfaction accorded to a gentleman who has received violence at the hands of another,” said the count; “I, therefore, beg pardon of Monsieur Giraud for the same.”

The advocate bowed. It were, perhaps, better, he said, to allow it to pass thus, though the count must be aware that he had shown no want of courage. Fontrailles assented, remarking that he believed their business was now concluded—at least the preliminaries—and that he would call on the advocate on the morrow, when he hoped everything would be prepared.

Giraud was not sorry to see the exterior of theHôtel De Fontrailles. The count had, however, made better terms for himself than he thought to have granted—still, it was true, as Fontrailles remarked, that, whatever became of him, through the cardinal listening to the tale of Pedro Olivera, De Pontis would be none the richer. The pride of Richelieu was touched by the veteran obtaining the sign-manual without his knowledge or intervention, and it was very probable that, if Fontrailles were disgraced, thedroit d’aubainewould be destined to another favorite.

Giraud had foreseen this difficulty from the commencement, yet it was hard to part with so many thousand livres, especially to one who had almost choked him. On second consideration, the advocate thought it wiser to withhold this portion of the adventure from De Pontis and his daughter—the blood of themilitairewould rise at the insult and imposition of hands offered to a kinsman, and fresh difficulties, perhaps, be thrown in the way of what was, after all, a very peaceful and happy termination of the affairs of the old soldier. The count had confessed the injury, and sued for pardon, and what more could he do? With this consolation, the advocate quieted himself.

The glad news was imparted to Marguerite that evening, and when thehoublieurrang his bell, and was admitted, the maiden was more gracious than on the former occasion—the youth more thoughtful. As might be expected, from the previous intimacy shown relative to the secret affairs of thePalais Cardinal, its inmates and visiters, much of what had occurred was already known to the youth—the remainder he heard from the lips of Marguerite. She was charged by Giraud to reclaim the packet; it would be wanted on the morrow. That same night it was placed in her hands, the seal unbroken, and, before she retired to rest, it was again in the keeping of the zealous, faithful advocate.

Giraud was seated in his office. A night’s repose had calmed his spirits, refreshed the wearied frame. Fontrailles had kept the appointment, bringing an authenticated relinquishment of the suit of Pedro Olivera—also a notification from theprocureur généralthat he had abandoned the prosecution of the decree of sequestration—and, lastly, a duplicate of Richelieu’s order to the warden of theConciergerieto release the Sieur De Pontis. The count claimed and received satisfaction on the conditions insisted on—reference to the prisoner was not necessary, as Giraud had, on the committal of De Pontis, received a legal power to act as representative, and affix by procuration his signature to any act deemed necessary. As the cardinal’s seal was removed from the ware-rooms, and attachment withdrawn from the banker where the moneys of the deceased were lodged, there was no impediment to the prompt payment of the count’s subsidy—a matter, seemingly, of the utmost importance to Monseigneur.

Giraud, as we have said, was seated in his office, and alone. But presently there arrived visiters—the Sieur De Pontis, and the fair heroine, Marguerite. Congratulations and thanks exhausted, business recited and discussed, there ensued a pause—their hearts were full.

“There are but three here,” said Giraud, looking archly at Marguerite, “I should wish to see a fourth. There is a friend, Monsieur De Pontis, who has wonderfully aided our endeavors for your release, and to whom we owe many thanks. Shall we never see the unknown’s face?”

“Marguerite has my sanction to introduce him to Monsieur Giraud whenever she pleases,” said the veteran.

“Hah! then I have been forestalled in her confidence,” cried the advocate, “but I did not deserve the neglect!”

The day subsequent to the liberation of De Pontis, Louis was promenading alone his customary path in the garden of the Tuileries. The old soldier presented himself—he bent his knee to majesty.

“Rise, my good friend,” said the monarch, “I hear you have been better served than Louis could have wrought for you, though he had not forgotten his word, or his old servant.”

After a few remarks, the king complimented him on the perseverance and heroism of Marguerite adding that she was deserving of all honor.

“With your majesty’s permission, I believe I am about to marry her,” remarked De Pontis.

“To whom? I hope to a subject of mine!” exclaimed the monarch.

“François De Romainville, if it please your majesty,” replied the veteran.

“I know the youth,” said Louis, “our cardinal’s page, of good lineage, though accounted wild and reckless—the cardinal complains of his habits, but loves the page’s intelligence and capacity. We must see what can be done for this youth, also for Monsieur Giraud when the opportunity offers.”

He might have added, “when the cardinal permits,” thought the veteran, with a sigh.

“For yourself, De Pontis,” continued the royal personage, “I hope all will go well in future.”

“I intend to put it out of fortune’s power to do me further harm,” answered themilitaire—“your majesty’s late bounty I shall settle on my daughter and her husband; for, though I hope a true man in the tented field, yet I do believe that, whether from my own fault, or an unlucky destiny, I should lose, or mismanage the fairest estate in your realm.”

At that moment, the cardinal and his suite were seen in the distance—the countenance of Louis fell, and De Pontis taking hasty leave—much to the royal satisfaction—glided through a side-walk.

MY MOTHER—A DREAM.

———

BY MRS. BALMANNO.

———

Oh mother! sacred! dear! in dreams of thee,I sat, again a child, beside thy knee,Nestling amidst thy robe delightedly!And all was silent in the sunny room,Save bees that humm’d o’er honeysuckle bloom.I gazed upon thy face, so mild, so fair,I heard thy holy voice arise in prayer;Oh mother! mother! thou thyself wert there!Thou, by the placid brow, the thoughtful eye,The clasping hand, the voice of melody.I clung around thy neck—thy tears fell fast,Like rain in summer, yet the sorrow past;And smiles, more beautiful than e’en the last,Play’d on thy lip, dear mother! such it woreTo bless our early home in days of yore.Then wild and grand arose my native hills⁠—I heard the leaping torrents, and the thrillsOf birds that hymn the sun; the charm that fillsOld Haddon’s vales, and haunts its river side⁠—What time the Fays pluck king-cups by its tide.Methought ’twas hawthorn time—the jolly May⁠—For o’er far plains bright figures seemed to stray,Gath’ring the buds, and calling me away!I waked, but ah! to weep—no eye of thine,Sweet mother! beam’d its gentle light on mine.

Oh mother! sacred! dear! in dreams of thee,

I sat, again a child, beside thy knee,

Nestling amidst thy robe delightedly!

And all was silent in the sunny room,

Save bees that humm’d o’er honeysuckle bloom.

I gazed upon thy face, so mild, so fair,I heard thy holy voice arise in prayer;Oh mother! mother! thou thyself wert there!Thou, by the placid brow, the thoughtful eye,The clasping hand, the voice of melody.

I gazed upon thy face, so mild, so fair,

I heard thy holy voice arise in prayer;

Oh mother! mother! thou thyself wert there!

Thou, by the placid brow, the thoughtful eye,

The clasping hand, the voice of melody.

I clung around thy neck—thy tears fell fast,Like rain in summer, yet the sorrow past;And smiles, more beautiful than e’en the last,Play’d on thy lip, dear mother! such it woreTo bless our early home in days of yore.

I clung around thy neck—thy tears fell fast,

Like rain in summer, yet the sorrow past;

And smiles, more beautiful than e’en the last,

Play’d on thy lip, dear mother! such it wore

To bless our early home in days of yore.

Then wild and grand arose my native hills⁠—I heard the leaping torrents, and the thrillsOf birds that hymn the sun; the charm that fillsOld Haddon’s vales, and haunts its river side⁠—What time the Fays pluck king-cups by its tide.

Then wild and grand arose my native hills⁠—

I heard the leaping torrents, and the thrills

Of birds that hymn the sun; the charm that fills

Old Haddon’s vales, and haunts its river side⁠—

What time the Fays pluck king-cups by its tide.

Methought ’twas hawthorn time—the jolly May⁠—For o’er far plains bright figures seemed to stray,Gath’ring the buds, and calling me away!I waked, but ah! to weep—no eye of thine,Sweet mother! beam’d its gentle light on mine.

Methought ’twas hawthorn time—the jolly May⁠—

For o’er far plains bright figures seemed to stray,

Gath’ring the buds, and calling me away!

I waked, but ah! to weep—no eye of thine,

Sweet mother! beam’d its gentle light on mine.

BAINBRIDGE.

———

BY J. FENIMORE COOPER, AUTHOR OF “THE SPY,” “THE PIONEERS,” ETC.

———

Dr. Harris, in his “Life and Services” of this distinguished officer, says that “The ancestor of Commodore Bainbridge, who, in the year 1600, settled in the province of New Jersey, was the son of Sir Arthur Bainbridge, of Durham county, England.” As no portion of the old United States was settled as early as 1600, and the province of New Jersey, in particular, was organized only about the middle of the seventeenth century, the date, in this instance, is an oversight, or a misprint; though the account of the ancestor is probably accurate. The family of the late Commodore Bainbridge was of respectable standing, beyond a question, both in the colony and state of New Jersey, and its connections were principally among persons of the higher classes of society. His father was a physician of local eminence, in the early part of his life, who removed to New York about the commencement of the Revolution, where he left a fair professional and personal reputation.

The fourth son of Dr. Bainbridge was William, the subject of our memoir. He was born at Princeton, New Jersey, then the residence of his father, May 7th, 1774. His birth must have occurred but a short time before the removal of the family to New York. The maiden name of Mrs. Bainbridge, the mother of William, was Taylor; a lady of Monmouth county, in the same colony; and her father, a man of considerable estate, undertook to superintend the education of the child.

Young Bainbridge was of an athletic manly frame, and early showed a bold spirit, and a love of enterprise. This temperament was likely to interfere with studies directed toward a liberal education, and, at the early age of fifteen, his importunities prevailed on his friends to allow him to go to sea. This must have been about the time when the present form of government went first into operation, and the trade and navigation of the country began to revive. In that day the republic had no marine; the old Alliance frigate, the favorite ship of the Revolution, then sailing out of the port at which young Bainbridge first embarked, as an Indiaman.

Philadelphia, for many years after the peace of 1783, produced the best seamen of America. Other ports, doubtless, had as hardy and as adventurous mariners, but the nicety of the art was better taught and practiced on the Delaware than in any other portion of the country. This advantage was thought to be owing to the length of the river and bay, which required more elaborate evolutions to take a ship successfully through, than ports that lay contiguous to the sea. The same superiority has long been claimed for London, and for the same reason, each place having a long and intricate navigation, among shoals, and in a tide’s way, before its wharves can be reached. The comparative decline of the navigation of these two towns is to be attributed to the very difficulties which made expert seamen, though the vast amount of supplies required by the English capital, for its own consumption, causes great bodies of shipping still to frequent the Thames. It is also probable that the superiority formerly claimed for the seamen of these two towns, was in part owing to the circumstances that, being the capitals of their respective countries, they were then in advance of other ports, both as to the arts, generally, and as to the wealth necessary to exhibit them.

Young Bainbridge, consequently, enjoyed the advantage of being trained, as a seaman, in what was then the highest American school. Singularly handsome and prepossessing in his appearance, of a vigorous, and commanding frame, with the foundation of a good education, all aided by respectable connections, he was made an officer in the third year of his service. When eighteen, he sailed as chief mate of a ship in the Dutch trade, and on his first voyage, in this capacity, he recovered the vessel from the hands of mutineers, by his personal intrepidity, and physical activity. In the following year, when barely nineteen, the owners gave him command of the same ship. From this time down to the period of his joining the navy, Bainbridge continued in command of different merchant vessels, all of which were employed in the European trade, which was then carried on, by this country, in the height and excitement of the war that succeeded the French revolution.

Occasions were not wanting, by which Bainbridge could prove his dauntless resolution, even in command of a peaceful and slightly armed merchantman. In 1796, whilst in command of the Hope, of Philadelphia, he was lying in the Garonne, and was hailed by another American to come and aid in quelling a mutiny. This he did in person; though his life had nearly been the sacrifice, owing to an explosion of gunpowder. The same season, while shaping his course for one of the West India islands, the Hope was attacked by a small British privateer, of eight guns and thirty men, being herself armed with four nines, and having a crew of only eleven souls before the mast—an equipment then permitted, by the laws, for the purposes of defence only. The privateer commenced the engagement without showing any colors; but, receiving a broadside from the Hope, she hoisted English, in the expectation of intimidating her antagonist. In this, however, the assailant was mistaken; Bainbridge, who had his colors flying from the first, continued his fire until he actually compelled the privateer to lower her flag. The latter was much cut up, and lost several men. The Hope escaped with but little injury. Although he had compelled his assailant to submit, it would not have been legal for Bainbridge to take possession of the prize. He even declined boarding her, most probably keeping in view the feebleness of his own complement; but, hailing the privateer, he told her commander to go to his employers and let them know they must send some one else to capture the Hope if they had occasion for that ship. It was probably owing to this little affair, as well as to his general standing as a ship-master, that Bainbridge subsequently entered the navy with the rank he obtained.

Not long after the action with the privateer, while homeward bound again, a man was impressed from Bainbridge’s ship, by an English cruiser. The boarding officer commenced by taking the first mate, on account of his name, Allen M’Kinsey, insisting that the man must be a Scotchman! This singular species of logic was often applied on such occasions, even historians of a later day claiming such men as M’Donough and Conner, on the supposition that they must be Irish, from their family appellations. Mr. M’Kinsey, who was a native Philadelphian, on a hint from Bainbridge, armed himself, and refused to quit his own ship; whereupon the English lieutenant seized a foremast hand and bore him off, in spite of his protestations of being an American, and the evidence of his commander. Bainbridge was indignant at this outrage—then, however, of almost daily occurrence on the high seas—and, finding his own remonstrances disregarded, he solemnly assured the boarding officer that, if he fell in with an English vessel, of a force that would allow of such a retaliation, he would take a man out of her to supply the place of the seaman who was then carried away. This threat was treated with contempt, but it was put in execution within a week; Bainbridge actually seizing a man on board an English merchant-man, and that, too, of a force quite equal to his own, and carrying him into an American port. The ship which impressed the man belonging to the Hope, was the Indefatigable, Sir Edward Pellew.

All these little affairs contributed to give Bainbridge a merited reputation for spirit; for, however illegal may have been his course in impressing the Englishman, the sailor himself was quite content to receive higher wages, and there was a natural justice in the measure that looked down the policy of nations and the provisions of law. Shortly after this incident the aggressions of France induced the establishment of the present navy, and the government, after employing all the old officers of the Revolution who remained, and who were fit for service, was compelled to go into the mercantile marine to find men to fill the subordinate grades. The merchant service of America has ever been relatively much superior to that of most other countries. This has been owing, in part, to the greater diffusion of education; in part, to the character of the institutions, which throws no discredit around any reputable pursuit; and in part, to the circumstance that the military marine has not been large enough to give employment to all of the maritime enterprise and spirit of the nation. Owing to these united causes, the government of 1798 had much less difficulty in finding proper persons to put into its infant navy, than might have been anticipated; although it must be allowed that some of the selections, as usual, betrayed the influence of undue recommendations, as well as of too partial friendships.

The navy offering a field exactly suited to the ambition and character of Bainbridge, he eagerly sought service in it, on his return from a voyage to Europe; his arrival occurring a short time after the first appointments had been made. The third vessel which got to sea, under the new armament, was the Delaware 20, Capt. Stephen Decatur, the father of the illustrious officer of the same name; and this vessel, a few days out, had captured Le Croyable 14, a French privateer that she found cruising in the American waters. Le Croyable was condemned, and purchased by the navy department; being immediately equipped for a cruiser, under the name of the Retaliation. To this vessel Bainbridge was appointed, with the commission of lieutenant commandant; a rank that was subsequently and unwisely dropped; as the greater the number of gradations in a military service, while they are kept within the limits of practical necessity, the greater is the incentive for exertion, the more frequent the promotions, and the higher the discipline. First lieutenants, lieutenants commandant, exist, and must exist in fact, in every marine; and it is throwing away the honorable inducement of promotion, as well as some of the influence of a commission, not to have the rank while we have the duties. It would be better for the navy did the station of first lieutenant, or lieutenant commandant, now exist, those who held the commissions furnishing officers to command the smallest class of vessels, and the executive officers of ships of the line and frigates.

The Retaliation sailed for the West India station, in September, 1798. While cruising off Guadaloupe, the following November, the Montezuma, sloop of war, Capt. Murray, and the brig Norfolk, Capt. Williams, in company, three sail were made in the eastern board, that were supposed to be English; and two more strangers appearing to the westward, Capt. Murray, who was the senior officer, made sail for the latter, taking the Norfolk with him; while the Retaliation was directed to examine the vessels to the eastward. This separated the consorts, which parted on nearly opposite tacks. Unfortunately two of the vessels to the eastward proved to be French frigates, le Volontier 36, Capt. St. Laurent, and l’Insurgente 32, Capt. Barreault. The first of these ships carried 44 guns, French eighteens, and the latter 40, French twelves. L’Insurgente was one of the fastest ships that floated, and, getting the Retaliation under her guns, Bainbridge was compelled to strike, as resistance would have been madness.

The prisoner was taken on board le Volontier, the two frigates immediately making sail in chase of the Montezuma and Norfolk. L’Insurgente again out-stripped her consort, and was soon a long distance ahead of her. Capt. St. Laurent was the senior officer, and, the Montezuma being a ship of some size, he felt an uneasiness at permitting the Insurgente to engage two adversaries, of whose force he was ignorant, unsupported. In this uncertainty, he determined to inquire the force of the American vessels of his prisoner. Bainbridge answered coolly that the ship was a vessel of 28 long twelves, and the brig a vessel of 20 long nines. This was nearly, if not quite, doubling the force of the two American cruisers, and it induced the French commodore to show a signal of recall to his consort. Capt. Barreault, an exceedingly spirited officer, joined his commander in a very ill humor, informing his superior that he was on the point of capturing both the chases, when he was so inopportunely recalled. This induced an explanation, when therusepracticed by Bainbridge was exposed. In the moment of disappointment, the French officers felt much irritated, but, appreciating the conduct of their prisoner more justly, they soon recovered their good humor, and manifested no further displeasure.

The Retaliation and her crew were carried into Basseterre. On board the Volontier was Gen. Desfourneaux, who was sent out to supersede Victor Hughes in his government. This functionary was very diplomatic, and he entered into a negotiation with Bainbridge of a somewhat equivocal character, leaving it a matter of doubt whether an exchange of prisoners, an arrangement of the main difficulties between the two countries, or a secret trade with his own island, and for his own particular benefit, was his real object. Ill treatment to the crew of the Retaliation followed; whether by accident or design is not known; though the latter has been suspected. It will be remembered that no war had been declared by either country, and that the captures by the Americans were purely retaliatory, and made in self-defence. Gen. Desfourneaux profited by this circumstance to effect his purposes, affecting not to consider the officers and people of the Retaliation as prisoners at all. To this Bainbridge answered that he regarded himself, and his late crew, not only as prisoners of war, but as ill-treated prisoners, and that his powers now extended no farther than to treat of an exchange. After a protracted negotiation, Bainbridge and his crew were placed in possession of the Retaliation again, all the other American prisoners in Guadaloupe were put on board a cartel, and the two vessels were ordered for America. Accompanying the Americans, went a French gentleman, ostensibly charged with the exchange; but who was believed to have been a secret diplomatic agent of the French government.

The conduct of Bainbridge, throughout this rude initiation into the public service, was approved by the government, and he was immediately promoted to the rank of master commandant, and given the Norfolk 18, the brig he had saved from capture by his address. In this vessel he joined the squadron under Com. Truxtun, who was cruising in the vicinity of St. Kitts. While on that station, the Norfolk fell in with and chased a heavy three-masted schooner, of which she was on the point of getting alongside, when both topmasts were lost by carrying sail, and the enemy escaped. The brig went into St. Kitts to repair damages, and here she collected a convoy of more than a hundred sail, bound home. Bainbridge performed a neat and delicate evolution, while in charge of this large trust. The convoy fell in with an enemy’s frigate, when a signal was thrown out for the vessels to disperse. The Norfolk occupied the frigate, and induced her to chase, taking care to lead her off from the merchantmen. That night the brig gave her enemy the slip, and made sail on her course, overtaking and collecting the whole fleet the following day. It is said not a single vessel, out of one hundred and nineteen sail, failed of the rendezvous!

It was August, 1799, before the Norfolk returned to New York. Here Bainbridge found that no less than five lieutenants had been made captains, passing the grades of commanders and lieutenants commandant altogether. This irregularity could only have occurred in an infant service, though it was of material importance to a young officer in after life. Among the gentlemen thus promoted, were Capts. Rodgers, and Barron, two names that, for a long time, alone stood between Bainbridge and the head of the service. Still, it is by no means certain that injustice was done, such circumstances frequently occurring in so young a service, to repair an original wrong. At all events, no slight was intended to Bainbridge, or any other officer who was passed; though the former ever maintained that he had not his proper rank in the navy.

After refitting the Norfolk, Bainbridge returned to the West Indies, where he was put under the orders of Capt. Christopher R. Perry, the father of the celebrated Commodore Oliver H. Perry, who sent him to cruise off Cape François. The brig changed her cruising ground, under different orders, no opportunity occurring for meeting an enemy of equal force. Indeed, it was highly creditable to the maritime enterprise of the French that they appeared at all in those seas, which were swarming with English and American cruisers; this country alone seldom employing fewer than thirty sail in the West Indies, that year; toward the close of the season it had near, if not quite forty, including those who were passing between the islands and the home coast.

On the 31st October, however, the Norfolk succeeded in decoying an armed barge within reach of her guns. The enemy discovered the brig’s character in time to escape to the shore, notwithstanding; though he was pursued and the barge was captured. Six dead and dying were found in, or near the boat.

In November, Bainbridge took a small lugger privateer, called Le Républicain, with a prize in company. The former was destroyed at sea, and the latter sent in. The prize of the lugger was a sloop. She presented a horrible spectacle when taken possession of by the Americans. Her decks were strewed with mangled bodies, the husbands and parents of eleven women and children, who were found weeping over them at the moment of recapture. The murders had been committed by some brigands in a barge, who slew every man in the sloop, and were proceeding to further outrages when the lugger closed and drove them from their prey. An hour or two later, Bainbridge captured both the vessels. His treatment of the unfortunate females and children was such as ever marked his generous and manly character.

Shortly after, Capt. Bainbridge received an order, direct from the Navy Department, to go off the neutral port of the Havana, to look after the trade in that quarter. Here he was joined by the Warren 18, Capt. Newman, and the Pinckney 18, Capt. Heyward. Bainbridge was the senior officer, and continued to command this force to the great advantage of American commerce, by blockading the enemy’s privateers, and giving convoy, until March, 1800, when, his cruise being up, he returned home, anchoring off Philadelphia early in the month of April. His services, especially those before Havana, were fully appreciated, and May 2d, of the same year, he was raised to the rank of captain. Bainbridge had served with credit, and had now reached the highest grade which existed in the navy, when he wanted just five days of being twenty-six years old. He had carried with him into the marine the ideas of a high-class Philadelphia seaman, as to discipline, and these were doubtless the best which then existed in the country. In every situation he had conducted himself well, and the promise of his early career as a master of a merchantman was likely to be redeemed, whenever occasion should offer, under the pennant of the republic.

Among the vessels purchased into the service during the war of 1798, was an Indiaman called the George Washington. This ship was an example of the irregularity in rating which prevailed at that day; being set down in all the lists and registers of the period as a 24, when her tonnage was 624; while the Adams, John Adams, and Boston, all near one sixth smaller, are rated as 32s. The George Washington was, in effect, a large 28, carrying the complement and armament of a vessel of that class. To this ship Bainbridge was now appointed, receiving his orders the month he was promoted; or, in May, 1800. The destination of the vessel was to carry tribute to the Dey of Algiers! This was a galling service to a man of her commander’s temperament, as, indeed, it would have proved to nearly every other officer in the navy; but it put the ship quite as much in the way of meeting with an enemy as if she had been sent into the West Indies; and it was sending the pennant into the Mediterranean for the first time since the formation of the new navy. Thus the United States 44, first carried the pennant to Europe, in 1799; the Essex 32, first carried it round the Cape of Good Hope, in 1800, and around Cape Horn, in 1813; and this ship, the George Washington 28, first carried it into the classical seas of the old world.

Bainbridge did not get the tribute collected and reach his port of destination, before the month of September. Being entirely without suspicion, and imagining that he came on an errand which should entitle him, at least, to kind treatment, he carried the ship into the mole, for the purpose of discharging with convenience. This duty, however, was hardly performed, when the Dey proposed a service for the George Washington, that was as novel in itself as it was astounding to her commander.

It seems that this barbarian prince had got himself into discredit at the Sublime Porte, and he felt the necessity of purchasing favor, and of making his peace, by means of a tribute of his own. The Grand Seignor was at war with France, and the Dey, his tributary and dependant, had been guilty of the singular indiscretion of making a separate treaty of peace with that powerful republic, for some private object of his own. This was an offence to be expiated only by a timely offering of certain slaves, various wild beasts, and a round sum in gold. The presents to be sent were valued at more than half a million of our money, and the passengers to be conveyed amounted to between two and three hundred. As the Dey happened to have no vessel fit for such a service, and the George Washington lay very conveniently within his mole, and had just been engaged in this very duty, he came to the natural conclusion she would answer his purpose.

The application was first made in the form of a civil request, through the consul. Bainbridge procured an audience, and respectfully, but distinctly, stated that a compliance would be such a departure from his orders as to put it out of the question. Hereupon the Dey reminded the American that the ship was in his power, and that what he now asked, he might take without asking, if it suited his royal pleasure. A protracted and spirited discussion, in which the consul joined, now followed, but all without effect. The Dey offered the alternatives of compliance, or slavery and capture, for the frigate and her crew, with war on the American trade. One of his arguments is worthy of being recorded, as it fully exposes the feeble policy of submission to any national wrong. He told the two American functionaries, that their country paid him tribute, already, which was an admission of their inferiority, as well as of their duty to obey him; and he chose to order this particular piece of service, in addition to the presents which he had just received.

Bainbridge finally consented to do as desired. He appears to have been influenced in this decision, by the reasoning of Mr. O’Brien, the consul, who had himself been a slave in Algiers, not long before, and probably retained a lively impression of the power of the barbarian, on his own shores. It is not to be concealed, however, that temporizing in all such matters, had been the policy of America, and it would have required men of extraordinary moral courage to have opposed the wishes of the Dey, by a stern assertion of those principles, which alone can render a nation great. “To ask for nothing but what is right, and to submit to nothing that is wrong,” is an axiom more easily maintained on paper than in practice, where the chameleon-like policy of trade interferes to color principles; and O’Brien, a merchant in effect, and Bainbridge, who had so lately been in that pursuit himself, were not likely to overlook the besetting weakness of the nation. Still, it may be questioned if there was a man in the navy who felt a stronger desire to vindicate the true maxims of national independence than the subject of this memoir. He appears to have yielded solely to the arguments of the consul, and to his apprehensions for a trade that certainly had no other protection in that distant sea, than his own ship; and she would be the first sacrifice of the Dey’s resentment. It ought to be mentioned, too, that a base and selfish policy prevailed, in that day, on the subject of the Barbary Powers, among the principal maritime states of Europe. England, in particular, was supposed to wink at their irregularities, in the hope that it might have a tendency to throw a monopoly of the foreign navigation of the Mediterranean into the hands of those countries which, by means of their great navies, and their proximity to the African coast, were always ready to correct any serious evil that might affect themselves. English policy had been detected in the hostilities of the Dey, a few years earlier, and it is by no means improbable that Mr. O’Brien foresaw consequences of this nature, that did not lie absolutely on the surface.

Yielding to the various considerations which were urged, Bainbridge finally consented to comply with the Dey’s demand. The presents and passengers were received on board, and on the 19th of October, or about a month after her arrival at Algiers, the George Washington was ready to sail for Constantinople. When on the very eve of departing a new difficulty arose, and one of a nature to show that the Dey was not entirely governed by rapacity, but that he had rude notions of national honor, agreeably to opinions of the school in which he had been trained. As the George Washington carried his messenger, or ambassador, and was now employed in his service, he insisted that she should carry the Algerine flag at the main, while that of the republic to which the ship belonged, should fly at the fore. An altercation occurred on this point of pure etiquette, the Dey insisting that English, French, and Spanish commanders, whenever they had performed a similar service for him, had not hesitated to give this precedency to his ensign. This was probably true, as well as the fact that vessels of war of those nations had consented to serve him in this manner, in compliance with the selfish policy of their respective governments; though it may be doubted whether English, or French ships, had been impressed into such a duty. Dr. Harris, whose biography of Bainbridge is much the most full of any written, and to which we are indebted for many of our own details, has cited an instance as recently as 1817, when an English vessel of war conveyed presents to Constantinople for the Dey; though it was improbable that any other inducement for the measure existed, than a desire in the English authorities to maintain their influence in the regency. Bainbridge, without entering into pledges on the subject, and solely with a view to get his ship beyond the reach of the formidable batteries of the mole, hoisted the Algerine ensign, as desired, striking it, as soon as he found himself again the commander of his own vessel.

The George Washington had a boisterous and weary passage to the mouth of the Dardanelles, the ship being littered with Turks, and the cages of wild beasts. This voyage was always a source of great uneasiness and mortification to Bainbridge, but he occasionally amused his friends with the relation of anecdotes that occurred during its continuance. Among other things he mentioned that his passengers were greatly puzzled to keep their faces toward Mecca, in their frequent prayers; the ship often tacking during the time thus occupied, more especially after they got into the narrow seas. A man was finally stationed at the compass to give the faithful notice when it was necessary to “go-about,” in consequence of the evolutions of the frigate.

Bainbridge had great apprehensions of being detained at the Dardanelles, for want of a firman, the United States having no diplomatic agent at the Porte, and commercial jealousy being known to exist, on the subject of introducing the American flag into those waters. A sinister influence up at Constantinople might detain him for weeks, or even prevent his passage altogether, and having come so far, on his unpleasant errand, he was resolved to gather as many of its benefits as possible. In the dilemma, therefore, he decided on aruseof great boldness, and one which proved that personal considerations had little influence, when he thought the interests of his country demanded their sacrifice.

The George Washington approached the castles with a strong southerly wind, and she clewed up her light sails, as if about to anchor, just as she began to salute. The works returned gun for gun, and in the smoke sail was again made, and the ship glided out of the range of shot before the deception was discovered; passing on toward the sea of Marmora under a cloud of canvass. As vessels were stopped at only one point, and the progress of the ship was too rapid to admit of detention, she anchored unmolested under the walls of Constantinople, on the 9th November, 1800; showing the flag of the republic, for the first time, before that ancient town.

Bainbridge was probably right in his anticipation of difficulty in procuring a firman to pass the castles, for when his vessel reported her nation, an answer was sent off that the government of Turkey knew of no such country. An explanation that the ship came from the new world, that which Columbus had discovered, luckily proved satisfactory, when a bunch of flowers and a lamb were sent on board; the latter as a token of amity, and the former as a welcome.

The George Washington remained several weeks at Constantinople, where Bainbridge and his officers were well received, though the agents of the Dey fared worse. The Capudan Pacha, in particular, formed a warm friendship for the commander of the George Washington, whose fine personal appearance, frank address and manly bearing were well calculated to obtain favor. This functionary was married to a sister of the Sultan, and had more influence at court than any other subject. He took Bainbridge especially under his own protection, and when they parted, he gave the frigate a passport, which showed that she and her commander enjoyed this particular and high privilege. In fact, the intercourse between this officer and the commander of the George Washington was such as to approach nearly to paving the way for a treaty, a step that Bainbridge warmly urged on the government at home, as both possible and desirable. It has been conjectured even, that Capt. Bainbridge was instructed on this subject; and that, in consenting to go to Constantinople at all, he had the probabilities of opening some such negotiation in view. This was not his own account of the matter, although, in weighing the motives for complying with the Dey’s demands, it is not impossible he permitted such a consideration to have some weight.

The visit of Clarke, the well known traveler, occurred while the George Washington was at Constantinople. The former accompanied Bainbridge to the Black Sea, in the frigate’s long-boat, where the American ensign was displayed also, for the first time. It appears that an officer was one of the party in the celebrated visit of the traveler to the seraglio, Bainbridge confirming Dr. Clarke’s account of the affair, with the exception that he, himself, looked upon the danger as very trifling.

During the friendly intercourse which existed between Capt. Bainbridge and the Capudan Pacha, the latter incidentally mentioned that the governor of the castles was condemned to die for suffering the George Washington to pass without a firman, and that the warrant of execution only waited for his signature, in order to be enforced. Shocked at discovering the terrible strait to which he had unintentionally reduced a perfectly innocent man, Bainbridge frankly admitted his own act, and said if any one had erred it was himself; begging the life of the governor, and offering to meet the consequences in his own person. This generous course was not thrown away on the Capudan Pacha, who appears to have been a liberal and enlightened man. He heard the explanation with interest, extolled Bainbridge’s frankness, promised him his entire protection, and pardoned the governor; sending to the latter a minute statement of the whole affair. It was after this conversation that the high functionary in question delivered to Bainbridge his own especial letter of protection.

At length the Algerine ambassador was ready to return. On the 30th of December, 1800, the ship sailed for Algiers. The messenger of the Dey took back with him a menace of punishment, unless his master declared war against France, and sent more tribute to the Porte; granting to the Algerine government but sixty days to let its course be known. On repassing the Dardanelles, Bainbridge was compelled to anchor. Here he received presents of fruit and provisions, with hospitalities on shore, as an evidence of the governor’s gratitude for his generous conduct in exposing his own life, in order to save that of an innocent man. It is shown by a passage in Dr. Clarke’s work, that Bainbridge was honorably received in the best circles in Pera, during his stay at Constantinople, while the neatness and order of his ship were the subject of general conversation. An entertainment that was given on board the frigate was much talked of also; the guests and all the viands coming from the four quarters of the earth. Thus there was water, bread, meats, etc., etc., each from Europe, Asia, Africa and America, as well as persons to consume them; certainly a thing of rare occurrence at any one feast.

The George Washington arrived at Algiers on the 20th January, 1801, and anchored off the town, beyond the reach of shot. The Dey expressed his apprehensions that the position of the ship would prove inconvenient to her officers, and desired that she might be brought within the mole, or to the place where she had lain during her first visit. This offer was respectfully declined. A day or two later the object of this hospitality became apparent. Bainbridge was asked to return to Constantinople with the Algerine ambassador; a request with which he positively refused to comply. This was the commencement of a new series of cajoleries, arguments and menaces. But, having his ship where nothing but the barbarian’s corsairs could assail her, Bainbridge continued firm. He begged the consul to send him off some old iron for ballast, in order that he might return certain guns he had borrowed for that purpose, previously to sailing for Constantinople, the whole having been rendered necessary in consequence of his ship’s having been lightened of the tribute sent in her from America. The Dey commanded the lightermen not to take employment, and, at the same time, he threatened war if his guns were not returned. After a good deal of discussion, Bainbridge exacted a pledge that no further service would be asked of the ship; then he agreed to run into the mole and deliver the cannon, as the only mode that remained of returning property which had been lent to him.

As soon as the frigate was secured in her new berth, Capt. Bainbridge and the consul were admitted to an audience with the Dey. The reception was any thing but friendly, and the despot, a man of furious passions, soon broke out into expressions of anger, that bade fair to lead to personal violence. The attendants were ready, and it was known that a nod or a word might, at a moment’s notice, cost the Americans their lives. At this fearful instant, Bainbridge, who was determined at every hazard to resist the Dey’s new demand, fortunately bethought him of the Capudan Pacha’s letter of protection, which he carried about him. The letter was produced, and its effect was magical. Bainbridge often spoke of it as even ludicrous, and of being so sudden and marked as to produce glances of surprise among the common soldiers. From a furious tyrant, the sovereign of Algiers was immediately converted into an obedient vassal; his tongue all honey, his face all smiles. He was aware that a disregard of the recommendation of the Capudan Pacha would be punished, as he would visit a similar disregard of one of his own orders; and that there was no choice between respect and deposition. No more was said about the return of the frigate to Constantinople, and every offer of service and every profession of amity were heaped upon the subject of our memoir, who owed his timely deliverance altogether to the friendship of the Turkish dignitary; a friendship obtained through his own frank and generous deportment.

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