Chapter Forty One.

Chapter Forty One.Pompous obsequies—The reading of the will, not exactly after Wilkie—I am left a legacy—What becomes of it—My father, very warm, writes a sermon to cool himself—I join O’Brien’s brig, and fall in with Swinburne.On that day week I accompanied my father to Eagle Park, to assist at the burial of Lord Privilege. We were ushered into the room where the body had lain in state for three days. The black hangings, the lofty plumes, the rich ornaments on the coffin, and the number of wax candles, with which the room was lighted, produced a solemn and grand effect. I could not help, as I leaned against the balustrade before the coffin, and thought of its contents, calling to mind when my poor grandfather’s feelings seemed, as it were, inclined to thaw in my favour, when he called me “his child,” and, in all probability, had not my uncle had a son, would have died in my arms, fond and attached to me for my own sake, independently of worldly considerations. I felt that had I known him longer, I could have loved him, and that he would have loved me; and I thought to myself how little all these empty honours, after his decease, could compensate for the loss of those reciprocal feelings, which would have so added to his happiness during his existence. But he had lived for pomp and vanity; and pomp and vanity attended him to his grave. I thought of my sister Ellen, and of O’Brien, and walked away with the conviction that Peter Simple might have been an object of envy to the late Right Honourable Lord Viscount Privilege, Baron Corston, Lord Lieutenant of the county, and one of His Majesty’s most Honourable Privy Councillors.When the funeral, which was very tedious and very splendid, was over, we all returned in the carriages to Eagle Park, when my uncle, who had of course assumed the title, and who had attended as chief mourner, was in waiting to receive us. We were shown into the library, and in the chair so lately and constantly occupied by my grandfather, sat the new lord. Near to him were the lawyers, with parchments lying before them. As we severally entered, he waved his hand to unoccupied chairs, intimating to us to sit down; but no words were exchanged, except an occasional whisper between him and the lawyers. When all the branches of the family were present, down to the fourth and fifth cousins, the lawyer on the right of my uncle put on his spectacles, and unrolling the parchment, commenced reading the will. I paid attention to it at first; but the legal technicalities puzzled me, and I was soon thinking of other matters, until, after half-an-hour’s reading, I was startled at the sound of my own name. It was a bequest by codicil to me, of the sum of ten thousand pounds. My father, who sat by me, gave me a slight push, to attract my attention; and I perceived that his face was not quite so mournful as before. I was rejoicing at this unexpected intelligence. I called to mind what my father had said to me when we were returning from Eagle Park, that “my grandfather’s attentions to me were as good as ten thousand pounds in his will,” and was reflecting how strange it was that he had hit upon the exact sum. I also thought of what my father had said of his own affairs, and his not having saved anything for his children, and congratulated myself that I should now be able to support my dear sister Ellen, in case of any accident happening to my father, when I was roused by another mention of my name. It was a codicil dated about a week back, in which my grandfather, not pleased at my conduct, revoked the former codicil, and left me nothing. I knew where the blow came from, and I looked my uncle in the face; a gleam of malignant pleasure was in his eyes, which had been fixed on me, waiting to receive my glance. I returned it with a smile expressive of scorn and contempt, and then looked at my father, who appeared to be in a state of misery. His head had fallen upon his breast, and his hands were clasped. Although I was shocked at the blow, for I knew how much the money was required, I felt too proud to show it; indeed, I felt that I would not for worlds have exchanged situations with my uncle, much less feelings; for when those who remain meet to ascertain the disposition made, by one who is summoned away to the tribunal of his Maker, of those worldly and perishable things which he must leave behind him, feelings of rancour and ill-will might, for the time, be permitted to subside, and the memory of a “departed brother” be productive of charity and good-will. After a little reflection, I felt that I could forgive my uncle.Not so my father: the codicil which deprived me of my inheritance, was the last of the will, and the lawyer rolled up the parchment and took off his spectacles. Everybody rose; my father seized his hat, and telling me in a harsh voice to follow him, tore off the crape weepers, and then threw them on the floor as he walked away. I also took off mine, and laid them on the table, and followed him. My father called his carriage, waiting in the hall till it was driven up, and jumped into it. I followed him; he drew up the blind, and desired them to drive home.“Not a sixpence! By the God of heaven, not a sixpence! My name not even mentioned, except for a paltry mourning ring! And yours—pray, sir, what have you been about, after having such a sum left you, to forfeit your grandfather’s good opinion? Heh! sir—tell me directly!” continued he, turning round to me in a rage.“Nothing, my dear father, that I am aware of. My uncle is evidently my enemy.”“And why should he be particularly your enemy? Peter, there must be some reason for his having induced your grandfather to alter his bequest in your favour. I insist upon it, sir, that you tell me immediately.”“My dear father, when you are more calm, I will talk this matter over with you. I hope I shall not be considered wanting in respect, when I say, that, as a clergyman of the Church of England—”“Damn the Church of England, and those who put me into it!” replied my father, maddened with rage.I was shocked and held my tongue. My father appeared also to be confused at his hasty expressions. He sank back in his carriage, and preserved a gloomy silence until we arrived at our own door. As soon as we entered, my father hastened to his own room, and I went up to my sister Ellen, who was in her bed-room. I revealed to her all that had passed, and advised with her on the propriety of my communicating to my father the reasons which had occasioned my uncle’s extreme aversion towards me. After much argument, she agreed with me, that the disclosure had now become necessary.After the dinner-cloth had been removed, my sister left the room, and went upstairs, and I then communicated to my father the circumstances which had come to our knowledge relative to my uncle’s establishment in Ireland. He heard me very attentively, took out tablets, and made notes.“Well, Peter,” said he, after a few minutes’ silence, when I had finished, “I see clearly through this whole business. I have no doubt but that a child has been substituted to defraud you and me of our just inheritance of the title and estates; but I will now set to work and try if I cannot find out the secret; and, with the help of Captain O’Brien and Father McGrath, I think it is not at all impossible.”“O’Brien will do all that he can, sir,” replied I; “and I expect soon to hear from him. He must have now been a week in Ireland.”“I shall go there myself,” replied my father: “and there are no means that I will not resort to, to discover this infamous plot. No,” exclaimed he, striking his fist on the table, so as to shiver two of the wine-glasses into fragments—“no means but I will resort to.”“That is,” replied I, my dear father, “no means which may be legitimately employed by one of your profession.”“I tell you, no means that can be used bymanto recover his defrauded rights. Tell me not of legitimate means, when I am to lose a title and property by a spurious and illegitimate substitution! By the God of heaven, I will meet them with fraud for fraud, with false swearing for false swearing, and with blood for blood, if it should be necessary! My brother has dissolved all ties, and I will have my right, even if I demand it with a pistol at his ear.”“For Heaven’s sake, my dear father, do not be so violent—recollect your profession.”“I do,” replied he bitterly; “and how I was forced into it, against my will. I recollect my father’s words, the solemn coolness with which he told me, ‘I had my choice of the Church, or—to starve.’—But I have my sermon to prepare for to-morrow, and I can sit here no longer. Tell Ellen to send me in some tea.”I did not think my father was in a very fit state of mind to write a sermon, but I held my tongue. My sister joined me, and we saw no more of him till breakfast the next day. Before we met, I received a letter from O’Brien.“My dear Peter,—I ran down to Plymouth, hoisted my pennant, drew my jollies from the dock-yard, and set my first lieutenant to work getting in the ballast and water-tanks. I then set off for Ireland, and was very well received as Captain O’Brien by my family, who were all flourishing. Now that my two sisters are so well married off, my father and mother are very comfortable, but very lonely; for I believe I told you long before that it had pleased Heaven to take all the rest of my brothers and sisters, except the two now married, and one who bore up for a nunnery, dedicating her service to God, after she was scarred with the small-pox, and no man would look at her. Ever since the family have been grown up, my father and mother have been lamenting and sorrowing that none of them would go off; and now that they’re all gone off one way or another, they cry all day because they are left all alone, with no one to keep company with them, except Father McGrath and the pigs. We never are to be contented in this world, that’s sartin; and now that they are comfortable in every respect, they find that they are very uncomfortable, and having obtained all their wishes, they wish everything back again; but as old Maddocks used to say, ‘A good growl is better than a bad dinner’ with some people; and the greatest pleasure that they now have is to grumble; and if that makes them happy, they must be happy all day long—for the devil a bit do they leave off from morning till night.“The first thing that I did was to send for Father McGrath, who had been more away from home than usual—I presume, not finding things quite so comfortable as they used to be. He told me that he had met with Father O’Toole, and had a bit of a dialogue with him, which had ended in a bit of a row, and that he had cudgelled Father O’Toole well, and tore his gown off his back, and then tore it into shivers,—that Father O’Toole had referred the case to the bishop, and that was how the matter stood just then. ‘But,’ says he, ‘the spalpeen has left this part of the country, and, what is more, has taken Ella and her mother with him; and, what is still worse, no one could find out where they were gone; but it was believed that they had all been sent over the water.’ So you see, Peter, that this is a bad job in one point, which is, that we have no chance of getting the truth out of the old woman; for now that we have war with France, who is to follow them? On the other hand, it is good news; for it prevents me from decoying that poor young girl, and making her believe what will never come to pass; and I am not a little glad on that score, for Father McGrath was told by those who were about her, that she did nothing but weep and moan for two days before she went away, scolded as she was by her mother, and threatened by that blackguard O’Toole. It appears to me, that all our hopes now are in finding out the soldier, and his wife the wet-nurse, who were sent to India—no doubt with the hope that the climate and the fevers may carry them off. That uncle of yours is a great blackguard, every bit of him. I shall leave here in three days, and you must join me at Plymouth. Make my compliments to your father, and my regards to your sister, whom may all the saints preserve! God bless her, for ever and ever. Amen.“Yours ever,“Terence O’Brien.”I put this letter into my father’s bands when he came out of his room. “This is a deep-laid plot,” said he, “and I think we must immediately do as O’Brien states—look after the nurse who was sent to India. Do you know the regiment to which her husband belongs?”“Yes, sir,” replied I; “it is the 33rd, and she sailed for India about three months back.”“The name, you say, I think, is O’Sullivan,” said he, pulling out his tablets. “Well, I will write immediately to Captain Fielding, and beg him to make the minutest inquiries. I will also write to your sister Lucy, for women are much keener than men in affairs of this sort. If the regiment is ordered to Ceylon, all the better: if not, he must obtain furlough to prosecute his inquiries. When that is done, I will go myself to Ireland, and try if we cannot trace the other parties.”My father then left the room, and I retired with Ellen to make preparations for joining my ship at Plymouth. A letter announcing my appointment had come down, and I had written to request my commission to be forwarded to the clerk of the cheque at Plymouth, that I might save a useless journey to London. On the following day I parted with my father and my dear sister, and, without any adventure, arrived at Plymouth Dock, where I met with O’Brien. The same day I reported myself to the admiral, and joined my brig, which was lying alongside the hulk with her topmasts pointed through. Returning from the brig, as I was walking up Fore-street, I observed a fine stout sailor, whose back was turned to me, reading the handbill which had been posted up everywhere, announcing that theRattlesnake, Captain O’Brien (about to proceed to the West India station, wheredoubloonswere so plentiful, that dollars were only used for ballast), was in want of afewstout hands. It might have been said, of a great many; for we had not entered six men, and were doing all the work with the marines and riggers of the dockyard; but it is not the custom to show your poverty in this world either with regard to men or money. I stopped, and overheard him say, “Ay, as for the doubloons, that cock won’t fight. I’ve served long enough in the West Indies not to be humbugged; but I wonder whether Captain O’Brien was the second lieutenant of theSanglier. If so, I shouldn’t mind trying a cruise with him.”I thought that I recollected the voice, and touching him on the shoulder, he turned round, and it proved to be Swinburne. “What, Swinburne!” said I, shaking him by the hand, for I was delighted to see him, “is it you?”“Why, Mr Simple! Well, then, I expect that I’m right, and that Mr O’Brien is made, and commands this craft. When you meet the pilot-fish, the shark ain’t far off, you know.”“You’re very right, Swinburne,” said I, “in all except calling Captain O’Brien a shark. He’s no shark.”“No, that he ain’t except in one way; that is, that I expect he’ll soon show his teeth to the Frenchmen. But I beg your pardon, sir;” and Swinburne took off his hat.“Oh! I understand: you did not perceive before that I had shipped the swab. Yes, I’m lieutenant of theRattlesnake, Swinburne, and hope you’ll join us.”“There’s my hand upon it, Mr Simple,” said he, smacking his great fist into mine so as to make it tingle. “I’m content if I know that the captain’s a good officer; but when there’s two, I think myself lucky. I’ll just take a boat, and put my name on the books, and then I’ll be on shore again to spend the rest of my money, and try if I can’t pick up a few hands as volunteers, for I know where they all be stowed away, I was looking at the craft this morning, and rather took a fancy to her. She has a damned pretty run; but I hope Captain O’Brien will take off her fiddle-head, and get one carved: I never knew a vessel do much with afiddle-head.”“I rather think that Captain O’Brien has already applied to the Commissioner on the subject,” replied I; “at all events, it won’t be very difficult to make the alteration ourselves.”“To be sure not,” replied Swinburne; “a coil of four-inch will make the body of the snake; I can carve out the head; and as for arattlebe blessed if I don’t rob one of those beggars of watchmen this very night! So good-bye, Mr Simple, till we meet again.”Swinburne kept his word; he joined the ship that afternoon, and the next day came off with six good hands, who had been induced from his representations to join the brig. “Tell Captain O’Brien,” said he to me, “not to be in too great a hurry to man his ship. I know where there are plenty to be had; but I’ll try fair means first.” This he did, and every day almost he brought off a man, and all he did bring off were good able seamen. Others volunteered, and we were now more than half manned, and ready for sea. The admiral then gave us permission to send pressgangs on shore.“Mr Simple,” said Swinburne, “I’ve tried all I can to persuade a lot of fine chaps to enter, but they won’t. Now I’m resolved that my brig shall be well manned; and if they don’t know what’s good for them, I do, and I’m sure that they’ll thank me for it afterwards; so I’m determined to take every mother’s son of them.”The same night, we mustered all Swinburne’s men, and went on shore to a crimp’s house which they knew, surrounded it with our marines in blue jackets, and took out of it twenty-three fine able seamen, which nearly filled up our complement. The remainder we obtained by a draft from the admiral’s ship; and I do not believe that there was a vessel that left Plymouth harbour and anchored in the Sound, better manned than theRattlesnake. So much for a good character, which is never lost upon seamen.O’Brien was universally liked by those who had sailed with him; and Swinburne, who knew him well, persuaded many, and forced the others, to enter with him, whether they liked it or not. This they in the event did, and, with the exception of those drafted from the flag-ship, we had no desertions. Indeed, none deserted whom we could have wished to retain, and their vacancies were soon filled up with better men.

On that day week I accompanied my father to Eagle Park, to assist at the burial of Lord Privilege. We were ushered into the room where the body had lain in state for three days. The black hangings, the lofty plumes, the rich ornaments on the coffin, and the number of wax candles, with which the room was lighted, produced a solemn and grand effect. I could not help, as I leaned against the balustrade before the coffin, and thought of its contents, calling to mind when my poor grandfather’s feelings seemed, as it were, inclined to thaw in my favour, when he called me “his child,” and, in all probability, had not my uncle had a son, would have died in my arms, fond and attached to me for my own sake, independently of worldly considerations. I felt that had I known him longer, I could have loved him, and that he would have loved me; and I thought to myself how little all these empty honours, after his decease, could compensate for the loss of those reciprocal feelings, which would have so added to his happiness during his existence. But he had lived for pomp and vanity; and pomp and vanity attended him to his grave. I thought of my sister Ellen, and of O’Brien, and walked away with the conviction that Peter Simple might have been an object of envy to the late Right Honourable Lord Viscount Privilege, Baron Corston, Lord Lieutenant of the county, and one of His Majesty’s most Honourable Privy Councillors.

When the funeral, which was very tedious and very splendid, was over, we all returned in the carriages to Eagle Park, when my uncle, who had of course assumed the title, and who had attended as chief mourner, was in waiting to receive us. We were shown into the library, and in the chair so lately and constantly occupied by my grandfather, sat the new lord. Near to him were the lawyers, with parchments lying before them. As we severally entered, he waved his hand to unoccupied chairs, intimating to us to sit down; but no words were exchanged, except an occasional whisper between him and the lawyers. When all the branches of the family were present, down to the fourth and fifth cousins, the lawyer on the right of my uncle put on his spectacles, and unrolling the parchment, commenced reading the will. I paid attention to it at first; but the legal technicalities puzzled me, and I was soon thinking of other matters, until, after half-an-hour’s reading, I was startled at the sound of my own name. It was a bequest by codicil to me, of the sum of ten thousand pounds. My father, who sat by me, gave me a slight push, to attract my attention; and I perceived that his face was not quite so mournful as before. I was rejoicing at this unexpected intelligence. I called to mind what my father had said to me when we were returning from Eagle Park, that “my grandfather’s attentions to me were as good as ten thousand pounds in his will,” and was reflecting how strange it was that he had hit upon the exact sum. I also thought of what my father had said of his own affairs, and his not having saved anything for his children, and congratulated myself that I should now be able to support my dear sister Ellen, in case of any accident happening to my father, when I was roused by another mention of my name. It was a codicil dated about a week back, in which my grandfather, not pleased at my conduct, revoked the former codicil, and left me nothing. I knew where the blow came from, and I looked my uncle in the face; a gleam of malignant pleasure was in his eyes, which had been fixed on me, waiting to receive my glance. I returned it with a smile expressive of scorn and contempt, and then looked at my father, who appeared to be in a state of misery. His head had fallen upon his breast, and his hands were clasped. Although I was shocked at the blow, for I knew how much the money was required, I felt too proud to show it; indeed, I felt that I would not for worlds have exchanged situations with my uncle, much less feelings; for when those who remain meet to ascertain the disposition made, by one who is summoned away to the tribunal of his Maker, of those worldly and perishable things which he must leave behind him, feelings of rancour and ill-will might, for the time, be permitted to subside, and the memory of a “departed brother” be productive of charity and good-will. After a little reflection, I felt that I could forgive my uncle.

Not so my father: the codicil which deprived me of my inheritance, was the last of the will, and the lawyer rolled up the parchment and took off his spectacles. Everybody rose; my father seized his hat, and telling me in a harsh voice to follow him, tore off the crape weepers, and then threw them on the floor as he walked away. I also took off mine, and laid them on the table, and followed him. My father called his carriage, waiting in the hall till it was driven up, and jumped into it. I followed him; he drew up the blind, and desired them to drive home.

“Not a sixpence! By the God of heaven, not a sixpence! My name not even mentioned, except for a paltry mourning ring! And yours—pray, sir, what have you been about, after having such a sum left you, to forfeit your grandfather’s good opinion? Heh! sir—tell me directly!” continued he, turning round to me in a rage.

“Nothing, my dear father, that I am aware of. My uncle is evidently my enemy.”

“And why should he be particularly your enemy? Peter, there must be some reason for his having induced your grandfather to alter his bequest in your favour. I insist upon it, sir, that you tell me immediately.”

“My dear father, when you are more calm, I will talk this matter over with you. I hope I shall not be considered wanting in respect, when I say, that, as a clergyman of the Church of England—”

“Damn the Church of England, and those who put me into it!” replied my father, maddened with rage.

I was shocked and held my tongue. My father appeared also to be confused at his hasty expressions. He sank back in his carriage, and preserved a gloomy silence until we arrived at our own door. As soon as we entered, my father hastened to his own room, and I went up to my sister Ellen, who was in her bed-room. I revealed to her all that had passed, and advised with her on the propriety of my communicating to my father the reasons which had occasioned my uncle’s extreme aversion towards me. After much argument, she agreed with me, that the disclosure had now become necessary.

After the dinner-cloth had been removed, my sister left the room, and went upstairs, and I then communicated to my father the circumstances which had come to our knowledge relative to my uncle’s establishment in Ireland. He heard me very attentively, took out tablets, and made notes.

“Well, Peter,” said he, after a few minutes’ silence, when I had finished, “I see clearly through this whole business. I have no doubt but that a child has been substituted to defraud you and me of our just inheritance of the title and estates; but I will now set to work and try if I cannot find out the secret; and, with the help of Captain O’Brien and Father McGrath, I think it is not at all impossible.”

“O’Brien will do all that he can, sir,” replied I; “and I expect soon to hear from him. He must have now been a week in Ireland.”

“I shall go there myself,” replied my father: “and there are no means that I will not resort to, to discover this infamous plot. No,” exclaimed he, striking his fist on the table, so as to shiver two of the wine-glasses into fragments—“no means but I will resort to.”

“That is,” replied I, my dear father, “no means which may be legitimately employed by one of your profession.”

“I tell you, no means that can be used bymanto recover his defrauded rights. Tell me not of legitimate means, when I am to lose a title and property by a spurious and illegitimate substitution! By the God of heaven, I will meet them with fraud for fraud, with false swearing for false swearing, and with blood for blood, if it should be necessary! My brother has dissolved all ties, and I will have my right, even if I demand it with a pistol at his ear.”

“For Heaven’s sake, my dear father, do not be so violent—recollect your profession.”

“I do,” replied he bitterly; “and how I was forced into it, against my will. I recollect my father’s words, the solemn coolness with which he told me, ‘I had my choice of the Church, or—to starve.’—But I have my sermon to prepare for to-morrow, and I can sit here no longer. Tell Ellen to send me in some tea.”

I did not think my father was in a very fit state of mind to write a sermon, but I held my tongue. My sister joined me, and we saw no more of him till breakfast the next day. Before we met, I received a letter from O’Brien.

“My dear Peter,—I ran down to Plymouth, hoisted my pennant, drew my jollies from the dock-yard, and set my first lieutenant to work getting in the ballast and water-tanks. I then set off for Ireland, and was very well received as Captain O’Brien by my family, who were all flourishing. Now that my two sisters are so well married off, my father and mother are very comfortable, but very lonely; for I believe I told you long before that it had pleased Heaven to take all the rest of my brothers and sisters, except the two now married, and one who bore up for a nunnery, dedicating her service to God, after she was scarred with the small-pox, and no man would look at her. Ever since the family have been grown up, my father and mother have been lamenting and sorrowing that none of them would go off; and now that they’re all gone off one way or another, they cry all day because they are left all alone, with no one to keep company with them, except Father McGrath and the pigs. We never are to be contented in this world, that’s sartin; and now that they are comfortable in every respect, they find that they are very uncomfortable, and having obtained all their wishes, they wish everything back again; but as old Maddocks used to say, ‘A good growl is better than a bad dinner’ with some people; and the greatest pleasure that they now have is to grumble; and if that makes them happy, they must be happy all day long—for the devil a bit do they leave off from morning till night.“The first thing that I did was to send for Father McGrath, who had been more away from home than usual—I presume, not finding things quite so comfortable as they used to be. He told me that he had met with Father O’Toole, and had a bit of a dialogue with him, which had ended in a bit of a row, and that he had cudgelled Father O’Toole well, and tore his gown off his back, and then tore it into shivers,—that Father O’Toole had referred the case to the bishop, and that was how the matter stood just then. ‘But,’ says he, ‘the spalpeen has left this part of the country, and, what is more, has taken Ella and her mother with him; and, what is still worse, no one could find out where they were gone; but it was believed that they had all been sent over the water.’ So you see, Peter, that this is a bad job in one point, which is, that we have no chance of getting the truth out of the old woman; for now that we have war with France, who is to follow them? On the other hand, it is good news; for it prevents me from decoying that poor young girl, and making her believe what will never come to pass; and I am not a little glad on that score, for Father McGrath was told by those who were about her, that she did nothing but weep and moan for two days before she went away, scolded as she was by her mother, and threatened by that blackguard O’Toole. It appears to me, that all our hopes now are in finding out the soldier, and his wife the wet-nurse, who were sent to India—no doubt with the hope that the climate and the fevers may carry them off. That uncle of yours is a great blackguard, every bit of him. I shall leave here in three days, and you must join me at Plymouth. Make my compliments to your father, and my regards to your sister, whom may all the saints preserve! God bless her, for ever and ever. Amen.“Yours ever,“Terence O’Brien.”

“My dear Peter,—I ran down to Plymouth, hoisted my pennant, drew my jollies from the dock-yard, and set my first lieutenant to work getting in the ballast and water-tanks. I then set off for Ireland, and was very well received as Captain O’Brien by my family, who were all flourishing. Now that my two sisters are so well married off, my father and mother are very comfortable, but very lonely; for I believe I told you long before that it had pleased Heaven to take all the rest of my brothers and sisters, except the two now married, and one who bore up for a nunnery, dedicating her service to God, after she was scarred with the small-pox, and no man would look at her. Ever since the family have been grown up, my father and mother have been lamenting and sorrowing that none of them would go off; and now that they’re all gone off one way or another, they cry all day because they are left all alone, with no one to keep company with them, except Father McGrath and the pigs. We never are to be contented in this world, that’s sartin; and now that they are comfortable in every respect, they find that they are very uncomfortable, and having obtained all their wishes, they wish everything back again; but as old Maddocks used to say, ‘A good growl is better than a bad dinner’ with some people; and the greatest pleasure that they now have is to grumble; and if that makes them happy, they must be happy all day long—for the devil a bit do they leave off from morning till night.

“The first thing that I did was to send for Father McGrath, who had been more away from home than usual—I presume, not finding things quite so comfortable as they used to be. He told me that he had met with Father O’Toole, and had a bit of a dialogue with him, which had ended in a bit of a row, and that he had cudgelled Father O’Toole well, and tore his gown off his back, and then tore it into shivers,—that Father O’Toole had referred the case to the bishop, and that was how the matter stood just then. ‘But,’ says he, ‘the spalpeen has left this part of the country, and, what is more, has taken Ella and her mother with him; and, what is still worse, no one could find out where they were gone; but it was believed that they had all been sent over the water.’ So you see, Peter, that this is a bad job in one point, which is, that we have no chance of getting the truth out of the old woman; for now that we have war with France, who is to follow them? On the other hand, it is good news; for it prevents me from decoying that poor young girl, and making her believe what will never come to pass; and I am not a little glad on that score, for Father McGrath was told by those who were about her, that she did nothing but weep and moan for two days before she went away, scolded as she was by her mother, and threatened by that blackguard O’Toole. It appears to me, that all our hopes now are in finding out the soldier, and his wife the wet-nurse, who were sent to India—no doubt with the hope that the climate and the fevers may carry them off. That uncle of yours is a great blackguard, every bit of him. I shall leave here in three days, and you must join me at Plymouth. Make my compliments to your father, and my regards to your sister, whom may all the saints preserve! God bless her, for ever and ever. Amen.

“Yours ever,

“Terence O’Brien.”

I put this letter into my father’s bands when he came out of his room. “This is a deep-laid plot,” said he, “and I think we must immediately do as O’Brien states—look after the nurse who was sent to India. Do you know the regiment to which her husband belongs?”

“Yes, sir,” replied I; “it is the 33rd, and she sailed for India about three months back.”

“The name, you say, I think, is O’Sullivan,” said he, pulling out his tablets. “Well, I will write immediately to Captain Fielding, and beg him to make the minutest inquiries. I will also write to your sister Lucy, for women are much keener than men in affairs of this sort. If the regiment is ordered to Ceylon, all the better: if not, he must obtain furlough to prosecute his inquiries. When that is done, I will go myself to Ireland, and try if we cannot trace the other parties.”

My father then left the room, and I retired with Ellen to make preparations for joining my ship at Plymouth. A letter announcing my appointment had come down, and I had written to request my commission to be forwarded to the clerk of the cheque at Plymouth, that I might save a useless journey to London. On the following day I parted with my father and my dear sister, and, without any adventure, arrived at Plymouth Dock, where I met with O’Brien. The same day I reported myself to the admiral, and joined my brig, which was lying alongside the hulk with her topmasts pointed through. Returning from the brig, as I was walking up Fore-street, I observed a fine stout sailor, whose back was turned to me, reading the handbill which had been posted up everywhere, announcing that theRattlesnake, Captain O’Brien (about to proceed to the West India station, wheredoubloonswere so plentiful, that dollars were only used for ballast), was in want of afewstout hands. It might have been said, of a great many; for we had not entered six men, and were doing all the work with the marines and riggers of the dockyard; but it is not the custom to show your poverty in this world either with regard to men or money. I stopped, and overheard him say, “Ay, as for the doubloons, that cock won’t fight. I’ve served long enough in the West Indies not to be humbugged; but I wonder whether Captain O’Brien was the second lieutenant of theSanglier. If so, I shouldn’t mind trying a cruise with him.”

I thought that I recollected the voice, and touching him on the shoulder, he turned round, and it proved to be Swinburne. “What, Swinburne!” said I, shaking him by the hand, for I was delighted to see him, “is it you?”

“Why, Mr Simple! Well, then, I expect that I’m right, and that Mr O’Brien is made, and commands this craft. When you meet the pilot-fish, the shark ain’t far off, you know.”

“You’re very right, Swinburne,” said I, “in all except calling Captain O’Brien a shark. He’s no shark.”

“No, that he ain’t except in one way; that is, that I expect he’ll soon show his teeth to the Frenchmen. But I beg your pardon, sir;” and Swinburne took off his hat.

“Oh! I understand: you did not perceive before that I had shipped the swab. Yes, I’m lieutenant of theRattlesnake, Swinburne, and hope you’ll join us.”

“There’s my hand upon it, Mr Simple,” said he, smacking his great fist into mine so as to make it tingle. “I’m content if I know that the captain’s a good officer; but when there’s two, I think myself lucky. I’ll just take a boat, and put my name on the books, and then I’ll be on shore again to spend the rest of my money, and try if I can’t pick up a few hands as volunteers, for I know where they all be stowed away, I was looking at the craft this morning, and rather took a fancy to her. She has a damned pretty run; but I hope Captain O’Brien will take off her fiddle-head, and get one carved: I never knew a vessel do much with afiddle-head.”

“I rather think that Captain O’Brien has already applied to the Commissioner on the subject,” replied I; “at all events, it won’t be very difficult to make the alteration ourselves.”

“To be sure not,” replied Swinburne; “a coil of four-inch will make the body of the snake; I can carve out the head; and as for arattlebe blessed if I don’t rob one of those beggars of watchmen this very night! So good-bye, Mr Simple, till we meet again.”

Swinburne kept his word; he joined the ship that afternoon, and the next day came off with six good hands, who had been induced from his representations to join the brig. “Tell Captain O’Brien,” said he to me, “not to be in too great a hurry to man his ship. I know where there are plenty to be had; but I’ll try fair means first.” This he did, and every day almost he brought off a man, and all he did bring off were good able seamen. Others volunteered, and we were now more than half manned, and ready for sea. The admiral then gave us permission to send pressgangs on shore.

“Mr Simple,” said Swinburne, “I’ve tried all I can to persuade a lot of fine chaps to enter, but they won’t. Now I’m resolved that my brig shall be well manned; and if they don’t know what’s good for them, I do, and I’m sure that they’ll thank me for it afterwards; so I’m determined to take every mother’s son of them.”

The same night, we mustered all Swinburne’s men, and went on shore to a crimp’s house which they knew, surrounded it with our marines in blue jackets, and took out of it twenty-three fine able seamen, which nearly filled up our complement. The remainder we obtained by a draft from the admiral’s ship; and I do not believe that there was a vessel that left Plymouth harbour and anchored in the Sound, better manned than theRattlesnake. So much for a good character, which is never lost upon seamen.

O’Brien was universally liked by those who had sailed with him; and Swinburne, who knew him well, persuaded many, and forced the others, to enter with him, whether they liked it or not. This they in the event did, and, with the exception of those drafted from the flag-ship, we had no desertions. Indeed, none deserted whom we could have wished to retain, and their vacancies were soon filled up with better men.

Chapter Forty Two.We sail for the West Indies—A volunteer for the ship refused and sent on shore again, for reasons which the chapter will satisfactorily explain to the reader.We were very glad when the master attendant came on board to take us into the Sound; and still more glad to perceive that the brig, which had just been launched before O’Brien was appointed to her, appeared to sail very fast as she ran out. So it proved after we went to sea; she sailed wonderfully well, beating every vessel that she met, and overhauling in a very short time everything that we chased; turning to windward like magic, and tacking in a moment. Three days after we anchored in the Sound, the ship’s company were paid, and our sailing orders came down to proceed with despatches, by next evening’s post, to the island of Jamaica. We started with a fair wind, and were soon clear of the Channel. Our whole time was now occupied in training our new ship’s company at the guns and teaching them topull together; and by the time that we had run down the trades, we were in a very fair state of discipline.The first lieutenant was rather an odd character; his brother was a sporting man of large property, and he had contracted, from his example, a great partiality for such pursuits. He knew the winning horses of the Derby and the Oaks for twenty years back, was an adept at all athletic exercises, a capital shot, and had his pointer on board. In other respects he was a great dandy in his person, always wore gloves, even on service, very gentlemanlike and handsome, and not a very bad sailor; that is, he knew enough to carry on his duty very creditably, and evidently, now that he was the first lieutenant, and obliged to work, learnt more of his duty every day. I never met a more pleasant messmate or a more honourable young man. A brig is only allowed two lieutenants. The master was a rough, kind-hearted, intelligent young man, always in good-humour. The surgeon and purser completed our mess; they were men of no character at all, except, perhaps, that the surgeon was too much of a courtier, and the purser too much of a skin-flint; but pursers are, generally speaking, more sinned against than sinning.But I have been led away, while talking of the brig and the officers, and had almost forgotten to narrate a circumstance which occurred two days before we sailed. I was with O’Brien in the cabin, when Mr Osbaldistone the first lieutenant, came in, and reported that a boy had come on board to volunteer for the ship.“What sort of a lad is he?” said O’Brien.“A very nice lad—very slight, sir,” replied the first lieutenant. “We have two vacancies.”“Well, see what you make of him: and if you think he will do, you may put him on the books.”“I have tried him, sir. He says that he has been a short time at sea. I made him mount the main-rigging, but he did not much like it.”“Well, do as you please, Osbaldistone,” replied O’Brien. And the first lieutenant quitted the cabin.In about a quarter of an hour he returned. “If you please, sir,” said he, laughing, “I sent the boy down to the surgeon to be examined, and he refused to strip. The surgeon says that he thinks she is a woman I have had her up on the quarter-deck, and she refused to answer any questions, and requires to speak with you.”“With me!” said O’Brien, with surprise. “Oh! one of the men’s wives, I suppose, trying to steal a march upon us. Well, send her down here, Osbaldistone, and I’ll prove to her the moral impossibility of her sailing in His Majesty’s brigRattlesnake.”In a few minutes, the first lieutenant sent her down to the cabin door, and I was about to retire as she entered; but O’Brien stopped me. “Stay, Peter; my reputation will be at stake if I’m left all alone,” said he, laughing.The sentry opened the door, and, whether boy or girl, a more interesting face I never beheld; but the hair was cut close like a boy’s, and I could not tell whether the surgeon’s suspicions were correct.“You wish to speak—holy Saint Patrick!” cried O’Brien, looking earnestly at her features; and O’Brien covered his face, and bent over the table, exclaiming, “My God, my God!”In the meantime, the colour of the young person fled from her countenance, and then rushed into it again, alternately leaving it pale and suffused with blushes. I perceived a trembling over the frame, the knees shook and knocked together, and had I not hastened, she—for a female it was—would have fallen on the deck.I perceived that she had fainted; I therefore laid her down on the deck, and hastened to obtain some water. O’Brien ran up, and went to her.“My poor, poor girl!” said he sorrowfully. “Oh! Peter, this is all your fault.”“All my fault! How could she have come here?”“By all the saints who pray for us—dearly as I prize them, I would give up my ship and my commission, that this could be undone.”As O’Brien hung over her, the tears from his eyes fell upon her face, while I bathed it with the water I had brought from the dressing-room. I knew who it must be, although I had never seen her. It was the girl to whom O’Brien had professed love, to worm out the secret of the exchange of my uncle’s child; and as I beheld the scene, I could not help saying to myself, “Who now will assert that evil may be done that good may come?” The poor girl showed symptoms of recovering, and O’Brien waved his hand to me, saying, “Leave us, Peter, and see that no one comes in.”I remained nearly an hour at the cabin-door, by the sentry, and prevented many from entering, when O’Brien opened the door, and requested me to order his gig to be manned, and then to come in. The poor girl had evidently been weeping bitterly, and O’Brien was much affected.“All is arranged, Peter; you must go on shore with her, and not leave her till you see her safe off by the night coach. Do me that favour, Peter—you ought indeed,” continued he, in a low voice, “for you have been partly the occasion of this.”I shook O’Brien’s hand, and made no answer—the boat was reported ready, and the girl followed me with a firm step. I pulled on shore, saw her safe in the coach, without asking her any question, and then returned on board.“Come on board, sir,” said I, entering the cabin with my hat in my hand, and reporting myself according to the regulations of the service.“Thank you,” replied O’Brien: “shut the door, Peter. Tell me, how did she behave?—what did she say?”“She never spoke, and I never asked her a question. She seemed to be willing to do as you had arranged.”“Sit down, Peter. I never felt more unhappy, or more disgusted with myself in all my life. I feel as if I never could be happy again. A sailor’s life mixes him up with the worst part of the female sex, and we do not know the real value of the better. I little thought when I was talking nonsense to that poor girl, that I was breaking one of the kindest hearts in the world, and sacrificing the happiness of one who would lay down her existence for me, Peter. Since you have been gone, it’s twenty times that I’ve looked in the glass just to see whether I don’t look like a villain. But by the blood of St. Patrick! I thought woman’s love was just like our own, and that a three months’ cruise would set all to rights again.”“I thought she had gone over to France.”“So did I; but now she has told me all about it. Father O’Toole and her mother brought her down to the coast near here, to embark in a smuggling boat for Dieppe. When the boat pulled in-shore in the night to take them in, the mother and the rascally priest got in, but she felt as if it were leaving the whole world to leave the country I was in, and she held back. The officers came down, one or two pistols were fired, the boat shoved off without her, and she, with their luggage, was left on the beach. She went back to the next town with the officers, where she told the truth of the story, and they let her go. In Father O’Toole’s luggage she found letters, which she read, and found out that she and her mother were to have been placed in a convent at Dieppe; and, as the convent was named in the letters—which she says are important, but I have not had courage to read them yet—she went to the people from whose house they had embarked, requesting them to forward the luggage and a letter to her mother—sending everything but the letters, which she reserved for me. She has since received a letter from her mother, telling her that she is safe and well in the convent, and begging her to come over to her as soon as possible. The mother took the vows a week after she arrived there, so we know where to find her, Peter.”“And where is the poor girl going to stay now, O’Brien?”“That’s all the worst part of it. It appears that she hoped not to be found out till after we had sailed, and then to have—as she said, poor thing!—to have laid at my feet and watched over me in the storms; but I pointed out to her that it was not permitted, and could not be, and that I would not be allowed to marry her. Oh, Peter! this is a very sad business,” continued O’Brien, passing his hand across his eyes.“Well, but, O’Brien, what is to become of the poor girl?”“She is going home to be with my father and mother, hoping one day that I shall come back and marry her. I have written to Father McGrath to see what he can do.”“Have you then not undeceived her?”“Father McGrath must do that, I could not. It would have been the death of her. It would have stabbed her to the heart, and it’s not for me to give that blow. I’d sooner have died—sooner have married her, than have done it, Peter. Perhaps when I’m far away she’ll bear it better. Father McGrath will manage it.”“O’Brien, I don’t like that Father McGrath.”“Well, Peter, you maybe right; I don’t exactly like all he says myself; but what is a man to do?—either he is a Catholic, and believes as a Catholic, or he is not one. Will I abandon my religion, now that it is persecuted? Never, Peter; I hope not, without I find a much better, at all events. Still, I do not like to feel that this advice of my confessor is at variance with my own conscience. Father McGrath is a wordly man; but that only proves that he is wrong, not that our religion is—and I don’t mind speaking to you on this subject. No one knows that I’m a Catholic except yourself: and at the Admiralty they never asked me to take that oath which I never would have taken, although Father McGrath says I may take any oath I please with what he calls heretics, and he will grant me absolution. Peter, my dear fellow, say no more about it.”I did not; but I may as well end the history of poor Ella Flanagan at once, as she will not appear again. About three months afterwards, we received a letter from Father McGrath, stating that the girl had arrived safe, and had been a great comfort to O’Brien’s father and mother, who wished her to remain with them altogether; that Father McGrath had told her that when a man took his commission as captain it was all the same as going into a monastery as a monk, for he never could marry. The poor girl believed him, and thinking that O’Brien was lost to her for ever, with the advice of Father McGrath, had entered as a nun in one of the religious houses in Ireland, that, as she said, she might pray for him night and day. Many years afterwards, we heard of her—she was well, and not unhappy but O’Brien never forgot his behaviour to this poor girl. It was a source of continual regret; and I believe, until the last day of his existence, his heart smote him for his inconsiderate conduct towards her. But I must leave this distressing topic, and return to theRattlesnake, which had now arrived at the West Indies, and joined the admiral at Jamaica.

We were very glad when the master attendant came on board to take us into the Sound; and still more glad to perceive that the brig, which had just been launched before O’Brien was appointed to her, appeared to sail very fast as she ran out. So it proved after we went to sea; she sailed wonderfully well, beating every vessel that she met, and overhauling in a very short time everything that we chased; turning to windward like magic, and tacking in a moment. Three days after we anchored in the Sound, the ship’s company were paid, and our sailing orders came down to proceed with despatches, by next evening’s post, to the island of Jamaica. We started with a fair wind, and were soon clear of the Channel. Our whole time was now occupied in training our new ship’s company at the guns and teaching them topull together; and by the time that we had run down the trades, we were in a very fair state of discipline.

The first lieutenant was rather an odd character; his brother was a sporting man of large property, and he had contracted, from his example, a great partiality for such pursuits. He knew the winning horses of the Derby and the Oaks for twenty years back, was an adept at all athletic exercises, a capital shot, and had his pointer on board. In other respects he was a great dandy in his person, always wore gloves, even on service, very gentlemanlike and handsome, and not a very bad sailor; that is, he knew enough to carry on his duty very creditably, and evidently, now that he was the first lieutenant, and obliged to work, learnt more of his duty every day. I never met a more pleasant messmate or a more honourable young man. A brig is only allowed two lieutenants. The master was a rough, kind-hearted, intelligent young man, always in good-humour. The surgeon and purser completed our mess; they were men of no character at all, except, perhaps, that the surgeon was too much of a courtier, and the purser too much of a skin-flint; but pursers are, generally speaking, more sinned against than sinning.

But I have been led away, while talking of the brig and the officers, and had almost forgotten to narrate a circumstance which occurred two days before we sailed. I was with O’Brien in the cabin, when Mr Osbaldistone the first lieutenant, came in, and reported that a boy had come on board to volunteer for the ship.

“What sort of a lad is he?” said O’Brien.

“A very nice lad—very slight, sir,” replied the first lieutenant. “We have two vacancies.”

“Well, see what you make of him: and if you think he will do, you may put him on the books.”

“I have tried him, sir. He says that he has been a short time at sea. I made him mount the main-rigging, but he did not much like it.”

“Well, do as you please, Osbaldistone,” replied O’Brien. And the first lieutenant quitted the cabin.

In about a quarter of an hour he returned. “If you please, sir,” said he, laughing, “I sent the boy down to the surgeon to be examined, and he refused to strip. The surgeon says that he thinks she is a woman I have had her up on the quarter-deck, and she refused to answer any questions, and requires to speak with you.”

“With me!” said O’Brien, with surprise. “Oh! one of the men’s wives, I suppose, trying to steal a march upon us. Well, send her down here, Osbaldistone, and I’ll prove to her the moral impossibility of her sailing in His Majesty’s brigRattlesnake.”

In a few minutes, the first lieutenant sent her down to the cabin door, and I was about to retire as she entered; but O’Brien stopped me. “Stay, Peter; my reputation will be at stake if I’m left all alone,” said he, laughing.

The sentry opened the door, and, whether boy or girl, a more interesting face I never beheld; but the hair was cut close like a boy’s, and I could not tell whether the surgeon’s suspicions were correct.

“You wish to speak—holy Saint Patrick!” cried O’Brien, looking earnestly at her features; and O’Brien covered his face, and bent over the table, exclaiming, “My God, my God!”

In the meantime, the colour of the young person fled from her countenance, and then rushed into it again, alternately leaving it pale and suffused with blushes. I perceived a trembling over the frame, the knees shook and knocked together, and had I not hastened, she—for a female it was—would have fallen on the deck.

I perceived that she had fainted; I therefore laid her down on the deck, and hastened to obtain some water. O’Brien ran up, and went to her.

“My poor, poor girl!” said he sorrowfully. “Oh! Peter, this is all your fault.”

“All my fault! How could she have come here?”

“By all the saints who pray for us—dearly as I prize them, I would give up my ship and my commission, that this could be undone.”

As O’Brien hung over her, the tears from his eyes fell upon her face, while I bathed it with the water I had brought from the dressing-room. I knew who it must be, although I had never seen her. It was the girl to whom O’Brien had professed love, to worm out the secret of the exchange of my uncle’s child; and as I beheld the scene, I could not help saying to myself, “Who now will assert that evil may be done that good may come?” The poor girl showed symptoms of recovering, and O’Brien waved his hand to me, saying, “Leave us, Peter, and see that no one comes in.”

I remained nearly an hour at the cabin-door, by the sentry, and prevented many from entering, when O’Brien opened the door, and requested me to order his gig to be manned, and then to come in. The poor girl had evidently been weeping bitterly, and O’Brien was much affected.

“All is arranged, Peter; you must go on shore with her, and not leave her till you see her safe off by the night coach. Do me that favour, Peter—you ought indeed,” continued he, in a low voice, “for you have been partly the occasion of this.”

I shook O’Brien’s hand, and made no answer—the boat was reported ready, and the girl followed me with a firm step. I pulled on shore, saw her safe in the coach, without asking her any question, and then returned on board.

“Come on board, sir,” said I, entering the cabin with my hat in my hand, and reporting myself according to the regulations of the service.

“Thank you,” replied O’Brien: “shut the door, Peter. Tell me, how did she behave?—what did she say?”

“She never spoke, and I never asked her a question. She seemed to be willing to do as you had arranged.”

“Sit down, Peter. I never felt more unhappy, or more disgusted with myself in all my life. I feel as if I never could be happy again. A sailor’s life mixes him up with the worst part of the female sex, and we do not know the real value of the better. I little thought when I was talking nonsense to that poor girl, that I was breaking one of the kindest hearts in the world, and sacrificing the happiness of one who would lay down her existence for me, Peter. Since you have been gone, it’s twenty times that I’ve looked in the glass just to see whether I don’t look like a villain. But by the blood of St. Patrick! I thought woman’s love was just like our own, and that a three months’ cruise would set all to rights again.”

“I thought she had gone over to France.”

“So did I; but now she has told me all about it. Father O’Toole and her mother brought her down to the coast near here, to embark in a smuggling boat for Dieppe. When the boat pulled in-shore in the night to take them in, the mother and the rascally priest got in, but she felt as if it were leaving the whole world to leave the country I was in, and she held back. The officers came down, one or two pistols were fired, the boat shoved off without her, and she, with their luggage, was left on the beach. She went back to the next town with the officers, where she told the truth of the story, and they let her go. In Father O’Toole’s luggage she found letters, which she read, and found out that she and her mother were to have been placed in a convent at Dieppe; and, as the convent was named in the letters—which she says are important, but I have not had courage to read them yet—she went to the people from whose house they had embarked, requesting them to forward the luggage and a letter to her mother—sending everything but the letters, which she reserved for me. She has since received a letter from her mother, telling her that she is safe and well in the convent, and begging her to come over to her as soon as possible. The mother took the vows a week after she arrived there, so we know where to find her, Peter.”

“And where is the poor girl going to stay now, O’Brien?”

“That’s all the worst part of it. It appears that she hoped not to be found out till after we had sailed, and then to have—as she said, poor thing!—to have laid at my feet and watched over me in the storms; but I pointed out to her that it was not permitted, and could not be, and that I would not be allowed to marry her. Oh, Peter! this is a very sad business,” continued O’Brien, passing his hand across his eyes.

“Well, but, O’Brien, what is to become of the poor girl?”

“She is going home to be with my father and mother, hoping one day that I shall come back and marry her. I have written to Father McGrath to see what he can do.”

“Have you then not undeceived her?”

“Father McGrath must do that, I could not. It would have been the death of her. It would have stabbed her to the heart, and it’s not for me to give that blow. I’d sooner have died—sooner have married her, than have done it, Peter. Perhaps when I’m far away she’ll bear it better. Father McGrath will manage it.”

“O’Brien, I don’t like that Father McGrath.”

“Well, Peter, you maybe right; I don’t exactly like all he says myself; but what is a man to do?—either he is a Catholic, and believes as a Catholic, or he is not one. Will I abandon my religion, now that it is persecuted? Never, Peter; I hope not, without I find a much better, at all events. Still, I do not like to feel that this advice of my confessor is at variance with my own conscience. Father McGrath is a wordly man; but that only proves that he is wrong, not that our religion is—and I don’t mind speaking to you on this subject. No one knows that I’m a Catholic except yourself: and at the Admiralty they never asked me to take that oath which I never would have taken, although Father McGrath says I may take any oath I please with what he calls heretics, and he will grant me absolution. Peter, my dear fellow, say no more about it.”

I did not; but I may as well end the history of poor Ella Flanagan at once, as she will not appear again. About three months afterwards, we received a letter from Father McGrath, stating that the girl had arrived safe, and had been a great comfort to O’Brien’s father and mother, who wished her to remain with them altogether; that Father McGrath had told her that when a man took his commission as captain it was all the same as going into a monastery as a monk, for he never could marry. The poor girl believed him, and thinking that O’Brien was lost to her for ever, with the advice of Father McGrath, had entered as a nun in one of the religious houses in Ireland, that, as she said, she might pray for him night and day. Many years afterwards, we heard of her—she was well, and not unhappy but O’Brien never forgot his behaviour to this poor girl. It was a source of continual regret; and I believe, until the last day of his existence, his heart smote him for his inconsiderate conduct towards her. But I must leave this distressing topic, and return to theRattlesnake, which had now arrived at the West Indies, and joined the admiral at Jamaica.

Chapter Forty Three.Description of the coast of Martinique—Popped at for peeping—No heroism in making oneself a target—Board a miniature Noah’s ark, under Yankee colours—Capture a French slaver—Parrot soup in lieu of mock turtle.We found orders at Barbadoes to cruise off Martinique, to prevent supplies being furnished to the garrison of the island, and we proceeded there immediately. I do not know anything more picturesque than running down the east side of this beautiful island—the ridges of hill spreading down to the water’s edge, covered with the freshest verdure, divided at the base by small bays, with the beach of dazzling white sand, and where the little coasting vessels, employed to bring the sugar from the neighbouring estates, were riding at an anchor. Each hill, at its ajutment towards the sea, was crowned with a fort, on which waves the tri-colour—certainly, in appearance, one of the most warlike flags in the world.On the third morning, we had rounded the Diamond Rock, and were scudding along the lee-side of the island, just opening Fort Royal bay, when, hauling rather too close round its eastern entrance, formed by a promontory called Solomon’s Point, which was covered with brushwood, we found ourselves nearer than agreeable to a newly-constructed battery. A column of smoke was poured along the blue water, and it was followed by the whizzing of a shot, which passed through our boom mainsail, first cutting away the dog-vane, which was close to old Swinburne’s head, as he stood on the carronade, conning the brig. I was at dinner in the cabin with O’Brien and the first lieutenant.“Where the devil have they got the brig now?” said O’Brien, rising from his chair, and going on deck.We both followed; but before we were on deck, three or four more shots passed between the masts. “If you please, sir,” said the master’s mate in charge of the deck, whose name was O’Farrel, “the battery has opened upon us.”“Thank you very much for your information, Mr O’Farrel,” replied O’Brien; “but the French havereportedit before you. May I ask if you’ve any particular fancy to be made a target of, or if you think that His Majesty’s brigRattlesnakewas sent here to be riddled for nothing at all? Starboard the helm, quarter-master.”The helm was put up, and the brig was soon run out of the fire; not, however, until a few more shot were pitched close to us; and one carried away the fore-topmast backstay.“No, Mr O’Farrel,” replied O’Brien, “I only wish to point out to you, that I trust neither I nor any one in this ship cares a fig about the whizzing of a shot or two about our ears, when there is anything to be gained for it, either for ourselves or for our country; but I do care a great deal about losing even the leg, or the arm, much more the life of any of my men, when there’s no occasion for it; so in future, recollect it’s no disgrace to keep out of the way of a battery, when all the advantage is on their side I’ve always observed that chance shots pick out the best men. Lower down the mainsail and send the sailmaker aft to repair it.”When O’Brien returned to the cabin, I remained on deck, for it was my afternoon watch; and although O’Farrel had permission to look out for me, I did not choose to go down again. The bay of Fort Royal was now opened, and the view was extremely beautiful. Swinburne was still on the carronade, and as I knew he had been there before, I applied to him for information as to thelocale. He told me the names of the batteries above the town, pointed out Fort Edward, and Negro Point, and particularly Pigeon Island, the battery at the top of which wore the appearance of a mural crown.“It’s well I remember that place, Mr Simple,” said he. “It was in ’94 when I was last here. The sodgers had ’sieged it for a whole month, and were about to give it up, ’cause they couldn’t get a gun up on that ’ere hill you sees there. So poor Captain Faulkner says, ‘There’s many a clear head under a tarpaulin hat, and I’ll give any chap five doubloons that will hitch up a twenty-four pounder to the top of that hill.’ Not quite so easy a matter, as you may perceive from here, Mr Simple.”“It certainly appears to me to have been almost impossible, Swinburne,” replied I.“And so it did to most of us, Mr Simple; but there was one Dick Smith, mate of a transport, who had come on shore, and he steps out, saying, ‘I’ve been looking at your men handling that gun, and my opinion is, that if you gets a butt, crams in a carronade, well woulded up, and fill it with old junk and rope yarns, you might parbuckle it up to the very top.’ So Captain Faulkner pulls out five doubloons, and gives them to him, saying, ‘You deserve the money for the hint, even if it don’t succeed.’ But it did succeed, Mr Simple; and the next day, to their surprise, we opened fire on the French beggars, and soon brought their boasting down. One of the French officers, after he was taken prisoner, axed me how we had managed to get the gun up there but I wasn’t going to blow the gaff, so I told him as a great secret, that we got it up with a kite; upon which he opened all his eyes, and crying ‘Sacre bleu!’ walked away, believing all I said was true; but a’n’t that a sail we have opened with the point, Mr Simple?”It was so, and I reported it to O’Brien, who came up, and gave chase. In half-an-hour we were alongside of her, when she hoisted American colours, and proved to be a brigantine laden up to her gunwale, which was not above a foot out of the water. Her cargo consisted of what the Americans callednotions; that is, in English, an assorted cargo. Halfway up her masts, down to the deck, were hung up baskets containing apples, potatoes, onions, and nuts of various kinds. Her deck was crowded with cattle, sheep, pigs, and donkeys. Below was full of shingle lumber, and a variety of different articles too numerous to mention. I boarded her, and asked the master whither he was bound.“Why,” replied he, “I’m bound for a market—nowise particular; and I guess you won’t stop me.”“Not if all’s right,” replied I; “but I must look at your log.”“Well, I’ve a notion there’s no great objection to that,” replied he; and he brought it up on deck.I had no great time to examine it, but I could not help being amused at the little I did read, such as—“Horse latitudes—water very short—killed white-faced bullock—caught a dolphin, and ate him for dinner—broached molasses cask, Number 1, letter A. Fine night—saw little round things floating on the water—took up a bucket full—guessed they were pearls—judge I guessed wrong, only little Portuguese men-of-war—threw them overboard again—heard a scream, guessed it was a mermaid—looked out, saw nothing. Witnessed a very strange rippling a-head—calculated it might be the sea-serpent—stood on to see him plain, and nearly ran on Barbuda. Hauled off again—met a Britisher—treatedpolitely.”Having overhauled his log, I then begged to overhaul his men, to ascertain if there were any Englishmen among his crew. This was not pleasing, and he grumbled very much; but they were ordered aft. One man I was satisfied was an Englishman, and told him so; but the man, as well as the master, persisted to the contrary. Nevertheless I resolved to take him on board for O’Brien to decide, and ordered him into the boat.“Well, if you will use force, I can’t help it: my decks a’n’t clear, as you see, or else—I tell you what, Mr Lieutenant, your vessel there will be another Hermione, I’ve a notion, if you presses true-blooded Yankees; and what’s more, the States will take it up, as sure as there’s snakes in Virginny.”Notwithstanding this remonstrance, I took them on board to O’Brien, who had a long conversation with the American in the cabin. When they returned on deck, he was allowed to depart with his man, and we again made sail. I had the first watch that night, and as we ran along the coast, I perceived a vessel under the high land, in what the sailors called thedoldrums; this is, almost becalmed, or her sails flapping about in every direction with the eddying winds. We steered for her, and were very soon in the same situation, not more than a quarter of a mile from her. The quarter-boat was lowered down, and I proceeded to board her; but as she was large and rakish, O’Brien desired me to be careful, and if there were the least show of resistance to return.As I pulled up to her bows, they hailed me in French, and desired me to keep off, or they would fire. This was quite sufficient; and, in obedience to my orders, I returned to the brig and reported to O’Brien. We lowered down all the quarter-boats, and towed round the brig’s broadside to her, and then gave her half-a-dozen carronades of round and grape. Hearing great noise and confusion on board, after we had ceased firing, O’Brien again sent me to know if they had surrendered. They replied in the affirmative; and I boarded her. She proved to be theCommerce de Bordeaux, with three hundred and thirty slaves on board, out of five hundred embarked from the coast, bound to Martinique. The crew were very sickly, and were most of them in their hammocks. Latterly, they had been killing parrots to make soup for them; a few that were left, of the grey species, spoke remarkably well. When they left the coast, they had nearly one thousand parrots on board.O’Brien perceiving that I had taken possession, sent another boat to know what the vessel was. I desired the surgeon to be sent on board, as some of the men, and many of the poor slaves, were wounded by our shot. Of all the miserable objects, I know of none to be compared to the poor devils of slaves on board of a slave-vessel; the state of suffocation between decks—the dreadful stench arising from their filth, which is hardly ever cleared away—the sick lying without help, and looked upon by those who are stronger with the utmost indifference—men, women and children, all huddled and crowded together in a state of nudity, worn to skin and bone from stench, starvation, and living in an atmosphere that none but a negro could exist in. If all that occurs on a slave-ship were really known, I think it would be acknowledged that to make the slave-trade piracy would be nothing more than a just retribution; and this is certain, that unless it be made piracy, it never will be discontinued.By daylight the vessel was ready, and O’Brien determined to take her to Dominica, so that the poor devils might be immediately set on shore. We anchored with her, in a few days, in Prince Rupert’s Bay, where we only had twenty-four hours, to obtain some refreshments and arrange about our prize, which I hardly need say was of some value.During the short time that I was on shore, purchasing some fowls and vegetables for O’Brien and our own mess, I was amused at witnessing a black sergeant drilling some of his regiment of free negroes and mulattoes. He appeared resolved to make the best appearance that he could, for he began by saying, “You hab shoe and ’tocking, stand in front—you hab shoe no ’tocking, stand in centre—you hab no shoe no ’tocking, stand in um rear. Face to mountain—back to sea-beach. Why you no ’tep out, sar?—you hangman!”I was curious to count the numbers qualified for the front rank; there were only two mulattoes. In the second rank there were also only two. No shoe and no ’tocking appeared to be the fashion. As usual, we were surrounded by the negroes; and although we had been there but a few hours, they had a song composed for us, which they constantly repeated:“Don’t you see theRattlesnakeComing under sail?Don’t you see theRattlesnakeWith prizes at um tail?—Rattlesnakehab all the money, ding ding—She shall hab all that’s funny, ding, ding!”

We found orders at Barbadoes to cruise off Martinique, to prevent supplies being furnished to the garrison of the island, and we proceeded there immediately. I do not know anything more picturesque than running down the east side of this beautiful island—the ridges of hill spreading down to the water’s edge, covered with the freshest verdure, divided at the base by small bays, with the beach of dazzling white sand, and where the little coasting vessels, employed to bring the sugar from the neighbouring estates, were riding at an anchor. Each hill, at its ajutment towards the sea, was crowned with a fort, on which waves the tri-colour—certainly, in appearance, one of the most warlike flags in the world.

On the third morning, we had rounded the Diamond Rock, and were scudding along the lee-side of the island, just opening Fort Royal bay, when, hauling rather too close round its eastern entrance, formed by a promontory called Solomon’s Point, which was covered with brushwood, we found ourselves nearer than agreeable to a newly-constructed battery. A column of smoke was poured along the blue water, and it was followed by the whizzing of a shot, which passed through our boom mainsail, first cutting away the dog-vane, which was close to old Swinburne’s head, as he stood on the carronade, conning the brig. I was at dinner in the cabin with O’Brien and the first lieutenant.

“Where the devil have they got the brig now?” said O’Brien, rising from his chair, and going on deck.

We both followed; but before we were on deck, three or four more shots passed between the masts. “If you please, sir,” said the master’s mate in charge of the deck, whose name was O’Farrel, “the battery has opened upon us.”

“Thank you very much for your information, Mr O’Farrel,” replied O’Brien; “but the French havereportedit before you. May I ask if you’ve any particular fancy to be made a target of, or if you think that His Majesty’s brigRattlesnakewas sent here to be riddled for nothing at all? Starboard the helm, quarter-master.”

The helm was put up, and the brig was soon run out of the fire; not, however, until a few more shot were pitched close to us; and one carried away the fore-topmast backstay.

“No, Mr O’Farrel,” replied O’Brien, “I only wish to point out to you, that I trust neither I nor any one in this ship cares a fig about the whizzing of a shot or two about our ears, when there is anything to be gained for it, either for ourselves or for our country; but I do care a great deal about losing even the leg, or the arm, much more the life of any of my men, when there’s no occasion for it; so in future, recollect it’s no disgrace to keep out of the way of a battery, when all the advantage is on their side I’ve always observed that chance shots pick out the best men. Lower down the mainsail and send the sailmaker aft to repair it.”

When O’Brien returned to the cabin, I remained on deck, for it was my afternoon watch; and although O’Farrel had permission to look out for me, I did not choose to go down again. The bay of Fort Royal was now opened, and the view was extremely beautiful. Swinburne was still on the carronade, and as I knew he had been there before, I applied to him for information as to thelocale. He told me the names of the batteries above the town, pointed out Fort Edward, and Negro Point, and particularly Pigeon Island, the battery at the top of which wore the appearance of a mural crown.

“It’s well I remember that place, Mr Simple,” said he. “It was in ’94 when I was last here. The sodgers had ’sieged it for a whole month, and were about to give it up, ’cause they couldn’t get a gun up on that ’ere hill you sees there. So poor Captain Faulkner says, ‘There’s many a clear head under a tarpaulin hat, and I’ll give any chap five doubloons that will hitch up a twenty-four pounder to the top of that hill.’ Not quite so easy a matter, as you may perceive from here, Mr Simple.”

“It certainly appears to me to have been almost impossible, Swinburne,” replied I.

“And so it did to most of us, Mr Simple; but there was one Dick Smith, mate of a transport, who had come on shore, and he steps out, saying, ‘I’ve been looking at your men handling that gun, and my opinion is, that if you gets a butt, crams in a carronade, well woulded up, and fill it with old junk and rope yarns, you might parbuckle it up to the very top.’ So Captain Faulkner pulls out five doubloons, and gives them to him, saying, ‘You deserve the money for the hint, even if it don’t succeed.’ But it did succeed, Mr Simple; and the next day, to their surprise, we opened fire on the French beggars, and soon brought their boasting down. One of the French officers, after he was taken prisoner, axed me how we had managed to get the gun up there but I wasn’t going to blow the gaff, so I told him as a great secret, that we got it up with a kite; upon which he opened all his eyes, and crying ‘Sacre bleu!’ walked away, believing all I said was true; but a’n’t that a sail we have opened with the point, Mr Simple?”

It was so, and I reported it to O’Brien, who came up, and gave chase. In half-an-hour we were alongside of her, when she hoisted American colours, and proved to be a brigantine laden up to her gunwale, which was not above a foot out of the water. Her cargo consisted of what the Americans callednotions; that is, in English, an assorted cargo. Halfway up her masts, down to the deck, were hung up baskets containing apples, potatoes, onions, and nuts of various kinds. Her deck was crowded with cattle, sheep, pigs, and donkeys. Below was full of shingle lumber, and a variety of different articles too numerous to mention. I boarded her, and asked the master whither he was bound.

“Why,” replied he, “I’m bound for a market—nowise particular; and I guess you won’t stop me.”

“Not if all’s right,” replied I; “but I must look at your log.”

“Well, I’ve a notion there’s no great objection to that,” replied he; and he brought it up on deck.

I had no great time to examine it, but I could not help being amused at the little I did read, such as—“Horse latitudes—water very short—killed white-faced bullock—caught a dolphin, and ate him for dinner—broached molasses cask, Number 1, letter A. Fine night—saw little round things floating on the water—took up a bucket full—guessed they were pearls—judge I guessed wrong, only little Portuguese men-of-war—threw them overboard again—heard a scream, guessed it was a mermaid—looked out, saw nothing. Witnessed a very strange rippling a-head—calculated it might be the sea-serpent—stood on to see him plain, and nearly ran on Barbuda. Hauled off again—met a Britisher—treatedpolitely.”

Having overhauled his log, I then begged to overhaul his men, to ascertain if there were any Englishmen among his crew. This was not pleasing, and he grumbled very much; but they were ordered aft. One man I was satisfied was an Englishman, and told him so; but the man, as well as the master, persisted to the contrary. Nevertheless I resolved to take him on board for O’Brien to decide, and ordered him into the boat.

“Well, if you will use force, I can’t help it: my decks a’n’t clear, as you see, or else—I tell you what, Mr Lieutenant, your vessel there will be another Hermione, I’ve a notion, if you presses true-blooded Yankees; and what’s more, the States will take it up, as sure as there’s snakes in Virginny.”

Notwithstanding this remonstrance, I took them on board to O’Brien, who had a long conversation with the American in the cabin. When they returned on deck, he was allowed to depart with his man, and we again made sail. I had the first watch that night, and as we ran along the coast, I perceived a vessel under the high land, in what the sailors called thedoldrums; this is, almost becalmed, or her sails flapping about in every direction with the eddying winds. We steered for her, and were very soon in the same situation, not more than a quarter of a mile from her. The quarter-boat was lowered down, and I proceeded to board her; but as she was large and rakish, O’Brien desired me to be careful, and if there were the least show of resistance to return.

As I pulled up to her bows, they hailed me in French, and desired me to keep off, or they would fire. This was quite sufficient; and, in obedience to my orders, I returned to the brig and reported to O’Brien. We lowered down all the quarter-boats, and towed round the brig’s broadside to her, and then gave her half-a-dozen carronades of round and grape. Hearing great noise and confusion on board, after we had ceased firing, O’Brien again sent me to know if they had surrendered. They replied in the affirmative; and I boarded her. She proved to be theCommerce de Bordeaux, with three hundred and thirty slaves on board, out of five hundred embarked from the coast, bound to Martinique. The crew were very sickly, and were most of them in their hammocks. Latterly, they had been killing parrots to make soup for them; a few that were left, of the grey species, spoke remarkably well. When they left the coast, they had nearly one thousand parrots on board.

O’Brien perceiving that I had taken possession, sent another boat to know what the vessel was. I desired the surgeon to be sent on board, as some of the men, and many of the poor slaves, were wounded by our shot. Of all the miserable objects, I know of none to be compared to the poor devils of slaves on board of a slave-vessel; the state of suffocation between decks—the dreadful stench arising from their filth, which is hardly ever cleared away—the sick lying without help, and looked upon by those who are stronger with the utmost indifference—men, women and children, all huddled and crowded together in a state of nudity, worn to skin and bone from stench, starvation, and living in an atmosphere that none but a negro could exist in. If all that occurs on a slave-ship were really known, I think it would be acknowledged that to make the slave-trade piracy would be nothing more than a just retribution; and this is certain, that unless it be made piracy, it never will be discontinued.

By daylight the vessel was ready, and O’Brien determined to take her to Dominica, so that the poor devils might be immediately set on shore. We anchored with her, in a few days, in Prince Rupert’s Bay, where we only had twenty-four hours, to obtain some refreshments and arrange about our prize, which I hardly need say was of some value.

During the short time that I was on shore, purchasing some fowls and vegetables for O’Brien and our own mess, I was amused at witnessing a black sergeant drilling some of his regiment of free negroes and mulattoes. He appeared resolved to make the best appearance that he could, for he began by saying, “You hab shoe and ’tocking, stand in front—you hab shoe no ’tocking, stand in centre—you hab no shoe no ’tocking, stand in um rear. Face to mountain—back to sea-beach. Why you no ’tep out, sar?—you hangman!”

I was curious to count the numbers qualified for the front rank; there were only two mulattoes. In the second rank there were also only two. No shoe and no ’tocking appeared to be the fashion. As usual, we were surrounded by the negroes; and although we had been there but a few hours, they had a song composed for us, which they constantly repeated:

“Don’t you see theRattlesnakeComing under sail?Don’t you see theRattlesnakeWith prizes at um tail?—Rattlesnakehab all the money, ding ding—She shall hab all that’s funny, ding, ding!”

“Don’t you see theRattlesnakeComing under sail?Don’t you see theRattlesnakeWith prizes at um tail?—Rattlesnakehab all the money, ding ding—She shall hab all that’s funny, ding, ding!”

Chapter Forty Four.Money can purchase anything in the new country—American information not always to be depended upon—A night attack; we are beaten off—It proves a “cut up,” instead of a “cut out”—After all, we save something out of the fire.The next morning we weighed anchor, and returned to our station off Martinique. We had run within three miles of St. Pierre’s, when we discovered a vessel coming out under jury-masts. She steered directly for us, and we made her out to be the American brigantine which we had boarded some time before. O’Brien sent a boat to bring the master of her on board.“Well, captain,” said he, “so you met with a squall?”“I calculate not,” replied he.“Why, then, what the devil have you been about?”“Why, I guess I sold all my cargo, and, what’s more, I’ve sold my masts.”“Sold your masts! whom did you sell them to?”“To an almighty pretty French privateer lying in St. Pierre’s, which had lost her spars when she was chased by one of your brass-bottomed sarpents; and I’ve a notion they paid pretty handsomely too.”“But how do you mean to get home again?”“I calculate to get into thestream, and then I’ll do very well. If I meet a nor-wester, why then I’ll make a signal of distress, and some one will tow me in, I guess.”“Well,” replied O’Brien, “but step down into the cabin, and take something, captain.”“With particular pleasure,” replied this strange mortal; and down they went.In about half-an-hour, they returned on deck, and the boat took the American on board. Soon afterwards, O’Brien desired Osbaldistone and myself to step down into the cabin. The chart of the harbour of St. Pierre’s lay on the table, and O’Brien said, “I have had a long conversation with the American, and he states that the privateer is at anchor in this spot” (pointing to a pencil-mark on the chart). “If so, she is well out; and I see no difficulty in capturing her. You see that she lies in four fathoms water, and so close under the outer battery, that the guns could not be pointed down upon the boats. I have also inquired if they keep a good look-out, and the American says that they feel so secure, that they keep no look-out at all; that the captain and officers belonging to her are on shore all night, drinking, smoking, and boasting of what they will do. Now the question is, whether this report be correct. The American has been well-treated by us, and I see no reason to doubt him; indeed he gave the information voluntarily, as if he wished to serve us.”I allowed Osbaldistone to speak first; he coincided with O’Brien, I did not: the very circumstance of her requiring new masts made me doubt the truth of his assertion, as to where she lay; and if one part of his story were false, why not the whole? O’Brien appeared struck with my argument, and it was agreed that if the boats did go away, it should be for a reconnaissance, and that the attempt should only be made, provided it was found that the privateer lay in the same spot pointed out by the American master. It was, however, decided that the reconnaissance should take place that very night, as allowing the privateer to be anchored on the spot supposed, there was every probability that she would not remain there, but haul further in, to take in her new masts. The news that an expedition was at hand was soon circulated through the ship, and all the men had taken their cutlasses from the capstan to get them ready for action. The fighting boats’ crews, without orders, were busy with their boats, some cutting up old blankets to muffle the oars, others making new grummets. The ship’s company were as busy as bees, bustling and buzzing about the decks, and reminding you of the agitation which takes place in a hive previous to a swarm. At last Osbaldistone came on deck, and ordered the boats’ crews to be piped away, and prepare for service. I was to have the command of the expedition in the launch—I had charge of the first cutter—O’Farrel of the second, and Swinburne had the charge of the jolly-boat. At dusk, the head of the brig was again turned towards St. Pierre’s, and we ran slowly in. At ten we hove-to, and about eleven the boats were ordered to haul up, O’Brien repeating his orders to Mr Osbaldistone, not to make the attempt if the privateer were found to be anchored close to the town. The men were all mustered on the quarter-deck, to ascertain if they had the distinguishing mark on their jackets, that is, square patches of canvas sewed on the left arm, so that we might recognise friend from foe—a very necessary precaution in a night expedition; and then they were manned, and ordered to shove off. The oars were dropped in the water, throwing out a phosphorescent light, so common in that climate, and away we went. After an hour’s pulling, Osbaldistone lay on his oars in the launch, and we closed with him.“We are now at the mouth of the harbour,” said he, “and the most perfect silence must be observed.”“At the mouth of the harbour, sir!” said Swinburne; “I reckon we are more than half-way in; we passed the point at least ten minutes ago, and this is the second battery we are now abreast of.”To this Osbaldistone did not agree, nor indeed did I think that Swinburne was right; but he persisted in it, and pointed out to us the lights in the town, which were now all open to us, and which would not be the case if we were only at the mouth of the harbour. Still we were of a different opinion, and Swinburne, out of respect to his officers, said no more.We resumed our oars, pulling with the greatest caution; the night was intensely dark, and we could distinguish nothing. After pulling ten minutes more, we appeared to be close to the lights in the town; still we could see no privateer or any other vessel. Again we lay upon our oars, and held a consultation. Swinburne declared that if the privateer lay where we supposed, we had passed her long ago; but while we were debating, O’Farrel cried out, “I see her;” and he was right—she was not more than a cable’s length from us. Without waiting for orders, O’Farrel desired his men to give way, and dashed alongside of the privateer. Before he was half-way on board of her, lights flew about in every direction, and a dozen muskets were discharged. We had nothing to do but to follow him, and in a few seconds we were all alongside of her; but she was well prepared and on the alert. Boarding nettings were triced up all round, every gun had been depressed as much as possible, and she appeared to be full of men. A scene of confusion and slaughter now occurred, which I trust never again to witness. All our attempts to get on board were unavailing; if we tried at a port, a dozen pikes thrust us back; if we attempted the boarding nettings, we were thrown down, killed or wounded, into the boats. From every port, and from the decks of the privateer, the discharge of musketry was incessant. Pistols were protruded and fired in our faces, while occasionally her carronades went off, stunning us with their deafening noise, and rocking the boats in the disturbed water, if they had no other effect.For ten minutes our exertions never ceased; at last, with half our numbers lying killed and wounded in the bottom of the boats, the men, worn out and dispirited at their unavailing attempts, sat down most of them on the boats’ thwarts, loading their muskets, and discharging them into the ports. Osbaldistone was among the wounded; and perceiving that he was not in the launch, of whose crew not six remained, I called to Swinburne, who was alongside of me, and desired him to tell the other boats to make the best of their way out of the harbour. This was soon communicated to the survivors, who would have continued the unequal contest to the last man, if I had not given the order. The launch and second cutter shoved off—O’Farrel also having fallen; and, as soon as they were clear of the privateer, and had got their oars to pass, I proceeded to do the same, amidst the shots and yells of the Frenchmen, who now jumped on their gunwale and pelted us with their musketry, cheering and mocking us.“Stop, sir,” cried Swinburne, “we’ll have a bit of revenge;” so saying, he hauled-to the launch, and wending her bow to the privateer, directed her carronade—which they had no idea that we had on board, as we had not fired it—to where the Frenchmen were crowded the thickest.“Stop one moment, Swinburne; put another dose of cannister in.” We did so, and then discharged the gun, which had the most murderous effect, bringing the major part of them down upon the deck. I feel convinced, from the cries and groans which followed, that if we had had a few more men, we might have returned and captured the privateer; but it was too late. The batteries were all lighted up, and although they could not see the boats, fired in the direction where they supposed us to be; for they were aware, from the shouting on board the vessel, that we had been beaten off. The launch had but six hands capable of taking an oar; the first cutter had but four. In my own boat I had five. Swinburne had two besides himself in the jolly-boat.“This is a sorry business, sir,” said Swinburne; “now what’s best to he done? My idea is, that we had better put all the wounded men into the launch, man the two cutters and jolly-boat, and tow her off. And, Mr Simple, instead of keeping on this side, as they will expect in the batteries, let us keep close inshore, upon the near side, and their shot will pass over us.”This advice was too good not to be followed. It was now two o’clock, and we had a long pull before us, and no time to lose. We lifted the dead bodies and the wounded men out of the two cutters and jolly-boat into the launch. I had no time for examination, but I perceived that O’Farrel was quite dead, and also a youngster of the name of Pepper, who must have smuggled himself into the boats. I did, however, look for Osbaldistone, and found him in the stern sheets of the launch. He had received a deep wound in the breast, apparently with a pike. He was sensible, and asked me for a little water, which I procured from the breaker, which was in the launch, and gave it to him. At the word water, and hearing it poured out from the breaker, many of the wounded men faintly called out for some. Having no time to spare, I left two men in the launch, one to steer, and the other to give them water, and then taking her in tow, pulled directly in for the batteries, as advised by Swinburne, who now sat alongside of me.As soon as we were well in-shore, I pulled out of the harbour, with feelings not by any means enviable. Swinburne said to me in a low voice, “This will be a hard blow for the captain, Mr Simple. I’ve always been told, that a young captain losing his men without bringing any dollars to his admiral, is not very well received.”“I am more sorry for him than I can well express, Swinburne,” replied I; “but—what is that a-head—a vessel under weigh?”Swinburne stood up in the stern of the cutter, and looked for a few seconds. “Yes, a large ship standing in under royals—she must be a Frenchman. Now’s our time, sir; so long as we don’t go out empty-handed, all will be well. Oars all of you. Shall we cast off the launch, sir?”“Yes,” replied I, “and now, my lads, let us only have that vessel, and we shall do. She is a merchantman, that’s clear (not that I was sure of it), Swinburne, I think it will be better to let her pass us in-shore; they will all be looking out of the other side, for they must have seen the firing.”“Well thought of, sir,” replied Swinburne.We lay on our oars, and let her pass us, which she did, creeping in at the rate of two miles an hour. We then pulled for her quarter in the three boats, leaving the launch behind us, and boarded. As we premised, the crew were on deck, and all on the other side of the vessel, so anxiously looking at the batteries, which were still firing occasional random shot, that they did not perceive us until we were close to them, and then they had no time to seize their arms. There were several ladies on board: some of the people protected them, others ran below. In two minutes we had possession of her, and had put her head the other way. To our surprise we found that she mounted fourteen guns. One hatch we left open for the ladies, some of whom had fainted, to be taken down below; the others were fastened down by Swinburne. As soon as we had the deck to ourselves, we manned one of the cutters, and sent it for the launch; and as soon as she was made fast alongside, we had time to look about us. The breeze freshened, and, in half-an-hour we were out of gun-shot of all the batteries. I then had the wounded men taken out of the launch, and Swinburne and the other men bound up their wounds, and made them as comfortable as they could.

The next morning we weighed anchor, and returned to our station off Martinique. We had run within three miles of St. Pierre’s, when we discovered a vessel coming out under jury-masts. She steered directly for us, and we made her out to be the American brigantine which we had boarded some time before. O’Brien sent a boat to bring the master of her on board.

“Well, captain,” said he, “so you met with a squall?”

“I calculate not,” replied he.

“Why, then, what the devil have you been about?”

“Why, I guess I sold all my cargo, and, what’s more, I’ve sold my masts.”

“Sold your masts! whom did you sell them to?”

“To an almighty pretty French privateer lying in St. Pierre’s, which had lost her spars when she was chased by one of your brass-bottomed sarpents; and I’ve a notion they paid pretty handsomely too.”

“But how do you mean to get home again?”

“I calculate to get into thestream, and then I’ll do very well. If I meet a nor-wester, why then I’ll make a signal of distress, and some one will tow me in, I guess.”

“Well,” replied O’Brien, “but step down into the cabin, and take something, captain.”

“With particular pleasure,” replied this strange mortal; and down they went.

In about half-an-hour, they returned on deck, and the boat took the American on board. Soon afterwards, O’Brien desired Osbaldistone and myself to step down into the cabin. The chart of the harbour of St. Pierre’s lay on the table, and O’Brien said, “I have had a long conversation with the American, and he states that the privateer is at anchor in this spot” (pointing to a pencil-mark on the chart). “If so, she is well out; and I see no difficulty in capturing her. You see that she lies in four fathoms water, and so close under the outer battery, that the guns could not be pointed down upon the boats. I have also inquired if they keep a good look-out, and the American says that they feel so secure, that they keep no look-out at all; that the captain and officers belonging to her are on shore all night, drinking, smoking, and boasting of what they will do. Now the question is, whether this report be correct. The American has been well-treated by us, and I see no reason to doubt him; indeed he gave the information voluntarily, as if he wished to serve us.”

I allowed Osbaldistone to speak first; he coincided with O’Brien, I did not: the very circumstance of her requiring new masts made me doubt the truth of his assertion, as to where she lay; and if one part of his story were false, why not the whole? O’Brien appeared struck with my argument, and it was agreed that if the boats did go away, it should be for a reconnaissance, and that the attempt should only be made, provided it was found that the privateer lay in the same spot pointed out by the American master. It was, however, decided that the reconnaissance should take place that very night, as allowing the privateer to be anchored on the spot supposed, there was every probability that she would not remain there, but haul further in, to take in her new masts. The news that an expedition was at hand was soon circulated through the ship, and all the men had taken their cutlasses from the capstan to get them ready for action. The fighting boats’ crews, without orders, were busy with their boats, some cutting up old blankets to muffle the oars, others making new grummets. The ship’s company were as busy as bees, bustling and buzzing about the decks, and reminding you of the agitation which takes place in a hive previous to a swarm. At last Osbaldistone came on deck, and ordered the boats’ crews to be piped away, and prepare for service. I was to have the command of the expedition in the launch—I had charge of the first cutter—O’Farrel of the second, and Swinburne had the charge of the jolly-boat. At dusk, the head of the brig was again turned towards St. Pierre’s, and we ran slowly in. At ten we hove-to, and about eleven the boats were ordered to haul up, O’Brien repeating his orders to Mr Osbaldistone, not to make the attempt if the privateer were found to be anchored close to the town. The men were all mustered on the quarter-deck, to ascertain if they had the distinguishing mark on their jackets, that is, square patches of canvas sewed on the left arm, so that we might recognise friend from foe—a very necessary precaution in a night expedition; and then they were manned, and ordered to shove off. The oars were dropped in the water, throwing out a phosphorescent light, so common in that climate, and away we went. After an hour’s pulling, Osbaldistone lay on his oars in the launch, and we closed with him.

“We are now at the mouth of the harbour,” said he, “and the most perfect silence must be observed.”

“At the mouth of the harbour, sir!” said Swinburne; “I reckon we are more than half-way in; we passed the point at least ten minutes ago, and this is the second battery we are now abreast of.”

To this Osbaldistone did not agree, nor indeed did I think that Swinburne was right; but he persisted in it, and pointed out to us the lights in the town, which were now all open to us, and which would not be the case if we were only at the mouth of the harbour. Still we were of a different opinion, and Swinburne, out of respect to his officers, said no more.

We resumed our oars, pulling with the greatest caution; the night was intensely dark, and we could distinguish nothing. After pulling ten minutes more, we appeared to be close to the lights in the town; still we could see no privateer or any other vessel. Again we lay upon our oars, and held a consultation. Swinburne declared that if the privateer lay where we supposed, we had passed her long ago; but while we were debating, O’Farrel cried out, “I see her;” and he was right—she was not more than a cable’s length from us. Without waiting for orders, O’Farrel desired his men to give way, and dashed alongside of the privateer. Before he was half-way on board of her, lights flew about in every direction, and a dozen muskets were discharged. We had nothing to do but to follow him, and in a few seconds we were all alongside of her; but she was well prepared and on the alert. Boarding nettings were triced up all round, every gun had been depressed as much as possible, and she appeared to be full of men. A scene of confusion and slaughter now occurred, which I trust never again to witness. All our attempts to get on board were unavailing; if we tried at a port, a dozen pikes thrust us back; if we attempted the boarding nettings, we were thrown down, killed or wounded, into the boats. From every port, and from the decks of the privateer, the discharge of musketry was incessant. Pistols were protruded and fired in our faces, while occasionally her carronades went off, stunning us with their deafening noise, and rocking the boats in the disturbed water, if they had no other effect.

For ten minutes our exertions never ceased; at last, with half our numbers lying killed and wounded in the bottom of the boats, the men, worn out and dispirited at their unavailing attempts, sat down most of them on the boats’ thwarts, loading their muskets, and discharging them into the ports. Osbaldistone was among the wounded; and perceiving that he was not in the launch, of whose crew not six remained, I called to Swinburne, who was alongside of me, and desired him to tell the other boats to make the best of their way out of the harbour. This was soon communicated to the survivors, who would have continued the unequal contest to the last man, if I had not given the order. The launch and second cutter shoved off—O’Farrel also having fallen; and, as soon as they were clear of the privateer, and had got their oars to pass, I proceeded to do the same, amidst the shots and yells of the Frenchmen, who now jumped on their gunwale and pelted us with their musketry, cheering and mocking us.

“Stop, sir,” cried Swinburne, “we’ll have a bit of revenge;” so saying, he hauled-to the launch, and wending her bow to the privateer, directed her carronade—which they had no idea that we had on board, as we had not fired it—to where the Frenchmen were crowded the thickest.

“Stop one moment, Swinburne; put another dose of cannister in.” We did so, and then discharged the gun, which had the most murderous effect, bringing the major part of them down upon the deck. I feel convinced, from the cries and groans which followed, that if we had had a few more men, we might have returned and captured the privateer; but it was too late. The batteries were all lighted up, and although they could not see the boats, fired in the direction where they supposed us to be; for they were aware, from the shouting on board the vessel, that we had been beaten off. The launch had but six hands capable of taking an oar; the first cutter had but four. In my own boat I had five. Swinburne had two besides himself in the jolly-boat.

“This is a sorry business, sir,” said Swinburne; “now what’s best to he done? My idea is, that we had better put all the wounded men into the launch, man the two cutters and jolly-boat, and tow her off. And, Mr Simple, instead of keeping on this side, as they will expect in the batteries, let us keep close inshore, upon the near side, and their shot will pass over us.”

This advice was too good not to be followed. It was now two o’clock, and we had a long pull before us, and no time to lose. We lifted the dead bodies and the wounded men out of the two cutters and jolly-boat into the launch. I had no time for examination, but I perceived that O’Farrel was quite dead, and also a youngster of the name of Pepper, who must have smuggled himself into the boats. I did, however, look for Osbaldistone, and found him in the stern sheets of the launch. He had received a deep wound in the breast, apparently with a pike. He was sensible, and asked me for a little water, which I procured from the breaker, which was in the launch, and gave it to him. At the word water, and hearing it poured out from the breaker, many of the wounded men faintly called out for some. Having no time to spare, I left two men in the launch, one to steer, and the other to give them water, and then taking her in tow, pulled directly in for the batteries, as advised by Swinburne, who now sat alongside of me.

As soon as we were well in-shore, I pulled out of the harbour, with feelings not by any means enviable. Swinburne said to me in a low voice, “This will be a hard blow for the captain, Mr Simple. I’ve always been told, that a young captain losing his men without bringing any dollars to his admiral, is not very well received.”

“I am more sorry for him than I can well express, Swinburne,” replied I; “but—what is that a-head—a vessel under weigh?”

Swinburne stood up in the stern of the cutter, and looked for a few seconds. “Yes, a large ship standing in under royals—she must be a Frenchman. Now’s our time, sir; so long as we don’t go out empty-handed, all will be well. Oars all of you. Shall we cast off the launch, sir?”

“Yes,” replied I, “and now, my lads, let us only have that vessel, and we shall do. She is a merchantman, that’s clear (not that I was sure of it), Swinburne, I think it will be better to let her pass us in-shore; they will all be looking out of the other side, for they must have seen the firing.”

“Well thought of, sir,” replied Swinburne.

We lay on our oars, and let her pass us, which she did, creeping in at the rate of two miles an hour. We then pulled for her quarter in the three boats, leaving the launch behind us, and boarded. As we premised, the crew were on deck, and all on the other side of the vessel, so anxiously looking at the batteries, which were still firing occasional random shot, that they did not perceive us until we were close to them, and then they had no time to seize their arms. There were several ladies on board: some of the people protected them, others ran below. In two minutes we had possession of her, and had put her head the other way. To our surprise we found that she mounted fourteen guns. One hatch we left open for the ladies, some of whom had fainted, to be taken down below; the others were fastened down by Swinburne. As soon as we had the deck to ourselves, we manned one of the cutters, and sent it for the launch; and as soon as she was made fast alongside, we had time to look about us. The breeze freshened, and, in half-an-hour we were out of gun-shot of all the batteries. I then had the wounded men taken out of the launch, and Swinburne and the other men bound up their wounds, and made them as comfortable as they could.

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