CHAPTER VIII.
“You are one of fortune’s favourites,” said Charles Pole to William Thornton, who was taking leave of his comrades on board the Victory, previous to his departure the following morning, for the Babet corvette was quite ready for sea. Madame Volney and daughters, and Mabel Arden, were on board, waiting the signal to weigh.
“I wish in my heart you were coming with us, Charles,” said our hero, warmly pressing his friend’s hand; “it is the only drawback to the pleasure I anticipate; but I shall, please the fates, soon rejoin you.”
“Ah,” said several of the mids, with lengthened faces “you will have such a jolly life of it, with O’Loughlin for a skipper—lots of good things, and no nip cheese to stint your allowance.”
“Never look down-hearted,” said our hero; “you will all have a turn of luck by-and-by.”
“To the devil with such luck!” said Howard Etherton, with a sneer. “I don’t see much to grieve after; a few weeks’ liberty is the most you can make of it, with a chance of being captured on the way. The inside of a French prison would be a nice variety;” and not wishing to exchange a good-bye with his fellow mid, Howard Etherton walked away.
“Well, here’s success to you, William, and a safe passage, lots of fun, and a quick return to us,” said William Thornton’s friends; and down went bumpers of purser’s champagne.
An hour afterwards William Thornton was put on board the Babet, where he found his friend Lieutenant O’Loughlin, the appointed commander of the corvette, walking the quarter deck, enjoying a glorious sunset and a pipe.
“Well, my lad, bade them all good bye? There’s Madame below, and her daughters, quite anxious that you should take your coffee with them; and your littleprotégéepopping up her head every now and then to see if you have arrived. Be the piper of Moll Kelly, you’re a broth of a boy with the fair sex; go on and prosper; faith, I think you might turn Turk with advantage.”
William Thornton laughed, saying:
“I never knew you to object to the company of a pretty face; but as you are my commander now, I must be careful what I say.”
“Oh, be gor, if you go to studying manners and touching hats to Patrick O’Loughlin, be the powers, I’ll shut you up from the women altogether. But tell me, William, how long will it take you to teach me a few French sentences, such as—hem—as, ‘I love you,’ and all that kind of thing; for, confound it, I don’t know a word of their parley-vous, and that’s a sweet creature below.”
“Oh,” said William Thornton, with a smile, “the admiral’s widow—ah, so she is; best tempered woman possible.”
“Devil take your impudence; you don’t want to make love to the whole three, do you; and leave me the mother, eh?”
“Make love,” said the hero, very demurely; “who ever heard of a midshipman making love? but I suppose it’s Mademoiselle Agatha’s eyes that have scorched yourtinderheart; faith, O’Loughlin, it has had so many sparks applied to it, that one would imagine it was past kindling again. I’ll tell you what I will do for you, I’ll set to work at once to teach Mademoiselle Agatha English; I will engage to make her decline the verb ‘I love’ before a week’s out.”
“Oh, by St. Peter! the devil doubt ye, my lad; but I’ll try that myself. Stick to the little thing, with her fine dark eyes like two diamonds. She’ll make a tidy craft by the time the cat’s done cleaning your chin, and I’ll lend you a razor then.”
William Thornton laughed, and dived down the companion, and soon found himself seated at table beside his serious-faced littleprotégée, and the two lively, pretty daughters of Madame Volney.
“So we sail to-morrow?” said Agatha Volney, fixing her laughing blue eyes on the midshipman; “you seem quite elated at quitting the Victory for this little ship.”
“You must remember,” said our hero, “that the Victory has not the attractions on board that the Babet has. This little voyage will be quite a charming episode in a poor midshipman’s career. One to be remembered with delight.”
Agatha’s pretty face coloured a little; she certainly looked pleased. She was the same age as young Thornton, and he, for his years, looked exceedingly manly.
Poor little Mabel was still pale and thoughtful; the image of her fond and beautiful mother was ever before her, and now on the point of leaving the land that contained her cherished parent pining in captivity; alas! perhaps dead, the poor child felt her situation keenly. To William Thornton she turned for consolation; and when near him, and listening to his kind and soothing words, she appeared to droop less.
“So we sail with a whole fleet of ships, Master Thornton,” said Madame Volney.
“Yes, madame,” said our hero; “most of the vessels taken in Toulon sail in company. We shall have that magnificent ship, the Commerce de Marseilles, hundred and twenty guns, and the Puissant, seventy-four; and the Perle and Arethusa frigates, and several smaller craft; there is not much danger of capture in such company.”
Lieutenant O’Loughlin, or rather Captain O’Loughlin, entered the cabin, making a low bow to the party, and stammering out a mixture of French and English, which he intended for “Pray do not disturb yourself;” but the two girls insisted upon the really handsome and dashing looking sailor sitting down and joining them.
This he did, desiring the midshipman to say, that he was proud of having such a freight on board the Babet, and that he hoped they would have a brush with a French corvette, or even a frigate, just to show them how devoted he was to the service of the young ladies.
“I must alter the last part of your speech, Captain,” said our hero, laughing; “you must include the mother.”
“Well,” said Madame Volney, with a smile, for she understood English tolerably, on William Thornton’s literally translating the Captain’s speech; “we feel highly the compliment; but for our own parts, we should prefer his devotion without the brush with the corvette.”
“Be St. Patrick! the eyes of those girls so bewilder me,” said O’Loughlin, “that I forgot what I came down here for. Here, look at this;” and he pulled a very soiled and sealed note from his waistcoat; “a fishing boat with two men in her pulled up alongside just after you went down, and saying something or other I did not understand, handed up this note. I called out to them to hold on till I sent for you to speak to them; but, confound their impudence, they did not seem to understand me. What’s that on the back? it’s not English.”
“No,” said William Thornton, looking at the writing, “by Jove, it is directed to me!”
“You,” said O’Loughlin; “that’s not your name at the back; I could make that out if it were.”
“No, it’s not my name; but you see it says, ‘To the young midshipman on board the Babet,’ and that’s me, unless you choose to change ranks with me.”
“Upon my conscience I’d have no objection, if I got the gift of the language by the change. But what the deuce is in it; are there any girls ashore looking after you?”
“No, I think not,” said our hero, laughing; and begging Madame’s and the young ladies’ pardon, he opened the note. But the name of Jean Plessis at the bottom made him say out loud, and in French:
“Mabel, this is from Jean Plessis!”
The child gave a cry of joy and clasped her hands, whilst the Misses Volney started up with joyful exclamations. Captain O’Loughlin rubbed his head, uttered an anathema against the French language, and looked at Agatha Volney’s handsome features, lighted up with the glow of expectation, as she said:
“Oh, dear! perhaps we shall hear something of this dear child’s mother. Do read it out, Mr. Thornton.”
This our hero did as follows:
“Monsieur,—“Torelieve the anxiety Mademoiselle Arden must feel concerning her mother, I contrive, though at great risk, to send this to you, having found out that she and you are on board the Babet.“The Duchess isquite safeand well, I dare not write more, and with the blessing of God we may be in England as soon as your ship. I cannot venture to put more on paper—tell Mademoiselle to keep up her spirits, and all will be well.“Jean Plessis.”
“Monsieur,—
“Torelieve the anxiety Mademoiselle Arden must feel concerning her mother, I contrive, though at great risk, to send this to you, having found out that she and you are on board the Babet.
“The Duchess isquite safeand well, I dare not write more, and with the blessing of God we may be in England as soon as your ship. I cannot venture to put more on paper—tell Mademoiselle to keep up her spirits, and all will be well.
“Jean Plessis.”
The overjoyed child threw her arms round Agatha Volney’s neck and burst into tears, exclaiming:
“Oh! dear, dear mamma is safe and well, and that deargood Jean Plessis, how I love him for his faith and devotion!”
Agatha kissed the little girl fondly, which proceeding seemed to affect the worthy Commander of the Babet, who would willingly have offered his service for a similar demonstration on the part of the fair French girl; but the loud report of a cannon roused him from his reverie, and caused him to rush upon deck. William Thornton followed. There had sprung up a fine breeze out of the gulf, and the gun was to call attention to the signals.
“Ah! I thought so,” said Captain O’Loughlin; “the signal to get under weigh. Here’s a glorious breeze. We shall now see what this craft can do, for I have a very good opinion of her; she has fine beam, carries square yards, and has a very clean entrance.”
In a few minutes the boatswain’s whistle called the crew into action; there were but forty-two men, officers included, on board. Although an eighteen-gun corvette, she had at this time only eight twelve-pounder carronades mounted; the rest of the guns were below; and as the Babet was very short handed, and required some considerable repair before fit for actual service in the British navy, Lieutenant O’Loughlin’s directions were to take her to Plymouth, and avoid any encounter with the enemy’s cruisers, if compatible with honour to do so.
It was a dark night when the various vessels sailing in company got under weigh. It was not intended or expected that they should keep together after sailing, the disparity of their size and equipment putting that out of the question. Their restrictive orders were to make the best of their way to an English port, excepting two or three, which were bound to Rochford, to land the Royalist fugitives from Toulon.
With the wind at north-west, the Babet, under topsails and top-gallant sails, went rapidly through the water. The log was tried towards morning; she was then going better than twelve knots, which Captain O’Loughlin thought very good work, considering the breeze and the sail set.
It was the latter end of December; it therefore did not surprise the Commander of the corvette, that as the sun rose on the following morning the gulf wind fell, and the appearance of the sky showed signs of heavy weather from the south-west. They had run during the night out of sight of land and from all the vessels, save the huge Commerce de Marseilles and the two frigates, which were in sight about three leagues ahead.
Before mid-day there was a short calm, with a long swell from the south and east.
Madame Volney and her daughters, and Mabel, came on deck, though it was extremely cold; but, like all young voyagerson the vasty deep, they paid their initiate to its power, by being sick all night, and anxious for fresh air.
“I am sorry,” said William Thornton, “to see that you and the young ladies have been suffering, Madame Volney.”
Poor Mabel looked even paler than usual.
“It is a suffering few escape,” said Madame Volney, “but I suppose it is what we must endure for a few days; indeed, very likely, if we have a good passage, we shall not have time to become good sailors.”
“I trust you will not suffer beyond to-day, or to-morrow at furthest,” said our hero.
“We must have sailed very fast in the night, Mr. Thornton; I see no land anywhere. What an immense ship that is away before us!” said Agatha Volney, trying to shake off the disagreeable sensation of giddiness she experienced.
“That is the Commerce de Marseilles, and most likely the Puissant and the Perle are with her.”
Madame Volney sighed, saying—
“The Puissant was the last ship my noble but unfortunate husband commanded; it is somewhat strange that we should be proceeding to England with her.”
Captain O’Loughlin joined the party, and made an attempt to express his sorrow at seeing them all looking so pale; but as the day wore on, and a light breeze sprung up from the south, they all began to get gradually much better.
Little Mabel seemed to regain some little portion of spirit; the news of her mother’s safety and the prospect of meeting her in England cheered her. And as the sickness wore off—for sometimes children suffer less than adults—she felt a desire to walk about the deck, William Thornton aiding and assisting her, and chatting to her of her future prospects, making the day pass pleasantly enough; the Babet working to windward under a light breeze, but with a very threatening sky, heavy masses of clouds rising rapidly in the south-east quarter.
After the ladies had retired, our hero and his Commander kept pacing the deck in conversation.
“What are you to do with your little charge,” demanded Captain O’Loughlin, “when we reach Plymouth? I had not time to ask you before sailing.”
“Why, you see,” returned the midshipman, “Lord Hood had a long conference with Howard Etherton, which satisfied his lordship that Howard’s father, Sir Godfrey Etherton, was little Mabel’s uncle. Though Howard did all he could to persuade the Admiral that Mr. Granby Arden was never married—but his lordship said he knew better—he did not pretend to say that he knew he left children, but he felt convinced that the contents of the casket given me by Mabel’s mother wouldsufficiently explain the matter. ‘You are very young, Master Thornton,’ said the Admiral to me afterwards, ‘to be concerned in an affair of this sort; but as it appears the wish of the Duchesse de Coulancourt that, young as you are, you should have the care of this child and this casket, I will not alter her desires. When you reach Plymouth or Portsmouth, proceed to London, take the casket, which is sealed, to Mr. Joseph Stanmore, my solicitor, and a most eminent man; give him also this letter,’ handing one to me, ‘and then be guided by him.’ Thus you see, O’Loughlin, my course is properly chalked out. Mr. Stanmore lives in Cavendish Square; so, leaving Mabel with Madame Volney, I shall go up to London as soon as we reach Plymouth.”
Captain O’Loughlin seemed buried in thought; at last he looked up, saying—
“You are in love with Agatha Volney!”
The midshipman burst into so loud and hearty a laugh, that it startled the man at the wheel:—
“Well, upon my honour, Captain O’Loughlin——”
“Oh, bother with your Captain! If you go on with any more of that nonsense, I must give you up. Call me Patrick or O’Loughlin, but to the deuce with my captainship! What did you laugh in that manner for? by Jove, you shook all the wind out of the royals!”
“The idea of a boy, scarcely seventeen, in love with a full-grown Demoiselle Française, of nineteen! You are dreaming, or, what’s deuced more likely, you are in love with her yourself.”
“Devil a doubt of it, my lad, I confess; but you look so sweet at one another. Isn’t there the other little girl? She will, in four or five years, be tolerably good looking; she has fine eyes, at all events. She will never forget you, and, by Jove, you may depend on it, she will have lots of cash!”
“By Jove, O’Loughlin, you are pitching into the future, like a jolly boat in a head sea—manufacturing a wife for me five or six years off. I don’t intend,” continued our hero, “to get married till I am a post captain—perhaps an admiral.”
“Tare and nouns! If you wait till you are an admiral, with perhaps a leg and an arm or an eye less than your complement, she must be a tidy craft that will take you in tow. Hollo! There’s a squall!”
As he spoke, the boatswain’s whistle was heard, the men hurrying up, whilst O’Loughlin gave rapid orders to take in the royals, and furl the top-gallant sails, for the ship heeled over to a very sudden and singular kind of squall, that struck the water within a few yards of them. In a few minutes the sea was feather white, squall after squall coming over its hithertotranquil surface. But the Babet was rapidly got under double-reefed topsails, and top-gallant masts housed, and was standing away to the westward, close hauled.
“By St. Patrick, how suddenly this gale has come on,” observed Captain O’Loughlin to the first mate, William Thornton having gone below to reassure their passengers, who were alarmed by the sudden, and, indeed, violent heeling over of the corvette.
“Yes, sir,” returned the mate, an old and experienced sailor; “but common enough in the Mediterranean. I should not be surprised if it increased to a very heavy gale; it’s looking exceedingly black to windward.”
“She’s a steady craft under canvas, Mr. Holder.”
“Yes, sir; but our rigging is all new, so we must be tender, or our masts may suffer.”
“It would be well to get up some preventive back stays, and take in the lee rigging, which I see is as slack as a purser’s liberality.”
As the night, which was intensely dark, advanced, the gale increased to a hurricane. Captain O’Loughlin, on consulting his charts, found they were heading towards the Spanish coast. So rapidly had the sea increased, that before morning they were preparing to heave the ship to, when the man forward sung out—
“Ship right ahead.”
The next moment, as Captain O’Loughlin and our hero were anxiously looking out, a huge ship was dimly seen, rising on the top of a monstrous billow. She was lying to.
“It is the French ship, the Commerce de Marseilles,” said William Thornton, as the man at the wheel was ordered to keep the Babet a point or two to the nor’-west; and then she was hove to, just as a gun was fired from the Commerce de Marseilles, and the night signal displayed.
This was promptly answered by the crew of the corvette, and her name given; and then all relapsed into silence, excepting the roar of the gale through the rigging, and the breaking surges as they dashed against the side of the ship. Still the gale increased; and when the grey light of morning broke over the storm-tossed deep, they could distinctly make out three ships, not half a mile from each other, all lying to.