CHAPTER X.
The springing up of a breeze, and in an adverse direction, with a promise of blowing fresh, disappointed all on board; for they fully expected that with the land wind, usually blowing during the night, the vessel would make good way towards Gibraltar.
However, there was no fear of meeting any of the enemy’s cruisers so near that stronghold of Great Britain; but, not being able to make out the two ships of war in the offing, the Babet tacked in shore, with the intention of working along the coast.
“How very singular,” observed Captain O’Loughlin, to our hero, as they walked the deck together, “that Madame Volney’s brother should happen to command the Surveillante at the time they picked you up. I should not be at all surprised that you may hear something very important concerning yourself—perhaps even the name of your parents.”
“I am greatly excited by the same idea,” said the midshipman; “for, though I do not often talk about the circumstance of my birth, yet, in secret, it haunts my mind.”
“Faith, William,” said the Commander of the Babet, “I never bestowed a thought upon the respected authors of my being until now,” and the Captain tried to sigh and look sentimental.
“And why now, old friend?”
“Don’t you think me, William, a complete madman to be after letting myself fall ever head and ears in love with a French Admiral’s daughter?—and I a poor devil of a Lieutenant, worse off than yourself; for, by the powers of war! your father and mother may turn out, as in fairy tales, prince and princess; whereas mine, if I had any, were honest—by the bye, that’s doubtful!—pains-taking shoemakers.”
“Why, what on earth puts that into your head, O’Loughlin?”
“Stop till I light my pipe, and I’ll tell you all about it; I enjoy a pipe when I’m spinning a yarn.”
“You may,” returned our hero, laughing; “but it sadly interrupts the unity of a story.”
“Oh, by St. Patrick! never mind the unity; you will make it out, famously; you will have fire and smoke alternately. My first recollection,” began the Captain, “is of a Foundling Hospital in the beautiful city of Cork. How old I might be at the time my recollection begins, I can’t say—perhaps five or six.
“There were a round dozen of us, some younger and some older, but none beyond ten, for at ten years of age they were put out as apprentices. As I told you before, my lad, I never heard who my parents were, and, be my conscience! I don’t think any one of my comrades were a bit wiser. The treatment we got was none of the best, nor the food neither. When about nine years old, I was told I was to be bound in another year to a shoemaker, as it was very likely my father before me had been one. Why the devil they should think that puzzled me then, uncommonly; for, at that time, I had scarcely worn a shoe to my foot; but I knew I was firmly resolved never to be a shoemaker, or even a cobbler, who is a shade higher in rank in my opinion, as they are, like the king, exempt from taxation. I was a stout, active boy, and could write and read well, and was fond of getting hold of a book of any kind. I made up my mind to relieve the establishment of my presence, and one fine evening, just as it grew dark, I managed to hide myself, got out unobserved, and took to my heels, with a remarkably ragged coat, light airy trousers, seeing that they were full of holes, and as poor a pair of shoes to my feet as ever the son of a shoemaker possessed—and they do say they generally have the worst of those articles of any children.
“You may say with truth that I began the world very humbly, and with remarkably small amount of capital—having just one halfpenny, and that a bad one, in my pocket; but ‘a light heart and a thin pair of inexpressibles’—and mine were thin, God knows—is an old saying; so away I went, light every way, for I had had no supper.
“I got out of the town somehow, for I had never been out of it before, greatly tempted to stop and look at the fine shops, all lighting up so gaily, but I was resolved to get into the country. I knew nothing of the locality, had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do; the only thing that occupied my mind was, that a shoemaker I would not be. My first night was passed under a hedge; luckily it was in the summer months—August, I think—so I was not much worse lodged than usual.
“As soon as I awoke I made a start of it, walked a mile or two along the bye-paths, till I came to a small cabin—a labourer’s cabin. The father, mother, and seven children were eating their breakfast—that is, the table was covered with alot of smoking hot potatoes, and a pile of salt in the middle. The sight made me hungry, so I asked them to let me join them, as I had had neither supper nor breakfast.
“‘Bedad, help yourself and welcome,’ said the man, and I did.
“In this manner, sleeping under hedges and haystacks, and eating potatoes, whenever I could get them, I travelled for five days, till I was beginning to get foot-sore, when I suddenly beheld the sea from the top of a hill, with a large town at the foot, and a number of vessels lying alongside of a quay. To my boyish eyes, the sea was a glorious object, and I said to myself, ‘I will be a sailor.’ I knew what a ship was, and what a sailor was, for I remember reading a penny ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ and being in raptures with it, and vowing at the time I would be a sailor. I met a man driving a flock of sheep, and I asked him the name of the town.
“‘Bantry,’ says he, and I walked on. I thought the sight I viewed from that hill one of the finest I ever saw, and faith I think so still; as I did when years afterwards I stood upon the same spot, having ascended the hill for the very purpose of bringing my boyish recollection more vivid to my mind. I was descending the hill, a good carriage road winding down it, when I heard a post-chaise coming rapidly after me. I turned and soon perceived that an accident had happened. The pole chain had snapped, and the carriage, which was a gentleman’s, laden with a good deal of luggage, was pressing on the back of one horse and knocking him down, whilst the other was kicking and plunging; and a lady with her head out of the window calling out to the postillion to stop: but you might as well have tried to stop a nor’-wester with a lady’s parasol. Just as they reached me, the horse, whose pole chain was broken, fell, the carriage gave a lurch, and over it went on the side next the precipice; the door was burst open, and out rolled a little boy scarcely two years old, and with him a curious woolly dog, a poodle; I did not know its name then. Though stupefied and terrified when I saw the child tumble out, the lady’s shriek roused me. I rushed over the side, caught the child’s garments in one hand, and we rolled down the precipice together some twenty or thirty yards. I luckily grasped a branch of furze just as we were going to topple over the edge of a cliff, full fifty or sixty feet perpendicular, and held on like grim death, still keeping a fast hold of the little boy, the confounded dog sticking to me like a leech, as if it was I that was rolling over the precipice, not his young master, for my special amusement. He bit me two or three times, for I could not help myself; if I let go the child he would tumble over the edge, and if I let go the furze we were sure both to go. I looked up and beheld thelady and another female above, screaming and clapping their hands, and a gentleman cautiously groping his way down to where we were.
“‘Hold on, my brave boy!’ shouted the gentleman, in intense anxiety, ‘and I’ll provide for you for life.’ On he came cautiously. I could not stir, for the weight of the child, half hanging over the cliff on my one hand, was quite as much as I could bear. At length the gentleman reached us, and, holding on by a stout branch of a furze with one hand, he dragged me and my burden up out of danger, and clasping the frightened and crying child in his arms, he said, ‘God be praised! but for this brave boy I should have lost you, my beloved child,’ and he repeatedly kissed the boy till he ceased crying; the lady and her attendant from above anxiously and wildly gazing down on us. The gentleman was in a naval uniform—of course, I did not know it was one then—but his gold epaulette on his shoulders and gold lace attracted my gaze.
“‘Now, my fine little fellow, let us get back to the road; luckily we have all escaped, and the postillion is gone into Bantry for help and a post-chaise.’ Well, we soon got up, and then the child was embraced and kissed and made much of by the mother, who was very handsome and young. The chaise or carriage lay on its beam end, that is, it had overturned on its front; so the child was leaning on the door when the accident happened, and its swinging open threw him out.
“‘And now, my fine little fellow,’ said the gentleman, sitting down on one of his own trunks thrown out on the road, ‘who are you, and where do you live, for I owe you my child’s life?’
“‘I lives nowhere, sir,’ I replied; and, determined to tell the truth, I said I was a foundling, and had run away because they wanted to make a shoemaker of me, and that I would rather go to sea.
“‘Go to sea!’ said the gentleman, his handsome wife standing near us, with her pretty child clasped in her arms; ‘by Jove, that’s just where I am going, and you shall go with me, if you like, and I will take care of you, for it appears by your own account that no one has any claim to you.’
“I kissed the gentleman’s hand, my heart beating with joy.
“‘Poor little fellow!’ observed the lady; ‘tell me your name?’
“‘Patrick O’Loughlin,’ I replied.
“They both smiled, saying, ‘A very fine name, indeed; very likely his father’s,’ said the gentleman. ‘Don’t think I ever had a father, sir,’ I replied, very quietly.
“‘Oh, yes,’ said the gentleman, laughing; ‘you may be quite satisfied you had both father and mother, though they leftyou to the care of others. But never mind, my little fellow, I will make a man of you.’ Just then we saw the postillion coming up the road, and a post-chaise following, and one or two helpers, and some of the country people attracted by the account of the accident.
“The pole only of the gentleman’s carriage was broken, but he and the lady and servant got up into the chaise. I was told to place myself beside the driver, while the postillion remained behind to set up the broken pole and bring the carriage into Bantry.
“On reaching the inn, there appeared a great commotion in receiving my protector, as all the inmates of the hotel turned out, and there was no end of donning of hats, and bows and curtseys.
“‘Here, my good dame,’ called out the gentleman to the landlady, ‘take care of this young boy. Let him have anything he wishes for, and send for a tailor and let him make him a couple of suits of clothes, fit for a lad going to sea. I am going on to Glengariff to-morrow, but shall be back in a couple of days, so let the clothes be ready by that time,’ and, patting me on the head, and telling me to go with the landlady, he proceeded up stairs with his wife and child.
“‘Bless me!’ cried the landlady, looking at me—I was not very aristocratically clothed certainly, and had lost my cap into the bargain. ‘Where did you come from, little boy, I never saw you before? You do not belong to this place, do you?’
“‘No ma’am,’ I replied, ‘I come from a long way.’
“‘There, Peggy,’ said the host, ‘don’t be after bothering the child. What’s it to us where the dickens he comes from. Sure his honour the Captain told you to give him plenty to eat and drink, and get a tailor to make a suit of clothes for him. The great thing in this world is to obey orders, that is, when you are put to no expense, and that you are sure to be paid for executing them. That’s the point; and faix, Captain Sir Oscar de Bracy pays like a prince.’”
Our hero started when he heard the name of De Bracy, but remained silent.
“‘Well, many’s the order you gives,avick,’ said the landlady, ‘that’s never paid for. But, come along; what’s your name, child?’
“‘Patrick, ma’am.’
“Well, I’m spinning a fine yarn, William,” continued Captain O’Loughlin, knocking his ashes out of his pipe; “but you see, I wanted to show you how small a thing alters one’s destiny in this world. If I had not read ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ I very likely should have been a shoemaker, and if the pole-chain of Sir Oscar de Bracy’s carriage had not broken, I shouldnever have obtained the rank of a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal navy. I’m not going to weary you with any more of my story, but sum up, as the lawyers say. Captain Sir Oscar de Bracy’s ship, the Redoubtable, sixty-four guns, and three frigates, were at anchor in Bantry Bay. When he returned, after leaving his lady at an estate of his near Glengariff, he took me on board with him, and we sailed for Portsmouth, where he put me to a public school, and there I had to fight my way, and found out that my big fist was both father and mother to me, for I pummelled every young urchin’s head that cast a slur upon my country, or my orphan state. When fourteen I was appointed a midshipman on board the Concord frigate, through the interest of Sir Oscar de Bracy, and then, after passing my examination—I may say withéclat—I was appointed acting-lieutenant of the same ship, and finally third-lieutenant of the Victory. My kind patron is, however, and has been for years, governor of ——, in the East Indies, and I heard that he lost his wife and little boy in a most melancholy manner. From the period of my being put to school in Portsmouth, I have never seen him. He took a most affectionate leave of me, told me his lawyer had instructions to provide me with everything, and ample pocket-money; and finally, when I passed my examination, Mr. Bodletop, the lawyer, handed me £500, which he said Sir Oscar de Bracy had left directions for him to do, and trusted that I would be an honour to my country and my noble profession. My heart is full of deep and lasting gratitude to that generous-hearted man, and most acutely I feel his deplorable loss of wife and child so shortly after, as it appears, my saving the child’s life.”
There was a long pause, broken by the Commander saying, as he turned and looked with surprise upon his young comrade, “Why, what the deuce are you thinking of, William; you look taken aback?”
“I did not interrupt you, Patrick,” replied our hero, thoughtfully, “because your brief history has surprised me, and filled my mind with vague ideas and thoughts, a gleam of hope, and a confusion of surmises that bewilder me.”
“The deuce it does,” returned the Commander; “what have I said to bewilder you? Are you in love?”
“No,” said the young man, with a smile; “but one thing I will observe to you first. You said your protector was called Sir Oscar de Bracy.”
“So I say still, William. What then?”
“I will tell you. In the letter written by the Duchesse de Coulancourt, directed to the officer, Lieutenant Cooke, you remember, who was in command of the boat that penetrated into Toulon, with Lord Hood’s proposals to the Royalists, theDuchess signed herself—I remember it so well—de Coulancourt,néede Bracy; that is, her maiden name was de Bracy.”
“By the powers of war! that is singular and extraordinary,” said Patrick O’Loughlin; “are you sure of that?”
“Quite sure. Lieutenant Cooke read the letter to me, and I was particularly struck with the name at the time; therefore it is not at all improbable but that the Duchess of Coulancourt is perhaps a sister, or at least a relation, of Sir Oscar de Bracy, for that is far from a common name.”
“By Jove, it’s very likely,” said Captain O’Loughlin, with vivacity. “Then that dear little girl may be his niece. But that is not all that makes you so thoughtful and serious, William?”
“Well, not exactly. Now do not think me an enthusiast, but try and answer me a few questions. Can you remember the year in which you saved the life of Sir Oscar de Bracy’s child?”
“Can I remember it? faith, I can, my lad. I was then nine years old; I am now going on twenty-four: it was thus rather more than fourteen—perhaps fifteen—years ago. This is ’93; that will, as near as I can go to it, make the year of the accident 1778 or ’79.”
“In the year 1779,” said our hero, his cheek flushing as he spoke, “I was picked up, as I told you, at sea in a long boat. No doubt the Surveillante frigate ran over the vessel my parents, or those who had the care of me, were in, and thus in a strange way I was the only one saved. You will think me crazy, Patrick, but the coincidence is at least singular. You said Lady de Bracy and her child perished in a melancholy way about a year or so after you saved the child; do you know in what way?”
William Thornton felt his arm grasped by the warm-hearted O’Loughlin with a nervous hold.
“By Heavens, William!” he exclaimed, somewhat agitated, “you raise strange ideas in my own mind, which may account for the marvellous feeling of attachment I from the first felt for you. If your conjectures, for I understand what you mean, turn out correct—(and now I recollect, when I inquired of Mr. Bodletop, the lawyer, how Lady de Bracy lost her life, he said she was drowned, she, and her child, and every soul, in a heavy gale, on board the Spitfire gun brig, on her passage from Bear Haven to Southampton)—God bless me!” continued the Captain, “it’s quite possible that the Spitfire was run down by the Surveillante—the dates correspond—and that you, the boy I have so strangely loved with a brother’s affection, may be the child I saved years gone by.”
“It’s perhaps a wild thought of mine, O’Loughlin,” said our hero, pressing his friend’s hand; “but to-morrow we may hear something that may tend to elucidate the mystery from Madame Volney, whose brother was first lieutenant of theSurveillante at the time she ran down the ship that I was supposed to belong to; she said she had something of importance to communicate.”
“By St. Peter! if you turn out to be the son of my noble protector, to whom I owe everything—my position—all,” said Patrick O’Loughlin, warmly, “the great desire of my heart will be gratified, for I shall look upon myself as a father to you.”
“A young father, O’Loughlin, twenty-four years of age, scarcely seven years older than your son,” said our hero. “However, to-morrow much of this wild dream of mine will vanish or be substantiated.”