CHAPTER XI.
Towards sunset the following day the Babet was within sight of Gibraltar, the wind having shifted, during the night, to the eastward. The ladies were all on deck, anxious for a view of the rock, the bold and noble front of which, approaching from the eastward, is particularly fine, and struck Madame Volney and her daughters with admiration, and Mabel with wonder. They were only three leagues distant; and as Captain O’Loughlin required some few things to complete his jury rig, he resolved to run into the bay for a day, and give his guests an opportunity of landing and seeing the place.
“I promised you yesterday, Mr. Thornton,” said Madame Volney, sitting down beside the anxious midshipman, “to give you some particulars concerning the young child saved in the long boat by the sailors of the Surveillante. I stated that the frigate—so my brother told me—went ashore on a reef off Isle Dieu; part of the crew became mutinous, and got at the spirits. However, as many remained true, the frigate was got off, and anchored, very little damaged; and the next day my brother, who was greatly interested about the child, inquired for him, and was grieved and vexed to hear that in the hurry and confusion of the preceding night, the English prisoners had got away with the jolly boat, and no doubt had taken the child with them. Now my brother was the first person that received the child when handed on board the Surveillante, and he carried him down in his arms, for he was nearly dead, to the cabin stove, and with the steward’s assistance applied restoratives. In stripping him of his wet garments to wrap him in hot blankets, he perceived a small morocco case fastened round the child’s neck, and on opening it beheld the small miniature of a very handsome man, in a British naval uniform, and on the back, in small gold letters, ‘Oscar de Bracy!’”
“My God, how extraordinary!” exclaimed the midshipman, greatly agitated; and the hand little Mabel was holding nervously pressed hers.
“You suspected this disclosure, Mr. Thornton, I see,” said Madame Volney.
“Yes, madame; I thought and hoped something might lead to this important announcement.”
He then briefly related Mr. O’Loughlin’s intercourse with Sir Oscar de Bracy, but carefully refrained from stating his friend’s early history, merely saying that Sir Oscar de Bracy was Captain O’Loughlin’s guardian, and that he had saved his boy’s life when a mere child of two years old.
“Providence, my dear Mr. Thornton,” observed Madame Volney, much interested, “brings about and reveals circumstances, apparently wrapped up in impenetrable mystery, in its own good time. I feel quite satisfied you are the child taken out of the long boat by the crew of the Surveillante, and I greatly regret not having that portrait, which I always carried with me, in my possession. My brother was exceedingly annoyed at the loss of the child, for he had intended questioning one of the English prisoners, who seemed greatly interested in the little boy; but he did not know what to do, for he was, from the death of the Captain of the Surveillante, the next in command, and her situation required her going into port. He therefore took her into Rochefort, and almost immediately after was ordered to Paris. I was there with my family. Alas! there were then symptoms of the terrible times coming. One evening he related to me all the circumstances concerning the child, and gave me the portrait to keep, putting down in a pocket-book everything connected with the event, the date, the day, and even hour. Immediately after this he was ordered on a secret expedition to the West Indies in command of a frigate, and there, alas, he died of the yellow fever. When forced to fly from Paris, I had to leave everything behind me in our mansion, and Heaven knows what became of all! I saved our jewels; and by the precaution of my deeply lamented husband, a large sum of money was secured for our support in a foreign land. We fled to Toulon, where my husband possessed a fine estate, thinking that the march of the Revolution might be checked by the determined loyalty of the Toulon inhabitants and the fleet; but you are aware how affairs turned out.”
William Thornton expressed himself very grateful to Madame for her narrative, and the interest she expressed, and that he must only rest contented with the state of things as they were, until he could communicate with Sir Oscar de Bracy, if he still lived.
Little Mabel, who had been listening with wrapt attention, and watching the changes in the expressive features of our hero, suddenly said—
“Mamma’s name was De Bracy; and if you, dear William, are a De Bracy, we must be relations; is it not so?”
“I trust it may prove so, Mabel; such a contingency would make me very happy indeed.”
Captain O’Loughlin joined them, with the two Miss Volneys, who had been walking the deck with him; for somehow the gallant Captain contrived—whether with his tongue or his eyes, we cannot say—to make himself wonderfully agreeable to both these young ladies, and, as he hoped, especially to Mademoiselle Agatha.
When the ladies retired to the cabin, the two friends continued to pace the deck; and William Thornton detailed the particulars of Madame Volney’s narrative, confirming their conjectures of the previous night.
“From my heart I warmly congratulate you,” cried the Irishman, pressing the midshipman’s hand. “Be my conscience! another thing gladdens my heart as much as any other part of the information you have received, and that is, that you’re a countryman of mine. And faith, let John Bull mimic us, and denounce us, in his arrogance, as a vulgar and ignorant set, without any pretensions to be gentlemen, and all rebels at heart; he is vastly mistaken. There are as loyal hearts in old Ireland, and as good blood too, as any in Britain; and though we may like a row and a drop of whisky now and then, we are always ready to stand up for the flag of old England whenever it needs our defence. Now I tell you what we must do: the moment we get to England we must inquire whether Sir Oscar de Bracy has returned to his native land; if not, he must be written to at once; and there is no question, in my opinion, when he hears all the particulars, but that he will with joy and delight own you as his son.”
Our hero was so full of conflicting thoughts arising from the recent unexpected revelations, so momentous to him, that he could scarcely reply to questions or attend to his friend’s conversation. This singular combination of events, produced by the very simple fact of his being permitted to accompany Lieutenant Cooke in the expedition to Toulon, had led to the whole; all those with whom he had thus become connected were linked in a chain of evidence.
“You seem in the clouds, William,” remarked O’Loughlin; “and, indeed, there is enough to bewilder a young head like yours; but there’s no use in bothering one’s brains till the time comes for action. See, we shall run into the bay in a very short time; and, since we are here, I think I will try andget up a better and taunter set of masts, if the Port-Admiral is willing. If we should chance to have a brush or a run with any of the enemy’s cruisers on our way home, we should be at a great disadvantage.”
An hour afterwards the Babet was at anchor. As nothing of any consequence occurred during the forty-eight hours they remained in Gibraltar, and as Mr. O’Loughlin was not allowed a refit, the Commander on the station thinking he was quite in a condition to make the voyage to England, he again got under weigh, having spent a few hours, however, in escorting his fair guests over the lions of the place.
Two days after leaving Gibraltar, the weather became very bad, so much so, that both the Captain and our hero doubted the power of the Babet, under her thin rig, to save herself from being blown ashore on the coast of Spain. However, with a slight change in the weather, they safely entered the Bay of Biscay, though, owing to the violence of alternate westerly and northerly gales, much too close in with the French coast for their liking. The weather had been so thick, squally, and bitterly cold up to this time, that the ladies were forced to keep below; and but once, indeed, from the period of leaving Gibraltar, were they able to walk the deck. It was the month of January, and they could expect nothing else. One night the wind fell, but a heavy sea and a thick fog still prevailed—thick as during the two previous days. Just at daybreak a very light breeze sprung up from the nor’-west, and, as the fog lifted a little, our hero, who was on the watch, thought he perceived, as he was looking out over the weather quarter, something dark, that loomed like the hull of a craft, amid the vapour. He called the attention of the quarter-master, who was standing near him, to the object, but the fog again grew dense, and obscured their view; but so satisfied was William that what he had seen was the hull of a vessel, that as they were on dangerous ground, he roused his Commander, who had lain down half-dressed. He jumped up in a moment, knowing how sharp and quick the young midshipman’s eyes were, and ascended upon deck. Five minutes afterwards the fog again lifted, and so suddenly, that the water was perfectly clear for five hundred yards all round. To the great surprise of all parties, those on board the corvette beheld, within three hundred yards of them, two vessels, whose calling there was no mistaking.
The nearest, our hero thought one of the handsomest vessels of her class he had ever seen. She was a long, low, beautifully-shaped craft, lugger rigged, but with the taunt masts raking like a slaver’s. She carried ten four-pounders and several brass swivels, and appeared to be full of men. The other was a schooner, a handsome vessel, and carrying eight guns, probably six-pounders.
Both crowded sail when they beheld the Babet; but, as the tricolour was flying at the corvette’s peak, and her French build deceived them, they tacked and stood towards them.
“Now, my lads,” said Captain O’Loughlin, “we must take those two fellows or sink them. That lugger, I know, can outsail us, therefore the first thing to do is to cripple him; so down with the tricolour, and give him a dose under the bunting—that always wins.”
Down went the revolutionary flag, and in its place arose old England’s ensign. This proceeding astounded the two strangers. The lugger was the well-known and notorious privateer, Vengeance, the fastest and most successful of its description, out of any French port—a perfect pest to commerce. This, of course, was not then known to those on board the Babet, neither could our hero imagine how much that said lugger would affect his after destiny.
The moment the lugger became aware of the dangerous enemy she was approaching, then she wore, firing her starboard guns at the same time.
But the Babet poured in a broadside from her heavy metal that seemed to do considerable mischief; in fact, wounding her main mast so severely that, had there been more wind, it would have gone overboard.
The schooner came boldly up, and, seeing how few men were on board the Babet, fired a broadside into the corvette, cutting her rigging up, and wounding two of her crew. She had also a heavy pivot-gun, which she was preparing to use, loaded with grape.
But, the wind freshening, the crew of the corvette, with a hearty cheer, returned the broadside, at only pistol-shot distance. This action evidently confounded the crew of the schooner, which at once bore up, whilst a discharge from the larboard side of the Babet knocked the main-mast of the lugger over the side.
Again did the crew of the corvette cheer, though, unfortunately, one man was killed, and four wounded, by the broadside. The schooner, however, having her braces and principal rigging shot away, missed stays, and the next minute the Babet luffing up, the schooner fell on board her, on her starboard quarter.
“Now then,” exclaimed young Thornton, to his favourite top-man, Bill Saunders, who had been purposely selected to accompany the corvette to England; “now then, let us at them with cutlass and pistol!” and, with a wild hurrah, he sprang into the shrouds of the schooner, and then, cutlass in hand, sprung upon her deck.
Saunders followed, with a daring set of boarders, and, swinging his cutlass round his head, dashed headlong after his favourite. There were nearly fifty men on deck, and theboarders of the corvette were met at first with desperate obstinacy. But the midshipman was a daring youth, of great activity and strength for his years; he burst through the enemy and reached the Captain, who was furiously urging on his men, swearing he would sink the schooner before he would strike his flag. Seeing young Thornton driving his men forward, he aimed his pistol at his head, but missed him; whilst our hero, drawing one from his belt, fired in return, and the Captain fell dead upon the deck. The mate, uttering a terrible oath, clutched his musket, and, with a blow behind, felled William Thornton beside the Captain; but Bill Saunders drove his cutlass through the mate, and had lifted the midshipman in his arms, just as Captain O’Loughlin, with a dozen men, threw himself on board.
Dispirited and disheartened by the fall of their Captain, and seeing their mate desperately wounded, the crew of the schooner threw down their arms and surrendered.
During this contest on board the schooner, the Vengeance, in her crippled state, had kept up a constant fire upon the Babet, but a dense fog again setting in, accompanied by drizzling ruin, shut out all objects around.
“Are you much hurt, William?” demanded O’Loughlin, anxiously, of the midshipman, as he sat on the cabin hatch, letting Bill Saunders bind up his wound on the head with a handkerchief.
“No, nothing of any consequence,” replied our hero, rising up, and looking around; “but where is the lugger?”
“To the deuce with the lugger!” cried Captain O’Loughlin; “jump on board and pacify the women; they are frightened out of their wits, and have got it into their heads you are killed.”
The young man jumped on to the deck of the Babet, and in another minute was in the cabin. Mabel gave a cry of joy, and the girls, shaking him by the hand, expressed their joy at his safety—hoping that Captain O’Loughlin was unhurt, and, indeed, anxious for the safety of all on board.
“Our gallant Captain is quite safe,” replied our hero, petting his little favourite, who clung to him with sweet affection.
“You have had a terrible fight, Master Thornton,” observed Madame Volney; “and you are hurt.”
“We certainly had a sharp brush whilst it lasted,” said our hero; “but, as to my hurt, it is nothing. O’Loughlin has persuaded me that I am an Irishman, and, consequently, my head is composed of harder material than heads are usually. Now, having proved I am alive, I must leave you, and help my Commander to clear the vessels,” and, kissing Mabel, he hurried up on deck.
The schooner was named the Bon-Citoyen, and had beencommanded by the late Victor Chabot, whose brother-in-law was Captain of the Vengeance. It was a valuable prize; having a large sum of money on board, besides some valuable cargo, previously taken from English ships.
It was finally settled between Captain O’Loughlin and our hero that the latter should run the schooner, with ten men, to Plymouth, keeping company with the Babet as long as circumstances or weather would permit. Accordingly, after the prisoners had been disposed of, and the dead committed to the deep, Thornton proceeded to bid the females farewell for a time.
This separation annoyed them all. Mabel was in tears, and almost felt inclined to ask to go in the schooner with her friend.
“We shall be alongside all the time, Mabel,” observed her young protector, “so keep up your spirits. We shall meet again in England in a couple of days.”
The midshipman proceeded on board the prize, taking with him, as his mate, Bill Saunders. There were four killed on board the schooner besides the Captain, and nine wounded, including the mate, a man apparently of a brutal and fierce disposition; for though carefully attended and taken to the Babet—he could walk notwithstanding his wound—he cursed and vowed vengeance the whole time. The vessel was very little damaged in her spars or sails, her rigging had principally suffered; but a few hours would set all that to rights. Captain O’Loughlin, as the weather was thick, arranged a mode of signals should the fog continue, and he also agreed to fire a gun if he tacked. So, shaking hands, the friends parted, and in a few minutes, so dense was the fog, they lost sight of each other.
Young Thornton naturally felt very proud of his command; and though he limped a little from the thrust of a boarding-pike in the leg, and smarting at times from the blow on the head, he walked the deck of the prize with amazing satisfaction, wishing for Charles Pole as a companion, now that he had lost the kind-hearted, cheerful O’Loughlin.
The schooner, after parting from the Babet, kept close hauled, sailing about six knots; the water was tolerably smooth, but the rain fell in thick drizzling showers. Bill Saunders was taking a turn at the helm, when our hero paused in his walk beside him.
“I wish it would clear, Bill,” he observed, in a thoughtful tone; “for though I am steering the course agreed upon, I am not at all satisfied that we shall clear the French coast on this tack. Can you lie no higher?”
“No, sir; her topsail shivers now. It is very thick, and for nearly four days we have not had a glimpse of the land. Where do you say we are, sir?”
“Captain O’Loughlin thought we were somewhere off IsleDieu, about two or three leagues distant, but I fear we are much nearer. Now if that is the case, and the wind stands as it is, we shall never be able to weather the West Penmarks.”
“Suppose as how, sir,” said Bill, “if the weather keeps thick like this—and it is thick enough for soup—suppose as how, sir, we makes a long leg seaward.”
“I shall certainly do so, Bill, if it keeps on this way. The swell is also very rapidly increasing from the nor’-west, an ugly customer where we are, to say nothing of the chances of meeting privateers and cruisers from Brest. I wonder where that lugger is now? not far off, I dare say. She is a very beautiful craft, certainly the handsomest lugger rigged vessel I ever saw.”
“We should have had her also, sir, only for this here fog—darn it.”
Towards sunset, instead of looking up, the schooner fell off, the wind heading them, and freshening considerably. On sounding several times, our hero found he had forty or fifty fathoms; this he knew to be about the soundings close in with Belleisle, a couple of leagues off. He ought to have about sixty.
Calling the gunner, he desired him to fire a gun, as agreed upon when either vessel should tack. This was done, and all listened, thinking it would be returned, but, finding no response, he ordered the schooner about.
“I do not think the Babet has outsailed us in this light wind,” observed our hero to an old and experienced man-of-war’s man, who acted as his first mate.
“No, sir; under-rigged as the corvette is, I should say this craft would outsail her, and beat her on a wind. Perhaps the Captain tacked and forgot to fire the gun.”
“I do not think that,” returned our hero. “However, we will let her stand on this board;” and, having set the watch, and taking all necessary precautions, he retired to eat his dinner and have a look at what the cabin contained.