CHAPTER XII.
The main cabin of the Bon-Citoyen was, though not very large, extremely comfortable, and bore a very war-like aspect, the panels and sides all being covered with various small arms arranged in fanciful devices. Young as he was, and a midshipman, Thornton could not help reflecting on the uncertainty of life, when he recollected that a few hours back the cabin had been tenanted by Captain Victor Chabot, in full life and vigour, andnow, thought our hero, he lies at the bottom of that vast expanse of ocean that entombs so many thousands. Too young to be sad, or reflect long on serious things, the young commander, shaking off the feeling of depression that had for a moment come over him, returned upon deck. The fog was still thick, but the wind was rapidly increasing, and so was the sea. Before midnight they were under a double-reefed topsail, and double-reefed mainsail and fore-sail; the schooner was then put about, with her head to the nor’-nor’-east.
Our hero was too anxious to retire to rest; he felt too great a responsibility rested upon him, particularly in the then state of the weather, and the ticklish situation in which they were placed. He also felt uneasy at not being answered by the Babet when he had fired the gun at sunset; so that altogether he was extremely anxious for daylight. The fog, as the wind increased, was gradually dispersing, and towards morning the mist over the sea had totally disappeared. The gale and sea went on increasing, so that when the day made, all hands on board anxiously scanned the horizon around. As the light increased, land was at once seen on the starboard bow, and not more than two leagues distant; but a mist hung over the coast, rendering it obscure.
“I am certain the land we see ahead is the West Penmarks, Mr. Lochart,” said our hero to the first mate; “and it is very strange I cannot make out the Babet anywhere, or the lugger. I see a brig standing under close-reefed topsails to the sou’-west, and three or four other craft under easy canvas running in for the land.”
“There is certainly, sir, no Babet to be seen,” replied Mr. Lochart, “and it makes me uneasy; for if we had not tacked we should have been unable to weather the land under our starboard bow, and in this gale embayed, we might not have been able to carry sufficient canvas to work out.”
William Thornton, if the weather had permitted, would have felt inclined to stand back, and see what could have become of the corvette, it seemed so strange that they should thus have parted company; but his instructions were, under any circumstances, to make the best of his way to Plymouth, and so, though very unhappy, fearing some accident to the corvette and his little charge, Mabel, thus deserted by him, though far from his intention to do so, he carried on till he made the land out, when he found he was quite correct, as the ranges of rocks he first beheld were the West Penmarks.
Having weathered the land, he was able to ease off his tacks, and finally running before the gale, he ran into Plymouth Sound the evening of the second day from parting company with the Babet.
Leaving him in safety, we must return to discover what became of the corvette and our little heroine, Mabel Arden, who was greatly grieved when she understood that her young protector being made master of the schooner, the Bon-Citoyen, they would be separated; but Madame Volney consoled her by the assurance that the two vessels would be close alongside one another the rest of the voyage.
Although the Babet and her prize had lost sight of each other, owing to the dense fog, both vessels steering the same course, the crews did not expect to be very far asunder when the fog should clear off, and permit them seeing over the water.
Now it unfortunately happened, as the wind increased, that the men who went aloft to reef the Babet’s topsail found the fore topmast had been so very badly injured by a ball from the heavy pivot gun of the Bon-Citoyen, that it required fixing and securing before they could attempt to carry sail up it, and whilst this was doing the Babet was kept away a point or two. On a closer examination it was found necessary to shift the spar altogether, and the corvette was then brought on a wind under her fore course, double-reefed main-topsail, and driver; thus, as the schooner sailed two feet for her one, by sunset she was out of hearing of her gun. Captain O’Loughlin felt not at all uneasy, for, unfortunately, he did not consider himself so near the land as he was. Thus, they had scarcely shifted their fore-topmast and got up another, when the man forward called out, in a loud and alarmed voice—
“Land on the larboard bow.”
And the very next instant the Babet struck the ground with considerable force; but the next moment beat over the tail of a bank, and getting stern way on, her commander instantly ordered her anchor to be let go, and her sails to be furled. This was promptly and well executed, and the Babet at once rode to her anchor. They were then in five fathoms water. This untoward event occurred about an hour after midnight. So exceedingly thick was the weather, accompanied with a continuous drizzling rain, that even at the short distance they were from the land, it was invisible.
Several of the French prisoners were on deck, and they said without hesitation that the Babet had struck on one of the shelving banks on the north-east end of Belleisle; that they were quite aware the vessel would run ashore, but it was no business of theirs; they were only a few hours out from Belleisle themselves when they fell in with the Babet. This statement Captain O’Loughlin felt to be truth. After doing all he could to assuage the alarm of the females, and set a guard over his prisoners, who appeared inclined to be unruly, he ordered theboat to be lowered, and the second mate and a boat’s crew were sent to sound astern of them; but, to their surprise, they came almost immediately upon a rocky shoal, about twenty fathoms from where the ship lay; and, finally, they discovered she was surrounded with rocks, so much so, that it appeared incredible how she got where she was without striking some of them. Where the corvette lay the water was tolerably smooth, though the wind increased rapidly. There was nothing to be done, however, till daylight; for to attempt to extricate her from her extraordinary position at that time was out of the question. They had thirty-four able-bodied prisoners on board, including officers, and fourteen wounded; these Captain O’Loughlin at once determined to put ashore as soon as dawn broke, so that he might not be hampered in either saving the ship or defending himself from any enemy that might attack him. He had but thirty-five men able to work the Babet, including his officers and the surgeon.
As the daylight appeared the fog lifted, the gale increased, but shifted a point or two, so that where the vessel lay the wind blew partly off the shore. It was only an hour’s ebb when he anchored, so that at low water he touched the ground, but no more, and the swell was very trifling.
Before sun-rise the mist and fog had all disappeared, and anxiously every one gazed around them. To their surprise, the first thing that caught their sight was their late antagonist, the Vengeance lugger, lying at anchor, at the back of a low point, not four hundred yards from them. She was still without her main-mast; but the moment the look-out caught sight of the Babet, her cable was cut, and in an instant her fore and mizen lug were set, and she was under weigh. Dropping out from under the land, and getting to a distance, she was hove to, evidently watching the movements of the corvette.
The corvette was not five hundred yards from the shore, and about six miles from the strong town and citadel of Palais, which had some thirty odd years before stood a long siege, and was surrendered to the English on honourable terms, but was given up some few years afterwards.
The Babet’s situation was in truth critical. On every side were ranges of rocks, all visible at low water, with a narrow gut, through which the vessel, singularly enough, had run in. Now, to work out through that narrow passage was quite impossible. It was to be done with a leading wind, certainly; but the gale, though not direct in, would not permit a ship to lead out on one tack, and it blew much too strong to attempt to work through it. Already they could see numbers of persons assembled on the lofty rocks lining the shore. They were just within musket shot of the beach, and Captain O’Loughlin well knew that a partyof soldiers would soon arrive from the citadel of Palais, and open fire upon them from the rocks.
He was, however, determined to get rid of his prisoners, and accordingly landed them six at a time; they were very unruly, and swore vehemently that the Babet should never leave that spot in the possession of the English.
Being able now to use all his crew, Captain O’Loughlin resolved to attempt to warp at high water into a berth from whence he might make sail; but the fates appeared against the Babet, for just as her commander was preparing to make his hazardous attempt, the lofty spars of a large ship appeared round the north-east end of Belleisle, and in five minutes more a thirty-six gun frigate, with the tricolour flaunting in the gale, came rapidly into view, and seeing at once the situation of the corvette, taking her for a French ship, she lay to, and commenced hoisting out her boats. As she was doing so, the Vengeance ran up alongside of her, and then the corvette’s real character became known, and immediately one of the boats with a flag of truce pulled in for her.
Captain O’Loughlin was deeply chagrined; resistance was totally out of the question; and added to his great vexation was the thought that the ladies on board, as well as his friend Thornton’s little charge, would fall into the hands of the Revolutionary party. Madame Volney and her daughters were in terrible despair; they saw that Captain O’Loughlin suffered intensely, and being unable to express in French what he felt and wished to advise, rendered him even more miserable. But just as the boat had come within hail of the corvette, a gun from the French ship and a signal run up to the mast-head, caused them, to the extreme surprise of Captain O’Loughlin, to at once turn back, and lower the flag of truce.
“What’s in the wind now?” exclaimed Captain O’Loughlin. “Be the powers of war, Mr. Pearson,” addressing his first mate, “there goes the frigate and the lugger, the lugger bang in amongst the Cardinal Rocks, and the frigate standing right across us. Lie down, quick!” he shouted to the men, as he cast a glance round; “she is going to fire!”
As he spoke an iron shower passed partly over them, wounding two men, and cutting the Babet’s rigging in many places into shreds. The next instant she was plunging into the head sea without the island. This seeming mystery was soon explained, for the tall masts of another large ship were seen rounding the point, and soon the sails and hull of an English frigate came into view. A loud and triumphant cheer burst from the crew of the Babet, and in a moment the English ensign was waving from her mast-head. The English frigate was about half a mile from the shore; and as the wind then blew she could lie alongthe coast of Belleisle, and gain the open sea on rounding the eastern side. She was evidently following the French frigate, and both were seeking the open sea, probably to attack each other; for in the confined space between Belleisle, the Cardinal Rocks, and the banks and shoals lying off the mouth of the Loire, it would have been impossible, as the wind then blew, to manœuvre two frigates with any degree of safety.
As soon as the English ship beheld the Babet, a signal was run up at her mast-head, requiring to know her name. This was answered, and several other signals followed. Captain O’Loughlin thus learned that the British frigate was the Iris, thirty-two guns, the French ship the Citoyenne-Française; but in a quarter of an hour the former disappeared, standing out to sea on the same tack as the Frenchman.
“Now, my lads,” said Captain O’Loughlin, cheerfully, “we must get out of this place as fast as possible; the wind favours us a point or two since morning, so just be quick. Splice and knot the rigging, and we will attempt the passage before they can send any troops from Palais to pepper us.”
Madame Volney, her daughters, and Mabel became inspired with fresh hope, when almost on the brink of despair. Having repaired the rigging, a boat’s crew put an anchor in a position that would enable them to set sail, when warped up to it. With his glass, Captain O’Loughlin could discern a body of men coming along the heights: these he supposed to be soldiers from Palais; but the Babet was soon warped to her berth, and, aided by the shift of wind, she ran safely out under double-reefed topsails, and then tacking, stood out to sea on the same board as the Iris frigate;[4]and three days afterwards, to the intense joy of our hero, and also of all on board the Babet, she ran into Plymouth alongside the Bon-Citoyen schooner.