 | CHAPTER XI. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
An hour before her death;
And sight of home, with sighs disturb'd
The sleeper's long-drawn breath.”
Wilson.
Raoul soon decided on his course. While he was consoling
Clinch, orders had been sent to Pintard to look for
the other gig; but a few minutes' search, under the cliffs,
satisfied those on deck that she was not to be found; and the
fact was so reported below. Nor could all Ithuel's ingenuity
extract from the captured boat's crew, any available information
on the subject. There was an esprit de corps among
the Proserpines, as between their own ship and le Feu-Follet,
which would have withstood, on an occasion like this, both
threats and bribes; and he of the Granite state was compelled
to give the matter up as hopeless; though, in so doing, he
did not fail to ascribe the refusal to betray their shipmates,
on the part of these men, to English obstinacy, rather than
to any creditable feeling. The disposition to impute the
worst, to those he hated, however, was not peculiar to Ithuel
or his country; it being pretty certain he would have fared
no better on board the English frigate, under circumstances
at all analogous.
Satisfied, at length, that the other boat had escaped him,
and feeling the necessity of getting out of the Bay while it
was still dark, Raoul reluctantly gave the order to bear up,
and put the lugger dead before the wind, wing-and-wing.
By the time this was done, the light craft had turned so far
to windward, as to be under the noble rocks that separate the
piano of Sorrento from the shores of Vico; a bold promontory,
that buttresses the sea, with a wall of near or quite a
thousand feet in perpendicular height. Here she felt the
full force of the land-wind; and when her helm was put up,
and her sheets eased off, a bird turning on the wing would
not have come round more gracefully, and scarcely with
in order to avoid being becalmed within the indentations of
the coast. This carried the lugger athwart the cove of Sorrento,
rather than into it, and, of course, left Yelverton, who
had landed at the smaller marina, quite out of the line of her
course.
So swift was the progress of the little craft, that within
fifteen minutes after bearing up, Raoul and Ithuel, who again
occupied their stations on the forecastle, saw the head-land
where they had so lately been concealed, and ordered the
helm a-port, in order to sheer out and give it a berth. Then
rock was passed after rock, cove after cove, and village after
village, until the entrance between Capri and Campanella
was again reached. In sweeping down the shore, in this
manner, the intention was to pick up any boat that might happen
to be in the lugger's track; for, while Raoul was disposed
to let his prisoner go, he had a strong desire to seize any other
officers of the frigate that might fall in his way. The search
was ineffectual, however; and when the lugger came out
into the open sea, all expectation of further success, of this
nature, was reluctantly abandoned.
As le Feu-Follet was now in dangerous proximity to three
cruisers of the enemy, the moment was one that called for
decision. Fortunately, the positions of the English vessels
were known to Raoul, a circumstance that lessened the
danger, certainly; but it would not do to continue long
within a league of their anchorage, with the risk of the land
breezes failing. As yet the darkness, and the shadows of
the land, concealed the privateer, and her commander determined,
if not literally to make hay while the sun shone,
at least to profit by its absence. With this view, then, he
ordered the lugger hove-to, the boat of Clinch hauled to the
lee gangway, and the prisoners to be all brought on deck;
the common men, in the waist, and the master's-mate, aft.
“Here I must lose the pleasure of your company, Monsieur
Clinch,” said Raoul, with a courtesy that may almost
be termed national. “We are quite as near votre belle
Proserpine as is safe, and I long for notre belle France.
The wind is fair to take us off the coast, and two hours will
carry us out of sight, even were it noon-day. You will have
the complaisance to make my duty to Monsieur Cuffe—oui
amis of Sir Smees! Touchez-la.”
Raoul laughed, for his heart was light, and sundry droll
conceits danced through his brain. As for Clinch, the whole
was Greek to him, with the exception that he understood it
was the intention of the French to take their vessel off the
coast, a circumstance that he was not sorry to learn, though
he would have given so much, a few hours earlier, to have
known where to find her. Raoul's generosity had worked
a revolution in his feelings, however, and nothing was farther
from his wishes, now, than to be employed against the
celebrated privateersman. Still, he had a duty to perform
to the service of which he was a member, another to Jane,
and a last to himself.
“Captain Yvard,” said the master's-mate, taking the
other's offered hand, “I shall never forget this kindness on
your part; it comes at a most fortunate moment for me.
My happiness in this world, and perhaps in the world to
come,”—an ejaculation of “bah!” involuntarily escaped the
listener—“depended on my being at liberty. I hold it to
be fair, however, to tell you the whole truth. I must do all
I can to capture or destroy this very lugger, as well as any
other of the king's enemies, as soon as I am my own master
again.”
“Bon!—I like your frankness, Monsieur Clinch, as
much as I like your humanity. I always look for a brave
enemy when un Anglais comes against me; if you are ever
in the number, I shall expect nothing worse.”
“It will be my duty, Captain Yvard, to report to Captain
Cuffe, where I found the Folly, where I left her, and where
I think she is steering! Even your armament, crew, and
all such little particulars, I shall be questioned on; I must
answer honestly.”
“Mon cher, you are `honest fellow,' as you Anglais say.
I wish it was noon-day, that you might better see our deck
—Le Feu-Follet is not ugly, that she should wish to wear a
veil. Tell everything, Clinch, mon brave; of Monsieur
Cuffe wish to send another party against our lugger, come
in the first boat en personne. We shall always be happy to
see Monsieur Clinch. As for where we steer, you see our
for a long chase. Adieu, mon ami—au revoir.”
Clinch now shook hands, heartily, with all the officers;
again expressed his sense of the liberality with which he
was treated, and this, too, with emotion; then he followed
his people into the boat, and pulled away from the lugger's
side, holding his course toward the light which was still
burning on board the Proserpine. At the same time le Feu-Follet
filled, and soon disappeared from his eyes, in the
darkness, running off, wing-and-wing, and steering west, as
if really making the best of her way towards the Straits of
Bonifacio, on her road to France.
But, in fact, Raoul had no such intention. His cruise
was not up, and his present position, surrounded as he was
with enemies, was full of attraction to one of his temperament.
Only the day before he appeared in the disguise of a lazzarone,
he had captured, manned, and sent to Marseilles a
valuable store-ship; and he knew that another was hourly
expected in the bay. This was an excuse to his people for
remaining where they were. But the excitement of constantly
running the gauntlet, the pleasure of demonstrating
the superior sailing of his lugger, the opportunities for distinction,
and every other professional motive, was trifling, as
compared with the tie which bound him to, the feeling that
unceasingly attracted him towards Ghita. With his love,
also, there began to mingle a sensation approaching to
despair. While Ghita was so gentle, and even tender, with
him, he had ever found her consistent, and singularly firm
in her principles. In their recent dialogues, some that we
have forborne to relate on account of their peculiar character,
Ghita had expressed her reluctance to trust her fate with
one whose God was not her God, with a distinctness and
force that left no doubt of the seriousness of her views, or
of her ability to sustain them in acts. What rendered her
resolution more impressive, was the ingenuous manner
with which she never hesitated to admit Raoul's power over
her affections, leaving no pretext for the common-place supposition
that the girl was acting. The conversation of that
night, weighed heavily on the heart of the lover, and he could
not summon sufficient resolution to part — perhaps for
months — with such an apparent breach between him and
his hopes.
As soon as it was known, therefore, that the lugger was
far enough at sea, to be out of sight from the boat of Clinch,
she came by the wind on the larboard tack, again, heading
up towards the celebrated ruins of Pæstum, on the eastern
shore of the Bay of Salerno. To one accustomed to the
sea, there would not have seemed sufficient wind to urge
even that light craft along, at the rate with which she glided
through the water. But the land breeze was charged with
the damps of midnight; the canvass was thickened from the
same cause; and the propelling power had nearly double its
apparent force. In an hour after hauling up, le Feu-Follet
tacked, quite eight miles distant from the spot where she
altered her direction, and far enough to windward to lay her
course in, directly for the cliffs beneath the village of St.
Agata; or the present residence of Ghita. In proceeding
thus, Raoul had a double intention before him. English
ships were constantly passing between Sicily, Malta, and
Naples; and, as those bound north would naturally draw in
with the land at this point, his position might enable him to
strike a sudden blow, with the return of day, should any
suitable vessel be in the offing next morning. Then he hoped
for a signal from Ghita, at least—and such things were very
dear to his heart; or, possibly, anxiety and affection might
bring her down to the water-side, when another interview
would be possible. This was the weakness of passion; and
Raoul submitted to its power, like feebler-minded and less
resolute men; the hero becoming little better than the vulgar
herd, under its influence.
The two or three last days and nights had been hours of
extreme anxiety and care to the officers and crew of the
lugger, as well as to their commander, and all on board
began to feel the necessity of sleep. As for Ithuel, he had
been in his hammock an hour; and Raoul now thought
seriously of following his example. Giving his instructions
to the young lieutenant who was in charge of the deck, our
hero went below, and, in a few minutes, he was also lost to
present hopes and fears.
Everything seemed propitious to the lugger, and the intentions
of her commander. The wind went down, gradually,
until there was little more than air enough to keep steerage-way
on the vessel, while the ripple on the water disappeared,
that always stirs the bosom of the ocean, like the heaving
respiration of some gigantic animal. The morning grew
darker, but the surface of the gulf was glassy and tranquil,
leaving no immediate motive for watchfulness, or care.
These are the lethargic moments of a seaman's life. Days
of toil bring nights of drowsiness; and the repose of nature
presents a constant temptation to imitate her example. The
reaction of excitement destroys the disposition to indulge in
the song, the jest, or the tale; and the mind, like the body,
is disposed to rest from its labours. Even the murmuring
wash of the water, as it rises and falls against the vessel's
sides, sounds like a lullaby, and sleep seems to be the one
great blessing of existence. Under such circumstances,
therefore, it is not surprising that the watch on the deck of
the lugger, indulged this necessary want. It is permitted to
the common men to doze at such moments, while a few are
on the alert; but, even duty, in the absence of necessity,
feels its task to be irksome, and difficult of performance.
Look-out after look-out lowered his head; the young man
who was seated on the arm-chest aft began to lose his consciousness
of present things, in dreamy recollections of Provence,
his home, and the girl of his youthful admiration.
The seâman at the helm alone kept his eyes open, and all
his faculties on the alert. This is a station in which vigilance
is ever required; and it sometimes happens, in vessels
where the rigid discipline of a regular service does not exist,
that others rely so much on the circumstance, that they forget
their own duties, in depending on the due discharge of
his, by the man at the wheel.
Such, to a certain degree, was now the fact on board le
Feu-Follet. One of the best seamen in the lugger was at
the helm, and each individual felt satisfied that no shift of
wind could occur, no change of sails become necessary, that
Antoine would not be there to admonish them of the circumstance.
One day was so much like another, too, in that
tranquil season of the year, and in that luxurious sea, that
all on board knew the regular mutations that the hours produced.
The southerly air in the morning; the zephyr in
the afternoon; and the land wind at night, were as much
matters of course, as the rising and setting of the sun. No
of a want of rest, and of the drowsiness of the climate.
Not so with Antoine. His hairs were grey. Sleep was
no longer so necessary to him. He had much pride of
calling, too; was long experienced, and possessed senses
sharpened and rendered critical by practice, and many dangers.
Time and again, did he turn his eyes towards Campanella,
to ascertain if any signs of the enemy were in sight;
the obscurity prevented anything from being visible, but the
dark outline of the high and rock-bound coast. Then he
glanced his eyes over the deck, and felt how completely
everything depended on his own vigilance and faithfulness.
The look at the sails and to windward brought no cause for
uneasiness, however, and presuming on his isolation, he
began to sing, in suppressed tones, an air of the Troubadours;
one that he had learned in childhood, in his native langue
du midi. Thus passed the minutes, until Antoine saw the
first glimmerings of morning, peeping out of the darkness,
that came above the mountain-tops, that lay in the vicinity
of Eboli. Antoine felt solitary; he was not sorry to greet
these symptoms of a return to the animation and communion
of a new day.
“Hist! mon lieutenant!” whispered the old mariner, unwilling
to expose the drowsiness of his young superior to the
gaze of the common men; “mon lieutenant—'tis I, Antoine.”
“Eh!—bah!—Oh, Antoine est-ce-que toi? Bon—what
would you have, mon ami.”
“I hear the surf, I think, mon lieutenant. Listen—is not
that the water striking on the rocks of the shore?”
“Jamais! You see the land is a mile from us; this coast
has no shoals. The captain told us to stand close in, before
we hove-to, or called him. Pardie!—Antoine, how the
little witch has travelled in my watch! Here we are, within
a musket's range from the heights, yet there has been no
wind.”
“Pardon, mon lieutenant—I do not like that sound of
the surf; it is too near for the shore. Will you have the
kindness to step on the forecastle and look ahead, monsieur?
the light is beginning to be of use.”
The young man yawned, stretched his arms, and walked
forward; the first to indulge himself, the first, also, to relieve
respected. Still his step was not as quick as common, and
it was near a minute ere he reached the bows, or before he
gained the knight-heads. But his form was no sooner visible
there, than he waved his arms frantically, and shouted in a
voice that reached the recesses of the vessel—
“Hard up — hard up with the helm, Antoine — ease off
the sheets, mes enfans!”
Le Feu-Follet rose on a heavy ground-swell, at that
moment; in the next she settled down with a shock resembling
that which we experience when we leap and alight
sooner than was expected; there she lay cradled in a bed of
rocks, as immoveable as one of the stones around her;—
stones that had mocked the billows of the Mediterranean,
within the known annals of man, more than three thousand
years. In a word, the lugger had struck on one of those
celebrated islets, under the heights of St. Agata, known as
the Islands of the Sirens, and which are believed to have
been commemorated by the oldest of all the living profane
writers, Homer himself. The blow was hardly given, before
Raoul appeared on deck. The vessel gave up all that had
life in her, and she was, at once, a scene of alarm, activity,
and exertion.
It is at such a moment as this, that the most useful qualities
of a naval captain render themselves apparent. Of all
around him, Raoul was the calmest, the most collected, and
the best qualified to issue the orders that had become necessary.
He made no exclamations — uttered not a word of
reproach — cast not even a glance of disapprobation on any
near him. The mischief was done; the one thing needful
was to repair it, if possible, leaving to the future the cares
of discipline and the distribution of rewards and punishments.
“She is as fast anchored as a cathedral, mon lieutenant,”
he quietly observed to the very officer through whose remissness
the accident had occurred; “I see no use in these sails.
Take them in, at once; they may set her further on the
rocks, should she happen to lift.”
The young man obeyed; every nerve in his body agitated
by the sense of delinquency. Then he walked aft, cast one
look around him at the desperate condition of the lugger,
and, with the impetuosity of character that belongs to his
re-appeared. The melancholy suicide was immediately reported
to Raoul.
“Bon”—was the answer. “Had he done it an hour earlier,
le Feu-Follet would not have been set up on these rocks,
like a vessel in a ship-yard—mais, mes enfans, courage!—
We'll yet see if our beautiful lugger cannot be saved.”
If there were stocism and bitterness in this answer, there
was not deliberate cruelty. Raoul loved his lugger, next to
Ghita, before all things on earth, and, in his eyes, the fault
of wrecking her in a calm, was to be classed among the
unpardonable sins. Still, it was by no means a rare occurrence.
Ships, like men, are often cast away by an excess
of confidence; and our own coast, one of the safest in the
known world for the prudent mariner to approach, on account
of the regularity of its soundings, has many a tale to
tell of disasters similar to this, which have occurred, simply
because no signs of danger were apparent. Our hero would
not have excused himself for such negligence, and that which
self-love will not induce us to pardon, will hardly be conceded
to philanthropy.
The pumps were sounded, and it was ascertained that the
lugger had come down so easily into her bed, and lay there
with so little straining of her seams, that she continued tight
as a bottle. This left all the hope which circumstances
would allow, of still saving the vessel. Raoul neglected no
useful precaution. By this time the light was strong enough
to enable him to see a felucca coming slowly down from
Salerno, before the wind, or all that was still left of the night
air, and he despatched Ithuel with an armed boat to seize
her, and bring her alongside of the rocks. He took this
course with the double purpose of using the prize, if practicable,
in getting his own vessel off, or, in the last resort,
of making his own escape, and that of his people, in her
to France. He did not condescend to explain his motives,
however; nor did any one presume to inquire into them.
Raoul was now strictly a commander, acting in a desperate
emergency. He even succeeded in suppressing the constitutional
volubility of his countrymen, and in substituting for
it the deep, attentive silence of thorough discipline; one of
the great causes of his own unusual success in maritime
may be ascribed so many of those naval disasters which
have undeniably befallen a people of singular enterprise and
courage. Those who wish them well, will be glad to learn
that the evil has been, in a great measure, repaired.
As soon as the boat was sent to seize the felucca, the
yawl was put into the water, and Raoul, himself, began to
sound around the lugger. The rocks of the Sirens, as the
islets are called to this day, are sufficiently elevated above
the surface of the sea to be visible at some distance; though,
lying in a line with the coast, it would not have been easy
for the look-outs of le Feu-Follet to discern them at the hour
when she struck, even had they been on the alert. The
increasing light, however, enabled the French fully to ascertain
their position, and to learn the extent of the evil.
The lugger had been lifted into a crevice between two of the
rocks, by a ground-swell heavier than common; and though
there was deep water all round her, it would be impossible
to get her afloat again without lightening. So long as the
wind did not blow, and the sea did not rise, she was safe
enough; but a swell that should force the hull to rise and
fall, would inevitably cause her to bilge. These facts were
learned in five minutes after the yawl was in the water, and
much did Raoul rejoice at having so promptly sent Ithuel in
quest of the felucca. The rocks were next reconnoitred, in
order to ascertain what facilities they offered to favour the
discharging of the vessel's stores. Some of them were high
enough to protect articles from the wash of the water, but it is
at all times difficult to lie alongside of rocks that are exposed
to the open sea; the heaving and setting of the element,
even in calms, causing the elevation of its surface so
much to vary. On the present occasion, however, the
French found less swell than common, and that it was possible
to get their stores ashore at two or three different
points.
Raoul now directed the work to commence in earnest.
The lugger carried four boats; viz—a launch, a cutter, the
yawl, and a jolly-boat. The second had been sent after the
felucca, with a strong crew in her; but the three others
were employed in discharging stores. Raoul perceived at
once that the moment was not one for half-way measures,
the vessel. This, and the safety of his crew, were the two
great objects he kept before him. All his measures were
directed to that end. The water was started, in the lugger's
hold, by staving the casks, and the pumps were set in
motion, as soon as possible. Provisions, of all sorts, were
cast into the sea, for le Feu-Follet had recently supplied
herself, from a prize, and was a little deeper than her best
trim allowed. In short, everything that could be spared, was
thrown overboard, barely a sufficiency of food and water
being retained, to last the people, until they could reach
Corcica; whither it was their captain's intention to proceed,
the moment he got his vessel afloat.
The Mediterranean has no regular tides, though the water
rises and falls materially, at irregular intervals; either the
effect of gales, or of the influence of the adjacent seas. This
circumstance prevented the calamity of having gone ashore,
at high water, while it also prevented the mariners from
profiting by any flood. It left them, as they had been placed
by the accident, itself, mainly dependent on their own exertions.
Under such circumstances, then, our hero set about the
discharge of his responsible duties. An hour of active toil,
well directed, and perseveringly continued, wrought a material
change. The vessel was small, while the number of hands
was relatively large. At the end of the time mentioned, the
officer charged with the duty, reported that the hull moved
under the power of the heaving sea, and that it might soon
be expected to strike, with a force to endanger its planks
and ribs. This was the sign to cease discharging, and to
complete the preparations that had been making, for heaving
the lugger off; it being unsafe to delay that process,
after the weight was sufficiently lessened, to allow it. The
launch had carried out an anchor, and was already returning
towards the rocks, paying out cable, as it came in.
But the depth of the water rendered this an anxious service,
since there was the danger of dragging the ground-tackle
home, as it is termed, on account of the angle at which it
lay.
At this moment, with the exception of the difficulty last
named, everything seemed propitious. The wind had gone
time, and no other succeeding it. The sea was, certainly,
not more disturbed than it had been all the morning, which
was at its minimum of motion, while the day promised to
be calm and clear. Nothing was in sight but the felucca,
and she was not only in Ithuel's possession, but she had
drawn within half-a-mile of the rocks, and was sweeping
still nearer at each instant. In ten minutes she must come
alongside. Raoul had ascertained that there was water
enough, where le Feu-Follet lay, to permit a vessel like his
prize, to touch her; and many things lay on deck, in readiness
to be transferred to this tender, previously to beginning
to heave. The rocks, too, were well garnished with casks.
cordage, shot, ballast, and such other articles as could be
come at—the armament and amunition excepted. These
last our hero always treated with religious care, for, in all
he did, there was a latent determination resolutely to defend
himself. But, there were no signs of any such necessity's
being likely to occur, and the officers began to flatter themselves,
with their ability to get their lugger afloat, and in
sailing trim, before the usual afternoon's breeze should set
in. In waiting, therefore, for the arrival of the felucca,
and, in order that the work might meet with no interruption,
when the men once began to heave, the people were
ordered to get their breakfasts.
This pause in the proceedings gave Raoul an opportunity
to look about him, and to reflect. Twenty times did he
turn his eyes, anxiously, towards the heights of St. Agata,
where there existed subjects equally of attraction and apprehension.
It is scarcely necessary to say that the first was
Ghita; while the last arose from the fear that some curious
eye might recognise the lugger, and report her condition to
the enemies known to be lying at Capri; only a league or
two on the other side of the hills. But all was seemingly
tranquil there, at that early hour; and the lugger making
very little show when her canvass was not spread, there was
reason to hope that the accident was as yet unseen. The
approach of the felucca would probably betray it; though
the precaution had been taken to order Ithuel to show no
signs of national character.
Raoul Yvard was a very different man, at this moment
of leisure and idleness, from what he had been a few hours
earlier. Then he trod the deck of his little cruiser with some
such feelings as the man who exults in his strength, and
rejoices in his youth. Now he felt as all are apt to feel
who are rebuked by misfortunes and disease. Nevertheless,
his character had lost none of its high chivalry; and even
there, as he sat on the taffrail of the stranded Feu-Follet, he
meditated carrying some stout Englishman by surprise and
boarding, in the event of his not succeeding in getting off
the lugger. The felucca would greatly aid such an enterprise;
and his crew was strong enough, as well as sufficiently
trained, to promise success.
On such an expedient, even, was he ruminating, as Ithuel,
in obedience to an order given through the trumpet, brought
his prize alongside, and secured her to the lugger. The men
who had accompanied the American were now dismissed to
their morning's meal, while Raoul invited their leader to
share his frugal repast, where he sat. As the two broke
their fasts, questions were put and answered, concerning what
had occurred, during the hour or two the parties had been
separated. Raoul's tale was soon told; but the other learned
with concern, that the crew of the felucca had taken to their
boat, and escaped to the landing of the Scaricatojo, on finding
that the capture of their vessel was inevitable. This
proved that the character of the wreck was known, and left
but little hope that their situation would not be reported to
the English, in the course of the morning.
| CHAPTER XI. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet | |