 | CHAPTER XIV. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
Run a perpetual circle, ever turning;
And that same day, that highest glory brings,
Brings us to the point of back-returning.”
Daniel.
In scenes like that just related, it is not easy to collect
details. All that was ever known beyond the impetuous
manner of the assault, in which the ruins were carried, was
in the dire result. Half the French on the islet were weltering
in their blood, and the surface of the rocks was well
sprinkled with enemies who had not been more fortunate.
It had been a desperate onset, in which mortification increased
natural intrepidity, which had been nobly resisted,
but in which numbers had necessarily prevailed. Among
the English slain was Sir Frederick Dashwood himself; he
lay about a yard from his own gig, with a ball directly
through his head. Griffin was seriously hurt, but Clinch
was untouched, on the low rampart, waving an English Jack
—after having hauled down a similar emblem of the French.
His boat had first touched the rock, her crew had first reached
the ruin, and of all in her, he, himself, had taken the
lead. Desperately had he contended for Jane and a commission,
and, this time, Providence appeared to smile on his
efforts. As for Raoul, he lay in front of his own rampart,
having rushed forward to meet the party of Clinch, and had
actually crossed swords with his late prisoner, when a musket-ball,
fired by the hands of McBean, traversed his body.
“Courage, mes braves! en avant!” he was heard to
shout, as he leaped the low wall, to repel the invaders—and
enough to make itself heard, crying—“Lieutenant—nom de
Dieu—sauve mon Feu-Follet!”
It is probable that Pintard would not have stirred, even at
this order, had not the English ships been seen, at that instant,
coming round Campanella, with a leading westerly
wind. The flap of canvass was audible near by, too, and
turning, he saw the Michael falling off, under her foresail,
and already gathering steerage-way. Not a soul was visible
on her decks, Ithuel, who steered, lying so close, as to
be hid by her waist-cloths. The hawsers of the lugger were
cut, and le Feu-Follet started back like an affrighted steed.
It was only to let go the brails and her foresail fell. Light,
and feeling the breeze, which now came in strong puffs, she
shot out of the little bay and wore short round on her keel.
Two or three of the English boats attempted to follow, but
it was idle. Winchester, who now commanded, recalled
them, saying, that it remained for the ships to perform their
task. The day had been too bloody, indeed, to think of
more than securing the present success, and of attending to
the hurt.
Leaving the party on the islets for a moment, we will follow
the two vessels in their attempt to escape. Pintard and
his companions abandoned Raoul with heavy hearts, but
they plainly saw him prostrated on the rocks, and by the
hand placed on his side, understood the desperate nature of
his wound. Like him, they felt some such interest as one
entertains for a beloved mistress in the fate of the lugger,
and the words—“sauve mon Feu-Follet!” were ringing in
their ears.
As soon as the lugger got round, she set her after-sail, and
then she began to glide through the water, with the usual
knife-like parting of the element under her bows. The
course she steered led her directly out of the bay, seeming
to lead across the fore-foots of the English ships. Ithuel
did not imitate this manœuvre. He kept more away in the
line for Pæstum, rightly enough believing that in the greedy
desire to overtake the lugger, his own movement would pass
unheeded. The owner of this craft was still on board the
Terpsichore; but every remonstrance, and all the requests
he made, that his own vessel might be followed and captured,
To him, as to all others in authority, there seemed
to be but one thing desirable, and that was to secure the lugger.
Of course none yet knew of the fatal character of the
struggle on the rocks, or of the death of the English leader,
though the nature of the result was sufficiently understood
by seeing the English Jack flying among the ruins, and the
two vessels under way, endeavouring to escape.
The season was now so far advanced as to render the old
stability of the breezes a little uncertain. The zephyr had
come early, and it had come fresh; but there were symptoms
of a sirocco, about the barometer, and in the atmosphere.
This rendered all in the ships eager to secure their
prize before a shift of wind should come. Now that there
were three fast vessels in chase, none doubted of the final
result; and Cuffe paced the quarter-deck of the Proserpine,
rubbing his hands with delight, as he regarded all the propitious
signs of the times.
The Ringdove was ordered, by signal, to haul up south-south-west,
or close on a wind, with a view to make such an
offing as would prevent the possibility of the lugger's getting
outside of the ships, and gaining the wind of them; an
achievement Cuffe thought she might very well be enabled
to accomplish, could she once fairly come by the wind under
circumstances that would prevent any of his vessels from
bringing her under their guns. The Terpsichore was directed
to run well into the bay, to see that a similar artifice was
not practised in that direction; while the Proserpine shaped
her own course at the angle that would intercept the chase,
should the latter continue to stand on.
It was an easy thing for the French to set all their canvass,
the hamper of a lugger being so simple. This was soon
done; and Pintard watched the result, with intense interest,
well knowing that everything now depended on heels, and
ignorant what might be the effect of her present trim on the
sailing of his beautiful craft. Luckily, some attention had
been paid to her lines, in striking in the ballast again; and
it was soon found that the vessel was likely to behave well.
Pintard thought her so light as to be tender; but, not daring
to haul up high enough to prove her, in that way, it remained
a matter of opinion only. It was enough for him that she
point of Piane, and that she skimmed along the water at a
rate that bade fair to distance all three of her pursuers.
Anxious to get an offing, however, which would allow him
to alter his course at night in more directions than one, he
kept luffing, as the wind favoured, so as sensibly to edge off
the land.
As the two chases commenced their flight quite a mile to
the southward of the ships, having that much the start of
them on account of the position of the rocks, it rendered them
both tolerably free from all danger of shot, at the beginning
of the race. The course steered by Ithuel, soon placed him
beyond their reach, altogether; and Cuffe knew that little
would be gained, while much might be lost, in making any
attempt of this sort on the lugger. Consequently, not a gun
was fired; but the result was thrown fairly on the canvass,
and on the sailing of the respective vessels.
Such was the state of things at the beginning of this chase.
The wind freshened fast, and soon blew a strong breeze;
one that drove the ships ahead, under clouds of studding-sails
and stay-sails, the latter being much used at that period,
at the rate of quite ten knots the hour. But neither gained
on le Feu-Follet. The course was by no means favourable
to her, the wind being well on her quarter; still, she rather
gained, than was gained on. All four vessels went off
rapidly to the southward, as a matter of course; nor was it
long before they were to leeward of the felucca, which had
both shortened sail, and hauled up to the eastward, as soon
as Ithuel felt satisfied he was not to be followed. After a
sufficient time had elapsed, the Holy Michael tacked, and
came out of the bay, crossing the wake of the Terpsichore,
just beyond gun-shot. Of course, this manœuvre was seen
from the frigate; and the padrone of the felucca tore his
hair, threw himself on the quarter-deck, and played many
other desperate antics, in the indulgence of his despair, or to
excite sympathy: but all in vain; the lieutenant was obstinate;
refusing to alter tack or sheet to chase a miserable
felucca, with so glorious an object in full view before him, as
the celebrated lugger of Raoul Yvard. As a matter of course,
Ithuel passed out to sea unmolested; and, it may as well be
said here, that, in due time, he reached Marseilles in safety,
for a season. There will be occasion to speak of
him only once again, in this legend.
The trial of speed must soon have satisfied Pintard that
he had little to apprehend from his pursuers, even with the
breeze there was. But circumstances favoured the lugger.
The wind hauled materially to the northward, and before
the sun set, it enabled the French to run off wing-and-wing,
still edging from the land. It now began to blow so heavily,
as to compel the ships to reduce their light canvass. Some
time before the night set in, both frigates and the sloop were
under main-top-gallant-sails only, with top-mast and lower
studding-sails on each side. Le Feu-Follet made no change.
Her jigger had been taken in, as soon as she kept dead
away, and then she dashed ahead, under her two enormous
luggs, confident in their powers of endurance. The night
was not very dark; but it promised to carry her beyond the
vision of her pursuers, even before eight bells, did the present
difference in sailing continue.
A stern chase is proverbially a long chase. For one fast
vessel to outsail another a single mile in an hour, is a great
superiority; and even in such circumstances, many hours
must elapse ere one loses sight of the other, by day. The
three English ships held way together surprisingly, the Proserpine
leading a little; while le Feu-Follet might possibly
have found herself, at the end of a six hours' chase, some
four miles in advance of her, three of which she had gained
since keeping off, wing-and-wing. The lightness of the little
craft essentially aided her. The canvass had less weight to
drag after it; and Pintard observed that the hull seemed to
skim the waves, as soon as the sharp stem had divided them,
and the water took the bearings of the vessel. Hour after
hour did he sit on the bowsprit, watching her progress; a
crest of foam scarce appearing ahead, before it was glittering
under the lugger's bottom. Occasionally, a pursuing sea
cast the stern upward, as if about to throw it in advance of
the bows; but le Feu-Follet was too much accustomed to
this treatment to be disturbed, and she ever rose on the billow,
like a bubble, and then the glancing arrow scarce surpassed
the speed with which she hastened forward, as if to
recover lost time.
Cuffe did not quit the deck until the bell struck two, in
the middle watch. This made it one o'clock. Yelverton
and the master kept the watches between them, but the captain
was always near with his advice and orders.
“That craft seems faster when she gets her sails wing-and-wing
than she is even close-hauled, it seems to me,
Yelverton,” observed Cuffe, after taking a long look at the
chase with a night-glass; “I begin to be afraid we shall
lose her. Neither of the other ships does anything to help
us. Here we are all three, dead in her wake, following
each other like so many old maids going to church of a
Sunday morning.”
“It would have been better, Captain Cuffe, had the Ringdove
kept more to the westward, and the frigate further east.
Fast as the lugger is with her wings spread, she's faster with
them jammed up on a wind. I expect every moment to find
her sheering off to the westward, and gradually getting us in
her wake on a wind. I fear we should find that worse work
than even this, sir.”
“I would not lose her now, for a thousand pounds! I do
not see what the d—l Dashwood was about, that he did not
secure her, when he got possession of the rocks. I shall
rattle him down a little, as soon as we meet.”
Cuffe would have been shocked had he known that the
body of Sir Frederick Dashwood was, just at that moment,
going through the melancholy process of being carried on
board a two-decker, up at Naples, the captain of which was
his kinsman. But he did not know it, nor did he learn his
death, for more than a week; or after the body had been
interred.
“Take the glass, Yelverton, and look at her. To me she
grows very dim—she must be leaving us, fast. Be careful
to note if there are any signs of an intention to sheer to
the westward.”
“That can hardly be done without jibing her forward lugg
—hang me, Captain Cuffe, if I can see her at all. Ah!
here she is, dead ahead as before, but as dim as a ghost. I
can barely make out her canvass—she is still wing-and-wing,
d—n her, looking more like the spectre of a craft, than
a real thing. I lost her in that yaw, sir—I wish you would
try, Captain Cuffe—do my best, I cannot find her again.”
Cuffe did try, but without success. Once, indeed, he fancied
he saw her, but further examination satisfied him it was
a mistake. So long had he been gazing at the same object,
that it was easy for the illusion to pass before his mind's
eye, of imagining a dim outline of the little lugger flying
away, like the scud of the heavens, wing-and-wing, ever
seeming to elude his observation. That night he dreamed
of her, and there were haply five minutes, during which his
wandering thoughts actually pourtrayed the process of taking
possession, and of manning the prize.
Previously to this, however, signals were made to the
other ships, ordering them to alter their courses, with a view
to meet anticipated changes in that of le Feu-Follet. Lyon
was sent to the westward, the Terpsichore a little easterly,
while the Proserpine herself ventured so far as to steer south-west,
after two o'clock. But a sudden and violent shift of
wind came an hour before day. It was the expected—nay,
the announced sirocco, and it brought the lugger to windward
beyond all dispute. The south breeze came strong from
the first puff; and, while it did not amount to a gale until the
afternoon of the next day, it blew heavily, in squalls, after
the first hour.
When the day dawned, the three ships were out of sight
of each other. The Proserpine, which we shall accompany,
as our old acquaintance, and an actor in what is to succeed,
was under double-reefed topsails, with her head up as high as
west-south-west, labouring along through the troughs of the
seas left by the late Tramontana. The weather was thick,
rain and drizzle coming in the squalls, and there were
moments when the water could not be seen a cable's-length
from the ship; at no time was the usual horizon fairly visible.
In this manner the frigate struggled ahead, Cuffe
unwilling to abandon all hopes of success, and yet seeing
little prospect of its accomplishment. The look-outs were
aloft, as usual, but it was as much for form as for any great
use they were likely to be, since it was seldom a man
could see further from the cross-trees than he could from
the deck.
The officers, as well as the men, had breakfasted. A
species of sullen discontent pervaded the ship, and the recent
kind feelings towards Raoul Yvard had nearly vanished in
of the other ships falling in with the lugger, while others
swore “that it mattered not who saw her; catch her none
could, who had not an illicit understanding with the Father
of Lies. She was well named the Jack-o'-Lantern; for
Jack-o'-Lantern she was, and Jack-o'-Lantern would she
ever prove to be. As well might a false fire be followed in
a meadow, as such a craft at sea. They might think themselves
fortunate, if the officers and people sent against her
in the boats ever got back to their own wholesome ship
again.”
In the midst of such prognostics and complaints, the captain
of the fore-top shouted the words `sail ho!' The usual
inquiry and answer followed, and the officers got a glimpse
of the object. The stranger was distant half a league, and
he was seen very indistinctly on account of the haze; but
seen he was.
“'Tis a xebec,” growled the master, who was one of the
grumblers of the day—“a fellow with his hold crammed
with a wine that would cover the handsomest woman's face
in Lunnun with wrinkles.”
“By Jupiter Ammon!” Cuffe exclaimed, “'tis the le Feu-Folly,
or I do not know an old acquaintance. Quarter-master
hand me the glass—not that, the shorter glass is the
best.”
“Long or short, you'll never make that out,” muttered
the master. “The Folly has more folly about her than I
give her credit for, if we get another look at her this summer.”
“What do you make of him, Captain Cuffe?” Yelverton
eagerly demanded.
“Just what I told you, sir—'tis the lugger—and—I cannot
be mistaken.—Ay, by Jove, she is coming down before
it, wing-and-wing, again! That's her play, just now, it would
seem, and she does not appear to have got enough of it yet.”
An attentive look satisfied Yelverton that his commander
was right. Even the master had to confess his error, though
he did it ungraciously and with reluctance. It was the lugger,
of a certainty, though so dimly seen as to render it
difficult, at moments, to trace her outlines at all. She was
running in a line that would carry her astern of the frigate
to windward.
“She cannot see us,” said Cuffe, thoughtfully. “Beyond
a doubt she thinks us to windward, and is endeavouring to
get out of our neighbourhood. We must get round, gentlemen,
and now is a favourable moment. Tack ship, at once,
Mr. Yelverton—I think she 'll do it.”
The experiment was made, and it succeeded. The Proserpine
worked beautifully, and Yelverton knew how to
humour her to a nicety. In five minutes the ship was round,
with everything trimmed on the other tack;—close-reefed
mizen, and double-reefed fore and main-top-sails—a reefed
main-sail, with other sails to suit. As she was kept a rap
full, or a little off, indeed, to prevent the lugger from slipping
past, she might have gone from five to six knots.
The next five minutes were intensely interesting to the
people of the Proserpine. The weather became thicker, and
all traces of le Feu-Follet were lost. Still, when last
seen, she was wing-and-wing, flying rather than sailing,
down towards their own track. By Cuffe's calculation, the
two vessels would nearly meet in less than a quarter of an
hour, should neither alter her course. Several guns were
got ready, in preparation for such a rencontre.
“Let the weather hold thick a few minutes longer, and
we have her!” cried Cuffe. “Mr. Yelverton, you must go
down and see to those guns yourself. Plump it right into
her, if you 're ordered to fire. The fellow has no hamper,
and stripping him must be a matter of pure accident. Make
it too hot for him on deck, and he'll have to give up, Raoul
Yvard, or the d—l!”
“There she is, sir!” shouted a midshipman from a cat-head—for
everybody who dared had crowded forward to get
an early look at the chase.
There she was, sure enough, wing-and-wing, as before.
The dullness of the lugger's look-outs have never been explained,
as a matter of course; but it was supposed, when
all the circumstances came to be known, that most of her
people were asleep, to recover from the recent extraordinary
fatigue, and a night in which all hands had been kept on
deck, in readiness to make sail; the vessel having but some
thirty souls in her. At length the frigate was seen, the
two vessels, at that critical instant, were about half a mile
apart, le Feu-Follet bearing directly off the Proserpine's
weather-bow. In the twinkling of an eye, the former jibed;
then she was seen coming to the wind, losing sufficient
ground in doing so, to bring her just in a range with the
two weather chase-guns. Cuffe instantly gave the order to
open a fire.
“What the d—l has got into her?” exclaimed the
captain,—“she topples like a mock mandarin,—she used to
be as stiff as a church! What can it mean, sir?”
The master did not know, but we may say that the lugger
was too light for so much canvass in such heavy weather,
and there was not time to shorten sail. She lurched heavily
under the sea that was now getting up, and, a squall striking
her, her lee guns were completely buried. Just at this
moment the Proserpine belched forth her flame and smoke.
The shot could not be followed, and no one knew where
they struck. Four had been fired, when a squall succeeded
that shut in the chase, and, of course, the firing was suspended.
So severe was this momentary effort of the African
gales, hot, drowsy, and deadening as they are, that the Proserpine
started her mizzen-top-sail sheets, and clewed up her
main-course, to save the spar. But, the tack was instantly
boarded again, and the top-sail set. A gleam of sunshine
succeeded, but the lugger had disappeared!
The sun did not remain visible, and that faintly, but a
minute; still, the eye could range several miles, for thrice
that period. After this the horizon became more limited,
but no squall occurred for a quarter of an hour. When the
lugger was missed, the Proserpine was heading up within
half a point of the spot at which she was supposed to be. In
a short time she drove past this point, perhaps a hundred
fathoms to leeward of it. Here she tacked, and stretching
off a sufficient distance to the southward and westward, came
round again, and heading up east-south-east, was thought to
sweep along over the empty track. Not a sign of the missing
vessel was discovered. The sea had swallowed all,
lugger, people, and hamper. It was supposed that, owing
to the fact that so many light articles had been left on
the rocks, nothing remained to float. All had accompanied
these being at the islet of the ruins, and, if any seaman
swam off in the desperate attempt to save his life in the
midst of the cauldron of waters, he did not succeed, or was
overlooked by the English in their search. The latter, indeed,
may have miscalculated their distances, and not have
passed within a cable's-length of the place where the victims,
if any such there were, still struggled for existence.
Cuffe, and all around him, were forcibly struck with so
unlooked-for and so dire a calamity. The loss of a vessel,
under such circumstances, produces an effect like a sudden
death among companions. It is a fate all may meet
with, and it induces reflection and sadness. Still, the English
did not give up the hope of rescuing some unfortunate
wretch, clinging to a spar, or supporting himself by super-natural
efforts, for several hours. At noon, however, the
ship squared away, and ran for Naples, before the wind,
being drawn aside from her course by another chase, in
which she succeeded better, capturing a sloop-of-war, which
she carried in, several days later.
The first act of Cuffe, on anchoring in the fleet, was to go
on board the Foudroyant, and report himself and his proceedings
to the rear-admiral. Nelson had heard nothing
of the result, beyond what had occurred at the islets, and
the separation of the ships.
“Well, Cuffe,” he said, reaching out his remaining hand,
kindly, to his old Agammenon, as the other entered the
cabin—“the fellow has got off, after all! It has been a
bad business, altogether, but we must make the best of it.
Where do you fancy the lugger to be?”
Cuffe explained what had happened, and put into the
admiral's hand an official letter, explaining his recent success.
With the last, Nelson was pleased—at the first, surprised.
After a long, thoughtful pause, he went into the
after-cabin, and returned, throwing a small, jack-like, flag
on the floor.
“As Lyon was cruising about,” he said, “and his sloop
was pitching her cat-heads under, this thing was washed
upon a spare anchor, where it stuck. It's a queer flag.
Can it have had any connection with the lugger?”
Cuffe looked, and he immediately recognized the little
their many conversations. It was the only vestige that was
ever found of the Wing-and-Wing.
| CHAPTER XIV. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet | |