oars, and ordered the corporal to cast loose the rope which held
us to the bank. It was, however, so wet, and the knot had been
drawn so tight by the force of the stream, that it was impossible
to unfasten. We had to saw the rope, which took us some minutes.
Meanwhile, the rope, shaking with our efforts, imparted its movement
to the branches of the willow round which it was wrapped, and the
rustling became loud enough to attract the notice of the sentry. He
drew near, unable to see the boat, but perceiving that the agitation
of the branches increased, he called out, "Who goes there?" No
answer. Further challenge from the sentry. We held our tongues and
worked away. I was in deadly fear; after facing so many dangers,
it would have been too cruel if we were wrecked in sight of port.
At last the rope was cut, and the boat pushed off. But hardly was
it clear of the overhanging willows than the light of the bivouac
fires made it visible to the sentry, who, shouting "To arms!" fired
at us. No one was hit; but at the sound the whole camp was astir
in a moment, and the gunners, whose pieces were ready loaded and
trained on the river, honored my boat with some cannon-shots. At
the report my heart leaped for joy, for I knew that the emperor and
marshal would hear it. I turned my eyes toward the convent, with
its lighted windows, of which I had, in spite of the distance,
never lost sight. Probably all were open at this moment, but in
one only could I perceive any increase of brilliancy; it was the
great balcony window, which was as large as the doorway of a church,
and sent from afar a flood of light over the stream. Evidently, it
had just been opened at the thunder of the cannon, and I said to
myself, "The emperor and the marshals are doubtless on the balcony;
they know that I have reached the enemy's camp, and are making vows
for my safe return." This thought raised my courage, and I heeded
the cannon-balls not a bit. Indeed, they were not very dangerous,
for the stream swept us along at such a pace that the gunners could
not aim with any accuracy, and we must have been very unlucky to
get hit. One shot would have done for us, but all fell harmless into
the Danube. Soon I was out of range, and could reckon a successful
issue to my enterprise. Still, all danger was not yet at an end.
We had still to cross among the floating pine-stems, and more
than once we struck on submerged islands, and were delayed by the
branches of the poplars. At last we reached the right bank, more than
two leagues below Mölk, and a new terror assailed me. I could see
bivouac fires, and had no means of learning whether they belonged
to a French regiment. The enemy had troops on both banks, and I
knew that on the right bank Marshal Lannes's outposts were not far
from Mölk, facing an Austrian corps, posted at Saint-Pölten.
Our army would doubtless go forward at daybreak, but was it already
occupying this place? And were the fires that I saw those of friends
or enemies? I was afraid that the current had taken me too far
down, but the problem was solved by French cavalry trumpets sounding
the reveillé. Our uncertainty being at an end, we rowed with all
our strength to the shore, where in the dawning light we could
see a village. As we drew near, the report of a carbine was heard,
and a bullet whistled by our ears. It was evident that the French
sentries took us for a hostile crew. I had not foreseen this
possibility, and hardly knew how we were to succeed in getting
recognized, till the happy thought struck me of making my six
grenadiers shout "Vive l'Empereur Napoléon!" This was, of course,
no certain evidence that we were French, but it would attract the
attention of the officers, who would have no fear of our small
numbers, and would no doubt prevent the men from firing on us before
they knew whether we were French or Austrians. A few moments later
I came ashore, and I was received by Colonel Gautrin and the 9th
Hussars, forming part of Lannes's division. If we had landed half
a league lower down we should have tumbled into the enemy's pickets.
The colonel lent me a horse, and gave me several wagons, in which
I placed the grenadiers, the boatmen, and the prisoners, and the
little cavalcade went off toward Molk. As we went along, the corporal,
at my orders, questioned the three Austrians, and I learned with
satisfaction that the camp whence I had brought them away belonged
to the very division, General Hiller's, the position of which the
emperor was so anxious to learn. There was, therefore, no further
doubt that that general had joined the archduke on the other side
of the Danube. There was no longer any question of a battle on the
road which we held, and Napoleon, having only the enemy's cavalry
in front of him, could in perfect safety push his troops forward
toward Vienna, from which we were but three easy marches distant.
With this information I galloped, forward, in order to bring it to
the emperor with the least possible delay.
When I reached the gate of the monastery, it was broad day. I found
the approach blocked by the whole population of the little town of
Molk, and heard among the crowd the cries of the wives, children,
and friends of the sailors whom I had carried off. In a moment I was
surrounded by them, and was able to calm their anxiety by saying,
in very bad German, "Your friends are alive, and you will see
them in a few moments." A great cry of joy went up from the crowd,
bringing out the officer in command of the guard at the gate. On
seeing me he ran off in pursuance of orders to warn the aides-de-camp
to let the emperor know of my return. In an instant the whole palace
was up. The good Marshal Lannes came to me, embraced me cordially,
and carried me straight off to the emperor, crying out, "Here he
is, sir; I knew he would come back. He has brought three prisoners
from General Hiller's division." Napoleon received me warmly, and
though I was wet and muddy all over, he laid his hand on my shoulder,
and did not forget to give his greatest sign of satisfaction by
pinching my ear. I leave you to imagine how I was questioned! The
emperor wanted to know every incident of the adventure in detail,
and when I had finished my story said, "I am very well pleased with
you, 'Major' Marbot." These words were equivalent to a commission,
and my joy was full. At that moment, a chamberlain announced that
breakfast was served, and as I was calculating on having to wait
in the gallery until the emperor had finished, he pointed with his
finger toward the dining-room, and said, "You will breakfast with
me." As this honor had never been paid to any officer of my rank,
I was the more flattered. During breakfast I learned that the emperor
and the marshal had not been to bed all night, and that when they
heard the cannon on the opposite bank they had all rushed onto
the balcony. The emperor made me tell again the way in which I had
surprised the three prisoners, and laughed much at the fright and
surprise which they must have felt.
At last, the arrival of the wagons was announced, but they had much
difficulty in making their way through the crowd, so eager were the
people to see the boatmen. Napoleon, thinking this very natural,
gave orders to open the gates, and let everybody come into the
court. Soon after, the grenadiers, the boatmen, and the prisoners
were led into the gallery. The emperor, through his interpreter,
first questioned the three Austrian soldiers, and learning with
satisfaction that not only General Hiller's corps, but the whole
of the archduke's army, were on the other bank, he told Berthier
to give the order for the troops to march at once on Saint-Polten.
Then, calling up the corporal and the five soldiers, he fastened
the Cross on their breast, appointed them knights of the empire,
and gave them an annuity of 1,200 francs apiece. All the veterans
wept for joy. Next came the boatmen's turn. The emperor told them
that, as the danger they had run was a good deal more than he had
expected, it was only fair that he should increase their reward;
so instead of the 6,000 francs promised, 12,000 in gold were given
to them on the spot. Nothing could express their delight; they
kissed the hands of the emperor and all present, crying, "Now we
are rich!" Napoleon laughingly asked the leader if he would go the
same journey for the same price the next night. But the man answered
that, having escaped by miracle what seemed certain death, he would
not undertake such a journey again even if his lordship, the abbot
of Molk, would give him the monastery and all its possessions. The
boatmen withdrew, blessing the generosity of the French emperor,
and the grenadiers, eager to show off their decoration before their
comrades, were about to go off with their three prisoners, when
Napoleon perceived that the Austrian servant was weeping bitterly.
He reassured him as to his safety, but the poor lad replied, sobbing,
that he knew the French treated their prisoners well, but that, as
he had on him a belt containing nearly all his captain's money, he
was afraid that the officer would accuse him of deserting in order
to rob him, and he was heart-broken at the thought. Touched by the
worthy fellow's distress, the emperor told him that he was free,
and as soon as we were before Vienna he would be passed through
the outposts, and be able to return to his master. Then, taking a
rouleau of 1,000 francs, he put it in the man's hand, saying, "One
must honor goodness wherever it is shown." Lastly, the emperor
gave some pieces of gold to each of the other two prisoners, and
ordered that they too should be sent back to the Austrian outposts,
so that they might forget the fright which we had caused them.
A RESCUE FROM SHIPWRECK
By Arthur Quiller-Couch
On the 13th of October, 1811, we were cruising in the _Endymion_,
off the north of Ireland, in a fine clear day succeeding one in
which it had almost blown a hurricane. The master had just taken
his meridian observation, the officer of the watch had reported
the latitude, the captain had ordered it to be made twelve o'clock,
and the boatswain, catching a word from the lieutenant, was in the
full swing of his "Pipe to dinner!" when the captain called out--
"Stop! stop! I meant to go about first."
"Pipe belay! Mr. King," smartly ejaculated the officer of the watch,
addressing the boatswain; which words, being heard over the decks,
caused a sudden cessation of the sounds peculiar to that hungry
season. The cook stood with a huge six-pound piece of pork uplifted
on his tormentors, his mate ceased to bale out the pea-soup, and
the whole ship seemed paralysed. The boatswain, having checked
himself in the middle of his long-winded dinner-tune, drew a fresh
inspiration, and dashed off into the opposite sharp, abrupt, cutting
sound of the "Pipe belay!" the essence of which peculiar note is
that its sounds should be understood and acted on with the utmost
degree of promptitude.
There was now a dead pause of perfect silence all over the ship,
in expectation of what was to come next. All eyes were turned to
the chief.
"No; never mind; we'll wait," cried the good-natured captain,
unwilling to interfere with the comforts of the men; "let them go
to dinner; we shall tack at one o'clock, it will do just as well."
The boatswain, at a nod from the lieutenant of the watch, at once
recommenced his merry "Pipe to dinner" notes; upon which a loud,
joyous laugh rang from one end of the ship to the other. This
hearty burst was not in the slightest degree disrespectful; on
the contrary, it sounded like a grateful expression of glee at the
prospect of the approaching good things which, by this time, were
finding their speedy course down the hatchways.
Nothing was now heard but the cheerful chuckle of a well-fed company,
the clatter of plates and knives, and the chit-chat of light hearts
under the influence of temperate excitement.
When one o'clock came, the hands were called "About ship!" But as
the helm was in the very act of going down, the look-out-man at
the fore-topmast head called out--
"I see something a little on the lee-bow, sir!"
"Something! What do you mean by 'something'?" cried the first
lieutenant, making a motion to the quarter-master at the con to
right the helm again.
"I don't know what it is, sir," cried the man; "it is black,
however."
"Black! Is it like a whale?" asked the officer, playing a little
with his duty.
"Yes, sir," cried the look-out-man, unconscious that Shakespeare
had been before him, "very like a whale!"
The captain and the officer exchanged glances at the poor fellow
aloft having fallen into the trap laid for him, and the temptation
must have been great to have inquired whether it were not "like a
weasel"; but this might have been stretching the jest too far; so
the lieutenant merely called to the signal midshipman, and desired
him to skull up to the mast-head with his glass, to see what he
made of the look-out-man's whale.
"It looks like a small rock," cried young "Skylark" as soon as
he reached the top-gallant-yard and had taken the glass from his
shoulders, across which he had slung it with a three-yarn fox.
"Stuff and nonsense!" replied the officers, "there are no rocks
hereabouts; we can but just see the top of Muckish, behind Tory
Island. Take another spy at your object, youngster; the mast-head-man
and you will make it out to be something by-and-by, between you,
I dare say."
"It's a boat, sir!" roared out the boy. "It's a boat adrift, two
or three points on the lee-bow."
"Oh-ho!" said the officer, "that may be, sir," turning with
an interrogative air to the captain, who gave orders to keep the
frigate away a little that this strange-looking affair might be
investigated. Meanwhile, as the ship was not to be tacked, the watch
was called, and one half only of the people remained on deck. The
rest strolled, sleepy, below; or disposed themselves in the sun on
the lee gangway, mending their clothes, or telling long yarns.
A couple of fathoms of the fore and main sheets, and a slight touch
of the weather topsail and top-gallant braces, with a check on the
bow-lines, made the swift-footed _Endymion_ spring forward, like a
greyhound slipped from the leash. In a short time we made out that
the object we were in chase of was, in fact, a boat. On approaching
a little nearer, some heads of people became visible, and then several
figures stood up, waving their hats to us. We brought to, just to
windward of them, and sent a boat to see what was the matter.
It turned out as we supposed; they had belonged to a ship which
had foundered in the recent gale. Although their vessel had become
water-logged, they had contrived to hoist their long-boat out, and
to stow in her twenty-one persons, some of them seamen and some
passengers; of these, two were women, and three children. Their
vessel, it appeared, had sprung a leak in middle of the gale, and,
in spite of all their pumping, the water gained so fast upon them
that they took to baling as a more effectual method. After a time,
when this resource failed, the men, totally worn out and quite
dispirited, gave it up as a bad job, abandoned their pumps, and
actually lay down to sleep. In the morning the gale broke; but
the ship had filled in the meantime, and was falling fast over her
broadside. With some difficulty they disentangled the long-boat
from the wreck, and thought themselves fortunate in being able to
catch hold of a couple of small oars, with a studding-sail-boom
for a mast, on which they hoisted a fragment of their main-hatchway
tarpaulin for a sail. One ham and three gallons of water were all
the provisions they were able to secure; and in this fashion they
were set adrift on the wide sea. The master of the ship, with two
gentlemen who were passengers, preferred to stick by the vessel
while there was any part of her above water.
This, at least, was the story told us by the people we picked up.
The wind had been fair for the shore when the long-boat left the
wreck, and though their ragged sail scarcely drove them along,
their oars were only just sufficient to keep the boat's head the
right way. Of course they made but slow progress; so that when they
rose on the top of a swell, which was still very long and high in
consequence of the gale, they could only just discover the distant
land, Muckish, a remarkable flat-topped mountain on the northwest
coast of Ireland, not very far from the promontory called the Bloody
Foreland.
There appeared to have been little discipline among this forlorn
crew, even when the breeze was in their favour; but when the wind
chopped round, and blew off shore, they gave themselves up to
despair, laid in their oars, let the sail flap to pieces, gobbled
up all their provisions, and drank out their whole stock of water.
Meanwhile the boat, which had been partially stove, in the confusion
of clearing the ship, began to fill with water; and, as they all
admitted afterwards, if it had not been for the courage and patience
of the women under this sharp trial, they must have gone to the
bottom.
As it was both cold and rainy, the poor children, who were too young
to understand the nature of their situation, or the inutility of
complaining, incessantly cried out for water, and begged that more
clothes might be wrapped round them. Even after they came to us the
little things were still crying, "Oh! do give us some water"--words
which long sounded in our ears. None of these women were by any means
strong--on the contrary, one of them seemed to be very delicate;
yet they managed to rouse the men to a sense of their duty by
a mixture of reproaches and entreaties, combined with the example
of that singular fortitude which often gives more than masculine
vigour to female minds in seasons of danger. How long this might
have lasted I cannot say; but probably the strength of the men,
however stimulated, must have given way before night, especially
as the wind freshened, and the boat was driving further to sea. Had
it not been for the accident of the officer of the forenoon watch
on board the _Endymion_ being unaware of the captain's intention
to tack before dinner, these poor people, most probably, would all
have perished.
The women, dripping wet, and scarcely capable of moving hand or
foot, were lifted up the side, in a state almost of stupor; for
they were confused by the hurry of the scene, and their fortitude
had given way the moment all high motive to exertion was over. One
of them, on reaching the quarterdeck, slipped through our hands,
and falling on her knees, wept violently as she returned thanks
for such a wonderful deliverance; but her thoughts were bewildered,
and, fancying that her child was lost, she struck her hands
together, and leaping again on her feet, screamed out, "Oh! where's
my bairn--my wee bairn?"
At this instant a huge quarter-master, whose real name or nickname
(I forget which) was Billy Magnus, appeared over the gangway
hammocks, holding the missing urchin in his immense paw, where it
squealed and twisted itself about, like Gulliver between the finger
and thumb of the Brobdingnag farmer. The mother had just strength
enough left to snatch her offspring from Billy, when she sank down
flat on the deck, completely exhausted.
By means of a fine blazing fire, and plenty of hot tea, toast,
and eggs, it was easy to remedy one class of these poor people's
wants; but how to rig them out in dry clothes was a puzzle, till
the captain bethought him of a resource which answered very well.
He sent to several of the officers for their dressing-gowns; and
these, together with supplies from his own wardrobe, made capital
gowns and petticoats--at least, till the more fitting drapery of
the ladies was dried. The children were tumbled into bed in the
same compartment, close to the fire; and it would have done any
one's heart good to have witnessed the style in which the provisions
vanished from the board, while the women wept, prayed, and laughed,
by turns.
The rugged seamen, when taken out of the boat, showed none of these
symptoms of emotion, but running instinctively to the scuttle-butt,
asked eagerly for a drop of water. As the most expeditious method
of feeding and dressing them, they were distributed among the
different messes, one to each, as far as they went. Thus they were
all soon provided with dry clothing, and with as much to eat as
they could stow away; for the doctor, when consulted, said they
had not fasted so long as to make it dangerous to give them as much
food as they were disposed to swallow. With the exception of the
ham devoured in the boat, and which, after all, was but a mouthful
apiece, they had tasted nothing for more than thirty hours; so
that, I suppose, better justice was never done to his Majesty's
beef, pork, bread, and other good things, with which our fellows
insisted on stuffing the newcomers, till they fairly cried out for
mercy and begged to be allowed a little sleep.
Possibly some of us were more disposed to sympathise with the
distress of these people when adrift in their open boat on the wide
sea, from having ourselves, about a month before, been pretty much
in the same predicament. It always adds, as any one knows, greatly
to our consideration for the difficulties and dangers of others,
to have recently felt some touch of similar distress in our own
persons. This maxim, though it is familiar enough, makes so little
impression on our ordinary thoughts, that when circumstances occur
to fix our attention closely upon it we are apt to arrive as suddenly
at the perception of its truth as if it were a new discovery.
REBECCA THE DRUMMER
By Charles Barnard
It was about nine o'clock in the morning when the ship first appeared.
At once there was the greatest excitement in the village. It was
a British warship. What would she do? Would she tack about in the
bay to pick up stray coasters as prizes, or would she land soldiers
to burn the town? In either case there would be trouble enough.
Those were sad days, those old war-times in 1812. The sight of a
British warship in Boston Bay was not pleasant. We were poor then,
and had no monitors to go out and sink the enemy or drive him off.
Our navy was small, and, though we afterwards had the victory and
sent the troublesome ships away, never to return, at that time they
often came near enough, and the good people in the little village
of Scituate Harbor were in great distress over the strange ship
that had appeared at the mouth of the harbor.
It was a fishing-place in those days, and the harbor was full
of smacks and boats of all kinds. The soldiers could easily enter
the harbor and burn up, everything, and no one could prevent them.
There were men enough to make a good fight, but they were poorly
armed, and had nothing but fowling-pieces and shotguns, while the
soldiers had muskets and cannon.
The tide was down during the morning, so that there was no danger
for a few hours; and all the people went out on the cliffs and
beaches to watch the ship and to see what would happen next.
On the end of the low, sandy spit that makes one side of the harbor,
stood the little white tower known as Scituate Light. In the house
behind the light lived the keeper's family, consisting of himself,
wife, and several boys and girls. At the time the ship appeared,
the keeper was away, and there was no one at home save Mrs. Bates,
the eldest daughter, Rebecca, about fourteen years old, two of the
little boys, and a young girl named Sarah Winsor, who was visiting
Rebecca.
Rebecca had been the first to discover the ship, while she was
up in the light-house tower polishing the reflector. She at once
descended the steep stairs and sent off the boys to the village to
give the alarm.
For an hour or two, the ship tacked and stood off to sea, then
tacked again, and made for the shore. Men, women and children
watched her with anxious interest. Then the tide turned and began
to flow into the harbor. The boats aground on the flats floated,
and those in deep water swung round at their moorings. Now the
soldiers would probably land. If the people meant to save anything
it was time to be stirring. Boats were hastily put out from the
wharf, and such clothing, nets and other valuables as could be
handled were brought ashore, loaded into hay carts, and carried
away.
It was of no use to resist. The soldiers, of course, were well
armed, and if the people made a stand among the houses, that would
not prevent the enemy from destroying the shipping.
As the tide spread out over the sandy flats it filled the harbor
so that, instead of a small channel, it became a wide and beautiful
bay. The day was fine, and there was a gentle breeze rippling the
water and making it sparkle in the sun. What a splendid day for
fishing or sailing! Not much use to think of either while that
warship crossed and recrossed before the harbor mouth.
About two o'clock the tide reached high water mark, and, to the
dismay of the people, the ship let go her anchor, swung her yards
round, and lay quiet about half-a-mile from the first cliff. They
were going to land to burn the town. With their spy-glass the people
could see the boats lowered to take the soldiers ashore.
Ah! then there was confusion and uproar. Every horse in the village
was put into some kind of team, and the women and children were
hurried off to the woods behind the town. The men would stay and
offer as brave a resistance as possible. Their guns were light and
poor, but they could use the old fish-houses as a fort, and perhaps
make a brave fight of it.
If worse came to worse, they could at least retreat and take to
the shelter of the woods.
It was a splendid sight. Five large boats, manned by sailors, and
filled with soldiers in gay red coats. How their guns glittered
in the sun! The oars all moved together in regular order, and the
officers in their fine uniforms stood up to direct the expedition.
It was a courageous company come with a warship and cannon to fight
helpless fishermen.
So Rebecca Bates and Sarah Winsor thought, as they sat up in the
light-house tower looking down on the procession of boats as it
went past the point and entered the harbor.
"Oh! If I only were a man!" cried Rebecca.
"What could you do? See what a lot of them; and look at their guns!"