She stood a moment as a Pythoness
Stands on her tripod, agonised and full
Of inspiration gather'd from distress,
When all the heart-strings, like wild horses, pull
The heart asunder; then, as more or less
Their speed abated or their strength grew dull,
She sunk down on her seat by slow degrees,
And bow'd her throbbing head o'er trembling knees.
BYRON.
It was with deep regret that Newton gave directions for the ship's head
to be again directed on her course to England; but the property under
his charge was of too great value to warrant risking it by cruising
after the pirates, the superior sailing of whose vessel afforded no
hopes of success. The melancholy situation of Madame de Fontanges threw
a gloom over the party, which was communicated even to the seamen; while
the anguish of Monsieur de Fontanges, expressed with all the theatrical
violence characteristic of his nation, was a source of continual
reminiscence and regret. They had been four days on their voyage,
making little progress with the light and baffling winds, when they were
shrouded in one of those thick fogs which prevail in the latitude of the
Cape de Verds, and which was rendered more disagreeable by a mizzling
rain.
On the sixth day, about twelve o'clock, the horizon cleared to the
northward, and the fog in that quarter was rolled away by a strong
breeze which rippled along the water. Newton, who was on deck, observed
the direction of the wind to be precisely the reverse of the little
breeze to which their sails had been trimmed; and the yards of the
Windsor Castle were braced round to meet it. The gust was strong, and
the ship, laden as she was, careened over to the sudden force of it, as
the top-gallant sheets and halyards were let fly by the directions of
the officer of the watch. The fog, which had still continued thick to
leeward, now began to clear away; and, as the bank dispersed, the
Marquis de Fontanges, who was standing on the poop by the side of
Newton, cried out "_Voila un batiment_!" Newton looked in the direction
pointed out, and discovered the hull of a vessel looming through the
fog, about a quarter of a mile to leeward of the Windsor Castle. One
minute's scrutiny convinced him that it was the pirate, who, not having
been expeditious in trimming his sails, _laid in irons_, as seamen term
it, heeling over to the blast. The Windsor Castle was then running
free, at the rate of four miles an hour.
"Starboard the helm--all hands to board--steady so. Be smart, my lads--
it's the pirate--port a little. Hurrah! my lads--be quick, and she's
all our own. Quartermaster, my sword--quick!"
The crew, who were all on deck, snatched their cutlasses from the
capstern-head, in which they were inserted, and before three minutes
elapsed, during which the pirate had not time to extricate himself from
his difficulty, were all ready for the service. They were joined by the
Flemish sailors belonging to the neutral vessel, who very deliberately
put their hands in their breeches-pockets and pulled out their knives,
about as long as a carpenter's two-foot rule, preferring this weapon to
any thing else.
Monsieur de Fontanges, bursting with impatience, stood with Newton at
the head of the men. When the collision of the two vessels took place,
the Windsor Castle, conned so as not to run down the pirate, but to
sheer alongside, stove in the bulwarks of the other, and carried away
her top masts, which, drawn to windward by the pressure on the
back-stays, fell over towards the Windsor Castle, and, entangling with
her rigging, prevented the separation of the two vessels.
"No quarter, my friends!" cried Monsieur de Fontanges, who darted on
board of the pirate vessel at the head of some men near the
main-rigging, while Newton and the remainder, equally active, poured
down upon his quarter.
Such had been the rapidity of the junction, and such the impetuosity of
the attack, that most of the pirates had not had time to arm themselves,
which, considering the superiority of their numbers, rendered the
conquest more equal. A desperate struggle was the result; the attacked
party neither expecting, demanding, nor receiving quarter. It was blow
for blow, wound for wound, death to one or both. Every inch of the deck
was disputed, and not an inch obtained until it reeked with blood. The
voices of Newton and Monsieur de Fontanges, encouraging their men, were
answered by another voice--that of the captain of the pirates, which had
its due effect upon the other party, which rallied at its sound.
Newton, even in the hurry and excitement of battle, could not help
thinking to himself that he had heard that voice before. The English
seamen gained but little ground, so obstinate was the resistance. The
pirates fell; but, as they lay on the deck, they either raised their
exhausted arms to strike one last blow of vengeance before their life's
blood had been poured out, or seized upon their antagonists with their
teeth in their expiring agonies. But a party, who, from the sedateness
of their carriage, had hitherto been almost neutral, now forced their
way into the conflict. These were the Flemish seamen, with their long
snick-a-snee knives, which they used with as much imperturbability as a
butcher professionally employed. They had gained the main rigging of
the vessel, and, ascending it, had passed over by the catharpins, and
descended with all the deliberation of hears on the other side, by which
tranquil manoeuvre the pirates were taken in the flank; and, huddled as
they were together, the knives of the Flemings proved much more
effective than the weapons opposed to them. The assistance of the
Flemings was hailed with a shout from the English seamen, who rallied,
and increased their efforts. Newton's sword had just been passed
through the body of a tall powerful man, who had remained uninjured in
the front of the opposing party since the commencement of the action,
when his fall discovered to Newton's view the captain of the vessel,
whose voice had been so often heard, but who had hitherto been concealed
from his sight by the athletic form which had just fallen by his hand.
What was his astonishment and his indignation when he found himself
confronted by one whom he had long imagined to have been summoned to
answer for his crimes--his former inveterate enemy, Jackson!
Jackson appeared to be no less astonished at the recognition of Newton,
whom he had supposed to have perished on the sand-bank. Both
mechanically called each other by name, and both sprung forward. The
blow of Newton's sword was warded off by the miscreant; but at the same
moment that of Monsieur de Fontanges was passed through his body to the
hilt. Newton had just time to witness the fall of Jackson, when a
tomahawk descended on his head; his senses failed him, and he laid among
the dead upon the deck.
There was a shriek, a piercing shriek heard when Newton fell. It passed
the lips of one who had watched, with an anxiety too intense to be
portrayed, the issue of the conflict;--it was from Isabel, who had
quitted the cabin at the crash occasioned by the collision of the two
vessels, and had remained upon the poop "spectatress of the fight."
Where were no fire arms used; no time for preparation had been allowed.
There had been no smoke to conceal--all had been fairly presented to her
aching sight. Yes! there she had remained, her eye fixed upon Newton
Forster, as, at the head of his men, he slowly gained the deck of the
contested vessel. Not one word did she utter; but, with her lips wide
apart from intensity of feeling, she watched his progress through the
strife, her eye fixed--immoveably fixed upon the spot where his form was
to be seen; hope buoyant, as she saw his arm raised and his victims
fall--heart sinking, as the pirate sword aimed at a life so dear. There
she stood like a statue--as white as beautiful--as motionless as if
indeed she had been chiselled from the Parian marble; and, had it not
been from her bosom heaving with the agony of tumultuous feeling, you
might have imagined that all was as cold within. Newton fell--all her
hopes were wrecked--she uttered one wild shriek, and felt no more.
After the fall of Jackson the pirates were disheartened, and their
resistance became more feeble. Monsieur de Fontanges carved his way to
the taffrail, and then turned round to kill again. In a few minutes the
most feeble-hearted escaped below, leaving the few remaining brave to be
hacked to pieces, and the deck of the pirate vessel was in possession of
the British crew. Not waiting to recover his breath, Monsieur de
Fontanges rushed below to secure his wife. The cabin-door was locked,
but yielded to his efforts, and he found her in the arms of her
attendants in a state of insensibility. A scream of horror at the sight
of his bloody sword, and another of joy at the recognition of their
master, was followed up with the assurance that Madame had only fainted,
Monsieur de Fontanges took his wife in his arms, and carried her on
deck, where, with the assistance of the seamen, he removed her on board
of the Windsor Castle, and in a short time had the pleasure to witness
her recovery. Their first endearments over, there was an awkward
question to put to a wife. After responding to her caresses, Monsieur
de Fontanges inquired, with an air of anxiety very remarkable in a
Frenchman, how she had been treated. "Il n'y a pas de mal, mon ami,"
replied Madame de Fontanges. This was a jesuitical sort of answer, and
Monsieur de Fontanges required further particulars. "Elle avoit
temporisee" with the ruffian, with the faint hope of that assistance
which had so opportunely and unexpectedly arrived. Monsieur de
Fontanges was satisfied with his wife's explanation; and such being the
case, what passed between Jackson and Madame de Fontanges can be no
concern of the reader's. As for Mimi and Charlotte, they made no such
assertion; but, when questioned, the poor girls burst into tears, and,
calling the captain and first-lieutenant of the pirate barbarians, and
every epithet they could think of, complained bitterly of the usage
which they had received.
We left Newton floored (as Captain Oughton would have said) on the deck
of the pirate vessel, and Isabel in a swoon on the poop of the Windsor
Castle. They were both taken up, and then taken down, and recovered
according to the usual custom in romances and real life. Isabel was the
first to _come to_, because, I presume, a blow on the heart is not quite
so serious as a blow on the head. Fortunately for Newton, the tomahawk
had only glanced along the temple, not injuring the skull, although it
stunned him, and detached a very decent portion of his scalp, which had
to be replaced. A lancet brought him to his senses, and the surgeon
pronounced his wound not to be dangerous, provided that he remained
quiet.
At first Newton acquiesced with the medical adviser, but an hour or two
afterwards a circumstance occurred, which had such a resuscitating
effect, that, weak as he was with the loss of blood, he would not resign
the command of the ship, but gave his orders relative to the captured
vessel, and the securing of the prisoners, as if nothing had occurred.
What had contributed so much to the recovery of Newton, was simply this,
that _somehow or another_ Mrs Enderby left him for a few minutes _tete
a tete_ with Isabel Revel; and, during those few minutes, _somehow or
another_, a very interesting scene occurred, which I have no time just
now to describe. It ended, however, _somehow or another_, in the
parties plighting their troth. As I said before, love and murder are
very good friends; and a chop from a tomahawk was but a prelude for the
descent of Love, with "healing on his wings."
The Windsor Castle lost five men killed and eleven wounded in this hard
contest. Three of the Flemings were also wounded. The pirate had
suffered more severely. Out of a crew of seventy-five men, as no
quarter had been given, there remained but twenty-six, who had escaped
and secreted themselves below, in the hold of the vessel. These were
put in irons under the half-deck of the Windsor Castle, to be tried upon
their arrival in England. As I may as well dispose of them at once,
they were all sentenced to death by Sir William Scott, who made a very
impressive speech upon the occasion; and most of them were hanged on the
bank of the Thames. The polite valet of the Marquis de Fontanges hired
a wherry, and escorted Mademoiselles Mimi and Charlotte to witness the
"_barbares_" dangling in their chains; and the sooty young ladies
returned, much gratified with their interesting excursion.
It will be necessary to account for the re-appearance of Jackson. The
reader may recollect that he made sail in the boat, leaving Newton on
the island which they had gained after the brig had been run on shore
and wrecked. When the boat came floating down with the tide, bottom up,
Newton made sure that Jackson had been upset and drowned; instead of
which, he had been picked up by a Providence schooner; and the boat
having been allowed to go adrift with the main-sheet belayed to the pin,
had been upset by a squall, and had floated down with the current to the
sand-bank where Newton was standing in the water. Jackson did not
return to England, but had entered on board of a Portuguese
slave-vessel, and had continued some time employed in this notorious
traffic, which tends so much to demoralise and harden the heart. After
several voyages, he headed a mutiny, murdered the captain and those who
were not a party to the scheme, and commenced a career of piracy, which
had been very successful, from the superior sailing of the vessel, and
the courage of the hardened villains he had collected under his command.