To be awakened suddenly from a sound sleep, hurried half-dressed up a
gangway, and, ere your faculties have acquired free play, be passed over
a ship’s side, on a dark and stormy night, into a boat wildly tossed
here and there, with spray showering over you, and a chorus of loud
voices about you, is an event not easily forgotten. Such a scene still
dwells in my memory, every incident of it as clear and distinct as
though it had occurred only yesterday. In this way was I ‘passed,’ with
twelve others, on board his Majesty’s frigate, _Téméraire_, a vessel
which, in the sea-service, represented what a well-known regiment did
on shore, and bore the reputation of being a ‘condemned ship’--this
depreciating epithet having no relation to the qualities of the vessel
herself, which was a singularly beautiful French model, but only to that
of the crew and officers, it being the policy of the day to isolate the
blackguards of both services, confining them to particular crafts and
corps, making, as it were, a kind of _index expurgatorius_, where all
the rascality was available at a moment’s notice.
It would be neither agreeable to my reader nor myself, if I should
dwell on this theme, nor linger on a description where cruelty,
crime, heartless tyranny, and reckless insubordination made up all
the elements. A vessel that floated the seas only as a vast
penitentiary--the ‘cats,’ the ‘yard-arm,’ and the ‘gangway,’ comprising
its scheme of discipline--would scarcely be an agreeable subject. And,
in reality, my memory retains of the life aboard little else than scenes
of suffering and sorrow. Captain Gesbrook had the name of being able to
reduce any, the most insubordinate, to discipline. The veriest rascals
of the fleet, the consummate scoundrels, one of whom was deemed
pollution to an ordinary crew, were said to come from his hands models
of seamanship and good conduct; and it must be owned, that if the
character was deserved, it was not obtained without some sacrifice. Many
died under punishment; many carried away with them diseases under
which they lingered on to death; and not a few preferred suicide to the
terrible existence on board. And although a ‘Téméraire’--as a man who
had served in her was always afterwards called--was now and then shown
as an example of sailorlike smartness and activity, very few knew
how dearly that one success had been purchased, nor by what terrible
examples of agony and woe that solitary conversion was obtained.
To me the short time I spent on board of her is a dreadful dream. We
were bound for the Mediterranean, to touch at Malta and Gibraltar, and
then join the blockading squadron before Genoa. What might have been
my fate, to what excess passionate indignation might have carried
me, revolted as I was by tyranny and injustice, I know not, when an
accident, happily for me, rescued me from all temptation. We lost our
mizzen-mast, in a storm, in the Bay of Biscay, and a dreadful blow on
the head, from the spanker-boom, felled me to the deck, with a fracture
of the skull.
From that moment I know of nothing till the time when I lay in my cot,
beside a port-hole of the maindeck, gazing at the bright blue waters
that flashed and rippled beside me, or straining my strength to rest on
my elbow, when I caught sight of the glorious city of Genoa, with its
grand mountain background, about three miles from where I lay. Whether
from a due deference to the imposing strength of the vast fortress,
or that the line of duty prescribed our action, I cannot say, but the
British squadron almost exclusively confined its operations to the act
of blockade. Extending far across the bay, the English ensign was seen
floating from many a taper mast, while boats of every shape and size
plied incessantly from ship to ship, their course marked out at night by
the meteorlike light that glittered in them; not, indeed, that the eye
often turned in that direction, all the absorbing interest of the
scene lying inshore. Genoa was, at that time, surrounded by an immense
Austrian force, under the command of General Melas, who, occupying all
the valleys and deep passes of the Apennines, were imperceptible during
the day; but no sooner had night closed in, than a tremendous cannonade
began, the balls describing great semicircles in the air ere they fell
to scatter death and ruin on the devoted city. The spectacle was grand
beyond description, for while the distance at which we lay dulled and
subdued the sound of the artillery to a hollow booming, like far-off
thunder, the whole sky was streaked by the course of the shot, and, at
intervals, lighted up by the splendour of a great fire, as the red shot
fell into and ignited some large building or other.
As, night after night, the cannonade increased in power and intensity,
and the terrible effects showed themselves in flames which burst out
from different quarters of the city, I used to long for morning, to see
if the tricolour still floated on the walls; and when my eye caught the
well-known ensign, I could have wept with joy as I beheld it.
High up, too, on the cliffs of the rugged Apennines, from many a craggy
eminence, where perhaps a solitary gun was stationed, I could see the
beloved flag of France, the emblem of liberty and glory!
In the day the scene was one of calm and tranquil beauty. It would have
seemed impossible to connect it with war and battle. The glorious city,
rising in terraces of palaces, lay reflected in the mirrorlike waters of
the bay, blue as the deep sky above them. The orange-trees, loaded with
golden fruit, shed their perfume over marble fountains, amid gardens
of every varied hue; bands of military music were heard from the public
promenades--all the signs of joy and festivity which betokened a happy
and pleasure-seeking population. But at night the ‘red artillery’ again
flashed forth, and the wild cries of strife and battle rose through
the beleaguered city. The English spies reported that a famine and a
dreadful fever were raging within the walls, and that all Masséna’s
efforts were needed to repress an open mutiny of the garrison; but the
mere aspect of the ‘proud city’ seemed to refute the assertion. The gay
carolling of church bells vied with the lively strains of martial music,
and the imposing pomp of military array, which could be seen from the
walls, bespoke a joyous confidence, the very reverse of this depression.
From the ‘tops,’ and high up in the rigging, the movements inshore
could be descried; and frequently, when an officer came down to visit
a comrade, I could hear of the progress of the siege, and learn, I need
not say with what delight, that the Austrians had made little or no way
in the reduction of the place, and that every stronghold and bastion was
still held by Frenchmen.
At first, as I listened, the names of new places and new generals
confused me; but by daily familiarity with the topic, I began to
perceive that the Austrians had interposed a portion of their force
between Masséna’s division and that of Suchet, cutting off the latter
from Genoa, and compelling him to fall back towards Chiavari and
Borghetto, along the coast of the Gulf. This was the first success of
any importance obtained; and it was soon followed by others of equal
significance, Soult being driven from ridge to ridge of the Apennines,
until he was forced back within the second line of defences.
The English officers were loud in condemning Austrian slowness--the
inaptitude they exhibited to profit by a success, and the over-caution
which made them, even in victory, so careful of their own safety. From
what I overheard, it seemed plain that Genoa was untenable by any troops
but French, or opposed to any other adversaries than their present ones.
The bad tidings--such I deemed them--came quicker and heavier. Now,
Soult was driven from Monte Notte. Now, the great advance post of Monte
Faccio was stormed and carried. Now, the double eagle was floating from
San Tecla, a fort within cannon-shot of Genoa, A vast semicircle
of bivouac fires stretched from the Apennines to the sea, and their
reflected glare from the sky lit up the battlements and ramparts of the
city.
‘Even yet, if Masséna would make a dash at them,’ said a young English
lieutenant,’ the white-coats would fallback.’
‘My life on ‘t he ‘d cut his way through, if he knew they were only two
to one!’
And this sentiment met no dissentient. All agreed that French heroism
was still equal to the overthrow of a force double its own.
It was evident that all hope of reinforcement from France was vain.
Before they could have begun their march southward, the question must be
decided one way or other.
‘There’s little doing to-night,’ said an officer, as he descended the
ladder to the sick bay. ‘Melas is waiting for some heavy mortars that
are coming up; and then there will be a long code of instructions from
the Aulic Council, and a whole treatise on gunnery to be read, before
he can use them. Trust me, if Masséna knew his man, he ‘d be up and at
him.’
Much discussion followed this speech, but all more or less agreed in its
sentiment. Weak as were the French, lowered by fever and by famine, they
were still an overmatch for their adversaries. What a glorious avowal
from the lips of an enemy was this! The words did more for my recovery
than all the cares and skill of physic Oh, if my countrymen but knew! if
Masséna could but hear it! was my next thought; and I turned my eyes to
the ramparts, whose line was marked out by the bivouac fires, through
the darkness. How short the distance seemed, and yet it was a whole
world of separation. Had it been a great plain in a mountain tract, the
attempt might almost have appeared practicable; at least, I had often
seen fellows who would have tried it. Such were the ready roads, the
royal paths, to promotion, and he who trod them saved miles of weary
journey. I fell asleep, still thinking on these things; but they haunted
my dreams. A voice seemed ever to whisper in my ear--‘If Masséna but
knew, he would attack them. One bold dash, and the Austrians would fall
back.’ At one instant, I thought myself brought before a court-martial
of English officers, for attempting to carry these tidings; and proudly
avowing the endeavour, I fancied I was braving the accusation. At
another, I was wandering through the streets of Genoa, gazing on the
terrible scenes of famine I had heard of. And lastly, I was marching
with a night party to attack the enemy. The stealthy footfall of the
column appeared suddenly to cease; we were discovered; the Austrian
cavalry were upon us! I started and awoke, and found myself in the dim,
half-lighted chamber, with pain and suffering around me, and where,
even in this midnight hour, the restless tortures of disease were yet
wakeful.
‘The silence is more oppressive to me than the roll of artillery,’
said one, a sick midshipman, to his comrade. ‘I grew accustomed to the
clatter of the guns, and slept all the better for it.’
‘You ‘ll scarcely hear much more of that music,’ replied his friend.
‘The French must capitulate to-morrow or next day.’
‘Not if Masséna would make a dash at them,’ thought I; and with
difficulty could I refrain from uttering the words aloud.
They continued to talk to each other in low whispers, and, lulled by the
drowsy tones, I fell asleep once more, again to dream of my comrades and
their fortunes. A heavy bang like a cannon-shot awoke me; but whether
this were real or not I never knew; most probably, however, it was the
mere creation of my brain, for all were now in deep slumber around me,
and even the marine on duty had seated himself on the ladder, and with
his musket between his legs, seemed dozing away peacefully. I looked out
through the little window beside my berth. A light breeze was
faintly rippling the dark water beneath me. It was the beginning of a
‘Levanter,’ and scarcely ruffled the surface as it swept along.
‘Oh, if it would but bear the tidings I am full of!’ thought I. ‘But why
not dare the attempt myself?’ While in America I had learned to become
a good swimmer. Under Indian teaching, I had often passed hours in the
water; and though now debilitated by long sickness, I felt that the
cause would supply me with the strength I needed. From the instant that
I conceived the thought, till I found myself descending the ship’s side,
was scarcely a minute. Stripping off my woollen shirt, and with nothing
but my loose trousers, I crept through the little window, and lowering
myself gently by the rattlin of my hammock, descended slowly and
noiselessly into the sea. I hung on thus for a couple of seconds, half
fearing the attempt, and irresolute of purpose. Should strength fail, or
even a cramp seize me, I must be lost, and none would ever know in what
an enterprise I had perished. It would be set down as a mere attempt
at escape. This notion almost staggered my resolution, but only for a
second or so; and with a short prayer, I slowly let slip the rope, and
struck out to swim.
The immense efforts required to get clear of the ship’s side discouraged
me dreadfully, nor probably without the aid of the ‘Levanter’ should I
have succeeded in doing so, the suction of the water along the sides was
so powerful. At last, however, I gained the open space, and found myself
stretching away towards shore rapidly. The night was so dark that I had
nothing to guide me save the lights on the ramparts; but in this lay my
safety. Swimming is, after all, but a slow means of progression. After
what I judged to be an hour in the water, as I turned my head to look
back, I almost fancied that the great bowsprit of the _Téméraire_ was
over me, and that the figure who leaned over the taffrail was steadily
gazing on me. How little way had I made, and what a vast reach of water
lay between me and the shore! I tried to animate my courage by thinking
of the cause, how my comrades would greet me, the honour in which they
would hold me for the exploit, and such like; but the terror of failure
damped this ardour, and hope sank every moment lower and lower.
For some time I resolved within myself not to look back--the
discouragement was too great; but the impulse to do so became all the
greater, and the only means of resisting was by counting the strokes,
and determining not to turn my head before I had made a thousand. The
monotony of this last, and the ceaseless effort to advance, threw me
into a kind of dreamy state, wherein mere mechanical effort remained.
A few vague impressions are all that remain to me of what followed. I
remember the sound of the morning guns from the fleet; I remember, too,
the hoisting of the French standard at daybreak on the fort of the Mole;
I have some recollection of a bastion crowded with people, and hearing
shouts and cheers like voices of welcome and encouragement; and then
a whole fleet of small boats issuing from the harbour, as if by one
impulse; and then there comes a bright blaze of light over one incident,
for I saw myself, dripping and almost dead, lifted on the shoulders of
strong men, and carried along a wide street filled with people. I was in
Genoa!