HOW WE CAME ACROSS MAIN ROUGE
I was sorely tempted to run across to Brecqhou for one more sight of
Carette before I left home, but decided at last to leave matters as they
were. Beyond the pleasure of seeing her I could hope to gain little, for
she was not the one to show her heart before others, and too rash an
endeavour might provoke her to that which was not really in her.
As things were I could cherish the hopes that were in me to the fullest,
and one makes better weather with hope than with doubt. Carette knew now
all that I could tell her, and Aunt Jeanne would be a tower of strength to
me in my absence. I could leave the leaven to work. And I think that if I
had not given my mother that last day she would have felt it sorely, and
with reason.
The deepest that was in us never found very full vent at Belfontaine, and
that, I think, was due very largely to the quiet and kindly, but somewhat
rigid, Quakerism of my grandfather. We felt and knew without babbling into
words.
So all that day my mother hovered about me with a quiet face and hungry
eyes, but never one word that might have darkened my going. She had braced
her heart to it, as the women of those days had to do, and as all women of
all times must whose men go down to the sea in ships.
And I do not think there was any resentment in her mind at my feeling for
Carette. For she spoke of her many times and always in the nicest way,
seeing perhaps the pleasure it gave me. She was a very wise and thoughtful
woman, though not so much given to the expression of her wisdom as was
Jeanne Falla, and I think she understood that this too was inevitable, and
so she had quietly brought her mind to it. But after all, all this is but
saying that her tower of quiet strength was built on hidden foundations of
faith and hope, and her mother-love needed no telling.
Next day my grandfather and Krok made holiday, in order to carry me over to
Peter Port and see the _Swallow_ for themselves, and my mother's fervent
"God keep you, Phil!" and all the other prayers that I felt in her arms
round my neck, were with me still as we ran past Brecqhou, and I stood with
an arm round the mast looking eagerly for possible, but unlikely, sight of
Carette.
We were too low down to see the house, which lay in a hollow. The white
waves were ripping like comets along the fringe of ragged rocks under the
great granite cliffs, and our boat reeled and plunged under the strong west
wind, and sent the foam flying in sheets as we tacked against the cross
seas.
We were running a short slant past Moie Batarde, before taking a long one
for the Grands Bouillons, when a flutter of white among the wild black
rocks of the point by the Creux à Vaches caught my eye, and surely it was
Carette herself, though whether she had known of our passage, or was in the
habit of frequenting that place, I could not tell. I took it to myself,
however, and waved a hearty greeting, and the last sight I had of her, and
could not possibly have had a better, was her hand waving farewells in a
way that held much comfort for me for many a day to come. I had told my
grandfather about Torode's fine schooner, and had enlarged so upon it that
he had a wish to see her for himself, and so we were making for the passage
between Herm and Jethou, which I had travelled two days before. He knew the
way and the traps and pitfalls better even than I did, and ran us in up the
wind with a steady hand till the roadstead opened before us. But it was
empty. Torode was off after plunder, and we turned and ran for Peter Port.
We found John Ozanne as busy as a big bumble-bee, but he made time to greet
my grandfather very jovially, and showed him all over his little ship with
much pride. He was in high spirits and anxious to be off, especially since
he had heard of Torode's going.
"He's about as clever as men are made," he said, "and when he goes he goes
on business, so it's time for us to be on the move too. We'll make a man of
your boy, Philip."
"A privateer!" said my grandfather with a smile.
"Ay, well! I can believe it's not all to your liking, but it's natural
after all."
"I'm not complaining."
"I never heard you. But you'd have been better pleased if he hadn't wanted
so much."
"Maybe," said my grandfather with his quiet smile. "But, as Jeanne Falla
says, 'Young calves'--"
"I know, I know," laughed John Ozanne. "She's a famous wise woman is Jeanne
Falla, and many a licking she gave me when I was a boy for stealing her
apples round there at Cobo."
When my grandfather waved his hand, as they ran out past Castle Cornet, the
last link broke between Sercq and myself for many a day. Before I saw any
of them again--except the distant sight of the Island lying like a great
blue whale nuzzling its young, as we passed up Little Russel next
morning--many things had happened for the changing of many lives. I had
seen much, suffered much, and learned much, and it is of these things I
have to tell you.
We cast off next day, amid the cheers and wavings of a great crowd. Half
Peter Port stood on the walls of the old harbour. Some had friends and
relatives on board, and their shoutings were akin to lusty, veiled prayers
for their safe return. Some had eggs in our basket, and in wishing us good
speed were not without an eye to the future, and maybe were already
counting their possible chickens. We gave them cheer for cheer, and more
again for the St. Sampson people. Then, with all our new swing making a
gallant show, we swept past Grand Braye, and Ancresse, and turned our nose
to the north-west.
We were all in the best of spirits. The _Swallow_ was well found and well
armed, and showed a livelier pair of heels than I had looked for, and that,
in an Ishmaelitish craft, was a consideration and a comfort. She was roomy
too, and would make better times of bad weather, I thought, than would
Torode's beautiful black snake. We were sixty men all told, and every man
of us keen for the business we were on, and with sufficient confidence in
John Ozanne to make a willing crew, though among us there were not lacking
good-humoured jokes anent his well-known easy-going, happy-go-lucky
proclivities. These, however, would make for comfort on board, and for the
rest, he was a good seaman and might be expected to do his utmost to
justify the choice of his fellow-townsmen, and he was said to have a
considerable stake in the matter himself.
We had four mates, all tried Peter Port men, and our only fears were as to
possible lack of the enemy's merchant ships in quantity and quality
sufficient for our requirements. On the second day out, a slight haze on
the sky-line shortening our view, the sound of firing came down to us on
the wind, and John Ozanne promptly turned the _Swallow's_ beak in that
direction.
We edged up closer and closer, and when the haze lifted, came on a hot
little fight in progress between a big ship and a small one, and crowded
the rigging and bulwarks to make it out.
"Little chap's a Britisher, I'll wager you," said old Martin Cohu, the
bo's'un.
"A privateer then, and t'other a merchantman."
"Unless it's t'other way on. Anyway the old man will make 'em out soon;"
and we anxiously eyed John Ozanne working away with his big brass-bound
telescope, as we slanted up towards the two ships, first on one tack then
on the other.
The larger vessel's rigging we could see was badly mauled, the smaller ship
dodged round and round her, and off and on, plugging her as fast as the
guns could be loaded and fired.
"That's no merchantman," said old Martin. "A French Navy ship--a
corvette--about fifteen guns a-side maybe, and t'other's an English gun
brig; making rare game of her she is too. Minds me of a dog and a bull."
"Maybe the old man'll take a hand just for practice."
And John Ozanne was quite willing. We were ordered to quarters, and ran in,
with our colours up, prepared to take our share. But the commander of the
brig had his own ideas on that matter, strong ones too, and he intimated
them in the most unmistakable way by a shot across our bows, as a hint to
us to mind our own business and leave him to his.
A hoarse laugh and a ringing cheer went up from the _Swallow_ at this truly
bull-dog spirit, and we drew off and lay-to to watch the result.
The Frenchman was fully three times the size of his plucky little
antagonist, but the Englishman as usual had the advantage in seamanship. He
had managed to cripple his enemy early in the fight, and now had it all his
own way. We watched till the Frenchman's colours came down, then gave the
victors another hearty cheer, and went on our way to seek fighting of our
own.
For three days we never sighted a sail. We had turned south towards the
Bay, and were beginning to doubt our luck, when, on the fourth day, a stiff
westerly gale forced us to bare poles. During the night it waxed stronger
still, and the little _Swallow_ proved herself well. Next morning a long
line of great ships went gallantly past us over the roaring seas,
shepherded by two stately frigates,--an East Indian convoy homeward bound.
Late that day, the fifth of our cruising, we raised the topmasts of a large
ship and made for her hopefully.
"A merchantman," said Martin Cohu disgustedly, "and English or I'm a
Dutchman. One of the convoy lagged behind. No pickings for us this time,
my lads."
But there was more there than he expected.
There was always the chance of her having been captured by the French, in
which case her recapture would bring some little grist to our mill, and so
we crowded sail for her. And, as we drew nearer, it was evident, from the
talk among John Ozanne and his mates, that they could see more through
their glasses than we could with our eyes.
"Guyabble!" cried old Martin at last. "There's another ship hitched on to
her far side. I can see her masts. Now, what's this? A privateer as like as
no, and we'll have our bite yet, maybe."
And before long we could all make out the thin masts of a smaller vessel
between the flapping canvas of the larger. John Ozanne ordered us to
quarters, and got ready for a fight. He gave us a hearty word or two, since
every man likes to know what's in the wind.
"There's a schooner behind yonder Indiaman, my lads, and it's as likely as
not she's been captured. If so we'll do our best to get her back, for old
England's sake, and our own, and just to spite the Frenchman. If the
schooner should prove the _Red Hand_, and that's as like as not, for he's
the pluckiest man they have, you know what it means. It'll be hard fighting
and no quarter. But he's worth taking. The London merchants have put a
price on him, and there'll be that, and himself, and a share in the
Indiaman besides, and we'll go back to Peter Port with our pockets lined."
We gave him a cheer and hungered for the fray.
John Ozanne took us round in a wide sweep to open the ships, and every eye
and glass was glued to them. As we rounded the Indiaman's great gilded
stern, about a mile away, it did not need John Ozanne's emphatic--"It's
him!" to tell us we were in for a tough fight, and that three prizes lay
for our taking. We gave John another cheer, tightened our belts, and
perhaps--I can speak for one at all events--wondered grimly how it would be
with some of us a couple of hours later.
The Frenchman cast off at once and came to meet us, the Red Hand flying at
his masthead, the red lump at his bows, the red streak clearly visible just
below the open gun-ports.
"Do your duty, lads," said John Ozanne. "There'll be tough work for us. He
carries heavy metal. We'll close with him at all odds, and then the British
bull-dog must see to it."
We gave him another cheer, and then a cloud of white smoke burst from the
Frenchman's fore deck, and our topmast and all its hamper came down with a
crash, and our deck rumbled with bitter curses.
"---- him!" said Martin Cohu. "That's not fair play. Dismantling shot or
I'm a Dutchman! It's only devils and Yankees use shot like that. ---- me,
if we don't hang him if we catch him."
John Ozanne tried him with our long gun forward, but the shot fell short.
In point of metal the Frenchman beat us, and our best hope was to close
with him as quickly as possible.
But he knew that quite as well as we. He was well up to his business, and
chose his own distance. His next shot swept along our deck, smashing half a
dozen men most horribly, and tied itself round the foot of the mainmast,
wounding it badly. And then I saw for the first time that most hideous
missile which the Americans had introduced, but which other nations
declined to use, as barbarous and uncivilised. It was a great iron ring
round which were looped iron bars between two and three feet long. The bars
played freely like keys on a ring, and splayed out in their flight, and did
the most dreadful execution. Intended originally, I believe, for use only
against hostile spars and rigging, this rascally freebooter put them to any
and every service, and with his powerful armament and merciless ferocity
they went far towards explaining his success.
For myself, and I saw the same in all my shipmates, the first sense of
dismayed impotence in the face of those most damnable whirling flails very
soon gave place to black fury. For the moment one thing only did I desire,
and that was to be within arm's reach of the Frenchman, cutlass in hand.
Had he been three times our number I doubt if one of them would have
escaped if we had reached him. My heart felt like to burst with its boiling
rage, and all one could do was to wait patiently at one's post, and it was
the hardest thing I had ever had to do yet.
John Ozanne made us all lie down, save when a change of course was
necessary, while he did his utmost to get the weather gauge of the enemy.
And he managed it at last by a series of tacks which cost us many men and
more spars. Then, throwing prudence to the winds, he drove straight for the
Frenchman to board him at any cost. It was our only chance, for his heavier
guns would have let him plug us from a distance, till every man on board
was down.
We gave a wild cheer as we recognised the success of John Ozanne's
manoeuvring, and every man gripped his steel and ground his teeth for a
fight to the death.
But it was not to be. Death was there, but no fight. For, as we plunged
straight for the Frenchman, following every twist he made, and eager only
for the leap at his throat, our little ship began to roll in a sickly
fashion as she had never done before, and men looked into one another's
faces with fears in their eyes beyond any all the Frenchmen in the world
could put there. And the carpenter, who had been on deck with the rest,
bursting for the fight, tumbled hastily below, and came up in a moment with
a face like putty.
"She's going!" he cried, and it was his last word. One of those devilish
six feet of whirling bars scattered him and three others into fragments and
then shore its way through the bulwarks behind. And the winged _Swallow_
began to roll under our feet in the way that makes a seaman's heart grow
sick.
The Frenchman never ceased firing on us. No matter. It was only a choice of
deaths. Not a man among us would have asked his life from him, even if the
chance had been given, and it was not.
My last look at the Frenchman showed him coming straight for us. I saw the
great forecastle gun belch its cloud of smoke. The water was spouting up in
white jets through our scuppers. It came foaming green and white through
our gun ports. Then, in solid green sheets, it leaped up over the bulwarks,
and for a moment the long flush deck was a boiling cauldron with a bloody
scum, in which twirled and twisted dead men and living, and fragments of
the ship and rigging.
When I came up through the roaring green water I found myself within arm's
length of the foretopsailyard, to which a strip of ragged sail still hung.
I hooked my arm over it and looked round for my comrades. About a score of
heads floated in the belching bubbles of the sunken ship, but even as I
looked the number lessened, for the Island men of those days were no
swimmers. A burly body swung past me. I grabbed it, dragged it to the spar
and hoisted its arm over it. It was John Ozanne, and presently he recovered
sufficiently to get his other arm up and draw himself chest-high to look
about him. The light spar would not support us both, and I let myself sink
into the water, with only a grip on a hanging rope's end to keep in tow
with it.
John Ozanne gazed wildly round for a minute, and then raised his right arm
and volubly cursed the Frenchman, who was coming right down on us.
"Oh, you devils! You devils! May--" and then to my horror, for with the
wash of the waves in my ears I could hear nothing, a small round hole bored
itself suddenly in his broad forehead, just where the brown and the white
met, and he threw up his arms and dropped back into the water.
I made a grab for him, but he was gone, and even as I did so the meaning of
that hideous little round hole in his forehead came plain to me. The
Frenchman was shooting at every head he could see.
I dragged the spar over me, and floated under the strip of sail with no
more than my nose showing between it and the wood, and the long black hull,
with its red streak glistening as though but just new dipped in blood,
swept past me so close that I could have touched it. Through the opening
between my sail and the spar I could see grim faces looking over the side,
and the flash and smoke of muskets as the poor strugglers beyond were shot
down one by one.
I lay there--in fear and trembling, I confess, for against cold-blooded
brutality such as this no man's courage may avail--till the last shots had
long died away. And when at last I ventured to raise my head and look about
me, the Frenchman was stretching away to the north-east and the Indiaman
was pressing to the north, and both were far away. The sun sank like a ball
of fire dipped in blood as I watched. The long red trail faded off the
waters, and the soft colours out of the sky. The sea was a chill waste of
tumbling waves. The sky was a cast-iron shutter. The manhood went out of
me, and I sank with a sob on to my frail spar, for of all our company which
had sailed so gallantly out of Peter Port five days before, I was the only
one left, and the rest had all been done to death in most foul and cruel
fashion.