"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 M.
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, "_Voilà un
bâtiment!_" 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 anything 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
topmasts, 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 contest 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 bears, on the other
side, by which tranquil manoeuvre the pirates were taken in 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 sprang 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 lay 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
pourtrayed, 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." There 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--immovably 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 for 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. M. 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, M. de Fontanges rushed
below to seek 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. M. 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, M. 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 M. de Fontanges required further particulars. "Elle avait
temporisé" with the ruffian, with the faint hope of that assistance which
had so opportunely and unexpectedly arrived. M. 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 vessel 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, _tête-à-tête_
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 reappearance 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 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.