No circumstance of any interest occurred on my journey to Marboeuf; my
passport, made out in my own name as a sous-officier on leave, secured
me against any interruption or delay; and on the third evening I reached
the little wayside cabaret, about a league beyond the town, where I was
informed by the count that the abbé would await me.
To my surprise, however, I discovered that the house was occupied by a
detachment of the Marines of the Guard, proceeding from Marboeuf to the
coast; with these, assuming the “camaraderie” of the service, I soon
made acquaintance, and being possessed of some information about
the army, my company was at once coveted by the sailors, who had no
opportunity of learning the events of the campaign.
The flurried manner and the over-solicitous desire of the landlord
to please, did not escape me; and taking the first opportunity that
offered, I followed him into his room, and closed the door behind me.
“Has _he_ arrived?” said I, assuming at once the tone of one with whom
there need be no secrecy.
“Ha! you are the captain, then, and I was right?” said he, not replying
to my question, but showing that he was aware who I was. But in an
instant he resumed, “Alas! no, sir; the orders to have quarters ready
for ten men reached me yesterday; and though I told his messenger that
he might come in safety,--the marines never noticing any traveller,--he
has evidently been afraid to venture. This is the 10th; on the 12th the
vessel is to be off the coast; after that it will be too late.”
“But he may come yet.”
The man shook his head and sighed; then muttered half aloud, “It was a
foolish choice to take a coward for a hazardous enterprise. The Comte de
Chambord has been here twice to-day to see him, but in vain.”
“Where is he, then? at what distance from here?”
“No one knows. It must be some leagues away, however, for his messenger
seems tired and weary when he comes, and never returns the same day.”
“Is it not possible he may have pushed on to the coast, finding this
place occupied?”
“Ah, sir, it is plain you know him not; he has no daring like this, and
would never seek a new path if the old were closed against him. But
after all, it would be useless here.”
“How so?”
“The letters have not come yet, and without them he could not leave the
coast. Meanwhile, be cautious: take care lest your absence should be
remarked by the men; return to them now, and if anything occur, I will
make a signal for you.”
The landlord's advice was well timed, for I found that the party were
already becoming impatient at my delay, and wondering what had caused
it.
“They say, Comrade,” said a short-set, dark-featured Breton, whose black
beard and mustache left little vestige of a human face visible,--“they
say that the cavalry of the Guard give themselves airs with us marines,
and that our company is not good enough for them. Is this the case?”
“It is the first time I have heard the remark,” replied I, “and I hope
it may be the last; with us of the Eighth I know such a feeling never
existed; and yet we thought ourselves not inferior to our neighbors.”
“Then why did you leave us just now?” grumbled out two or three in a
breath.
“You shall know that presently,” said I, smiling; at the same time I
arose and opened the door. “You may bring in the Burgundy now, Master
Joseph; we are all ready for it.”
A hearty cheer welcomed this speech, and many a rude hand was stretched
forth to grasp mine; at the same instant the host, accurately divining
the necessity of the moment, entered with a basket containing six
bottles, whose cobwebbed necks and crusted surface bespoke the choicest
bin of his cellar.
“_Macon!_ gentlemen,” said he, drawing the cork of a flask with all the
steadiness of hand of one accustomed to treat Burgundy properly.
“Ah, _parbleu!_ a generous grape, too,” said the short sailor, who spoke
first, as he drained his glass and refilled it. “_Allons_, Comrades,
'The Emperor! '”
“The Emperor!” repeated each voice in turn, even to the poor landlord,
whose caution was stronger than his loyalty.
“The Emperor, and may Heaven preserve him!” said the dark-whiskered
fellow.
“The Emperor, and may Heaven forgive him!” said the host, who this time
uttered the true sentiments of his heart, without knowing it.
“Forgive him!” roared three or four together,--“forgive him what?”
“For not making thee an admiral of the fleet,” said the landlord,
slapping the stout sailor familiarly on the shoulder.
A burst of rude laughter acknowledged the success of this speech, and
by common consent the host was elected One of the company. As the wine
began to work upon the party, the dark fellow, whose grade of sergeant
was merely marked by a gold cord on his cuff, and which had hitherto
escaped my notice, assumed the leadership, and recounted some stories
of his life; which, treating of a service so novel to me in all its
details, were sufficiently interesting, though the materials themselves
were slight and unimportant.
One feature struck me in particular through all he said, and gave a
character most distinctive to the service he belonged to, and totally
unlike what I had observed among the soldiers of the army. With _them_
the armies of all Europe were accounted the enemy,--the Austrian, the
Russian, the Italian, and the Prussian were the foes he had met and
conquered in so many fields of glory. The pride he felt in his triumphs
was a great but natural sentiment; involving, however, no hatred of his
enemy, nor any desire to disparage his courage or his skill. With the
sailor of the Empire, however, there was but one antagonist, and that
one he detested with his whole heart: England was a word which stirred
his passion from its very inmost recesses, and made his blood boil
with intense excitement. The gay insolence of the soldier, treating his
conquest as a thing of ease and certainty, had no resemblance to the
collected and impassioned hate of the sailor, who felt that _his_
victories were not such as proclaimed his superiority by evidence
incontestable. The victories on land contrasted, too, so strongly
with even what were claimed as such at sea, that the sailors could not
control their detestation of those who had robbed them of a share of
their country's praise, and made the hazardous career they followed one
of mere secondary interest in the eyes of France.
A more perfect representative of this mingled jealousy and hate could
not be found than Paul Dupont, the sous-officier in command of this
little party. He was a Breton, and carried the ruling trait of his
province into the most minute feature of his conduct. Bold, blunt,
courageous, open-hearted, and fearless, but passionate to the verge of
madness when thwarted, and unforgiving in his vengeance when insulted,
he only believed in Brittany, and for the rest of France he cared as
little as for Switzerland. His whole life had been spent at sea, until
about two years previous, when from boatswain he was promoted to be a
sergeant of the Marines of the Guard,--a step he regretted every day,
and was now actually petitioning to be restored to his old grade, even
at the sacrifice of pay and rank; such was the impression a short life
ashore had made on him, and so complete his contempt for any service
save that in blue water.
“Come, old 'sea-wolf,'”--such was the sobriquet Paul went by among his
comrades,--“thou art dull to-night,” said an old sailor with a head as
white as snow. “I haven't seen thee so low of heart this many a day.”
“What wonder, Comrade, if I am so?” retorted Paul, gruffly. “This shore
service is bad enough, not to make it worse by listening to such yarns
as these we have been hearing, about platoons and squadrons; of charges
here and counter-marches there. _Ventre d'enfer!_ that may amuse
those who never saw a broadside or a boarding; but as for me, look ye,
Comrade!”--here he addressed himself to me, laying his great hand upon
my shoulder as he spoke,--“until ye can bring your mounted lines to
charge up to the mouth of a battery vomiting grape and roundshot, ye
must not tell your stories before old sailors, ay, though they be only
Marines' of the Guard, some of them.”
“Don't be angry with old Paul, Comrade,” said the man who spoke before;
“he does not mean to offend you.”
“Who told you that?” said Paul, sternly. “Why can't you sheer off, and
leave me to' lay alongside of my enemy my own way?”
“You must not call me by such a name,” said I; “we all serve the
Emperor, and have no enemies save his. Come, Paul, let us have a cup of
wine together.”
“Agreed! an ye promise to tell no more tales of dragoons and hussars,
and such like cattle, I'll drink with you. Bah! it's not Christianlike
to fight a-horse-back,--it's only fit for Turks and Arabs; but for men
that are made to stand fast on their own stout timbers, they have no
need of four-footed beasts to carry them against an enemy. Here's my
hand, Comrade; is it a bargain?”
“Willingly,” said I, laughing. “If you consent, instead, to tell us some
of your own adventures, I promise faithfully not to trouble you with one
of mine.”
“That's like a man,” said Paul, evidently flattered by the successful
assertion of his own superiority. “And now, if the host will let us have
some more wine, I'm ready.”
“Ay, ay,” cried several together; “replenish the basket once more.”
“This time, gentlemen, you must permit me to treat you. It is not every
day such guests assemble under my poor roof,” said the landlord, bowing
courteously, “nor am I likely soon to pass so pleasant an evening.”
“That's as you please it,” said Paul, carelessly. “If you are too good
a fellow to care for money, there's three naps for the poor of the
village; mayhap there may be an old sailor amongst them.”
A murmur of satisfaction at their comrade's conduct ran round the
circle, as the host disappeared for the fresh supply of wine. In an
instant he was back again, carrying a second basket under his arm, which
he placed carefully on the table, saying, “Pomard of '87, gentlemen; I
wish it were Chambertin for your sakes.”
“_Tête bleue!_that's what I call wine,” said one, smacking his lips, as
he tasted the generous liquor.
“Yes,” said Paul, “that's better than drinking the pink water they serve
us out on service. _Morbleu!_ how we 'd fight, if they'd tap an aume of
that when they beat to quarters.”
The bottle now passed freely from hand to hand; and Paul, leaning
back in his chair, crossed his arms before him, as, with his eyes
half closed, he seemed to be occupied in remembering some long passed
occurrence.
“Ay, Comrades,” said he, after a long pause, “the landlord was not so
far out as you may think him. I might have been, if not an admiral of
the fleet, at least a captain or a commodore by this time, if I only
wished it, but I wouldn't.”
“You wouldn't, Paul?” cried three or four in a breath. “How do you mean,
you wouldn't? Is it that you didn't like it?”
“That's it: I didn't like it,” replied he, glaring around him as he
spoke, with a look which had repressed any tendency to mirth, if such
an inclination existed in the party. “Mayhap there are some here don't
believe this,” he continued, as if anxious to extort a contradiction
from any one bold enough to adventure it; but none seemed disposed to
meet his wishes. He resumed. “The way of it was this:--
“We sailed from Brest, seven sail and two frigates, on a cruise, in the
Messidor of the year '13, (it was the time of the Republic then), and
our orders were to keep together, and afford protection to all vessels
of our flag; and wherever an opportunity offered to engage the enemy, to
do so, if we had a fair chance of success. There was one heavy sailer
of the fleet, the 'Old Torch,' and by good luck I was in her; and so,
before we were eight days out, it came on to blow a hurricane from the
northeast, with a great sea that threatened to poop us at every stroke.
How the others weathered it I can't say; we rolled so badly that we
carried away our mainmast and half our bulwarks, and when day broke we
could see nothing of the rest. We were lying floundering there in the
trough of the sea, with nothing left but a storm-jib to keep her head
straight, and all hands at the pumps; for in working she had opened her
old seams, and leaked like a basket. Well, we cut away the wreck of the
mast, and we threw twelve of our guns over,--short eighteens they were,
and all heavy metal,--and that lightened her a bit, and we began to have
hopes of weathering out the gale, when the word was passed of a strange
sail to windward.
“We looked, and there saw a great vessel looming, as large as a
three-decker, coming down towards us with close-reefed topsails, but
going through the water like a swordfish. At first we hoped it was one
of our own; but that hope did not last long, for as she neared us we
saw floating from the peak that confounded flag that never boded us good
fortune. She was an English eighty-gun ship; the 'Blanche' they called
her. _Ventrebleu!_ I didn't know how they ever got so handsome a model;
but, I learned after, she was a French ship, and built at Toulon,--for
you see, Comrades, they never had such craft as ours. Well, down they
came, as if they were about to come right over us, and never once made
a signal, nor took any notice of us whatever, till quite close; when
a fellow from the poop-deck shouted out in French,--bad enough it was,
too,--desiring us to keep close till the sea went down a bit, and then
to send a boat to them. _Sacristi!_there was no more about it than that;
and they made a prize of us at once.
“But our captain was not one of that mould, and he answered by beating
to quarters; and just as the 'Blanche' swept past, up flew our ports,
and eight carronades threw in a fire of grape along her deck that made
them dance to the music. _Diable!_ the fun was short, though. Round she
came in stays like a pinnace, down helm, and passed us again; when, as
if her sides slit open, forty guns flashed forth their flame, and sent
us a broadside that made the craft tremble again, and left our deck one
mass of dead and wounded. There was no help for it now. The clear
water came gushing up the hatchways from many a shothole; the craft was
settling fast, and so we hauled down the ensign and made the signal of
distress. The answer was, 'Keep her afloat if you can.' But, faith, our
fellows didn't care much to save a prize for the English, and they would
n't lend a hand to the pumps, but crossed their arms and stood still,
waiting for her to go down; when what did we see but two boats lowered
from the 'Blanche' and dropped into the sea, which was then running
mountains high. _Feu d'enfer!_ they don't know where there is danger and
where not, these English; and that's the reason they seem so brave!
For a minute or two we thought they were swamped, for they were hidden
entirely; then we saw them on the top of a wave, balancing, as it might
be; and again they disappeared, and the huge dark swell seemed to have
swallowed them. And so we strained eyes after them, just as if our own
danger was not as great as theirs; when suddenly a fearful cry for'ed
was heard, and a voice called out. 'She is sinking by the head!'
“And so it was. A crash like falling timber was heard above the storm
and the sea, and the 'Torch' rolled heavily from side to side, and then
plunged bowsprit down, and the boiling surf met over her. There was
a wild yell; some said it was a cheer; I thought it like a drowning
cry,--and I remember no more. That is, I have a kind of horrid dreamy
remembrance of buffeting in the waves, and shaking off a hand that
grasped me by the shoulder, and then feeling the water gathering over me
as I grew more and more exhausted. But the end of it was, I came to
my senses some hours after, and found myself in a hammock on board the
'Blanche,' with twenty-eight of my comrades. All the rest--above two
hundred and fifty--had perished, the captain and the officers among
them.
“The 'Blanche' was under orders for St. Domingo, and was in no way
anxious to have our company; and before a week was over we were drafted
into a small sloop of war, carrying eight guns, and called the 'Fawn,'
She was bound for England with despatches from Nelson,--one of their
English admirals they 're always talking about. This little craft could
sail like the wind, but she was crowded with sick and invalided men from
some foreign station, and there was not a place the size of a dog-kennel
on board of her that was not occupied. As for us, we were only
prisoners, and you may think they were n't very particular about
our comforts; and so they ranged us along under the bulwarks to
leeward,--for they would n't spoil her sailing trim by suffering us to
sit to windward; and there we were, drenched to the skin, and shivering
from day to dark.
“Four days went over in this way, when, on the fifth, about eight
o'clock in the morning, the lookout announced several strange sail
in sight; and the same instant we perceived the officers setting the
glasses to observe them. We could remark that the sight did not seem to
please them much; but more we knew not, for we were not allowed to stand
up nor look over the bulwarks. The lieutenant of the watch called up the
commander; and when he came on deck he ordered the men to cram on more
sail, and hold her head a point or so off the wind; and as soon as
it was done, the rushing noise at the cutwater told the speed she was
making through the sea. It was a fine day, with a fresh breeze and a
nice curl from the water; and it was a handsome thing to see how the
sloop bent to the gale and rose again, her canvas white as snow and
steady as a board; and we soon knew, from the manner of the officers
and the anxious looks they 'd give to leeward from time to time, that
another vessel was in chase of the 'Fawn.' Not a man stirred on the deck
save the lieutenant of the watch, who walked the quarterdeck with his
glass in his hand; now lifting it to his eye, and now throwing a glance
aloft to see how the sails were drawing.
“'She's gaining on us, sir,' cried the boatswain, as he went aloft, to
the lieutenant. 'Shall we ease her off a little more?'
“'No, no,' said he, impatiently. 'She's coming handover-hand now. Clear
the deck, and prepare for action.'
“My heart jumped to my throat as I heard the words; and waiting until
the lieutenant's back was turned, I stole my eyes above the bulwark,
and beheld the tall masts and taper spars of a frigate, all covered
with canvas, about two miles astern of us. She was a good-sized craft,
apparently of thirty-eight guns; but what I liked best about her was the
broad tricolor that fluttered from her masthead. Every curl that floated
on the breeze whispered liberty to my heart.
“'You know her?' said the lieutenant, laying his hand on my shoulder,
before I was aware he was behind me. 'What is she?'
“'Lend me your glass, Lieutenant, and perhaps I can tell you,' said
I; and with that he gave the telescope into my hand, and leaned on the
bulwark beside me. 'Ha!' said I, as soon as I caught the side of her
hull, 'I ought to know her well; I sailed in her for two years and a
half. She's the “Créole,” of thirty-eight guns, the fastest frigate in
our navy; she has six carronades on her quarterdeck, and never goes to
sea without three hundred and twenty men.'
“'If she had three tiers of them we 'd not flinch from her,' said a
voice behind. It was the commander himself, who was now in full uniform,
and wore a belt with four pistols stuck around it.
“There is no use in denying it,--the English prepared for action like
brave fellows, and soon cleared the deck of everything in the way of the
guns. But what use was it? In less than an hour the 'Créole' worked to
windward, and opened a fire from her long guns to which the other could
make no reply. There they came plumping in,--some into the hull, some
splintering through the bulwarks, and some crashing away through the
rigging; and all the crew could do was to repair the mischief the
distant cannonade was making.
“'It's a cowardly way your countrymen come into action, after all,' said
the lieutenant, as he watched the shot hopping and skipping along the
water to leeward. 'With four times our strength, they don't bear down
and encourage us.'
“As he spoke, a shot cut the peak halyards in two, and down came the
spar with a crash, carrying with it in its fall that ensign they 're so
proud of. It was all we could do, prisoners as we were, not to cheer at
this; but the faces around us did not encourage us to such a course, and
we sat silently watching them.
“The moment the accident happened, twenty stout fellows were clambering
up the rigging, and as many more engaged to repair the mischief. But
suddenly the commander whispered something to the lieutenant; the
men were called down again, and the craft was let fall off the wind,
trailing the sails and the tangled rigging over her sides.
“'And the prisoners, sir?' said the lieutenant, at the close of
something I could not hear.
“'Send them below,' was the short reply.
“'We cannot; the space between decks is crowded to suffocation. But here
she comes.' And, as he spoke, the frigate came bearing down in gallant
style, her whole deck swarming with men.
“'Down, men, down!' whispered the lieutenant, and he dropped on his
knee behind the bulwark, and motioned to the rest to kneel. And I now
perceived that every sailor had a drawn cutlass in his hand and pistols
in his belt, as he lay crouching on the deck.
“The frigate was now so close, I could hear the commands of the officers
on the quarterdeck, and the words 'Bas les branles'--the signal to
board--passed from mouth to mouth. The next instant, she closed on us,
and showed her tall sides towering above us.
“'Now, men!' cried the commander of the 'Fawn,' 'now, forward! 'All who
care to live, there's your ground,' said he, pointing to the frigate.
'Such as like to die on a British deck, remain with me.' The boarders
sprang up the side of the 'Créole' before the crew could fasten the
grapples. _Tonnerre de Dieu!_ what a moment it was! The fellows cheered
like madmen, as they poured in to certain death; the lieutenant himself
was one of the first on board, and fell back the same instant, dead upon
his own deck. The struggle was a bloody but brief one; for a few
minutes the English pressed our men back, and gained a footing on
the quarterdeck, but a murderous fire from the tops cut them down in
numbers, and they now fought, not for victory, but vengeance.
“'Now, Captain, now!' screamed a youth, in a lieutenant's uniform, but
all covered with blood, and his face gashed with a cutlass-wound, as he
leaned over the bulwark of the 'Créole,' and waved his cap in the air.
“'I'm ready,' replied the English commander, and sprang down the main
hatchway as he spoke, with a pistol in his hand. At the same instant,
a fearful cry burst forth from the prisoners; for, with the instinct of
despair, they guessed his desperate resolve was to blow up the vessel.
We were tied, wrist to wrist, and the rope run through the blocks at our
back in such a way as to prevent our moving more than a few inches. But
what will not the fear of a dreadful death do? With one unanimous effort
we tore the lashings in pieces, and got free. I was myself the first
at liberty, and sprang towards the 'Creole.' Alas! they had divined
the awful doom awaiting us, and were endeavoring to shove off at once.
Already there were some ten or twelve feet between the vessels. I rushed
forward to gain the bowsprit, a vague hope of escape suggesting the
effort. As I did so, my eyes caught sight of a book, which, with his
hat, the captain threw from him as he hastened below. I stooped down
and put it in my bosom,--why, I know not. Life, and life only, was my
thought at that moment. Then, with lightning's speed, I ran along the
deck, and out on the bowsprit.
“At this instant, the frigate shot ahead of us; I made a leap, the last
effort of despair, and caught the fluke of the anchor; a friendly
hand threw me a rope and dragged me on the deck. As I gained it, a
thunderclap, louder than ten broadsides, broke forth, and the frigate
fell over on one side as if sinking; while over her rigging and her
masts flew spars and timbers, blazing and burning, amid a black smoke
that filled the air on every side. Every man about dropped wounded
or terrified on the deck, where they lay amid the falling fire of the
wreck, and the terrible carnage. I wiped the blood from my eyes, for
I was bleeding profusely from a splinter cut, and looked about me. The
deck was a mass of dead and dying; their piercing cries and groans were
maddening to hear. The frigate, however, was flying fast through the
water; the 'Fawn' was gone!”
“_Tête-bleue!_ he blew her up?” said three or four in a breath.
Paul nodded, and resumed:--
“Ay, Comrades, and the half-dozen of her crew who stood alive on our
quarterdeck cheered the explosion as if it was a victory; and one
fellow, as he lay bleeding on the planks, cried out, 'See, there; look,
if our gay flag is not high above yours, as it always will be! 'And that
time he was right, for the spar that bore it was nigh the clouds.
“Well, to finish my story: In eight days we made Brest, and all of us
who were wounded were sent on shore to the naval hospital. A sorry set
we were; most of us disabled by splinter-wounds, and many obliged to
suffer amputation. I was about again sooner than the rest, and was sent
for one morning on board the admiral's ship, to give some account of the
'Fawn,' of which they never could hear enough; and when I came to that
part where I made my escape, they all began a-laughing at my stopping
to take up a book at such a moment. And one of the lieutenants said,
jokingly,--
“'Well, Paul, I suppose it was the Englishman's breviary saved your
life, was n't it?'
“'No, Lieutenant,' said I; 'but you 'd be mighty proud this day to have
that same breviary in your possession.'
“'How so, good fellow?' said the admiral himself, old Villaret Joyeuse,
who always talked like one of ourselves. 'What is this book, then, that
is so precious?'
“'I 'll show it you, sir, because I 've no fear of foul play at your
hands; but there's not another man of the fleet I 'd let see it,' And
with that I took it out of my breast, where I always carried it, and
gave it to him. Ah! if you'd seen his face,--how it flushed up as he
turned over the leaves, and how his eyes sparkled with fire!
“'Paul Dupont,' said he, 'are you aware what this is?'
“'Yes, Admiral,' said I, 'as well as you are.'
“'Your fortune's made, then, my brave fellow,' said he, slapping me on
the shoulder. 'The finest frigate in the English navy is a less prize
than this.'
“_Mille tonnerres!_ how the others stared at me then. But I stood
without minding how they looked, for I was the same Paul Dupont they
laughed at a few minutes before.
“Meanwhile the admiral laid down the book on the table, and covered
it with his cocked hat; and then taking a pen he wrote some lines on a
piece of paper before him.
“'Will that do, Paul?' said he, handing it towards me.
“It was just this: 'Bureau of the Marine, Brest. Pay Paul Dupont the sum
of ten thousand francs, for service rendered to his Imperial Majesty,
and attested in a note by me Villaret Joyeuse, Admiral of France.'
“I could scarce read the lines, Comrades, for pure passion.
“'Ten thousand francs!' said I at last, as soon as I found breath,--'ten
thousand francs!'
“'What!' cried the admiral, 'not content? Well, then, thou shalt have
more; but I have rarely met one of your cloth with so mercenary a
spirit.'
“'Stay, Admiral,' said I, as I saw him about to write a new order; 'we
both are in an error here. You mistake me, and I you. An old admiral of
the fleet ought to know his sailors better than to think that money is
their highest reward; it never was so at least with Paul Dupont Let me
have my book again.'
“'Come, come, Paul; I believe I understand you now,' laid he. 'Your
warrant shall be made out this day.'
“'No, Admiral, it's too late,' said I. 'If that had come first, and from
yourself, all well; but it looks like a bargain now, and I 'll not have
promotion that way.'
“'Mort du diable!' said he, stamping with passion. 'But they 're all
the same; these Bretons are as brutal in their obstinacy as their own
cattle.'
“'You say true, Admiral,' said I; 'but if they're obstinate in wrong,
they're resolute in right. You are a Breton gentleman; give me back my
book.'
“'Take it,' said he, flinging it at me, 'and let me never see your face
again.' And with that he left the cabin, and banged the door after him
in a rage.
“And so, I went my way, Comrades, back to my ship, and served for many a
long year after, carrying that book always in my breast, and thinking
to myself, 'Well, what if thou art only a boatswain, Paul; thou hast
wherewithal in thy keeping to make thee a commodore any day.'”
“And what can it be, then, this book?” said the party, in a breath.
“You shall see,” said Paul, solemnly; “for though I have never shown it
since, nor have I ever told the story before, here it is.”
With these words he drew from his bosom a small square volume, bound in
vellum, and fastened by a clasp; lettered on the cover, “Signals of the
Channel Fleet.”
This was the secret of honest Paul's life; and as he turned over the
leaves, he expatiated with eloquent delight on the various British
emblems which were represented there, in all their brilliant coloring.
“That double streak of yellow on the black is to make all sail,
Comrades,” said he. “Whenever they see us standing out to sea you may
remark that signal flying.”
“And what is this large blue flag here, with all the colored bars across
it?” said one.
“Ay,” cried another, “they're very fond of that ensign; what can it be?”
“Close action,” growled out Paul, sullenly, who didn't fancy even the
reflective praise this question implied to the hated rival.
“_Sacrebleu!_” said a third, “they've no other to announce a victory.
Look here; it is the same flag for both.”
Paul shut up the book at this, with a muttered curse, which might have
been intended either for his comrades or the English, or both together,
and the whole party became suddenly silent.
It was now that the landlord's tact became conspicuous; for instead
of any condoling expressions on what might have been deemed the
unsuccessful result of Paul's career, he affected to think that the
brave seaman was more to be envied for the possession of that volume
than if he walked the deck an admiral of France.
This flattery, aided by a fresh supply of Burgundy, had full success;
and from story-telling the party fell to singing,--the songs being
only a more boastful detail of their prowess at sea than their prose
narratives; and even here Paul maintained his supremacy.
Sleep, however, stronger than self-glorification and pride, fell on the
party one by one, and they lay down at last on the tables and benches,
and slumbered heavily.