CATAMARANS
Napoleon had shown no proper dread of the valiant British volunteers,
but kept his festival in August, and carried on his sea-side plans, as
if there were no such fellows. Not content with that, he even flouted
our blockading fleet by coming out to look at them. And if one of our
frigates had shot straight, she might have saved millions of lives and
billions of money, at the cost of one greatly bad life. But the poor
ship knew not her opportunity, or she would rather have gone to the
bottom than waste it.
Now the French made much of this affair, according to their nature; and
histories of it, full of life and growth, ran swiftly along the
shallow shore, and even to Paris, the navel of the earth. Frenchmen of
letters--or rather of papers--declared that all England was smitten with
dismay; and so she might have been, if she had heard of it. But as our
neighbours went home again, as soon as the water was six fathoms
deep, few Englishmen knew that they had tried to smell a little of the
sea-breeze, outside the smell of their inshore powder. They were pleased
to get ashore again, and talk it over, with vivid description of the
things that did not happen.
“Such scenes as these tended much to agitate England,” writes a great
French historian. “The British Press, arrogant and calumnious, as the
Press always is in a free country, railed much at Napoleon and his
preparations; but railed as one who trembles at that which he would fain
exhibit as the object of his laughter.” It may have been so, but it is
not to be seen in any serious journal of that time. He seems to have
confounded coarse caricaturists with refined and thoughtful journalists,
even as, in the account of that inshore skirmish, he turns a gun-brig
into a British frigate. However, such matters are too large for us.
It was resolved at any rate to try some sort of a hit at all these
very gallant Frenchmen, moored under their own batteries, and making
horse-marines of themselves, whenever Neptune, the father of the horse,
permitted. The jolly English tars, riding well upon the waves, sent many
a broad grin through a spy-glass at Muncher Crappo tugging hard to get
his nag into his gun-boat and then to get him out again, because his
present set of shoes would not be worn out in England. Every sailor
loves a horse, regarding him as a boat on legs, and therefore knowing
more about him than any landlubber may feign to know.
But although they would have been loth to train a gun on the noble
animal, who was duly kept beyond their range, all the British sailors
longed to have a bout with the double tier of hostile craft moored
off the shore within shelter of French batteries. Every day they could
reckon at least two hundred sail of every kind of rig invented since
the time of Noah, but all prepared to destroy instead of succouring the
godly. It was truly grievous to see them there and not be able to get at
them, for no ship of the line or even frigate could get near enough to
tackle them. Then the British Admiral, Lord Keith, resolved after much
consultation to try what could be done with fire-ships.
Blyth Scudamore, now in command of the Blonde, had done much excellent
service, in cutting off stragglers from the French flotilla, and driving
ashore near Vimereux some prames and luggers coming from Ostend. He
began to know the French coast and the run of the shoals like a native
pilot; for the post of the Blonde, and some other light ships, was
between the blockading fleet and the blockaded, where perpetual
vigilance was needed. This sharp service was the very thing required to
improve his character, to stamp it with decision and self-reliance, and
to burnish his quiet, contemplative vein with the very frequent friction
of the tricks of mankind. These he now was strictly bound not to study,
but anticipate, taking it as first postulate that every one would
cheat him, if permitted. To a scrimpy and screwy man, of the type most
abundant, such a position would have done a deal of harm, shutting him
up into his own shell harder, and flinting its muricated horns against
the world. But with the gentle Scuddy, as the boys at school had called
him, the process of hardening was beneficial, as it is with pure gold,
which cannot stand the wear and tear of the human race until it has been
reduced by them at least to the mark of their twenty carats.
And now it was a fine thing for Scudamore--even as a man too
philanthropic was strengthened in his moral tone (as his wife found out)
by being compelled to discharge the least pleasant of the duties of a
county sheriff--or if not a fine thing, at least it was a wholesome and
durable corrective to all excess of lenience, that duty to his country
and mankind compelled the gentle Scuddy to conduct the western division
of this night-attack.
At this time there was in the public mind, which is quite of full
feminine agility, a strong prejudice against the use of fire-ships.
Red-hot cannon-balls, and shrapnel, langrage, chain-shot, and
Greek-fire--these and the like were all fair warfare, and France might
use them freely. But England (which never is allowed to do, without
hooting and execration, what every other country does with loud
applause)--England must rather burn off her right hand than send a
fire-ship against the ships full of fire for her houses, her cottages,
and churches. Lord Keith had the sense to laugh at all that stuff, but
he had not the grand mechanical powers which have now enabled the human
race, not to go, but to send one another to the stars. A clumsy affair
called a catamaran, the acephalous ancestor of the torpedo, was expected
to relieve the sea of some thousands of people who had no business
there. This catamaran was a water-proof box about twenty feet long, and
four feet wide, narrowed at the ends, like a coffin for a giant. It
was filled with gunpowder, and ballasted so that its lid, or deck, was
almost awash; and near its stern was a box containing clock movements
that would go for about ten minutes, upon the withdrawal of a peg
outside, and then would draw a trigger and explode the charge. This
wondrous creature had neither oar nor sail, but demanded to be towed to
the tideward of the enemy, then have the death-watch set going, and be
cast adrift within hail of the enemy's line. Then as soon as it came
across their mooring cables, its duty was to slide for a little way
along them in a friendly manner, lay hold of them kindly with its long
tail, which consisted of a series of grappling-hooks buoyed with cork,
and then bringing up smartly alongside of the gun-boats, blow itself up,
and carry them up with it. How many there were of these catamarans is
not quite certain, but perhaps about a score, the intention being to
have ten times as many, on the next occasion, if these did well. And no
doubt they would have done well, if permitted; but they failed of their
purpose, like the great Guy Fawkes, because they were prevented.
For the French, by means of treacherous agents--of whom perhaps Caryl
Carne was one, though his name does not appear in the despatches--knew
all about this neat little scheme beforehand, and set their wits at work
to defeat it. Moreover, they knew that there were four fire-ships,
one of which was the Peggy of Springhaven, intended to add to the
consternation and destruction wrought by the catamarans. But they did
not know that, by some irony of fate, the least destructive and most
gentle of mankind was ordered to take a leading part in shattering man,
and horse, and even good dogs, into vapours.
Many quiet horses, and sweet-natured dogs, whose want of breeding had
improved their manners, lived in this part of the great flotilla, and
were satisfied to have their home where it pleased the Lord to feed
them. The horses were led to feed out of the guns, that they might not
be afraid of them; and they struggled against early prejudice, to like
wood as well as grass, and to get sea-legs. Man put them here to suit
his own ideas; of that they were quite aware, and took it kindly,
accepting superior powers, and inferior use of them, without a shade
of question in their eyes. To their innocent minds it was never brought
home that they were tethered here, and cropping clots instead of
clover, for the purpose of inspiring in their timid friends ashore the
confidence a horse reposes in a brother horse, but very wisely doubts
about investing in mankind. For instance, whenever a wild young animal,
a new recruit for the cavalry, was haled against his judgment by a man
on either side to the hollow-sounding gangway over dancing depth of
peril, these veteran salts of horses would assure him, with a neigh from
the billowy distance, that they were not drowned yet, but were walking
on a sort of gate, and got their victuals regular. On the other hand,
as to the presence of the dogs, that requires no explanation. Was
there ever a time or place in which a dog grudged his sprightly and
disinterested service, or failed to do his best when called upon? These
French dogs, whom the mildest English mastiff would have looked upon,
or rather would have shut his eyes at, as a lot of curs below contempt,
were as full of fine ardour for their cause and country as any noble
hound that ever sate like a statue on a marble terrace.
On the first of October all was ready for this audacious squibbing of
the hornet's nest, and the fleet of investment (which kept its distance
according to the weather and the tides) stood in, not bodily so as to
arouse excitement, but a ship at a time sidling in towards the coast,
and traversing one another's track, as if they were simply exchanging
stations. The French pretended to take no heed, and did not call in a
single scouting craft, but showed every sign of having all eyes shut.
Nothing, however, was done that night, by reason perhaps of the weather;
but the following night being favourable, and the British fleet brought
as nigh as it durst come, the four fire-ships were despatched after
dark, when the enemy was likely to be engaged with supper. The sky was
conveniently overcast, with a faint light wandering here and there, from
the lift of the horizon, just enough to show the rig of a vessel and
her length, at a distance of about a hundred yards. Nothing could be
better--thought the Englishmen; and the French were of that opinion too,
especially as Nelson was not there.
Scudamore had nothing to do with the loose adventure of the fire-ships,
the object of which was to huddle together this advanced part of the
flotilla, so that the catamarans might sweep unseen into a goodly
thicket of vessels, and shatter at least half a dozen at once.
But somehow the scheme was not well carried out, though it looked very
nice upon paper. One very great drawback, to begin with, was that the
enemy were quite aware of all our kind intentions; and another scarcely
less fatal was the want of punctuality on our part. All the floating
coffins should have come together, like a funeral of fifty from a
colliery; but instead of that they dribbled in one by one, and were
cast off by their tow-boats promiscuously. Scudamore did his part well
enough, though the whole thing went against his grain, and the four
catamarans under his direction were the only ones that did their duty.
The boats of the Blonde had these in tow, and cast them off handsomely
at the proper distance, and drew the plugs which set their clock-springs
going. But even of these four only two exploded, although the clocks
were not American, and those two made a tremendous noise, but only
singed a few French beards off. Except, indeed, that a fine old horse,
with a white Roman nose and a bright chestnut mane, who was living in
a flat-bottomed boat, broke his halter, and rushed up to the bows, and
gave vent to his amazement, as if he had been gifted with a trumpet.
Hereupon a dog, loth to be behind the times, scampered up to his side,
and with his forefeet on the gunwale, contributed a howl of incalculable
length and unfathomable sadness.
In the hurly of the combat and confusion of the night, with the dimness
streaked with tumult, and the water gashed with fire, that horse and
this dog might have gone on for ever, bewailing the nature of the sons
of men, unless a special fortune had put power into their mouths. One
of the fire-ships, as scandal did declare, was that very ancient tub
indeed--that could not float on its bottom--the Peggy of Springhaven,
bought at thrice her value, through the influence of Admiral Darling. If
one has to meet every calumny that arises, and deal with it before going
further, the battle that lasted for a fortnight and then turned into
an earthquake would be a quick affair compared with the one now in
progress. Enough that the Peggy proved by the light she gave, and her
grand style of burning to the water's edge before she blew up, that she
was worth at least the hundred pounds Widow Shanks received for her. She
startled the French more than any of the others, and the strong light
she afforded in her last moments shone redly on the anguish of that poor
horse and dog. There was no sign of any one to help them, and the flames
in the background redoubled their woe.
Now this apparently deserted prame, near the centre of the line, was
the Ville de Mayence; and the flag of Rear-Admiral Lacrosse was even now
flying at her peak. “We must have her, my lads,” cried Scudamore, who
was wondering what to do next, until he descried the horse and dog and
that fine flag; “let us board her, and make off with all of them.”
The crew of his launch were delighted with that. To destroy is very
good; but to capture is still better; and a dash into the midst of the
enemy was the very thing they longed for. “Ay, ay, sir,” they cried, set
their backs to their oars, and through the broad light that still shone
upon the waves, and among the thick crowd of weltering shadows, the
launch shot like a dart to the side of the foe.
“Easy all! Throw a grapple on board,” cried the young commander; and as
the stern swung round he leaped from it, and over the shallow bulwarks,
and stood all alone on the enemy's fore-deck. And alone he remained, for
at that moment a loud crash was heard, and the launch filled and sank,
with her crew of sixteen plunging wildly in the waves.
This came to pass through no fault of their own, but a clever device
of the enemy. Admiral Lacrosse, being called away, had left his
first officer to see to the safety of the flag-ship and her immediate
neighbours, and this brave man had obtained permission to try a little
plan of his own, if assailed by any adventurous British boats in charge
of the vessels explosive. In the bows of some stout but handy boats he
had rigged up a mast with a long spar attached, and by means of a guy at
the end of that spar, a brace of heavy chain-shot could be swung up and
pitched headlong into any boat alongside. While the crew of Scudamore's
launch were intent upon boarding the prame, one of these boats came
swiftly from under her stern, and with one fling swamped the enemy. Then
the Frenchmen laughed heartily, and offered oars and buoys for the poor
British seamen to come up as prisoners.
Scudamore saw that he was trapped beyond escape, for no other British
boat was anywhere in hail. His first impulse was to jump overboard and
help his own drowning men, but before he could do so an officer stood
before him, and said, “Monsieur is my prisoner. His men will be safe,
and I cannot permit him to risk his own life. Mon Dieu, it is my dear
friend Captain Scudamore!”
“And you, my old friend, Captain Desportes! I see it is hopeless to
resist”--for by this time a score of Frenchmen were round him--“I can
only congratulate myself that if I must fall, it is into such good
hands.”
“My dear friend, how glad I am to see you!” replied the French captain,
embracing him warmly; “to you I owe more than to any man of your nation.
I will not take your sword. No, no, my friend. You shall not be
a prisoner, except in word. And how much you have advanced in the
knowledge of our language, chiefly, I fear, at the expense of France.
And now you will grow perfect, at the expense of England.”