LAGOS BAY.
Tandy had timed our arrival in the bay with great exactness, since,
soon after midday, both the queen's ships and ourselves had dropped
anchor within it, the former saluting, and being saluted in return, by
some artillery from the crazy old castle that rose above the shore.
And now from those three frigates away went pinnaces and jolly boats,
as well as the great long boats and launches, all in a hurry to
fetch off the water which they needed, while also I could see very
well that from the _Pembroke_ they were a-hoisting overboard their
barge, into which got some of the land officers--as the sailors call
the soldiers--and also a gentleman in black who was, I supposed, a
chaplain.
And then I considered that it was time for me to be ashore, too, since
I knew not how long 'twould take for the ships of war to get in what
they wanted, and to be off and away again; though Tandy told me I need
be in no manner of hurry, since they had let down what he called their
shore anchors, which they would not have done had they intended going
away again in a moment, when they would have used instead their kedge,
or pilot, anchors.
However, I was so impatient that I would not be stayed, and
consequently begged the captain to let me have one of the shore boats,
which had come out on our arrival and were now all around us, called
alongside; and into this I jumped the instant it touched our ship. My
few goods I left on board, to be brought on land when the captain
himself came, which he intended to do later; nor did I make my
farewells to him, since I felt pretty sure we should meet again
shortly, while it was by no means certain that the admiral would take
me with him, after I had delivered my news; but, instead, might order
me to return at once to the earl with some reply message. Yet I hoped
this would not be so, especially since his Lordship had bidden me see
the thing out and then bring him, as fast as I could make my way back
to the Netherlands, my account of what had been done.
As for that miserable old creature, Carstairs, I clean forgot all
about him; nor even if I had remembered his existence, should I have
troubled to pay him any adieux, for in truth, I never supposed that I
should see him again in this world, and for certain, I had no desire
to do so; yet as luck would have it--but there is no need to
anticipate.
I jumped into the shore boat, I say, as soon as it came alongside _La
Mouche Noire_, and was quickly rowed into the port, observing as I
went that there was a considerable amount of craft moored in the bay,
many of which had doubtless run in there during the storms of a night
or two ago, while, also, there were some sheltering in it which would
possibly have been lying in other harbors now--and those, Spanish
ones--had it not been for the war and the consequent danger of attack
from the English and Dutch navies in any other waters than those of
Portugal, she being, as I have said, neutral at present, though
leaning to our--the allies'--side. To wit, there were at this moment
some German ships, also a Dane or two, a Dutchman and a Swedish bark
here.
And now I stepped ashore on Portuguese ground, and found myself
torn hither and thither by the most ragged and disorderly crowd of
beggars one could imagine, some of them endeavouring to drag me off to
a dirty inn at the waterside, in front of which there sat two priests
a-drinking with some scaramouches, whom I took to be Algarvian
soldiers, while others around me had, I did believe, serious
intentions on my pockets had I not kept my hands tight in them.
Also--which hearted me up to see--there were many of our English
sailors about, dressed in their red kersey breeches with white tin
buttons, and their grey jackets and Welsh kersey waistcoats, all of
whom were bawling and halloaing to one another--making the confusion
and noise worse confounded--and using fierce oaths in the greatest
good humour. And then, while I stood there wondering how I should find
those whom I sought for, I heard a voice behind me saying in cheery
tones in my own tongue:
"Faith, Tom, 'tis an Englishman, I tell you. No doubt about that. Look
to his rig; observe also he can scarce speak a word more of the
language of the country he is in than we can ourselves. Does not that
proclaim him one of us? Except our beloved friends, the French, who
are as ignorant of other tongues as we are, we are the worst. Let's
board him--we are all in the same boat."
Now, knowing very well that these remarks could hardly be applied to
any one but me, I turned round and found close to my elbow a fat,
jolly-looking gentleman, all clad in black, and with a black scarf
slung across him, and wearing a tie-wig, which had not been powdered
for many a day--a gentleman with an extremely red face, much pitted
with the small-pox. And by his side there stood four or five other
gentlemen, who, 'twas easy to see at a glance, were of my own
trade--their gold laced scarlet coats, the aiguillettes of one, the
cockades in all their hats, showed that.
"Sir," said the one who had spoken, taking off his own black hat,
which, like his wig, would have been the better for some attention,
and bowing low. "I fear you overheard me. Yet I meant no offense. And,
since I am very sure that you are of our country, there should be
none. Sir, I am, if you will allow me to present myself, Mr. Beauvoir,
chaplain of her Majesty's ship, _Pembroke_. These are my friends,
officers serving under his Grace of Ormond, and of my Lord Shannon's
grenadiers and Colonel Pierce's regiment"; whereon he again took off
his hat to me, in which polite salutation he was followed by the
others, while I returned the courtesy.
And now I knew that I had found what I wanted--knew that the road was
open to me to reach the admiral, to tell my tale. I had found those
who could bring me into communication with the fleet; be very sure I
should not lose sight of them now. But first I had to name myself,
wherefore I said:
"Gentlemen, I am truly charmed to see you. Let me in turn present
myself. My name is Mervyn Crespin, lieutenant in the Cuirassiers, or
Fourth Horse, and it is by God's special grace that I have been so
fortunate as to encounter you. For," and here I glanced round at the
filthy crowd which environed us, and lowered my voice a little, "I am
here on a special mission to your commander from my Lord Marlborough.
Yet I thought I had failed when I heard you were off and away from
Cadiz."
Now, when I mentioned the position which I held in the army all looked
with increased interest at me, and again took off their hats, while
when I went on to speak of my mission from the Earl of Marlborough
there came almost a dazed look into some of their faces, as though
'twas impossible for them to understand what the Captain-General of
the Netherlands could have to say with the fleet that had been sent
forth from England to Cadiz.
"A message to our commander," Mr. Beauvoir said. "A message to our
commander. By the Lord Harry, I am afraid 'tis even now a bootless
quest, though. Our commander with all his fleet is on his way back to
England--and pretty well dashed, too, through being obliged to draw
off from Cadiz, I can tell you. I fear you will not see him this side
of Spithead, even if you go with us, who are about to follow him."
That I was also "pretty well dashed" at this news needs no telling,
since my feelings may be well enough conceived; yet I plucked up heart
to say:
"I do think, if your captain but hears the news I bring, that he will
endeavour to catch the fleet and turn it from its homeward course--ay,
even though he sets sail again to-night without so much as a drop of
fresh water in his casks. 'Tis great news--news that may do much to
cripple France."
"Is it private, sir?" the chaplain asked. "For the ears of the
admirals alone?"
"Nay," said I; "by no means private from English ears; yet," I
continued, with still another glance around, "not to be spoken openly.
Is there no room we can adjourn to?"
"We have been trying ourselves for half an hour to find an inn," said
one of the grenadiers, with a laugh, "which swarms not with vermin of
all sorts. Yet, come, let us endeavour again. Even though there is
naught for gentlemen to eat or drink, we may, at least, be alone and
hear this news. Come, let us seek for some spot," and he elbowed his
way through the waterside crowd which still stood gaping round us, and
which, even when we all moved away, hung on our heels, staring at us
as though we were some strange beings from another world. Also,
perhaps, they thought to filch some scrap of lace or galloon from off
our clothes.
"Away, vagabonds! What in heaven's name is Portuguese for 'away,
vagabonds'?" muttered Mr. Beauvoir, making signs to the beggarly
brood, who--perhaps because often our ships put in here for water, and
they were accustomed to seeing the English--held out their dirty,
claw-like hands, and shrieked: "Moaney! Moaney! Englase moaney!"
"Away, I say, and leave us in peace!"
And gradually, seeing there was nothing more to be gotten after one or
two of us had flung them a coin or so, they left us to our devices, so
that we were able to stroll along the few miserable streets which the
town possessed; able to observe, also, that there was no decent inn
into which a person, who valued his future comfort and freedom from a
month or so of itching, could put his foot in safety.
But now we reached a little open spot, or _plaza_, a place which had a
melancholy, deserted look--there being several empty houses in this
gloomy square--while, on another, we saw the arms of France stuck up,
a shield with a blazing sun upon it,--the emblem of Louis!--and the
lilies on it, also--and guessed it must be the consul's place
of business. And here it seemed to me as if this was as
fitting an opportunity as I should find for making the necessary
disclosures--disclosures which, when these gentlemen had heard them,
might induce them to hurry back to the _Pembroke_, bring me into
communication with the captain, and lead him to put to sea, in the
hopes of picking up the remainder, and chief part, of the English
fleet, which was but twenty-four hours ahead of them.
"Gentlemen," I said, "here is a quiet spot"--as indeed it was, seeing
that there was nothing alive in this mournful _plaza_ but a few
scraggy fowls pecking among the stones, and a lean dog or two sleeping
in the sun. "Let me tell you my news."
Whereupon all of them halted and stood round me, listening eagerly
while I unfolded my story and gave them the intelligence that the
galleons had gone into Vigo, escorted, as the earl had said while we
rode toward Rotterdam, by a large French fleet.
"'Fore George, Harry," said Mr. Beauvoir, turning toward the elder of
the officers with him, a captain in Pierce's regiment, "but this is
mighty fine news. Only--can it be true? I mean," he went on with a
pleasant bow to me, "can it be possible that the Earl of Marlborough
is not mistaken? For, if 'tis true and we can only communicate with
Sir George Rooke and get him back again, 'twill be a fine thing; wipe
out the scandal and hubbub that will arise over our retreat from
Cadiz, go far to save Parliament enquiries and the Lord knows what--to
say nothing of court martials. Humph?"
"Why should the earl be mistaken in this?" asked one of the others. "At
least he was right in judging they would not go into Cadiz."
"We must take you at once to Captain Hardy, of our ship," said the
chaplain. "'Tis for him to decide when he has heard your story. Come,
let us get back to the pinnace--no time must be wasted."
"With the very greatest will in the world," said I. "'Tis for that I
have travelled from Holland, and, pray God, I have not come too late.
Success means much for me."
Then we turned to go, while the officers attacked me on all sides for
an account of the siege of Kaiserswerth, of which they had not yet
heard full accounts, and we were just leaving the square when there
appeared at the door of the French consul's house a man who, no sooner
did he observe us and our English appearance--which betrays us all
over Europe, I have noticed, though I know not why--and also the
brilliancy of the officers' dress, than he set to work bowing and
grimacing like a monkey; also he began calling out salutations to us
in French, and asking us how the English did now in the wars? and
saying that, for himself, he very much regretted that France and
England had got flying at one another's throats once more, since if
they were not fools and would only keep united, as they had been in
the days of him whom he called _le grand roi Charles Deux_, they might
rule the world between them; which was true enough as regarded their
united powers (if not the greatness of that late king of ours), as
many other people more sensible than he have thought.
"'Tis a merry heart," said Mr. Beauvoir, smiling on the fantastic
creature as he gibbered and jumped about on his doorstep, while the
others looked contemptuously at him, for we soldiers had but a poor
opinion of the French, though always pleased to fight them; "a joyous
blade! Let us return his civility"; whereupon he took off his hat,
which courtesy we all imitated, and wished him "Good day" politely in
his own language.
"Ha! you speak French, monsieur," the other said at this; "also you
have the _bonne mine_. English gentlemens is always gentlemens. Ha! I
ver' please see you."--he was himself now speaking half English and
half French. "_Je vous salue_. Lagos ver' _triste_. I always glad see
gentlemens. _Veuillez un verre de vin? C'est Français, vrai Français!_
Ver' goot."
"'Tis tempting," said the chaplain of the Pembroke, his face appearing
to get more red than before at the invitation. "Well, we can do no
harm in having a crack with him. Only--silence, remember," and he
glanced at the officers. "Not a word of our doings--lately, now, or to
come."
"Never fear," said the eldest. "We can play a better game than that
would be," whereon the chaplain, after bowing gracefully to our
would-be host, said in very fair French that, if he desired it, we
would all drink a glass of wine with him--only he feared we were too
many.
"Not a jot, not a jot," this strange creature cried, beckoning all of
us into the house and forthwith leading us into a whitewashed room, in
the middle of which was a table with, upon it, a great outre of wine,
bound and supported by copper bands and flanked with a number of
glasses, so that one might have thought he was ever offering
entertainment to others. Then, with great dexterity, he filled the
requisite number of glasses, and, after making us each touch his with
ours, drank a toast.
"_A la fin de la guerre_," he said, after screaming, first,
"_Attention, messieurs_," and rapping on the table with his glass to
claim that attention, "_à l'amitié incassable de la France et de
l'Angleterre. Vivent, vivent, vivent la France et l'Angleterre_," and
down his throat went all the wine.
"A noble toast," said Mr. Beauvoir, with a gravity which--I know not
why!--I did not think, somehow, was his natural attribute, "a noble
toast. None--be he French or English--could refuse to pledge that,"
and, with a look at the others, away went his liquor, too, while my
brother officers, with a queer look upon their faces, which seemed to
express the thought that they scarce knew whether they ought to be
carousing in this manner with the representative of an enemy,
swallowed theirs.
"Ha! goot, ver' goot," our friend went on, "we will have some more."
And in a twinkling he had replenished the glasses and got his own up
to, or very near to, his lips. And catching a glance of Mr. Beauvoir's
grey eye as he did this, I felt very sure that the reverend gentleman
knew as well as I did, or suspected as well as I did, that these were
by no means the first potations our friend had been indulging in this
morning.
"Another toast," he cried now, "_sacré nom d'un chien!_ we will drink
more toasts. _A la santé_"--then paused, and muttered: "No, no. I
cannot propose that. No. _Ce n'est pas juste_."
"What is not just, monsieur?" asked Mr. Beauvoir, pausing with his own
uplifted glass.
"Why, _figurez-vous_, I was going to commit an _impolitesse_--what you
call a _rudesse_--rudeness--in your English tongue. To propose the
continued prosperity of France--no! _vraiment il ne faut pas ça_.
Because you are my guests--I love the English gentlemens always--and
it is so certain--so very certain."
"The continued success of France is very certain, monsieur?" said one
of the grenadiers, looking darkly at him. "You say that?"
"_Sans doute_. It cannot be otherwise. On sea and land we must triumph
now--and then--then we shall have _la paix incassable_. Oh! yes, now
that Chateaurenault is on the seas, we must perforce win there--win
every--everything. And for the land, why----"
"Chateaurenault is on the seas!" exclaimed the chaplain, looking very
grave. "And how long has that been, monsieur?"
"Oh, some time, some time." Then he put his finger to his nose and
said, looking extremely cunning in his half drunkenness. "And soon now
he will be free to scour them, turn his attention to you and the
Dutch--curse the Dutch always, they are _cochons!_--soon, ver' soon.
Just as soon as the galleons are unloaded at Vigo--when we need
protect them no more."
Swift as lightning all our eyes met as the good-natured sot said this
in his boastfulness; then Mr. Beauvoir, speaking calmly again, said:
"So he is protecting them at Vigo, eh? 'Tis not often they unload
there."
"_Ah, non, non_. Not ver' often. But, you see, you had closed Cadiz
against them, so, _naturellement_, they must go in somewhere."
"Naturally. No--not another drop of wine, I thank you."