Produced by David Widger
CAPTAIN PAUL
By Alexandre Dumas, Pere
INTRODUCTION.
The admirers of “The Pilot,” one of the most magnificent of Cooper’s
novels, have evinced a general feeling of regret, in which we ourselves
have deeply participated, that the book, once finished, we altogether
lose sight of the mysterious being whom we had followed with such
intense interest, through the narrows of the Devil’s Grip, and the
Cloisters of St, Ruth. There is in the physiognomy, in the language, and
in the actions of this person, introduced in the first place by the name
of John, and afterwards under that of Paul, a melancholy so profound, a
grief so bitter, a contempt of life of so intense a nature, that every
reader desires to become acquainted with the motives which influenced so
brave and generous a heart. For ourselves, we acknowledge that we have
more than once been tempted, however indiscreet, to say the least of
it, it might have been, to write to Cooper himself, and ask him for
information regarding the early career and closing years of this
adventurous seaman--information which we have vainly searched for in his
narrative. I thought that such a request would be readily forgiven by
him to whom it was addressed, for it would have been accompanied by the
expression of the most sincere and ardent admiration of his work; but I
was restrained by the reflection that the author himself, perhaps, knew
no more of that career, of which, he had given us but an episode, than
that portion of it which had been illuminated by the sun of American
Independence: for, in fact, this brilliant meteor had passed from the
clouds which environed his birth to the obscurity of his death in such
a manner, that it was quite possible the “poet historian,” being far
distant from the place where his hero was born, and from the country in
which he died, knew no more of him than what he has transmitted to us.
The very mystery which surrounded him, may have been the cause of
his selecting Paul Jones to play a part in his annals. Urged by these
considerations, I resolved upon obtaining, by my own research, those
details which I had so often desired to receive from others. I searched
through the archives of the Navy; all I found there was a copy of the
letters of marque granted to him by Louis XVI. I examined the annals of
the Convention; I only found in them the Decree passed at the time of
his death. I questioned his contemporaries; they told me that he was
buried in the cemetery of Père la Chaise. This was all the information I
could gather from my first attempts.
I then consulted our living library--Nodier, the learned--Nodier, the
philosopher--Nodier, the poet. After reflecting for a few moments, he
mentioned a small book written by Paul Jones himself, containing memoirs
of his life, bearing this motto, “Munera sunt Laudi.” I started off
to hunt for this precious relic; but it was in vain I searched through
libraries, rummaged the old book-stalls--all that I could find was an
infamous libel, entitled, “_Paul Jones, ou Prophétie sur l’Amérique,
l’Angleterre, la France, l’Espagne et la Hollande_” which I threw from
me with disgust, before I had got through the fourth page, marvelling
that poisons should be so enduring, and be perfectly preserved, whilst
we search in vain for wholesome and nutritious food--I therefore
renounced all hope in this quarter.
Some time afterwards, while taking a voyage along our coast, having
started from Cherbourg, I visited St. Malo, Quimper, and l’Orient. Upon
my arrival at the latter place I recollected having read in a biography
of Paul Jones, that this celebrated seaman had been three times in that
port. This circumstance had struck me--I had noted down the dates, and
had only to open my pocket-book to ascertain them. I examined the naval
archives, and in them I actually found entries of the sojourn which
the two frigates, the Hanger, of eighteen guns, and the Indienne, of
thirty-two, had made in these roads. As to the reasons for their coming
there, whether from ignorance or neglect, the secretary who had kept
the register had omitted to assign them. I was just leaving the office
without further information, when I thought of inquiring of an old clerk
who was sitting there, whether there was no traditional recollection in
the country as to the captain of these two ships. The old man told me
that in 1784, he being then a boy, and employed in the Quarantine Office
at Havre, had seen Paul Jones there. He was at that time a commodore
in the fleet of the Count de Vaudreuil. The renowned courage of this
officer, and his extraordinary exploits, had made such an impression
upon him, that upon his, the clerk’s, return to Brittany, he spoke of
him to his father, who then had charge of the Chateau d’Auray. Upon
hearing the name of Paul Jones, the old man started, and made a sign to
him to be silent--the young man obeyed, though not without astonishment.
He frequently afterwards questioned his father upon the subject, but he
always refused to satisfy his curiosity. It was not till after the death
of the Marchioness d’Auray, the emigration of her son, the Marquis, and
the dispersion of the family at the Revolution, that the old man felt
himself permitted to reveal, even to his son, the strange and mysterious
history, in which that of the object of my inquiries was so singularly
blended. Although nearly, forty years had passed away since his father
had related that eventful history, it had made so deep an impression
upon him that he repeated it to me, as he assured me, nearly word for
word.
I have treasured up this history in the recesses of my memory for nearly
seven years: and it would have still remained buried there, with a mass
of other recollections, destined never to see the light, had I not about
six months ago read “The Pilot” for the second time, and even with much
greater interest than before; for, thanks to the researches I had made,
the hero was no longer to me an unknown being, appearing only for an
instant, his face but partially visible, and with merely the portion
of a name; he had now become a friend, almost a brother, to me--for
new sympathies had been awakened in my heart besides those which had
formerly been inspired by the recital of the expedition to Whitehaven.
These led me to reflect that whatever of interest and disappointment
I had experienced on reading’ Cooper’s novel, they must have been
entertained alike by others, and that the anxious desire I had felt
to know more of the former lover of Alice Dunscombe was not a feeling
peculiar to myself, but would be participated by all those, and their
number must be great, who have followed this skilful seaman from the
moment of his first meeting Lieutenant Barnstaple on the English cliffs,
until that in which he quitted the Alert to land on the shores of
Holland.
I have, therefore, gathered up my recollections, and have written this
history.
CAPTAIN PAUL.
CHAPTER I--A STRANGE SAIL
Hoarse o’er her side the rustling cable rings-
The sails are furled--and anchoring, round she swings;
And gathering loiterers on the land discern
Her boat descending from the latticed stern.
‘Tis mann’d--the oars keep concert to the strand,
Till grates her keel upon the shallow sand.--Byron.
Toward the close of a fine evening in the month of October, 1779, the
most inquisitive among the inhabitants of the small town of Fort Louis,
had assembled on the point of land immediately opposite to that on which
stands the city of Lorient. The object which attracted their attention,
and which was the subject of their inquiries, was a noble beautiful
frigate, carrying 32 guns, which had been anchored for about a week, not
in the port, but in a small cove in the roadstead, and which had been
perceived for the first time early one morning, like an ocean flower
which had suddenly blossomed during the night. From the elegant and
coquettish appearance of this frigate, it was imagined that this was
the first time of her putting to sea; she bore the French flag, for the
three golden _fleur-de-lis_ were seen glittering in the last rays of the
setting sun.
That which, above all, appeared to excite the curiosity of the
admirers of this spectacle, so frequent, and notwithstanding, always so
interesting in a seaport, was the uncertainty as to the country in which
this vessel had been built; for, having all her sails clewed up and
snugly stowed around her yards, showed in the setting sun the graceful
outline of her hull, and a minute elegance as to her running rigging.
Some thought they could discern in her the bold and taunt masts used
by the Americans, but the perfection exemplified in the finish which
distinguished the rest of her construction, was in perfect contrast with
the barbarous rudeness of those rebellious children of England. Others,
deceived by the flag she had hoisted, were endeavouring to divine in
what port of France she had been launched, but their national pride soon
gave way to the conviction that she was not built in France, for they
sought in vain for those heavy galleries, ornamented with sculpture,
which is the compulsory decoration of the stern of every daughter of
the ocean, or of the Mediterranean, born on the stocks of Brest or of
Toulon; others, again, knowing that the flags were frequently used as a
mask to hide the real face, maintained that the lion and the towers of
Spain would have more properly been placed upon the ensign waving from
her peak, than the three _fleur-de-lis_ of France: but the latter were
asked whether the straight and elegant sides and quarters of the frigate
all resembled the bulging build of Spanish galleons. In short, there
were some among them who would have sworn that this beautiful fairy of
the waters had been brought to life among the frogs of Holland, had not
the dangerous boldness of her masts and rigging fully contradicted
the suggestion that she could have been built by those old but prudent
sweepers of the seas. But, as we have said, for eight whole days, and
ever since the first appearance of this splendid vision upon the
coast of Brittany, she had been the constant theme of wonder and
of conversation, for nothing had happened to give them any positive
information, as not an individual from the crew had landed from the
ship, under any pretext whatever. They might, indeed, have doubted
whether she had a crew or not, had not they now and then seen the
head of a sentinel, or of the officer of the watch, peering above the
bulwarks. It appeared, however, that this vessel, although she had not
communicated with the shore, could not have any hostile intention;
her arrival had not seemed to give the least uneasiness to the public
authorities of Lorient, for she had run under the guns of a small fort,
which the recent declaration of war between England and France had
caused to be put in order, and which displayed a battery of long guns of
heavy calibre.
Among this crowd of idlers, however, there was a young man, who was
remarked for the anxious eagerness of his inquiries:--without any one
being able to devise the cause, it was easily perceived that he felt
some direct interest in this mysterious vessel. His brilliant uniform
was that of the _mousquetaires_, and as these royal guards rarely
left the capital, he had, at first, directed a portion of the public
curiosity to himself, but it was soon discovered that this person, whom
they thought a stranger, was the young Count d’Auray, the last scion of
one of the most ancient families of Brittany. The castle inhabited by
his family rose above the shores of the Golf of Morbihan, at six or
seven leagues, distance from Fort Louis. The family consisted of the
Marquis d’Auray, a poor insane old man, who for twenty years had never
been seen beyond the boundaries of his estates; of the Marchioness
d’Auray, whose rigid morality, and whose ancient nobility, could alone
excuse her haughty and aristocratic bearing; of the young Marquerite, a
sweet girl of seventeen or eighteen years of age, delicate and pale
as the flower whose name she bore; and of Count Emanuel, whom we have
mentioned above, and around whom the crowd had gathered, carried away,
as it always is, by a sounding title, a brilliant uniform, and noble and
lordly manners.
However eager might have been the desire of those he addressed to
satisfy his curiosity, they could only answer his questions in a
vague and undecided manner; all they knew of the frigate being mere
conjecture. The count was about retiring from the jetty, when he
perceived a six-oared boat approaching it. At a moment when curiosity
had been so much excited, this incident could not fail to attract all
eyes. In the stern of the boat sat a young man, who appeared to be from
twenty to twenty-two years of age, and who was dressed in the uniform of
a lieutenant of the royal navy--he was sitting, or rather lying, upon a
bearskin, one hand reclining carelessly on the tiller of the small
boat, while the coxswain, who, thanks to the caprice of his officer,
had nothing to do, was sitting in the bow. From the moment that it
first made its appearance, every eye was directed towards it, as if it
contained the means of solving the mystery which had so much puzzled
them. The boat, urged on by the last efforts of its oarsmen, took the
ground at eight or ten feet distance from the beach, there being too
little water in that place to allow it to come nearer. Two of the
sailors jumped into the sea up to their knees. The young lieutenant then
rose up in a careless way, walked to the bow of the boat, and allowed
the two sailors to carry him in their arms to the beach, so that not a
drop of salt water should soil his elegant uniform. He then ordered his
men to double the point of land which advanced about three hundred feet
into the sea, and to go and wait for him on the opposite side of the
battery. As for himself, he stopped a moment on the beach to arrange his
dress, which had been a little disordered by the rough mode of transport
he had been compelled to adopt, and then he advanced, humming a French
air, towards the gate of a small fort, which he passed, after having
slightly returned the military salute of the sentinel on duty.
Although nothing could, in a seaport, be more natural than that a naval
officer should cross the roads and walk into a fort, the minds of the
lookers-on had been so much occupied with the foreign vessel, that there
was hardly one among the crowd who did not imagine that this visit to
the commandant of the fort had some relation to her, so that when the
young officer issued from it, he found himself surrounded so closely by
the crowd, that for a moment he appeared half inclined to use the rattan
which he carried in his hand, to make way through it. However after
having flourished it with impertinent affectation above the heads of
those who were nearest him, he appeared all at once to change his
mind, and perceiving Count Emanuel, whose distinguished appearance,
and elegant uniform, contrasted strikingly with the vulgar air and
habiliments of the persons who surrounded him, he made a few steps
towards him at the same moment that the count had advanced to meet him.
The two officers merely exchanged a rapid glance, but that look at
once assured both that they were persons of rank and station. They
immediately saluted each other with that easy grace and affable
politeness which characterized the young nobility of that period.
“By Heaven!” exclaimed the young midshipman; “my dear countryman, for I
suppose that like myself you are a Frenchman, although I meet you in
a seemingly hyperborean land, and in regions which, if not absolutely
savage, appear sufficiently barbarous--will you have the goodness to
tell me what there is so extraordinary about me, that I seem to cause
quite a revolution in the country? Or is the appearance of an officer of
the navy an event so rare and so extraordinary at Lorient, that his mere
presence excites, in so singular a degree, the curiosity of the natives
of Lower Brittany? By solving this mystery, you will render me a service
which I shall be happy to reciprocate, should any opportunity present
itself in which I can be useful to you.”
“This will be so much the more easy,” replied Count Emanuel, “as
this curiosity is not founded in any feeling which you would consider
offensive to your uniform or hostile to your person--and the proof of
this is, my dear comrade--for I see by your epaulettes that we are of
equal rank in the service of his majesty--that I participate with these
honest Britons in the curiosity which they evince, although, perhaps,
my motives are more weighty than theirs, in endeavouring to obtain a
solution of the problem which has occupied us.”
“If I can be of any assistance to you, in the inquiries which you have
undertaken, I place all the algebra I possess at your disposal. Only the
position we are in is not a comfortable one to carry out mathematical
demonstrations. Will it please you to remove to a small distance from
these honest people, whose presence would only tend to confuse our
calculations.”
“Certainly,” replied the mousquetaire, “and the more readily, as, if I
do not deceive myself, by walking this way I shall lead you nearer
to your boat and your sailors.”
“Oh! that is not of the slightest consequence; should this path not be
convenient to you we can take another. I have plenty of time; and my men
are less eager to, return on board than I am. Therefore, we will about
ship, if such is your good pleasure.”
“Not at all; on the contrary, let us go on, the nearer we are to
the beach the better we can discuss the matter in question. Let us,
therefore, walk upon this strip of land as far as we can.”
The young seamen, without replying a word, conti-nued to walk on, like a
man to whom the direction he was to take was perfectly indifferent, and
these two young men, who had thus met for the first time, walked arm in
arm, as though they had been friends from infancy, towards the end of
the promontory. When they had reached the extreme point, Count Emanuel
paused, and pointed towards the frigate, saying, “Do you know what ship
that is?”
The young seaman threw a rapid and scrutinizing glance upon the
mousquetaire, and then looked towards the ship: “Yes,” replied he,
negligently, “it is a pretty frigate carrying two and thirty guns, with
her sails bent and her starboard anchor atrip, ready to sail at the
first signal given.”
“Excuse me,” replied Emanuel, smiling; “that is not what I ask of you. It
signifies little to me how many guns she carries, or by what anchor she
is holding--is not that your technical mode of speaking?”
The lieutenant smiled: in turn. “But,” continued Emanuel, “what I wish
to know is, to what nation she actually belongs, the port, that she is
bound to, and the name of her captain.”
“As to the nation she belongs to,” replied the lieutenant,
“She has taken care to give us that information herself, or she is, an
outrageous liar; Do you not see her flag flying from her peak? It is the
flag without a stain, rather worn out from being too much used that’s
all. As to the place she is bound to, it is as the commandant of the
fort told you, when, you asked him,--Mexico.” Emanuel looked with
astonishment at the young lieutenant. “And finally, as to her captain,
that is a much more difficult matter.. There are some people who would
swear he is a young man about my own age or yours, for; I, believe we
left the cradle pretty closely the one after, the other, although the
professions we follow may place a long interval between our graves.
There are others who pretend he is of the same age with my uncle the
Count d’Estaing, who as you doubtless know, has just been made an
admiral, and who is at: this moment affording every assistance to the
rebels of America, as some people, even in France, still call them.
But, in short, as to his name, that is quite another thing; it is said
he does not know it himself; and until some fortunate occurrence shall
apprise him of it, he calls himself Paul.”
“Paul?”
“Yes, Captain Paul.”
“Paul, what?”
“Paul, of the _Providence_, of the _Banger_, of the _Alliance_,
according to the name of the ship he commands. Are there not also in
France some of our young nobles, who, finding their family name too
short, lengthen it out by the name of an estate, and surmount the whole
with a knight’s casque, or a baron’s coronet: so that their seals or
their carriages bear the evidence of belonging to some ancient family,
quite delightful to reflect upon? Well! so it is with him. At this
moment he calls himself, I believe, Paul, of the _Indienne_, and he is
proud of the appellation; if I may judge front my naval sympathies, I
do not think he would exchange his frigate for the finest estate to be
found between the Port of Brest and the mouth of the Rhone.”
“But, tell me,” rejoined Emanuel, after reflecting for a moment on the
singular mixture of simplicity and sarcasm which pervaded the answers of
his companion; “what is the character of this man?”
“His character--but, my dear baron--count--marquis”--
“Count,” replied Emanuel, bowing.
“Well, my dear count, then, I was about to say that you pursued me from
one abstraction to another, and that when I placed at you disposal all
my knowledge in algebra, I did not intend that we should enter into a
research of the unknown. His character! good heaven, my dear count, who
can speak knowingly of the character of a man, unless it be himself--and
even then--but hold--I, myself, as you now see me, have ploughed for
twenty years, at one time with the keel of a brig, at another with that
of a frigate, this vast expanse, which now extends itself before us.
My eyes, for so I may express myself, discerned the ocean almost at the
same moment that they saw the sky above it; since my tongue was able to
join two words together, or my comprehension could combine two ideas,
I have interrogated and studied the caprices of the ocean, and yet I
do not, even to this time, know its character--and there are only four
principal winds and thirty-two breezes which agitate it--that’s all.
How, then, can you expect that I should judge of man, torn as he is by
his thousand passions.”
“Nor did I ask you, my dear--duke--marquis--count?”--
“Lieutenant,” replied the young sailor, bowing, as Emanuel had done
before.
“I was about to say, then, my dear lieutenant, I do not ask a
physiological lecture on the passions of Captain Paul. I only wish to
inform myself upon two points. Firstly, whether you consider him a man
of honor?”
“We must first of all understand each other as to the meaning of words,
my dear count--what is your precise definition of the word honor?”
“Permit me to remark, my dear lieutenant, that this question is a most
singular one. Honor! Why, honor--is--honor.”
“That’s it precisely--a word without a definition, like the word God!
God--is God! and every one creates a God after his own fashion. The
Egyptians adored him under the form of a scorpion--the Israelites,
under that of a golden calf. So it is with honor. There is the honor
of Camillus, and that of Coriolanus--that of the Cid, and that of Count
Julian. Define your question better if you wish me to reply to it.”
“I ask, then, whether his word may be relied upon?”
“I do not believe he ever failed in that regard. His enemies--and no one
can arrive to his station without having them--even his enemies, I say,
have never doubted that he would keep, even unto death, an oath which he
had sworn to. This point is, therefore, believe me, fully settled. In
this respect, he is a man of _honor_. Let us pass, therefore, to your
second question, for if I do not deceive myself, you wish to know
something farther.”
“Yes, I wish to know whether he would faithfully obey an order given by
his Majesty?”
“What Majesty?”
“Really, my dear lieutenant, you affect a difficulty of comprehension
which would better suit the gown of a sophist, than a naval uniform.”
“Why so? You accuse me of cavilling, because, before replying, I wish
to know precisely what I have to answer. We have, at this? present time,
eight or ten majesties, seated securely or otherwise, upon the different
thrones of Europe. We have his Catholic Majesty--a feeble majesty, who
allows the inheritance, left him by Charles, the Fifth, to be torn
from him piece by piece;--we have his Britannic Majesty--a headstrong
majesty, who clings to his America, as Cyingetus to the Persian ship,
and whose hands we shall cut off, if he does not loose his hold;--we
have his Christian Majesty, whom I venerate and honor”--
“Well--it is of him I wish to speak,” said Emanuel,
“Do you believe that Captain Paul would feel disposed to obey an order
which I should deliver from him?”
“Captain Paul,” replied the lieutenant, “would, as every captain ought
to do, obey every order emanating from a power which has the right of
commanding him--unless indeed he be an accursed pirate, or some damned
privateersman, some buccaneer, who owes no allegiance, and which I
should doubt from the appearance of the frigate he commands, and from
the way she is fitted. He must have then in some drawer of his cabin, a
commission signed by some power or other. Well! should this commission
bear the name of Louis, and be sealed with the fleur-de-lis of France,
there can be no doubt that he would obey any order sealed, and signed by
the same name.”
“This is all then that I wish to be informed of,” replied the young
mousquetaire, who began to grow impatient at the strange and evasive
answers given by his companion. “I will only ask you one more question.”
“I am ready to obey your wishes in that, as I have in the rest, count,”
returned the lieutenant.
“Do you know any way of getting on board of that ship?”
“There is one,” replied the lieutenant, pointing towards his own boat,
which lay rocked, by the waves, in a small creek close to them.
“That boat! why, is it yours?”
“Well! I will take you on board.”
“You know this Captain Paul, then?”
“I? not in the least! But as nephew of an admiral, I am naturally
acquainted with every officer of a ship, from a boatswain, who pipes the
hands aloft, to the rear admiral, who commands a squadron. Besides
which, we sailors have secret signs among us, a certain masonic
language, by which we know one another as brothers in whatever part of
the ocean we may meet. You may, therefore, accept my proposal with the
same frankness in which I offer it. I, my rowers, and my boat, are at
your disposal.”
“Do me this service, then,” said Emanuel, “and”--
“You will forgive me the annoyance I have caused by my tergiversations,
will you not?” said the lieutenant. “You cannot be surprised at it,”
continued he smiling, “my dear count, the solicitude of a seaman’s life
has given to us children of the sea, the habit of soliloquising. During
a calm, we invoke the winds! During the tempest, we invoke the calm; and
during the night we address ourselves to God.”
Emanuel again looked doubtingly at his companion, who met his gaze with
that apparent good tempered simplicity, which had appeared to spread
over his features every time he had become the object of investigation,
to the mousquetaire. The latter was surprised at this mixture of
contempt for human things, and of poetic feeling toward the works of
God. But finding that this singular man was disposed to render him,
although in a strange manner, the service he had asked of him, he
accepted his proffered assistance. Five minutes afterwards, the two
young men were advancing towards the unknown vessel with as much
rapidity as the vigor of six stout rowers could give to the light bark
in which they were seated. Their oars rose and fell with so regular a
movement, that it appeared rather impelled by some powerful machine,
than by the combination of human strength.