When a captain finds his ship on shore, even though he is in no way to
blame, he feels as did Captain Order, that a great misfortune has
happened to him. No sooner was the _Proserpine's_ way stopped, than the
ice drifting down the river began to collect round her. Still the
captain did not despair of getting her off. The boats were hoisted out
for the purpose of carrying out an anchor to heave her off; but the ice
came down so thickly with the ebb, which had begun to make, that they
were again hoisted in, and all hands were employed in shoring up the
ship to prevent her falling over on her side. Scarcely was this done
when huge masses of ice came drifting down with fearful force directly
on the ship, carrying away the shores as if they were so many reeds, and
tearing off large sheets of the copper from her counter.
"I told you that matters might be worse. What do you think of the state
of things?" said Bruff to Paul.
"That they are very bad; but I heard the captain say just now that he
still hopes to get off," answered Paul. "I suppose that he is right on
the principle Mr Devereux always advocates, `Never to give in while the
tenth part of a chance remains.'"
"Oh, Devereux is a fortunate man. He is a lieutenant, and will be a
commander before long, and so looks on the bright side of everything,
while I am still a wretched old mate, and have a right to expect the
worst," answered Bruff, with some little bitterness in his tone. "I
ought to have been promoted for that cutting-out affair."
So he ought. Poor Bruff, once the most joyous and uncomplaining in the
mess, was becoming slightly acidulated by disappointment. He had good
reason on this occasion for taking a gloomy view of the state of
affairs.
The ice drove down in increasingly larger masses every instant. One
mass struck the rudder, and, though it was as strong as wood and iron
could make it, cut it in two, the lower part being thrown up by the
concussion on to the surface of the floe, where it lay under the stern,
the floe itself remaining fixed in that position by the other masses
which had collected round the ship.
The ambassador and members of his suite looked uncomfortable, and made
inquiries as to the best means of leaving the ship; but she was Captain
Order's first command, and he had no idea of giving her up without
making a great effort for her preservation. At length came an order
which showed that matters were considered bad in the extreme:
"Heave overboard the guns!"
Rapidly the guns were run out, and, aided by crowbars, were forced
through the ports; but so strong was the ice that they failed to break
it, and lay on its surface round the ship. Mr Trunnion, the gunner,
hurried about, assisting in the operation; but as each gun went
overboard he gave a groan, and made a face as if, one by one, his own
teeth were being drawn.
"Never mind, mate, the good ship holds together, and we'll get her off,
I hope," observed the carpenter.
"The ship! What's the value of her compared to the guns?" exclaimed the
gunner, turning on his heel.
The stores (to the purser's infinite grief) and water followed. Anchors
and cables were now carried out, and the ice astern with infinite labour
was broken away; but the efforts of the crew were in vain, and the ship
still remained firmly fixed in her icy prison when night drew on.
What a night was that! Down came the snow thicker than ever, the fierce
wind howled and shrieked through the rigging, and when the ebb tide
made, the ice in huge masses came down, crashing with fearful force
against the sides of the frigate, mass rising above mass, till it seemed
as if it were about to entomb her in a frozen mountain. The science and
experience of the oldest officers were set at nought, all the exertions
of the crew were unavailing; the wind increased, the snow fell thicker,
and the ice accumulated more and more. The cold, too, was intense, and
with difficulty the men could face the freezing blast.
Paul thought of how often he had heard people complaining of the heat of
the West Indies, and now how glad would they have been to have obtained
some of that caloric they were then so anxious to be rid of. Already
the masses of ice reached up to the cabin windows. A loud crack was
heard. It came from the after part of the ship. The carpenter and his
mates descended to ascertain the mischief. He soon returned with a long
face and a look of alarm on his countenance, and, touching his hat to
the captain, reported that the stern port was broken in two, and parts
of the stern stove in, so that there was small chance of the ship
floating, even should she be got off.
"Well, well, Auger, keep up your spirits, man," observed Mr Grummit,
the boatswain, to his brother warrant officer; "the masts are standing,
and in spite of the gale the spars are uninjured, and you may manage,
after all, to copper up the old barkie to get her out of this."
"Ah, that's just like the way of the world, Grummit," said Trunnion.
"As long as your masts are standing, you don't care how much harm
happens to the hull under Auger's charge; and while the hull was
undamaged, Auger didn't care for my guns; but just let's see your masts
going over the side, and we should have you singing out as loudly as any
one--that we should, I know; and just you look out, they'll be going
before long."
The indignant gunner turned away. It seemed very probable that his
prognostications would prove true, for already in all directions the
gallant ship cracked and groaned as the ice pressed in from every
quarter on her stout timbers.
Paul met Devereux, and asked him what he thought was going to happen.
"One of two things, my dear Gerrard," answered the young lieutenant; "we
must either try to get on shore, or we must be ready to go down with the
ship, should the wind drift her out of her present position. I know
that you will be prepared for whatever we are called to encounter; but
whatever occurs, keep near me. I shall not be happy if we are
separated."
As Paul was in Devereux's watch, this he could easily promise to do.
Hour after hour wore on. The cold increased. The weather gave no signs
of mending. Death, in a form, though not the most terrible, yet
calculated to produce intense suffering, stared them in the face. The
men looked at each other, and asked what was next to happen. The
captain and most of his officers, and the ambassador, were in
consultation in the cabin. Many of the men believed that the ship
herself could not much longer resist the violent pressure to which she
was exposed, and expected every instant that her sides would be crushed
together.
The calmest, as usual, was old Croxton, who had been actively going
about his duty without making any demonstration.
"Lads, just listen to me," he observed. "Some of you are proposing one
thing, and some another; but let me advise you to go on steadily doing
your duty, smartly obeying our officers, and leaving all the rest in the
hands of Providence. It is the business of the officers to plan and
command, and, depend on it, they'll order us to do what they believe to
be best."
A few minutes afterwards the drum beat for divisions, and as soon as the
men were mustered, the captain addressed them, and told them that, at
the desire of the ambassador, it had been resolved to abandon the ship.
"At the same time, my lads, you will remember that while she holds
together, you still belong to her," he added. "While, for your own
sakes, you will maintain that strict discipline which has done you so
much credit ever since I have had the satisfaction of commanding you."
A hearty cheer was the answer to this address.
The men were then directed to provide themselves each with a change of
clothing, and a supply of provisions for two days. All knew that the
undertaking was perilous in the extreme. The nearest inhabited part of
the small island of Newark was upwards of six miles distant. No one
knew exactly the direction. The snow continued to fall thickly, the
cold was intense, and the wind blew fiercely, while it was possible that
the ice might break away and carry them with it before they could gain
the land.
They were to march in subdivisions, each under their respective
officers. With heavy hearts the officers and crew went down the side of
the ship, and formed on the ice under her lee. The sick--fortunately
there were very few--were supported by their comrades. There were some
women and children; for them it was truly fearful work. The captain,
having ascertained that no man was left on board, was the last to quit
the ship. He could not speak as he came down the side and took his
place in the van. The order to advance was given. Slowly, with heads
bent down against the freezing blast, the party worked their way. In
some places the tide or the wind had forced the water over the ice, and
pools of half-frozen slush had been formed, through which they were
compelled to wade. In others they had to climb over the huge slabs of
ice which had been thrown up in wild confusion. On they toiled,
however, those who kept close together assisting each other; but some,
alas! in the thick snow separated by the inequalities of the surface
over which they travelled, sunk unseen, and not, in many cases, till
their comrades had advanced too far to render assistance, was their
absence discovered. A poor boy--who, though somewhat weak and sickly,
was a favourite with the men--was one of the first missed. He had been
complaining of the cold, but had been encouraged to proceed by those
near him.
"Oh, let me just lie down and rest for a few moments, I am so weary, I
will come on with the others," he murmured.
"You will get no rest to do you good," was the answer. "Cheer up, cheer
up, lad!"
A friendly hand was stretched out to help him. For some way he
struggled on. Then there arose a huge pile of ice slabs, and he escaped
from the friendly hand which held him.
"Ah, now I will rest quietly," he thought, as he laid himself down on a
crevice of the ice filled with snow.
From that sleep he never awoke.
Among the women, one toiled on with a child in her arms. Many of the
seamen offered to carry it; but she would not part with her treasure.
On and on she moved. Her words became wandering, then scarcely
articulate. She ceased at length to speak. Still she advanced. The
snow fell thicker. The road became more uneven. Each person had to
exert himself to the utmost to preserve his own life. They thought not
of the poor woman and her child till they discovered that she was not
among them. But not only did the weak sink down. Strong men in the
same way disappeared from among their comrades. No one at the time
exactly knew how. No one saw them fall. They were by the side of those
who still walked on alive one moment, and the next they were gone.
Paul kept near Devereux. They conversed together as much as they could,
and often addressed words of encouragement to the men, who, though often
sinking, it appeared, with fatigue and cold, were revived, it seemed,
and proceeded with as much spirit as at first.
Paul himself at length began to grow very weary, and to long to lie down
and rest.
"If I could stop back for three minutes, I could easily run on and catch
them up," he thought to himself; yet he did not like to make the
proposal to Devereux, who, he still had sense enough to believe, would
not agree to it.
Poor Paul, was this to be the termination of all your aspirations for
naval glory, to sink down and die on a frozen sand-bank, within a few
miles of a spot where you may obtain food, shelter, and warmth?
"I can stand it no longer, I must rest," he said to himself. "There is
a snug spot between two slabs of ice, quite an arm-chair. I must sit in
it, if only for two minutes."
Devereux must have divined his thoughts, or probably observed the
irregular and faltering steps he was making, for, seizing him by the
arm, he exclaimed, with judicious roughness--
"Come, rouse up, Paul, my dear fellow! We must have none of this folly.
I did not expect it from you."
The words had their due effect. By a powerful effort Paul threw off his
lethargy, and once more sprang on with the rest, continuing to talk and
encourage his companions.
Still no one could tell whether or not they should ever reach their
destination. The snow fell thicker than ever, and not a windmill, a
spire, or a willow, or any of the objects which adorn the shores of the
Elbe, could be seen to indicate that they were approaching the haunts of
men. It was too evident that many of their number had passed from among
them since they began their march, and no one could say who might
follow. Many were complaining bitterly of the cold, and others had
ceased to complain, as if no longer conscious of the effect it was
producing.
Suddenly there was a shout from those in advance. The rear ranks
hurried on. A house was seen, then another, and another. They were in
the middle of a village. Kind people came out of their houses to
inquire what had occurred; and at once there was no lack of hearty
invitations, and the whole party were soon enjoying warmth, hot drinks,
and dry clothing, which soon revived the greater number, though some who
had been frost-bitten required considerable attention before they were
set to rights.
The next day the storm raged as furiously as before, and so it continued
for nearly a week, and all had reason to be thankful that they had
reached a place of safety. At length, the weather moderating, and
provisions on the island growing very scarce, the ambassador and his
suite, and half of the ship's company, proceeded on, though not without
great difficulty and hazard, to Cuxhaven, while the rest remained on the
island, in the hope of saving some of the ship's stores.
Among the latter were Devereux, Paul, and O'Grady, with Reuben Cole.
The next day they, with a party of men, volunteered to visit the wreck,
to report on her condition, and to bring back some bread, of which they
stood greatly in need. They succeeded in getting on board, and found
the ship in even a worse condition than they had expected. She was on
her beam ends, with upwards of seven feet of water in her, apparently
broken asunder, the quarter-deck separated six feet from the gangway,
and only kept together by the ice frozen round her. Their task
accomplished, with a few articles of value and a supply of bread, they
returned to the shore.
Considering that the risk was very great, the captain decided that no
further visits should be paid to the ship.
However, one morning, the weather becoming very fine, it being
understood that the captain had not actually prohibited a visit to the
ship, Devereux, Paul, and O'Grady, with Cole and another man, set off to
pay, as they said, the old barkie a farewell visit. The captain, who
was ill in bed, only heard of their departure too late to recall them.
The frost was so severe that the ice was well frozen, and thus they must
have got on board; but it was supposed that they had remained on board
till the tide changing made their return impossible. They were
looked-for anxiously during the evening, but no tidings came of them.
At night the wind again got up, and their shipmates, as they sat by the
fires of their hospitable host, trembled for their safety. As soon as
daylight returned the greater number were on foot. Not a vestige of her
could be seen. The tide and wind rising together must have carried down
the masses of ice with terrific force, and completely swept her decks.
When Captain Order heard of this, his feelings gave way. "To have lost
my ship was bad enough," he exclaimed; "but to lose so many fine young
fellows on a useless expedition is more than I can bear. It will be the
cause of my death."
The few officers who remained with the captain could offer no
consolation. The pilots and other people belonging to the place were
consulted. They declared that from the condition of the ship when last
visited, it was impossible that she could withstand the numerous masses
of ice which during the past night must have, with terrific violence,
been driven against her, that she had probably been cut down by degrees
to the water's edge, and that thus the ice must have swept over her.
They said that if even those on board had been able to launch a boat, no
boat could have lived amid the floating ice; and that even, had she
escaped from the ice, she must have foundered in the chopping sea
running at the mouth of the river. Probably, when the weather moderated
in the spring, portions of the wreck would be found thrown up on the
shore, and that was all that would ever be known of her fate. The
captain, after waiting some days, and nothing being heard of the frigate
or the lost officers and men, being sufficiently recovered, proceeded
with the remainder of the crew to Cuxhaven.
Devereux, Paul and O'Grady were general favourites, and their loss
caused great sorrow among their surviving shipmates; but sailors,
especially in those busy, stirring days, had little time for mourning
for those who had gone where they knew that they themselves might soon
be called on to follow. Some honest tears were shed to their memory,
and the captain with a heavy heart wrote his despatches, giving an
account of the loss of his ship, and of the subsequent misfortune by
which the service had been deprived of so many gallant and promising
young officers. The ambassador and his suite had for some time before
taken their departure, as the French were known to be advancing
eastward, and might have, had they delayed, intercepted them. For the
same reason Captain Order and his officers and crew anxiously looked
forward to the arrival of a ship of war to take them away, as they did
not fancy finishing off their adventures by being made prisoners and
marched off to Verdun, or some other unpleasant place, where the French
at that time shut up their captives. At length a sloop of war arrived,
and they reached England in safety. Captain Order and his officers had
to undergo a court-martial for the loss of the frigate, when they were
not only honourably acquitted, but were complimented on the admirable
discipline which had been maintained, and were at once turned over to
another frigate, the _Dido_, lately launched, and fitting with all
possible dispatch for sea.
But there were sad hearts and weeping eyes in one humble home, where the
loss of two deeply loved ones was mourned; and even in the paternal hall
of O'Grady, and in the pretentious mansion of Devereux, sorrow was
expressed, and some tears were shed for those who had thus early been
cut off in their career of glory. We will not attempt to pry into the
grief which existed in Gerrard's home. It did not show itself by loud
cries and lamentations, but it was very evident that from one heart
there all joyousness had for ever flown. Still Mary bore up
wonderfully. All her attention seemed to be occupied in attending to
her mother, who, already delicate, felt Paul's loss dreadfully. Her
young brothers and sisters, too, required her care. As usual, she
taught them their lessons, made and mended their clothes, helped to cook
their dinners, and attended them at their meals. None of these things
did she for a day leave undone, and even Sarah and John, whispering
together, agreed that Mary could not have cared so very much for
Gilbert, and still less for poor Paul.
Some weeks passed on, when one day, when Mary was out marketing, Mrs
Gerrard received a letter curiously marked over--not very clean, and
with a high postage. Fortunately she had just enough to pay for it.
She read it more than once. "Poor, dear, sweet, good Mary!" she
exclaimed; "I almost fear to tell her; the revulsion may be too great.
I know how much she has suffered, though others don't."
A writer has a great advantage in being able to shift the scene, and to
go backwards or forwards in time as he may find necessary. We must go
back to that fine, bright, but bitterly cold morning when Lieutenant
Devereux and his companions set off to visit the frigate. They were
strong and hardy, had thick coats, and, besides, the exercise kept them
warm. The way was difficult, often through deep snow, into which they
sank up to their middles. They looked in vain for trace of any of their
lost shipmates. They were already entombed beneath the glittering snow,
not to be again seen till the warm sun of the spring should expose them
to the gaze of passers by. They at length reached the ship, and climbed
up through a main-deck port. How silent and melancholy seemed the
deserted ship, lately crowded with active busy human beings never more
again destined to people its decks.
They looked into the cabins and selected a few articles they had before
forgotten, taking some articles from the cabins of their messmates which
they thought might be valued. On the main-deck the injuries which the
ship had received were not so apparent.
"Would it be possible to save her?" exclaimed Devereux. "If she could
be buoyed up with empty casks and got off into deep water, we might
patch her up sufficiently to run her over to Yarmouth Roads. I would
rather see her bones left there than here."
"Anything you like I am ready for," said O'Grady, and Paul repeated the
sentiment.
"I do not mean to say that we can do it by ourselves; but if we can form
a good plan to place before the captain, perhaps he will let us have the
rest of the people to carry it out," said Devereux. "However, before we
begin, let us have some food. I am very hungry after our walk, and I
daresay you all are."
All hands agreed to this; there was no lack of provisions. Some time
was occupied in the meal, and then they set to work to make their
survey. As they wished to be exact, and to ascertain the number of
casks on which they could depend for floating the ship, the business
occupied a longer time than they had expected. They had nearly
completed their plans when Paul, looking through one of the ports, saw
the water rushing by with great rapidity, carrying with it large blocks
of ice capable of overwhelming anybody they might have struck. The tide
had turned, it was too evident, some time, and their retreat to the
shore was cut off. Paul reported the circumstance to Devereux. There
was no doubt about the matter. They stood at the gangway gazing at the
roaring torrent, full of masses of ice leaping over and grinding against
each other. No one but a madman would have ventured to cross it. It
seemed doubtful if even a boat could live in such a turmoil of waters.
If the flood ran up thus strong, what might be the effects of the ebb?
It would not be low water again till past midnight, and it would then be
very dangerous, if not altogether impracticable, to get on shore. They
must, therefore, make up their minds to remain on board till the
following day.
"The old ship is not going to tumble to pieces just yet," said Devereux.
"We might have had worse quarters than she can still afford, so we
shall have to turn into our berths and wait till the sun rises again."
Whether the young lieutenant felt as confident as he expressed himself
might have been doubted; but he was one of those wise people who always
make the best of everything, carrying out practically the proverb "What
cannot be cured must be endured." As they had plenty to do, and were
able to light a fire in the cabin stove and another in the galley to
cook their supper, they passed their time not unpleasantly. Their
habits of naval discipline would not allow them to dispense with a
watch, so, while the rest turned in, one officer and one man at a time
walked the deck, though, as O'Grady remarked, "We are not likely to run
foul of anything, seeing that we are hard and fast aground, and nothing
will purposely run foul of us; and if anything does, it may, for we
can't get out of its way." Devereux took the dog watch, O'Grady was to
take the first, and Paul the middle. Paul was not sorry to turn in, for
he was very tired. He had not slept, as he thought, when he felt
O'Grady's hand on his shoulder, telling him that it was time to turn
out.
He was on deck in a minute, where he found O'Grady, who was waiting his
coming. Just as O'Grady was going down, a loud, grating, crushing noise
assailed their ears. It was blowing very strong, and freezing extremely
hard. The night also was very dark, and occasionally heavy falls of
snow came on, making the obscurity greater. The rushing noise
increased. The tide they knew must have turned, and was now coming down
with terrific force.
"I say, Gerrard, I doubt if Devereux's plan will succeed, if the ice
continues to come down in this fashion; more likely to cut the old
barkie to pieces," observed O'Grady.
"I am afraid so," said Paul; "I'll ask Cole what he thinks of the state
of affairs."
Reuben was found, and confessed that he did not like them. The wind had
increased to a fearful gale, which howled and whistled through the
shrouds, and between the intervals of these gusts the roar of the
distant ocean could be heard, as the seas met together, or dashed in
heavy rollers on the coast.
While the midshipmen and Reuben were talking, they became conscious that
the ship was moving; her deck rose and fell very slowly certainly, but
they felt the sensation of which perhaps only seamen could have been
aware that they were standing on a floating body. They instantly called
Devereux, and he was convinced of the awful fact that the frigate was
moving. In her present condition she could not float long, and though
they might lower a boat, it was impossible that a boat could live among
the masses of ice rushing by. Perhaps the frigate might ground again.
They sounded the well; she had not made much water since they came on
board, so she might float for some time longer. Perhaps she was still
in shallow water, and just gliding over the bottom. A lead was found
and hove for soundings; but instead of striking the water, it came upon
hard ice. The mystery was explained. The whole floe in which the ship
was embedded was floating away. There could be little doubt about that.
But where was it driving to? That was the question. It might drive
out to sea, and becoming broken by the force of the waves, allow the
ship to sink between its fragments. Still even then they might possibly
be able to escape in a boat. One was therefore cleared and got ready
for landing, and a supply of provisions, a compass, and water, were
placed in her, with some spare cloaks and blankets to afford them a
slight shield and protection from the inclemency of the weather. After
this they could do no more than pray that warning might be given them of
the ship's sinking, and wait patiently for day.
The cold was so intense that they would have been almost frozen to death
had they not been able to keep up a fire in the cabin stove, round which
officers and men now clustered. It might possibly be their last meeting
on this side a watery grave, and yet they had all, young and old, been
so accustomed to face death, that they did not allow the anticipation of
it altogether to quench their spirits. They talked of the past and even
of the future, although fully aware that that future on earth might not
be for them.
Day came at last, cold and grey. They looked out; they were, as they
had conjectured, surrounded by a solid floe of ice--so thick that there
seemed little danger of its immediately breaking up. Beyond it was the
leaden sea foaming and hissing--but, in spite of the gale, not breaking
heavily, owing to the floes of ice floating about and the direction of
the wind; while in the distance to the south, and on either hand, was a
low line of coast, with islands here and there scattered now and then.
The prospect was uninviting. The ship was driving out to sea, and could
not then long hold together. O'Grady proposed making an attempt to gain
the shore in the boat; but Devereux pointed out the difficulty there
would be in making headway against the furious gale then blowing, in
addition to the risk of having the boat stove in by the ice.
"No, no; let us stick to the ship as long as she keeps above water," he
added.
Of course all agreed that his decision was right. They were not idle,
however. Paul suggested that if a boat could not live, a strong raft
might; and as soon as breakfast was over, they set to work to build one.
As they had plenty of time and materials, they made it big enough and
strong enough to carry fifty men, and in the centre built a store-house
to hold provisions for several days. Fortunately the ice did not move
very fast; and before they had drifted far off the coast, the wind
shifted, and drove them along it at the same rate as before. Still it
continued freezing hard. A rapid thaw they had most to fear, as it
would melt away the supporting floe, and let the ship sink. But then
they might take to their boat. Had it not been for the anxiety they
felt as to what might happen, they had no great cause to complain, as
they had shelter and firing, and were amply supplied with provisions,
besides, as O'Grady observed, enjoying the advantage, when the raft was
finished, of having nothing to do. The third night they had spent on
board came to a close. They kept a very strict watch, that should any
change occur, they might not be taken unawares. On looking out they
found the land much nearer than before. This was accounted for, as the
wind had shifted, and now blew almost directly on shore.
"Our voyage will come to an end sooner than we expected last night,"
observed O'Grady. "For my part I am almost sorry; it's very good fun."
"It will be no laughing matter, if the wind increases, and a heavy surf
breaks on the shore," said Devereux, who overheard the remark.
The ship, still surrounded by its mass of ice, to which it acted as a
sail, drifted slowly, but steadily, towards the shore. The rate of
progress was increased, however, before long by the rising wind, and the
deck of the ship, hitherto only gently undulating, began to be tossed
about with a motion more rapid than pleasant. As they drove on, the
land opened out, and appeared on either hand; so that they found that
they were at the entrance of an estuary, or the mouth of a wide river.
But the sea rolled in very heavily, and they feared, if it increased,
that the ice round the ship would break up. Still there would be ample
warning given, and they dreaded no immediate danger. The raft and boat
were both got ready. Should the ship sink, the former would in all
probability float, and afford them a refuge should the boat be unable to
live.
"And now all our preparations are made, we'll pipe to dinner," said
Devereux.
And the whole party sat down to a not unsubstantial meal round the cabin
stove. Dinner was over. It had been somewhat prolonged, for there was
nothing to do, and they had been talking of by-gone days, and fighting
their battles over again. It was time, however, to look out to see what
progress they had been of late making. It was O'Grady's watch, and when
he opened the cabin door to go out, he saw a mass of smoke eddying round
in the fore-part of the deck. His companions soon joined him to
ascertain beyond a doubt that the ship was on fire. It might still be
overcome. But the fresh water had been started; there was only ice
alongside, and the pumps were choked. The party made a rush towards the
fire, in the hopes of beating it out; but they were soon convinced that
it had gained hold of the ship, and that no efforts they could make to
extinguish it would avail. How it had originated there was no time to
consider. Probably some coal jerked out of the galley-fire had found
its way below, and had ignited some of the stores. The flames now burst
forth, and spread rapidly--bursting through the hatchways and ports, and
soon enveloping the whole of the fore-part of the ship. The party were
now exposed to even a more terrible danger than any they had
anticipated. Their raft would no longer avail them. Their entire
dependence must be on their frail boat. Still till the last moment they
were unwilling to leave the once stout ship which had so long been their
home.
"We must go, my lads," exclaimed Devereux, with a sigh, as the flames,
fanned by the wind, rapidly approached the quarter-deck. "One good
thing is, that should she drive on shore, and the French be in the
neighbourhood, they will not benefit by her."
"Hurrah! one cheer for the old barkie before we leave her!" cried Reuben
Cole, as they launched the boat on to the ice. "Another good is, that
not another mortal man will set his foot on her deck after us."
"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" they shouted, as they ran the boat over the
ice.
They did not leave the ship a moment too soon, for scarcely had they got
their boat into the water to the leeward of the floe, than the
fore-mast, already a pyramid of fire, fell with a loud crash on the ice.
"There is something more coming, and the further off we are, the
better," cried Devereux. "I should have thought of that before. Give
way, lads; the fire will soon reach the magazine."
So long as the boat was under the lee of the floe she made tolerably
fine weather of it; but as she increased her distance, the seas came
rolling up after her, threatening every instant to engulph her. A mast
had been stepped, and a sail got ready for hoisting. This was now run
up, and assisted her greatly. Devereux steered, and even he could
scarcely keep his eyes from the burning ship. A cry from his companions
made him for an instant turn his head. There was a thundering deep
report; and as he looked for an instant, the whole ship seemed, with her
remaining masts and spars one mass of flame, to be lifted bodily up out
of her icy cradle into the air. Up, up it went, and then, splitting
into ten thousand fragments, down it came hissing and crashing, some
into the foaming sea, and others on to the ice, where they continued to
burn brilliantly. There was no cheering this time. Paul felt more
inclined to cry, as he witnessed the fate of the gallant frigate.
"If the wreckers on shore were expecting a prize, they'll be mistaken,"
observed Reuben, when all had been silent for some time.
They had enough to do to look after their own safety. It was already
dusk. Masses of ice were floating about, not very thickly, but thick
enough to make it a matter of difficulty to avoid them. The land was
flat, and they were nearer to it than they supposed. A point appeared
on the right. If they could get round it without being swamped, they
would be in smooth water. They gave the point a sufficient berth. A
heavy sea came rolling by them; luffing up, they ran in, and in another
minute found themselves standing up a river of some size in perfectly
smooth water. The weather was very cold, and they were anxious to get
on shore as soon as possible. The further up they went, however, the
more likely they were, they thought, to find satisfactory shelter, for
as yet no houses of any sort could be seen. Shelter, however, must, if
possible, be found, for although they had provisions, the weather was
too cold to allow them to remain out, if it could be helped. They stood
on for nearly half an hour, when a light was seen glimmering on the
opposite shore. They steered towards it, fortunately lowering the sail
when at some distance from it, for before the boat had lost way, her
stem struck against the ice which fringed the bank, and very nearly
stove in her bow. Searching about, however, they at length found a
landing-place, and with hearts thankful for their escape sprang on
shore. That they might not be a burden to the people whose hospitality
they intended to seek, they loaded themselves, not only with the
valuables they had rescued from the wreck, but with a good supply of
provisions. They proceeded, therefore, boldly along a tolerable road in
the direction of the light, or rather lights, for several appeared as
they advanced.
"Oh, depend on it we shall have a cordial reception," said O'Grady.
"Very likely that is some fat old Burgomaster's country residence, and
he is giving a ball, or an entertainment of some sort, for which we
shall come in."
"As likely it is a flour-mill, and those lights we see are from its
windows," remarked Devereux.
"We shall soon settle the point, for we shall be up to the place
directly," said Paul. "The lights are lower than I at first thought,
and appear to be in the windows of several houses. Hark! I hear the
tramp of horses coming along the road."
"Qui va la?" shouted a voice, in sharp, stern accents. "Stand and
declare yourselves!"
"We are in for it," whispered O'Grady. "What can the fellows be?"
"French dragoons, I am afraid," answered Paul, "There is no use
attempting to deceive them. They ask who we are."
"Gerrard, you speak French better than I do; tell them," said Devereux.
"Naval officers who have lost their ship, and are seeking for shelter
this bitter cold night," shouted Paul.
"Come then with us," exclaimed the sergeant in command of the patrol,
riding up. "Your story, friends, may or may not be true. If you are
spies, the consequences may be unpleasant."
Escorted by the horsemen, they were conducted to the building they had
seen. It appeared to be a large country house. All the outhouses and
lower rooms were converted into stables, little trouble having been
taken to remove rich Brussels carpets or valuable furniture. They were
led upstairs to a large room, where several officers were seated at
supper, and were announced as prisoners just captured on the road,
reporting themselves as naval officers.
"A likely story," observed the commanding officer--a general apparently
by his uniform. "What have you to say for yourselves?"
"That our tale is true," answered Devereux. "Any person on the coast
must have seen our ship burning. If you will send, you can ascertain
the truth of that part of our account."
"It is a considerable distance from the coast, and we cannot spare men
to send," said the general, gruffly.
"The boat by which we landed will be found at the bank of the river,"
observed Paul, quietly.
"Very likely, but that will only prove that you landed from some ship
off the coast," exclaimed the general, in an angry tone. "You were
found prowling about my head-quarters, the act of spies, and as spies
you will be treated. If your story is not authenticated, you will be
shot at sunrise."
"Say, rather, brutally murdered!" said Devereux, indignantly. "I call
all here to witness that I state that I am a British officer, that these
are my subordinates, that all I have said is true, and that we landed
here not knowing that the French were occupying the country."
The general, once well known for his atrocious cruelties, had made a
signal to the guard to lead away the prisoners, when a young man entered
the room dressed in the uniform of an hussar. Paul looked at him very
hard, struck by his strong likeness to Alphonse Montauban.
"What!" exclaimed the new comer, springing forward, and taking Paul's
hand, "Is it possible?"
His voice made Devereux and O'Grady turn their heads; and in spite of
the astonished and angry looks of the general and some of his officers,
he grasped their hands; then turning to the general, he cried out--
"What have these officers done? They appear to be treated as criminals.
I know them well. They are old friends, who, when I was their
prisoner, treated me with kindness, sympathy, and generosity. I will
answer for it that whatever account they have given of themselves is the
true one."
"That alters the case, my dear Count," said the general, in a blander
tone than he had as yet used. "If they really have been wrecked,
although we must consider them as prisoners, they shall receive all
courtesy at our hands, and be exchanged as soon as possible."
Of course Devereux again gave an account of their adventures, on the
truth of which Alphonse staked his honour.
"Very well; then if they will pass their parole, they shall be committed
to your charge, Count," said the general, with a more courteous glance
at the English officers than he had hitherto bestowed.
All arrangements having been made, the prisoners accompanied Alphonse to
his quarters, where, with the aid of the provisions they had brought, an
ample repast was soon spread before them. Of course they were all eager
to know how Alphonse had happened so opportunely to make his appearance.
He briefly told them that his father, who was no other than the old
gentleman in the chateau whom Paul and O'Grady had known as _Mon Oncle_,
was the Count de Montauban, and that his title having been restored by
the Emperor, he had, on his death, succeeded to it; that having left the
marine, of which his experiences had made him heartily sick, he had
entered the army, and had rapidly risen to the command of a troop in a
light cavalry regiment. His corps belonged to a division of the army
which for some strategical object had been pushed forward, but was
expected quickly to retreat, when he thought it very possible that the
general would set them at liberty.
The old friends spent a very pleasant evening, much pleasanter, O'Grady
remarked, for his part, than if he had expected to be taken out to be
shot the next morning as a spy. He asked, not without a blush,
increased when he saw Paul's laughing eye fixed on him, after Rosalie.
"Oh, my dear cousin is well, and merry as ever, if I may judge by her
letters, for she writes constantly to me; indeed, I may confess that our
parents have arranged an affair between us which we neither of us shall
be loath to carry out. When I saw her, she laughed a great deal at the
attempts of my young Irish friend, as she called you, O'Grady, to learn
French, and said that she was afraid she would have had to give you up
as a hopeless case."
Poor Paddy made an hysterical attempt to join the laugh of his
companions against himself, and it was observed that he never again, at
least not for some years, spoke about his dear little Rosalie.
After a detention of some weeks, the whole party were, as Alphonse had
anticipated they would be, released, and having ample funds which the
young Count pressed on them, they made their way without difficulty to
Cuxhaven, which place of course the captain and officers and crew of the
lost frigate had long since left. They succeeded, however, without much
delay in getting over to England. Mary recovered her health, and on
Devereux becoming a commander, they were married. O'Grady married one
of her younger sisters a few years afterwards, and when peace came, paid
a very pleasant visit to his old friends the Count and Countess
Montauban.
Paul rose to the top of his profession, and used to take great delight
in narrating to his grandchildren his adventures when he was a
cabin-boy. To one of these grandchildren I am indebted for this
history.