at a forge. Others playing cards by the fire light._
_Gipsies at the forge sing._
On the top of a mountain I stand,
With a crown of red gold in my hand,
Wild Moors come trooping over the lea,
Oh how from their fury shall I flee, flee, flee?
O how from their fury shall I flee?
_First Gip._ (_playing._) Down with your John-Dorados, my pigeon. Down
with your John-Dorados, and let us make an end.
_Gipsies at the forge sing._
Loud sang the Spanish cavalier,
And thus his ditty ran;
God send the gipsy lassie here,
And not the gipsy man.
_First Gip._ (_playing._) There you are in your morocco!
_Second Gip._ One more game. The alcalde’s doves against the Padre
Cura’s new moon.
_First Gip._ Have at you, Chirelin.
_Gipsies at the forge sing._
At midnight, when the moon began
To show her silver flame,
There came to him no gipsy man,
The gipsy lassie came.
(_Enter Beltran Cruzado._)
_Cruz._ Come hither, Murcigalleros and Rostilleros; leave work, leave
play; listen to your orders for the night. (_Speaking to the right._)
You will get you to the village, mark you, by the Cross of Espalmado.
_Gip._ Aye!
_Cruz._ (_to the left._) And you, by the pole with the hermit’s head
upon it.
_Gip._ Aye!
_Cruz._ As soon as you see the planets are out, in with you, and be busy
with the ten commandments, under the sly, and Saint Martin asleep. D’ye
hear?
_Gip._ Aye!
_Cruz._ Keep your lanterns open, and if you see a goblin or a papagage,
take to your trampers. Vineyards and Dancing John is the word. Am I
comprehended?
_Gip._ Aye! aye!
_Cruz._ Away, then!
(_Exeunt severally. Cruzado walks up the stage, and disappears among the
trees. Enter Preciosa._)
_Pre._ How strangely gleams through the gigantic trees
The red light of the forge! Wild, beckoning shadows
Stalk through the forest, ever and anon
Rising and bending with the bickering flame,
Then flitting into darkness! So within me
Strange hopes and fears do beckon to each other,
My brightest hopes giving dark fears a being
As the light does the shadow. Wo is me!
How still it is about me, and how lonely!
All holy angels keep me in this hour;
Spirit of her, who bore me, look upon me;
Mother of God, the glorified, protect me;
Christ and the saints, be merciful unto me!
(_Enter Victorian and Hypolito behind._)
_Vic._ ’Tis she! Behold how beautiful she stands
Under the tent-like trees!
_Hyp._ A woodland nymph!
_Vic._ I pray thee, stand aside. Leave me.
_Hyp._ Be wary.
Do not betray thyself too soon.
_Vic._ (_disguising his voice._) Hist! gipsy!
_Pre._ (_aside, with emotion._) That voice!—that voice! O speak—O
speak again!
Who is it that calls?
_Vic._ A friend.
_Pre._ (_aside._) ’Tis he! ’Tis he!
Now, heart, be strong! I must dissemble here.
False friend or true?
_Vic._ A true friend to the true.
Fear not; come hither. So; can you tell fortunes?
_Pre._ Not in the dark. Come nearer to the fire.
Give me your hand. It is not cross’d, I see.
_Vic._ (_putting a piece of gold in her hand._) There is the cross.
_Pre._ Is’t silver?
_Vic._ No, ’tis gold.
_Pre._ There’s a fair lady at the court, who loves you,
And for yourself alone.
_Vic._ Fie! the old story!
Tell me a better fortune for my gold;
Not this old woman’s tale!
_Pre._ You’re passionate;
And this same passionate humor in your blood
Has marred your fortune. Yes; I see it now;
The line of life is crossed by many marks.
Shame! shame! O you have wronged the maid who loved you!
How could you do’t?
_Vic._ I never loved a maid;
For she I loved, was then a maid no more.
_Pre._ How know you that?
_Vic._ A little bird in the air
Whispered the secret.
_Pre._ There, take back your gold!
Your hand is cold, like a deceiver’s hand!
There is no blessing in its charity!
Make her your wife, for you have been abused;
And you shall mend your fortunes, mending hers.
_Vic._ (_aside._) How like an angel’s, speaks the tongue of woman,
When pleading in another’s cause her own!—
That is a pretty ring upon your finger.
Pray give it me. (_Tries to take the ring._)
_Pre._ No; never from my hand
Shall that be taken!
_Vic._ Why, ’tis but a ring.
I’ll give it back to you; or, if I keep it,
Will give you gold to buy you twenty such.
_Pre._ Why would you have this ring?
_Vic._ A traveler’s fancy—
A whim, and nothing more. I would fain keep it
As a memento of the gipsy camp
In El Pardillo, and the fortune-teller,
Who sent me back to wed a widow’d maid.
Pray, let me have the ring.
_Pre._ No—never! never!
I will not part with it, even when I die;
But bid my nurse fold my pale fingers thus,
That it may not fall from them. ’Tis a token
Of a beloved friend, who is no more.
_Vic._ How? dead?
_Pre._ Yes; dead to me; and worse than dead.
He is estrang’d! And yet I keep this ring.
I will rise with it from my grave hereafter,
To prove to him that I was never false.
_Vic._ (_aside._) Be still, my swelling heart! one moment still!
Why ’tis the folly of a love-sick girl.
Come, give it me, or I will say ’tis mine,
And that you stole it.
_Pre._ O you will not dare
To utter such a fiendish lie!
_Vic._ Not dare?
Look in my face, and say if there is aught
I have not dared, I would not dare for thee!
(_She rushes into his arms._)
_Pre._ ’Tis thou! ’tis thou! Yes; yes; my heart’s elected!
My dearest-dear Victorian! my soul’s heaven!
Where hast thou been so long! Why didst thou leave me?
_Vic._ Ask me not now, my dearest Preciosa.
Let me forget we ever have been parted!
_Pre._ Hadst thou not come—
_Vic._ I pray thee do not chide me!
_Pre._ I should have perished here among these gipsies.
_Vic._ Forgive me, sweet! for what I made thee suffer.
Think’st thou this heart could feel a moment’s joy,
Thou being absent? O believe it not!
Indeed since that sad hour I have not slept
For thinking of the wrong I did to thee!
Dost thou forgive me? Say, wilt thou forgive me!
_Pre._ I have forgiven thee. Ere those words of anger
Were in the book of Heaven writ down against thee
I had forgiven thee.
_Vic._ I’m the veriest fool
That walks the earth, to have believed thee false.
It was the Count of Lara—
_Pre._ That bad man
Has worked me harm enough. Hast thou not heard—
_Vic._ I have heard all.
_Pre._ May Heaven forgive him for it!
_Hyp._ (_coming forward._) All gentle quarrels in the pastoral
poets;
All passionate love scenes in the best romances;
All chaste embraces on the public stage;
All soft adventures, which the liberal stars
Have wink’d at, as the natural course of things,
Have been surpass’d here by my friend the student
And this sweet gipsy lass, fair Preciosa!
_Pre._ Señor Hypolito! I kiss your hand.
Pray shall I tell your fortune?
_Hyp._ Not to-night;
For should you treat me as you did Victorian,
And send me back to marry forlorn damsels,
My wedding day would last from now till Christmas.
_Chis._ (_within._) What ho! the gipsies, ho! Beltran Cruzado!
Halloo! halloo! halloo! halloo!
(_Enter booted, with a whip and lantern._)
_Vic._ What now?
Why such a fearful din? Hast thou been robbed?
_Chis._ Ay, robbed and murdered; and good evening to you,
My worthy masters.
_Vic._ Speak; what brings thee here?
_Chis._ Good news from court; good news! Fair Preciosa,
These letters are for you. Beltran Cruzado,
The Count of the Calés, is not your father,
But your true father has returned to Spain
Laden with wealth. You are no more a gipsy.
_Vic._ Strange as a Moorish tale!
_Chis._ And we have all
Been drinking at the tavern to your health,
As wells drink in November, when it rains.
_Pre._ (_having read the letters._) Is this a dream? O, if it be a
dream
Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet!
Repeat thy story! Say I’m not deceived!
Say that I do not dream! I am awake;
This is the gipsy camp; this is Victorian,
And this his friend, Hypolito! Speak—speak!
Let me not wake and find it all a dream!
_Vic._ It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream,
A blissful certainty—a vision bright
Of that rare happiness, which even on earth
Heaven gives to those it loves. Now art thou rich
As thou wert ever beautiful and good;
And I am the poor beggar.
_Pre._ (_giving him her hand._) I have still
A hand to give.
_Chis._ (_aside._) And I have two to take.
I’ve heard my grandmother say, that Heaven gives almonds
To those who have no teeth. That’s nuts to crack.
I’ve teeth to spare, but where shall I find almonds?—
Your friend Don Carlos is now at the village
Showing to Pedro Crespo, the alcalde,
The proofs of what I tell you. The old hag,
Who stole you in your childhood, has confess’d;
And probably they’ll hang her for the crime,
To make the celebration more complete.
_Vic._ No; let it be a day of general joy;
Fortune comes well to all, that comes not late.
Now let us join Don Carlos.
_Hyp._ So farewell
The Student’s wandering life! Sweet serenades,
Sung under ladies’ windows in the night,
And all that makes vacation beautiful!
To you, ye cloister’d shades of Alcalá,
To you, ye radiant visions of Romance,
Written in books, but here surpass’d by truth,
The Bachelor Hypolito returns
And leaves the gipsy with the Spanish Student.
THE END.
NOTES.
_Act II. Scene I._—Busné, or gentiles, is the name given by the gipsies
to all who are not of their race. Calés is the name they give
themselves.
_Act III. Scene V._—The scraps of song in this scene are from Borrow’s
“Zincali; or an Account of the Gipsies in Spain.”
The gipsy words in the same scene may be thus interpreted:
_Juan-Dorados_, pieces of gold.
_Pigeon_, a simpleton.
_In your morocco_, robbed, stripped.
_Doves_, sheets.
_Moon_, a shirt.
_Chirelin_, a thief.
_Murcigalleros_, those who steal at night-fall.
_Rastilleros_, foot-pads.
_Hermit_, highway robber.
_Planets_, candles.
_Commandments_, the fingers.
_Saint Martin asleep_, to rob a person asleep.
* * * * *
THE CHILD’S PRAYER.
BY ROBERT MORRIS.
Great Being! whose eternal home
Is in the far-off skies,
Permit a little child to kneel
And heavenward turn her eyes!
They tell me that our lower world
Is not a world of bliss,
And that there is a realm beyond
More beautiful than this!
That there are seen angelic throngs
Constant in songs of praise,
That brothers, sisters, never part,
And years are but as days—
That smiles illumine every face,
And joy cheers every breast,
That sighs and sorrows are unknown,
And all alike are blest!
Oh! I would, when my life shall close,
Soar to that happy land,
And mingle with the good and fair,
And join the angel band—
Wings for my spirit I would have,
That like a bird at last
Upward and on my soul should soar,
Rejoicing as it passed!
But oh! I would not go alone,
I would not leave behind
A mother fond and dear as mine,
A father, too, so kind—
Oh! no, may these, when Death shall come
To close these fading eyes,
Soar with me to my heavenly home,
Or meet me in the skies!
As yet I am a feeble child,
A poor, frail thing of earth;
Great Maker! keep me undefiled
And sinless e’en in mirth!
They tell me that thy guardian care
Extends o’er land and sea,
That e’en a sparrow may not fall
Unseen, unknown to thee!
That thou art God o’er great and small,
That by thy power was made
As well the fire-fly as the sun,
The bright light as the shade—
That the clear stars which shine above
Are wondrous worlds like ours,
Perchance with richer, softer skies
And sweeter buds and flowers!
They tell me, and my Bible true
Confirms the cheering tale,
That thou dost love all human things,
That none who seek will fail—
That none who bend the suppliant knee
And ask thy godlike aid,
Will fail to win a mansion bright
When life and earth shall fade!
Then guide, I pray thee, guide my feet,
My youthful heart control,
Chasten and purify my thoughts
And brighten all my soul—
Oh! make me true and dutiful
To thee and kindred dear,
And lead me to that better land,
That world without a tear!
* * * * *
DE PONTIS.
A TALE OF RICHELIEU.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “HENRI QUATRE; OR THE DAYS OF THE LEAGUE.”
(Continued from page 175.)
CHAPTER V.
Next morning, at the usual hour, Marguerite was at the door of the
_Conciergerie_.
The thread of affairs had become so intricate—matters that she felt at
liberty to explain to her father, and other circumstances, which regard
for the page’s safety forbade disclosing—that, for the first time in
her life, she felt ill at ease in his presence. She was conscious of
being, to a certain degree, culpable—the unreserved confidence hitherto
subsisting between father and daughter was no more—there was
reservation, and it produced distress, regret, and confusion.
Still she was true to her own intent. She had made a deliberate resolve
of secrecy when her mind was calm and free to judge, and she would not
break it when in a state of fluttering and depression. The veteran was
delighted with the progress in his affairs—there was yet some chance,
he said, of his being able to make provision for a dutiful
daughter—some temporal solace for old age.
Leaving him after a short visit—for, in truth, she felt much of what he
said as a secret reproach—Marguerite hastened to the advocate.
“The packet is deposited in sure hands—and not at the _Tuileries_,
Monsieur Giraud!” was her salutation.
“And half an hour hence will see me at the _Hôtel De Fontrailles_,”
replied the party addressed.
“But I dread the peril you incur, Monsieur,” rejoined the damsel; “is
there no”—
“Has Marguerite done her duty?” demanded Giraud, interrupting her.
“I have,” exclaimed the lady, firmly.
“Then have no fear for the advocate,” said her friend, relaxing the
piercing gaze he bent on the maiden.
Let us accompany Giraud. Donning hat—plain and featherless—tying a
black mantle round his throat, and, with cane in hand—for he was a
gentleman of the robe, not of the sword, and bore no weapon—he sallied
forth, walking with deliberate air, till he reached a gloomy mansion in
the _Rue D’Orleans_.
The gate or _porte-cochère_ was opened to his knock by the ever ready
porter, and he stood beneath the archway. The count had not yet gone
abroad, and would doubtless see him—the name was carried to
Monseigneur, and the lackey returned to usher the visiter. A spacious
staircase of polished chesnut-wood, so slippery that the advocate had
much ado to keep footing, led to a vestibule whence doors opened into
various chambers. Passing through an ante-chamber into a saloon, he was
at length conducted to the library of the _Hôtel De Fontrailles_.
The folios stood ranged in goodly rows, but the taste of the noble owner
appeared more conspicuously in the abundance of maps, charts, plans of
cities, models of European fortresses, and arms and armor. A large
gothic arched window at the extremity afforded light to the chamber, and
looked over a paved yard in the rear of the _hôtel_.
Fontrailles was seated at a table, his back toward the window. Robed in
a loose gown, surrounded with papers, books, opened letters, and others
tied with tape, among which had been negligently thrown his walking
rapier; the courtier and diplomatist was more apparent in the
occupation, than the gambler, gallant, and active political intriguer.
The count might have attained forty years, perhaps more. The long dark
face and prominent features, softened by the shade in which he sat, were
far from unpleasing. In repose, the face might be reckoned handsome,
certainly dignified.
A silent gesture to the advocate to take the seat which the lackey
placed at the opposite end of the table, and who, upon doing so,
immediately quitted the chamber—left the parties alone. The count
waited in silence the business of the visiter, who announced himself as
Etienne Giraud, _avocat du parlement_, friend and kinsman of Monsieur De
Pontis, confined in the _Conciergerie du Palais_, and engaged in
defending him against two suits now before the courts.
The count indicated by a slight motion that he was an attentive
listener—then added, after a moment’s pause—
“I am not ignorant of Monsieur Giraud’s merits, but I believe he has
mistaken my _hôtel_ for that of the President Longueil, the third
_porte-cochère_ beyond.”
“I have the honor to address the Count De Fontrailles?” replied the
advocate in a tone of inquiry.
“I was at a loss to account for Monsieur connecting me with suits in the
courts of parliament!” rejoined the count, smiling, “but I pray him to
proceed.”
Giraud detailed concisely the history of De Pontis—his uniform ill
luck, the present desperate situation of his affairs, and the probable
destitution of Mademoiselle. Fontrailles replied that the case was
distressing, but, like every other case of such description, it had
originated in culpable negligence. De Pontis was so eager to avail
himself of the fruits of the _droit_, that he had commenced
appropriating the effects ere the necessary legal forms had been gone
through—ere, indeed, it could be ascertained whether the deceased died
a wealthy man or a bankrupt.
“But why make my ear the receptacle of Monsieur De Pontis’ calamities—I
whom, I believe, he has never exchanged a word with,” asked the count,
in astonishment, “and who am neither the organ of grace or justice?”
“It is to crave the intercession of Monseigneur with one who is the
organ of both—to crave the intercession of the Count De Fontrailles
with his eminence to cancel the penal proceedings, being, at best, a
prosecution for the mere omission of a legal form which an old soldier
could know nothing of,” replied the advocate.
“This pleading, Monsieur Giraud,” said Fontrailles, impatiently, “may
prove effective in the proper quarters, but on me it is lost. I believe
you mean well, but zeal in the cause of a friend has made you overlook
the ordinary usages of society, in forcing the veteran’s tale of error
and distress on a stranger. I, therefore, am calmer than I might
be—indeed, may remind you that, being principally employed on foreign
services, and indulging, unavoidably, in some of the irregularities of
those whom it falls to my duty to have affairs with, I have not perhaps
that personal weight and consideration with his majesty and with his
court, which attends the grave and quiet discharge of offices of trust
and responsibility in Paris and the Provinces. Mine has been a life of
peril, though not of military warfare—danger has often beset me in
foreign lands—but here, in Paris, my services are overlooked, and the
disorders incident to a life of travel commented on. It is Monsieur’s
zeal for De Pontis, which I admire, that wrings this confession from
me—and I would recommend his application to the Tuileries, or the
_Palais Cardinal_, or, if he be seeking a patron for his client, to some
personage of more austere and reverential course of life than his humble
servant.”
So speaking, the count rose with an air which implied that the interview
should here terminate. The advocate could not but be surprised with the
language and manner assumed by the dissolute, turbulent noble—his
affected candor and sincerity—which he had doubtless acquired by
intercourse with foreign courts—a varnish to the vices which disgraced
his character.
Notwithstanding, however, this nonchalance, and professed ignorance of
the affairs of De Pontis, there was that in his discourse which
encouraged the advocate to persevere. His affectation of candor—the
confession wrung from him!—rather overshot the mark, and betrayed
weakness. Fontrailles was not the man to suffer any thing to be wrung
from him; and the plea of want of personal weight and character, a mere
mask. But wherefore interpose a mask, if there were nothing to conceal?
’Tis the most difficult part of simulation to refrain from covert
defence of an act, of which the party may be acutely self-conscious, but
desirous of concealing. With a shrewd, subtle, penetrating
adversary—such for instance as Giraud—it defeats the very object, to
aid which it is evoked. In the mild, moderate language of the count, the
advocate felt that he was speaking in a falsetto key—that the
sentiments were foreign to his natural character; and there was not, or
ought not to be, any necessity for extreme complaisance, and disguise of
feeling, with one of the comparative humbleness of the auditor.
Giraud arose from his seat in unison with the count’s movement, but had
no intention of taking leave.
“It is reported,” said he, “that Monseigneur is interested in the _droit
d’aubaine_ for which Monsieur De Pontis holds the sign manual, which
may, perhaps, furnish a better argument than I have yet advanced for my
appeal.”
“I know of no such report!” exclaimed the count, in a stern voice, “evil
news flies quick, and had such been current, I have too many friends,
glad of an opportunity to retail the slander, that they might watch its
effect. But I must retract the high opinion I had of Monsieur Giraud, in
carrying these fools’ messages—perhaps inventing. But we had better
part, sir, ere I have reason to suspect worse of your motives.”
With these words, the count approached the table and rang a silver bell,
a signal to the lackey in attendance to conduct the visiter to the gate.
“I have that to say, Monsieur le Comte, which it were better your
household should not hear,” said the advocate, retaining his place.
“Ah! has it come to that?” exclaimed Fontrailles, darting a glance of
anger; “so, the pleader threatens! Like the Spanish mendicant, he first
solicits alms, and when refused, points the fusil which he had concealed
in the grass.”
The lackey here entered in obedience to the summons, but the count
motioned him to retire.
The advocate remarked in reply, that, as Monseigneur seemed bent on
retaining his vantage-ground of professed ignorance of any special
knowledge of the affairs of his client—and disclaimed the report
respecting the _droit d’aubaine_—it became necessary that he should
inform the count that an individual, one Pedro Olivera, whom he believed
was not unknown to Monseigneur, had, like his superiors, occasion for
more money than he could legitimately obtain, and that, often borrowing
of his deceased countryman, the Spaniard, without the power or will of
refunding, he was at length reduced, in efforts to obtain further
supplies, to place in the hands of his rich friend, what was deemed good
security, although of a strange character. He professed to have certain
unsettled claims on the Count De Fontrailles for services of espionage,
and holding intercourse with underlings of the ministerial bureau in
Madrid. From his showing, it appeared that he had been the medium of a
negotiation between the Spanish ministry and the count. For this service
Fontrailles had not yet bestowed an equivalent, alleging the urgency of
his own necessities; but, in one instance, certainly an unguarded one,
he had given Pedro an authority in writing to appropriate to himself a
certain portion of a sum of money, receivable at the bureau, in Madrid,
and to be handed the count. Pedro, however, was unlucky, for, on
application, he was informed that satisfaction had been afforded
Fontrailles in person. He felt that this conduct of his patron was
unhandsome—hence, perhaps, the betrayal of the count’s secrets—there
was no proof, indeed, that the money had been paid Monseigneur—but the
authority of Pedro to appropriate a portion of what he should receive,
was still in existence in the count’s handwriting.
Pedro, as before intimated, having drawn all he could obtain by ordinary
means from the deceased, inscribed a formal claim on the count for the
heretofore named services, which he specially enumerated, and in which
he made reference to the count’s authorization appended to the
statement. The deceased upholsterer saw in this document, not only a
security for the money owing by Pedro, but also a collateral guarantee
for the refunding of what Fontrailles, who was also heavily his debtor,
owed him.
In short, added Giraud, the evidence appeared clearly to convict the
Count De Fontrailles of receiving money from Spain. The papers came into
the possession of Monsieur De Pontis, and were by him handed to the
advocate.
It would have baffled the painter’s art to have depicted the changing
aspects which dwelt for awhile, and then fled the countenance of the
noble. One minute listening attentively—the next he appeared lost in
abstraction, or meditating some course of action—then starting up
suddenly with menacing looks, the features took such a semblance, that
his most intimate friend could not have indentified the face as
belonging to the Count De Fontrailles.
“And this cunning cheat of forgery—this deep laid villany,” exclaimed
the favorite of Richelieu, “what if I were so weak as to quail beneath
it? What would the worthy, zealous, Monsieur Giraud require of me?”
“That the Count De Fontrailles cause Pedro Olivera to relinquish his
fabricated claim—prevail on the cardinal to cancel the _procureur’s_
proceedings, and leave the poor veteran in possession of the _droit
d’aubaine_,” replied the undaunted advocate.
“A moderate request,” gasped the count, with suppressed rage, “what,
give up all?”
“I knew not, so far as his own declaration went,” said Giraud, calmly,
“that there was any thing for Monseigneur to give up. Unlike his
friends, Pedro, and the deceased, we do not make the possession of these
documents a pretext of extortion to be held over his head _in
terrorem_—we ask of the count not the slightest pecuniary sacrifice,
not a livre—we ask him merely to use his intercession, to act the
honorable and coveted part of an interceder for mercy between justice
and an innocent defendant. Such conduct will go far to lend the count
that personal weight and respectability of character which he so much
feels the want of.”
“Liar! It is false!” shouted the bitterly enraged noble, rushing upon
the advocate. Seizing him by the throat, he bent his body over the
table, depriving the victim both of power of speech and motion. “It is
false, old dotard!” continued Fontrailles, without relaxing his grasp,
“thou believest the _droit_ is mine—and wouldst have me surrender it to
gratify thy paltry pride. I have sweet revenge in store, or thou
shouldst never have the chance of coining fresh lies!”
Being a powerful man, he was enabled to hold the advocate, prostrate and
gasping for breath, with the right hand on his throat, whilst his left
searched for the hand bell, which he rung violently. On the lackey
entering, he commanded the attendance of Eugene and Robert, both armed,
and to come without delay. Poor Giraud was nearly choked, and his back
almost broken by the torturing position in which he was pinned to the
library-table; nor did the count afford a moment’s respite till his
creatures arrived armed to the teeth.
“Stand guard over the wretch,” cried Fontrailles, quitting his
victim—“stand guard, at the peril of your lives, till I return—and if
he offer the least resistance, or utters a single cry to raise an alarm,
both of you fire—let him not escape, happen what may!”
The men mutely signified acquiescence by each taking a position, with
pistols cocked, at the doors of the library.
“Monsieur le Comte!” said Giraud, in a feeble voice, recovering from the
violence, “if you seek to commit a robbery, I promise you will be
foiled—if you perpetrate violence on an unarmed man, it will not pass
unrevenged. There are those able and willing waiting my return in
safety—if I return not, then let the Count De Fontrailles tremble!”
“Peace, old dotard! You are not addressing a president of the _Cour
Royale_!” said the count, now busily engaged in locking up his private
papers.
“I warn you that what you seek will prove beyond reach,” added Giraud.
The count glanced at him for one moment without speaking, and then
finished his occupation. Snatching the rapier, he quitted the chamber.
CHAPTER VI.
In the close immurement suffered by the advocate, he had leisure to
reflect on his situation, and it was far from cheering. The count’s
passion had carried him beyond bounds, more than Giraud had calculated
on. He had believed Fontrailles to be a man of the world, so sensitively
alive to his own interest, that the gratification of revenge would have
held only a secondary place in his thoughts.
But from the specimen of anger, the effects of which were painfully
visible, he began to dread the return of the incensed
noble—disappointed of his prey, he might, regardless of consequences,
abandon himself to a cruel revenge. There was no help in a house, and
among creatures subservient to such a master. And where could aid spring
from, even if it were posthumous only, but from the quarter where
Marguerite had deposited the documents.
To this unknown refuge his thoughts fled for solace and support. If
Marguerite’s friend failed her not—then, though his own life should be
sacrificed—his character and heroism would be preserved—De Pontis and
his daughter triumph, and infamy, ruin and disgrace be the portion of
Fontrailles.
Some hours passed in this sad tribulation. He requested food—it was
denied—water, if nothing else—Eugene shook his head. He was sorry for
Monsieur, but he had received no orders on that point, and it might be,
for aught he knew, the count’s desire that Monsieur should be kept
without nourishment. If Monsieur felt very hungry, he had better compose
himself to sleep—he had liberty to make a couch of the chairs—in his
campaigns, Eugene had often found such a plan the only remedy for a
barking stomach.
“But you had a contented mind, Eugene,” remarked the distressed
advocate.
At length came a change. A knocking was heard below; Giraud trembled,
for the footsteps of the count were on the stairs, and he presently
entered the chamber.
Casting a glance round the library, he ordered the two sentinels to
retire, but hold themselves in readiness. They obeyed the command, and
Giraud and the noble were once more alone. The advocate scanned the
countenance of Fontrailles attentively; there was a marked change, more
of disappointment than anger. For awhile he made no remark, busying
himself, or appearing to do so, with his papers—Giraud was equally
silent.
The count, at length, broke silence. “I think, Monsieur Giraud,” said
he, “that we are now on an equality to treat. You have suffered some
violence at my hands, and I, since I left you, have found your
pretensions to my interference better founded than I expected. My
conditions are these. I will quash Pedro’s suit—I will cause his
eminence to cancel the _procureur’s_ proceedings, with guarantee from
both that they shall not be renewed. De Pontis shall be liberated, and
remain in undisturbed enjoyment of the _droit d’aubaine_. From you I
expect a perfect silence, now and ever, in relation to these
affairs—also a restitution of all papers which affect me. Further, the
immediate payment of sixty thousand livres, and quittance of what I owe
the estate—you will see, by the inventory, the abstraction of such a
sum will leave De Pontis a very handsome maintenance for one of his
rank. There are several minor conditions—but I wait your reply.”
“Has the Count de Fontrailles been to my house?” asked Giraud.
“I have—I searched it with Richelieu’s warrant,” replied Fontrailles.
“Is Monseigneur aware that that action would tend, in the estimation of
the cardinal, to confirm the statement of Pedro Olivera?” demanded the
advocate.
“Let me reply by asking a question,” rejoined the count. “Is Monsieur
Giraud aware that, as affairs now stand, whatever the cardinal might
affect toward me—even the withdrawal of his favor—it would not
liberate De Pontis—would not leave him with the _droit d’aubaine_?”
“I know your agency is wanting—and I agree to the terms,” said the
advocate.
“My other conditions are,” continued Fontrailles, “that you make no
complaint of my search this morning—that you tell his eminence, should
you chance to meet him, that by advising Monsieur De Pontis to surrender
a portion to me, who, you are aware, had, even before the Spaniard’s
death, asked the future _droit_ of the cardinal, that you secured
thereby the remainder to your friend.”
“Well! I do not object to building a bridge for Monseigneur’s retreat,”
observed the advocate.
“It would be ridiculous toward one of your profession, and, above all,
age, to offer the satisfaction accorded to a gentleman who has received
violence at the hands of another,” said the count; “I, therefore, beg
pardon of Monsieur Giraud for the same.”
The advocate bowed. It were, perhaps, better, he said, to allow it to
pass thus, though the count must be aware that he had shown no want of
courage. Fontrailles assented, remarking that he believed their business
was now concluded—at least the preliminaries—and that he would call on
the advocate on the morrow, when he hoped everything would be prepared.
Giraud was not sorry to see the exterior of the _Hôtel De Fontrailles_.
The count had, however, made better terms for himself than he thought to
have granted—still, it was true, as Fontrailles remarked, that,
whatever became of him, through the cardinal listening to the tale of
Pedro Olivera, De Pontis would be none the richer. The pride of
Richelieu was touched by the veteran obtaining the sign-manual without
his knowledge or intervention, and it was very probable that, if
Fontrailles were disgraced, the _droit d’aubaine_ would be destined to
another favorite.
Giraud had foreseen this difficulty from the commencement, yet it was
hard to part with so many thousand livres, especially to one who had
almost choked him. On second consideration, the advocate thought it
wiser to withhold this portion of the adventure from De Pontis and his
daughter—the blood of the _militaire_ would rise at the insult and
imposition of hands offered to a kinsman, and fresh difficulties,
perhaps, be thrown in the way of what was, after all, a very peaceful
and happy termination of the affairs of the old soldier. The count had
confessed the injury, and sued for pardon, and what more could he do?
With this consolation, the advocate quieted himself.
The glad news was imparted to Marguerite that evening, and when the
_houblieur_ rang his bell, and was admitted, the maiden was more
gracious than on the former occasion—the youth more thoughtful. As
might be expected, from the previous intimacy shown relative to the
secret affairs of the _Palais Cardinal_, its inmates and visiters, much
of what had occurred was already known to the youth—the remainder he
heard from the lips of Marguerite. She was charged by Giraud to reclaim
the packet; it would be wanted on the morrow. That same night it was
placed in her hands, the seal unbroken, and, before she retired to rest,
it was again in the keeping of the zealous, faithful advocate.
Giraud was seated in his office. A night’s repose had calmed his
spirits, refreshed the wearied frame. Fontrailles had kept the
appointment, bringing an authenticated relinquishment of the suit of
Pedro Olivera—also a notification from the _procureur général_ that he
had abandoned the prosecution of the decree of sequestration—and,
lastly, a duplicate of Richelieu’s order to the warden of the
_Conciergerie_ to release the Sieur De Pontis. The count claimed and
received satisfaction on the conditions insisted on—reference to the
prisoner was not necessary, as Giraud had, on the committal of De
Pontis, received a legal power to act as representative, and affix by
procuration his signature to any act deemed necessary. As the cardinal’s
seal was removed from the ware-rooms, and attachment withdrawn from the
banker where the moneys of the deceased were lodged, there was no
impediment to the prompt payment of the count’s subsidy—a matter,
seemingly, of the utmost importance to Monseigneur.
Giraud, as we have said, was seated in his office, and alone. But
presently there arrived visiters—the Sieur De Pontis, and the fair
heroine, Marguerite. Congratulations and thanks exhausted, business
recited and discussed, there ensued a pause—their hearts were full.
“There are but three here,” said Giraud, looking archly at Marguerite,
“I should wish to see a fourth. There is a friend, Monsieur De Pontis,
who has wonderfully aided our endeavors for your release, and to whom we
owe many thanks. Shall we never see the unknown’s face?”
“Marguerite has my sanction to introduce him to Monsieur Giraud whenever
she pleases,” said the veteran.
“Hah! then I have been forestalled in her confidence,” cried the
advocate, “but I did not deserve the neglect!”
The day subsequent to the liberation of De Pontis, Louis was promenading
alone his customary path in the garden of the Tuileries. The old soldier
presented himself—he bent his knee to majesty.
“Rise, my good friend,” said the monarch, “I hear you have been better
served than Louis could have wrought for you, though he had not
forgotten his word, or his old servant.”
After a few remarks, the king complimented him on the perseverance and
heroism of Marguerite adding that she was deserving of all honor.
“With your majesty’s permission, I believe I am about to marry her,”
remarked De Pontis.
“To whom? I hope to a subject of mine!” exclaimed the monarch.
“François De Romainville, if it please your majesty,” replied the
veteran.
“I know the youth,” said Louis, “our cardinal’s page, of good lineage,
though accounted wild and reckless—the cardinal complains of his
habits, but loves the page’s intelligence and capacity. We must see what
can be done for this youth, also for Monsieur Giraud when the
opportunity offers.”
He might have added, “when the cardinal permits,” thought the veteran,
with a sigh.
“For yourself, De Pontis,” continued the royal personage, “I hope all
will go well in future.”
“I intend to put it out of fortune’s power to do me further harm,”
answered the _militaire_—“your majesty’s late bounty I shall settle on
my daughter and her husband; for, though I hope a true man in the tented
field, yet I do believe that, whether from my own fault, or an unlucky
destiny, I should lose, or mismanage the fairest estate in your realm.”
At that moment, the cardinal and his suite were seen in the
distance—the countenance of Louis fell, and De Pontis taking hasty
leave—much to the royal satisfaction—glided through a side-walk.
* * * * *
MY MOTHER—A DREAM.
BY MRS. BALMANNO.
Oh mother! sacred! dear! in dreams of thee,
I sat, again a child, beside thy knee,
Nestling amidst thy robe delightedly!
And all was silent in the sunny room,
Save bees that humm’d o’er honeysuckle bloom.
I gazed upon thy face, so mild, so fair,
I heard thy holy voice arise in prayer;
Oh mother! mother! thou thyself wert there!
Thou, by the placid brow, the thoughtful eye,
The clasping hand, the voice of melody.
I clung around thy neck—thy tears fell fast,
Like rain in summer, yet the sorrow past;
And smiles, more beautiful than e’en the last,
Play’d on thy lip, dear mother! such it wore
To bless our early home in days of yore.
Then wild and grand arose my native hills—
I heard the leaping torrents, and the thrills
Of birds that hymn the sun; the charm that fills
Old Haddon’s vales, and haunts its river side—
What time the Fays pluck king-cups by its tide.
Methought ’twas hawthorn time—the jolly May—
For o’er far plains bright figures seemed to stray,
Gath’ring the buds, and calling me away!
I waked, but ah! to weep—no eye of thine,
Sweet mother! beam’d its gentle light on mine.
* * * * *
BAINBRIDGE.
BY J. FENIMORE COOPER, AUTHOR OF “THE SPY,” “THE PIONEERS,” ETC.
Dr. Harris, in his “Life and Services” of this distinguished officer,
says that “The ancestor of Commodore Bainbridge, who, in the year 1600,
settled in the province of New Jersey, was the son of Sir Arthur
Bainbridge, of Durham county, England.” As no portion of the old United
States was settled as early as 1600, and the province of New Jersey, in
particular, was organized only about the middle of the seventeenth
century, the date, in this instance, is an oversight, or a misprint;
though the account of the ancestor is probably accurate. The family of
the late Commodore Bainbridge was of respectable standing, beyond a
question, both in the colony and state of New Jersey, and its
connections were principally among persons of the higher classes of
society. His father was a physician of local eminence, in the early part
of his life, who removed to New York about the commencement of the
Revolution, where he left a fair professional and personal reputation.
The fourth son of Dr. Bainbridge was William, the subject of our memoir.
He was born at Princeton, New Jersey, then the residence of his father,
May 7th, 1774. His birth must have occurred but a short time before the
removal of the family to New York. The maiden name of Mrs. Bainbridge,
the mother of William, was Taylor; a lady of Monmouth county, in the
same colony; and her father, a man of considerable estate, undertook to
superintend the education of the child.
Young Bainbridge was of an athletic manly frame, and early showed a bold
spirit, and a love of enterprise. This temperament was likely to
interfere with studies directed toward a liberal education, and, at the
early age of fifteen, his importunities prevailed on his friends to
allow him to go to sea. This must have been about the time when the
present form of government went first into operation, and the trade and
navigation of the country began to revive. In that day the republic had
no marine; the old Alliance frigate, the favorite ship of the
Revolution, then sailing out of the port at which young Bainbridge first
embarked, as an Indiaman.
Philadelphia, for many years after the peace of 1783, produced the best
seamen of America. Other ports, doubtless, had as hardy and as
adventurous mariners, but the nicety of the art was better taught and
practiced on the Delaware than in any other portion of the country. This
advantage was thought to be owing to the length of the river and bay,
which required more elaborate evolutions to take a ship successfully
through, than ports that lay contiguous to the sea. The same superiority
has long been claimed for London, and for the same reason, each place
having a long and intricate navigation, among shoals, and in a tide’s
way, before its wharves can be reached. The comparative decline of the
navigation of these two towns is to be attributed to the very
difficulties which made expert seamen, though the vast amount of
supplies required by the English capital, for its own consumption,
causes great bodies of shipping still to frequent the Thames. It is also
probable that the superiority formerly claimed for the seamen of these
two towns, was in part owing to the circumstances that, being the
capitals of their respective countries, they were then in advance of
other ports, both as to the arts, generally, and as to the wealth
necessary to exhibit them.
Young Bainbridge, consequently, enjoyed the advantage of being trained,
as a seaman, in what was then the highest American school. Singularly
handsome and prepossessing in his appearance, of a vigorous, and
commanding frame, with the foundation of a good education, all aided by
respectable connections, he was made an officer in the third year of his
service. When eighteen, he sailed as chief mate of a ship in the Dutch
trade, and on his first voyage, in this capacity, he recovered the
vessel from the hands of mutineers, by his personal intrepidity, and
physical activity. In the following year, when barely nineteen, the
owners gave him command of the same ship. From this time down to the
period of his joining the navy, Bainbridge continued in command of
different merchant vessels, all of which were employed in the European
trade, which was then carried on, by this country, in the height and
excitement of the war that succeeded the French revolution.
Occasions were not wanting, by which Bainbridge could prove his
dauntless resolution, even in command of a peaceful and slightly armed
merchantman. In 1796, whilst in command of the Hope, of Philadelphia, he
was lying in the Garonne, and was hailed by another American to come and
aid in quelling a mutiny. This he did in person; though his life had
nearly been the sacrifice, owing to an explosion of gunpowder. The same
season, while shaping his course for one of the West India islands, the
Hope was attacked by a small British privateer, of eight guns and thirty
men, being herself armed with four nines, and having a crew of only
eleven souls before the mast—an equipment then permitted, by the laws,
for the purposes of defence only. The privateer commenced the engagement
without showing any colors; but, receiving a broadside from the Hope,
she hoisted English, in the expectation of intimidating her antagonist.
In this, however, the assailant was mistaken; Bainbridge, who had his
colors flying from the first, continued his fire until he actually
compelled the privateer to lower her flag. The latter was much cut up,
and lost several men. The Hope escaped with but little injury. Although
he had compelled his assailant to submit, it would not have been legal
for Bainbridge to take possession of the prize. He even declined
boarding her, most probably keeping in view the feebleness of his own
complement; but, hailing the privateer, he told her commander to go to
his employers and let them know they must send some one else to capture
the Hope if they had occasion for that ship. It was probably owing to
this little affair, as well as to his general standing as a ship-master,
that Bainbridge subsequently entered the navy with the rank he obtained.
Not long after the action with the privateer, while homeward bound
again, a man was impressed from Bainbridge’s ship, by an English
cruiser. The boarding officer commenced by taking the first mate, on
account of his name, Allen M’Kinsey, insisting that the man must be a
Scotchman! This singular species of logic was often applied on such
occasions, even historians of a later day claiming such men as M’Donough
and Conner, on the supposition that they must be Irish, from their
family appellations. Mr. M’Kinsey, who was a native Philadelphian, on a
hint from Bainbridge, armed himself, and refused to quit his own ship;
whereupon the English lieutenant seized a foremast hand and bore him
off, in spite of his protestations of being an American, and the
evidence of his commander. Bainbridge was indignant at this
outrage—then, however, of almost daily occurrence on the high
seas—and, finding his own remonstrances disregarded, he solemnly
assured the boarding officer that, if he fell in with an English vessel,
of a force that would allow of such a retaliation, he would take a man
out of her to supply the place of the seaman who was then carried away.
This threat was treated with contempt, but it was put in execution
within a week; Bainbridge actually seizing a man on board an English
merchant-man, and that, too, of a force quite equal to his own, and
carrying him into an American port. The ship which impressed the man
belonging to the Hope, was the Indefatigable, Sir Edward Pellew.
All these little affairs contributed to give Bainbridge a merited
reputation for spirit; for, however illegal may have been his course in
impressing the Englishman, the sailor himself was quite content to
receive higher wages, and there was a natural justice in the measure
that looked down the policy of nations and the provisions of law.
Shortly after this incident the aggressions of France induced the
establishment of the present navy, and the government, after employing
all the old officers of the Revolution who remained, and who were fit
for service, was compelled to go into the mercantile marine to find men
to fill the subordinate grades. The merchant service of America has ever
been relatively much superior to that of most other countries. This has
been owing, in part, to the greater diffusion of education; in part, to
the character of the institutions, which throws no discredit around any
reputable pursuit; and in part, to the circumstance that the military
marine has not been large enough to give employment to all of the
maritime enterprise and spirit of the nation. Owing to these united
causes, the government of 1798 had much less difficulty in finding
proper persons to put into its infant navy, than might have been
anticipated; although it must be allowed that some of the selections, as
usual, betrayed the influence of undue recommendations, as well as of
too partial friendships.
The navy offering a field exactly suited to the ambition and character
of Bainbridge, he eagerly sought service in it, on his return from a
voyage to Europe; his arrival occurring a short time after the first
appointments had been made. The third vessel which got to sea, under the
new armament, was the Delaware 20, Capt. Stephen Decatur, the father of
the illustrious officer of the same name; and this vessel, a few days
out, had captured Le Croyable 14, a French privateer that she found
cruising in the American waters. Le Croyable was condemned, and
purchased by the navy department; being immediately equipped for a
cruiser, under the name of the Retaliation. To this vessel Bainbridge
was appointed, with the commission of lieutenant commandant; a rank that
was subsequently and unwisely dropped; as the greater the number of
gradations in a military service, while they are kept within the limits
of practical necessity, the greater is the incentive for exertion, the
more frequent the promotions, and the higher the discipline. First
lieutenants, lieutenants commandant, exist, and must exist in fact, in
every marine; and it is throwing away the honorable inducement of
promotion, as well as some of the influence of a commission, not to have
the rank while we have the duties. It would be better for the navy did
the station of first lieutenant, or lieutenant commandant, now exist,
those who held the commissions furnishing officers to command the
smallest class of vessels, and the executive officers of ships of the
line and frigates.
The Retaliation sailed for the West India station, in September, 1798.
While cruising off Guadaloupe, the following November, the Montezuma,
sloop of war, Capt. Murray, and the brig Norfolk, Capt. Williams, in
company, three sail were made in the eastern board, that were supposed
to be English; and two more strangers appearing to the westward, Capt.
Murray, who was the senior officer, made sail for the latter, taking the
Norfolk with him; while the Retaliation was directed to examine the
vessels to the eastward. This separated the consorts, which parted on
nearly opposite tacks. Unfortunately two of the vessels to the eastward
proved to be French frigates, le Volontier 36, Capt. St. Laurent, and
l’Insurgente 32, Capt. Barreault. The first of these ships carried 44
guns, French eighteens, and the latter 40, French twelves. L’Insurgente
was one of the fastest ships that floated, and, getting the Retaliation
under her guns, Bainbridge was compelled to strike, as resistance would
have been madness.
The prisoner was taken on board le Volontier, the two frigates
immediately making sail in chase of the Montezuma and Norfolk.
L’Insurgente again out-stripped her consort, and was soon a long
distance ahead of her. Capt. St. Laurent was the senior officer, and,
the Montezuma being a ship of some size, he felt an uneasiness at
permitting the Insurgente to engage two adversaries, of whose force he
was ignorant, unsupported. In this uncertainty, he determined to inquire
the force of the American vessels of his prisoner. Bainbridge answered
coolly that the ship was a vessel of 28 long twelves, and the brig a
vessel of 20 long nines. This was nearly, if not quite, doubling the
force of the two American cruisers, and it induced the French commodore
to show a signal of recall to his consort. Capt. Barreault, an
exceedingly spirited officer, joined his commander in a very ill humor,
informing his superior that he was on the point of capturing both the
chases, when he was so inopportunely recalled. This induced an
explanation, when the _ruse_ practiced by Bainbridge was exposed. In the
moment of disappointment, the French officers felt much irritated, but,
appreciating the conduct of their prisoner more justly, they soon
recovered their good humor, and manifested no further displeasure.
The Retaliation and her crew were carried into Basseterre. On board the
Volontier was Gen. Desfourneaux, who was sent out to supersede Victor
Hughes in his government. This functionary was very diplomatic, and he
entered into a negotiation with Bainbridge of a somewhat equivocal
character, leaving it a matter of doubt whether an exchange of
prisoners, an arrangement of the main difficulties between the two
countries, or a secret trade with his own island, and for his own
particular benefit, was his real object. Ill treatment to the crew of
the Retaliation followed; whether by accident or design is not known;
though the latter has been suspected. It will be remembered that no war
had been declared by either country, and that the captures by the
Americans were purely retaliatory, and made in self-defence. Gen.
Desfourneaux profited by this circumstance to effect his purposes,
affecting not to consider the officers and people of the Retaliation as
prisoners at all. To this Bainbridge answered that he regarded himself,
and his late crew, not only as prisoners of war, but as ill-treated
prisoners, and that his powers now extended no farther than to treat of
an exchange. After a protracted negotiation, Bainbridge and his crew
were placed in possession of the Retaliation again, all the other
American prisoners in Guadaloupe were put on board a cartel, and the two
vessels were ordered for America. Accompanying the Americans, went a
French gentleman, ostensibly charged with the exchange; but who was
believed to have been a secret diplomatic agent of the French
government.
The conduct of Bainbridge, throughout this rude initiation into the
public service, was approved by the government, and he was immediately
promoted to the rank of master commandant, and given the Norfolk 18, the
brig he had saved from capture by his address. In this vessel he joined
the squadron under Com. Truxtun, who was cruising in the vicinity of St.
Kitts. While on that station, the Norfolk fell in with and chased a
heavy three-masted schooner, of which she was on the point of getting
alongside, when both topmasts were lost by carrying sail, and the enemy
escaped. The brig went into St. Kitts to repair damages, and here she
collected a convoy of more than a hundred sail, bound home. Bainbridge
performed a neat and delicate evolution, while in charge of this large
trust. The convoy fell in with an enemy’s frigate, when a signal was
thrown out for the vessels to disperse. The Norfolk occupied the
frigate, and induced her to chase, taking care to lead her off from the
merchantmen. That night the brig gave her enemy the slip, and made sail
on her course, overtaking and collecting the whole fleet the following
day. It is said not a single vessel, out of one hundred and nineteen
sail, failed of the rendezvous!
It was August, 1799, before the Norfolk returned to New York. Here
Bainbridge found that no less than five lieutenants had been made
captains, passing the grades of commanders and lieutenants commandant
altogether. This irregularity could only have occurred in an infant
service, though it was of material importance to a young officer in
after life. Among the gentlemen thus promoted, were Capts. Rodgers, and
Barron, two names that, for a long time, alone stood between Bainbridge
and the head of the service. Still, it is by no means certain that
injustice was done, such circumstances frequently occurring in so young
a service, to repair an original wrong. At all events, no slight was
intended to Bainbridge, or any other officer who was passed; though the
former ever maintained that he had not his proper rank in the navy.
After refitting the Norfolk, Bainbridge returned to the West Indies,
where he was put under the orders of Capt. Christopher R. Perry, the
father of the celebrated Commodore Oliver H. Perry, who sent him to
cruise off Cape François. The brig changed her cruising ground, under
different orders, no opportunity occurring for meeting an enemy of equal
force. Indeed, it was highly creditable to the maritime enterprise of
the French that they appeared at all in those seas, which were swarming
with English and American cruisers; this country alone seldom employing
fewer than thirty sail in the West Indies, that year; toward the close
of the season it had near, if not quite forty, including those who were
passing between the islands and the home coast.
On the 31st October, however, the Norfolk succeeded in decoying an armed
barge within reach of her guns. The enemy discovered the brig’s
character in time to escape to the shore, notwithstanding; though he was
pursued and the barge was captured. Six dead and dying were found in, or
near the boat.
In November, Bainbridge took a small lugger privateer, called Le
Républicain, with a prize in company. The former was destroyed at sea,
and the latter sent in. The prize of the lugger was a sloop. She
presented a horrible spectacle when taken possession of by the
Americans. Her decks were strewed with mangled bodies, the husbands and
parents of eleven women and children, who were found weeping over them
at the moment of recapture. The murders had been committed by some
brigands in a barge, who slew every man in the sloop, and were
proceeding to further outrages when the lugger closed and drove them
from their prey. An hour or two later, Bainbridge captured both the
vessels. His treatment of the unfortunate females and children was such
as ever marked his generous and manly character.
Shortly after, Capt. Bainbridge received an order, direct from the Navy
Department, to go off the neutral port of the Havana, to look after the
trade in that quarter. Here he was joined by the Warren 18, Capt.
Newman, and the Pinckney 18, Capt. Heyward. Bainbridge was the senior
officer, and continued to command this force to the great advantage of
American commerce, by blockading the enemy’s privateers, and giving
convoy, until March, 1800, when, his cruise being up, he returned home,
anchoring off Philadelphia early in the month of April. His services,
especially those before Havana, were fully appreciated, and May 2d, of
the same year, he was raised to the rank of captain. Bainbridge had
served with credit, and had now reached the highest grade which existed
in the navy, when he wanted just five days of being twenty-six years
old. He had carried with him into the marine the ideas of a high-class
Philadelphia seaman, as to discipline, and these were doubtless the best
which then existed in the country. In every situation he had conducted
himself well, and the promise of his early career as a master of a
merchantman was likely to be redeemed, whenever occasion should offer,
under the pennant of the republic.
Among the vessels purchased into the service during the war of 1798, was
an Indiaman called the George Washington. This ship was an example of
the irregularity in rating which prevailed at that day; being set down
in all the lists and registers of the period as a 24, when her tonnage
was 624; while the Adams, John Adams, and Boston, all near one sixth
smaller, are rated as 32s. The George Washington was, in effect, a large
28, carrying the complement and armament of a vessel of that class. To
this ship Bainbridge was now appointed, receiving his orders the month
he was promoted; or, in May, 1800. The destination of the vessel was to
carry tribute to the Dey of Algiers! This was a galling service to a man
of her commander’s temperament, as, indeed, it would have proved to
nearly every other officer in the navy; but it put the ship quite as
much in the way of meeting with an enemy as if she had been sent into
the West Indies; and it was sending the pennant into the Mediterranean
for the first time since the formation of the new navy. Thus the United
States 44, first carried the pennant to Europe, in 1799; the Essex 32,
first carried it round the Cape of Good Hope, in 1800, and around Cape
Horn, in 1813; and this ship, the George Washington 28, first carried it
into the classical seas of the old world.
Bainbridge did not get the tribute collected and reach his port of
destination, before the month of September. Being entirely without
suspicion, and imagining that he came on an errand which should entitle
him, at least, to kind treatment, he carried the ship into the mole, for
the purpose of discharging with convenience. This duty, however, was
hardly performed, when the Dey proposed a service for the George
Washington, that was as novel in itself as it was astounding to her
commander.
It seems that this barbarian prince had got himself into discredit at
the Sublime Porte, and he felt the necessity of purchasing favor, and of
making his peace, by means of a tribute of his own. The Grand Seignor
was at war with France, and the Dey, his tributary and dependant, had
been guilty of the singular indiscretion of making a separate treaty of
peace with that powerful republic, for some private object of his own.
This was an offence to be expiated only by a timely offering of certain
slaves, various wild beasts, and a round sum in gold. The presents to be
sent were valued at more than half a million of our money, and the
passengers to be conveyed amounted to between two and three hundred. As
the Dey happened to have no vessel fit for such a service, and the
George Washington lay very conveniently within his mole, and had just
been engaged in this very duty, he came to the natural conclusion she
would answer his purpose.
The application was first made in the form of a civil request, through
the consul. Bainbridge procured an audience, and respectfully, but
distinctly, stated that a compliance would be such a departure from his
orders as to put it out of the question. Hereupon the Dey reminded the
American that the ship was in his power, and that what he now asked, he
might take without asking, if it suited his royal pleasure. A protracted
and spirited discussion, in which the consul joined, now followed, but
all without effect. The Dey offered the alternatives of compliance, or
slavery and capture, for the frigate and her crew, with war on the
American trade. One of his arguments is worthy of being recorded, as it
fully exposes the feeble policy of submission to any national wrong. He
told the two American functionaries, that their country paid him
tribute, already, which was an admission of their inferiority, as well
as of their duty to obey him; and he chose to order this particular
piece of service, in addition to the presents which he had just
received.
Bainbridge finally consented to do as desired. He appears to have been
influenced in this decision, by the reasoning of Mr. O’Brien, the
consul, who had himself been a slave in Algiers, not long before, and
probably retained a lively impression of the power of the barbarian, on
his own shores. It is not to be concealed, however, that temporizing in
all such matters, had been the policy of America, and it would have
required men of extraordinary moral courage to have opposed the wishes
of the Dey, by a stern assertion of those principles, which alone can
render a nation great. “To ask for nothing but what is right, and to
submit to nothing that is wrong,” is an axiom more easily maintained on
paper than in practice, where the chameleon-like policy of trade
interferes to color principles; and O’Brien, a merchant in effect, and
Bainbridge, who had so lately been in that pursuit himself, were not
likely to overlook the besetting weakness of the nation. Still, it may
be questioned if there was a man in the navy who felt a stronger desire
to vindicate the true maxims of national independence than the subject
of this memoir. He appears to have yielded solely to the arguments of
the consul, and to his apprehensions for a trade that certainly had no
other protection in that distant sea, than his own ship; and she would
be the first sacrifice of the Dey’s resentment. It ought to be
mentioned, too, that a base and selfish policy prevailed, in that day,
on the subject of the Barbary Powers, among the principal maritime
states of Europe. England, in particular, was supposed to wink at their
irregularities, in the hope that it might have a tendency to throw a
monopoly of the foreign navigation of the Mediterranean into the hands
of those countries which, by means of their great navies, and their
proximity to the African coast, were always ready to correct any serious
evil that might affect themselves. English policy had been detected in
the hostilities of the Dey, a few years earlier, and it is by no means
improbable that Mr. O’Brien foresaw consequences of this nature, that
did not lie absolutely on the surface.
Yielding to the various considerations which were urged, Bainbridge
finally consented to comply with the Dey’s demand. The presents and
passengers were received on board, and on the 19th of October, or about
a month after her arrival at Algiers, the George Washington was ready to
sail for Constantinople. When on the very eve of departing a new
difficulty arose, and one of a nature to show that the Dey was not
entirely governed by rapacity, but that he had rude notions of national
honor, agreeably to opinions of the school in which he had been trained.
As the George Washington carried his messenger, or ambassador, and was
now employed in his service, he insisted that she should carry the
Algerine flag at the main, while that of the republic to which the ship
belonged, should fly at the fore. An altercation occurred on this point
of pure etiquette, the Dey insisting that English, French, and Spanish
commanders, whenever they had performed a similar service for him, had
not hesitated to give this precedency to his ensign. This was probably
true, as well as the fact that vessels of war of those nations had
consented to serve him in this manner, in compliance with the selfish
policy of their respective governments; though it may be doubted whether
English, or French ships, had been impressed into such a duty. Dr.
Harris, whose biography of Bainbridge is much the most full of any
written, and to which we are indebted for many of our own details, has
cited an instance as recently as 1817, when an English vessel of war
conveyed presents to Constantinople for the Dey; though it was
improbable that any other inducement for the measure existed, than a
desire in the English authorities to maintain their influence in the
regency. Bainbridge, without entering into pledges on the subject, and
solely with a view to get his ship beyond the reach of the formidable
batteries of the mole, hoisted the Algerine ensign, as desired, striking
it, as soon as he found himself again the commander of his own vessel.
The George Washington had a boisterous and weary passage to the mouth of
the Dardanelles, the ship being littered with Turks, and the cages of
wild beasts. This voyage was always a source of great uneasiness and
mortification to Bainbridge, but he occasionally amused his friends with
the relation of anecdotes that occurred during its continuance. Among
other things he mentioned that his passengers were greatly puzzled to
keep their faces toward Mecca, in their frequent prayers; the ship often
tacking during the time thus occupied, more especially after they got
into the narrow seas. A man was finally stationed at the compass to give
the faithful notice when it was necessary to “go-about,” in consequence
of the evolutions of the frigate.
Bainbridge had great apprehensions of being detained at the Dardanelles,
for want of a firman, the United States having no diplomatic agent at
the Porte, and commercial jealousy being known to exist, on the subject
of introducing the American flag into those waters. A sinister influence
up at Constantinople might detain him for weeks, or even prevent his
passage altogether, and having come so far, on his unpleasant errand, he
was resolved to gather as many of its benefits as possible. In the
dilemma, therefore, he decided on a _ruse_ of great boldness, and one
which proved that personal considerations had little influence, when he
thought the interests of his country demanded their sacrifice.
The George Washington approached the castles with a strong southerly
wind, and she clewed up her light sails, as if about to anchor, just as
she began to salute. The works returned gun for gun, and in the smoke
sail was again made, and the ship glided out of the range of shot before
the deception was discovered; passing on toward the sea of Marmora under
a cloud of canvass. As vessels were stopped at only one point, and the
progress of the ship was too rapid to admit of detention, she anchored
unmolested under the walls of Constantinople, on the 9th November, 1800;
showing the flag of the republic, for the first time, before that
ancient town.
Bainbridge was probably right in his anticipation of difficulty in
procuring a firman to pass the castles, for when his vessel reported her
nation, an answer was sent off that the government of Turkey knew of no
such country. An explanation that the ship came from the new world, that
which Columbus had discovered, luckily proved satisfactory, when a bunch
of flowers and a lamb were sent on board; the latter as a token of
amity, and the former as a welcome.
The George Washington remained several weeks at Constantinople, where
Bainbridge and his officers were well received, though the agents of the
Dey fared worse. The Capudan Pacha, in particular, formed a warm
friendship for the commander of the George Washington, whose fine
personal appearance, frank address and manly bearing were well
calculated to obtain favor. This functionary was married to a sister of
the Sultan, and had more influence at court than any other subject. He
took Bainbridge especially under his own protection, and when they
parted, he gave the frigate a passport, which showed that she and her
commander enjoyed this particular and high privilege. In fact, the
intercourse between this officer and the commander of the George
Washington was such as to approach nearly to paving the way for a
treaty, a step that Bainbridge warmly urged on the government at home,
as both possible and desirable. It has been conjectured even, that Capt.
Bainbridge was instructed on this subject; and that, in consenting to go
to Constantinople at all, he had the probabilities of opening some such
negotiation in view. This was not his own account of the matter,
although, in weighing the motives for complying with the Dey’s demands,
it is not impossible he permitted such a consideration to have some
weight.
The visit of Clarke, the well known traveler, occurred while the George
Washington was at Constantinople. The former accompanied Bainbridge to
the Black Sea, in the frigate’s long-boat, where the American ensign was
displayed also, for the first time. It appears that an officer was one
of the party in the celebrated visit of the traveler to the seraglio,
Bainbridge confirming Dr. Clarke’s account of the affair, with the
exception that he, himself, looked upon the danger as very trifling.
During the friendly intercourse which existed between Capt. Bainbridge
and the Capudan Pacha, the latter incidentally mentioned that the
governor of the castles was condemned to die for suffering the George
Washington to pass without a firman, and that the warrant of execution
only waited for his signature, in order to be enforced. Shocked at
discovering the terrible strait to which he had unintentionally reduced
a perfectly innocent man, Bainbridge frankly admitted his own act, and
said if any one had erred it was himself; begging the life of the
governor, and offering to meet the consequences in his own person. This
generous course was not thrown away on the Capudan Pacha, who appears to
have been a liberal and enlightened man. He heard the explanation with
interest, extolled Bainbridge’s frankness, promised him his entire
protection, and pardoned the governor; sending to the latter a minute
statement of the whole affair. It was after this conversation that the
high functionary in question delivered to Bainbridge his own especial
letter of protection.
At length the Algerine ambassador was ready to return. On the 30th of
December, 1800, the ship sailed for Algiers. The messenger of the Dey
took back with him a menace of punishment, unless his master declared
war against France, and sent more tribute to the Porte; granting to the
Algerine government but sixty days to let its course be known. On
repassing the Dardanelles, Bainbridge was compelled to anchor. Here he
received presents of fruit and provisions, with hospitalities on shore,
as an evidence of the governor’s gratitude for his generous conduct in
exposing his own life, in order to save that of an innocent man. It is
shown by a passage in Dr. Clarke’s work, that Bainbridge was honorably
received in the best circles in Pera, during his stay at Constantinople,
while the neatness and order of his ship were the subject of general
conversation. An entertainment that was given on board the frigate was
much talked of also; the guests and all the viands coming from the four
quarters of the earth. Thus there was water, bread, meats, etc., etc.,
each from Europe, Asia, Africa and America, as well as persons to
consume them; certainly a thing of rare occurrence at any one feast.
The George Washington arrived at Algiers on the 20th January, 1801, and
anchored off the town, beyond the reach of shot. The Dey expressed his
apprehensions that the position of the ship would prove inconvenient to
her officers, and desired that she might be brought within the mole, or
to the place where she had lain during her first visit. This offer was
respectfully declined. A day or two later the object of this hospitality
became apparent. Bainbridge was asked to return to Constantinople with
the Algerine ambassador; a request with which he positively refused to
comply. This was the commencement of a new series of cajoleries,
arguments and menaces. But, having his ship where nothing but the
barbarian’s corsairs could assail her, Bainbridge continued firm. He
begged the consul to send him off some old iron for ballast, in order
that he might return certain guns he had borrowed for that purpose,
previously to sailing for Constantinople, the whole having been rendered
necessary in consequence of his ship’s having been lightened of the
tribute sent in her from America. The Dey commanded the lightermen not
to take employment, and, at the same time, he threatened war if his guns
were not returned. After a good deal of discussion, Bainbridge exacted a
pledge that no further service would be asked of the ship; then he
agreed to run into the mole and deliver the cannon, as the only mode
that remained of returning property which had been lent to him.
As soon as the frigate was secured in her new berth, Capt. Bainbridge
and the consul were admitted to an audience with the Dey. The reception
was any thing but friendly, and the despot, a man of furious passions,
soon broke out into expressions of anger, that bade fair to lead to
personal violence. The attendants were ready, and it was known that a
nod or a word might, at a moment’s notice, cost the Americans their
lives. At this fearful instant, Bainbridge, who was determined at every
hazard to resist the Dey’s new demand, fortunately bethought him of the
Capudan Pacha’s letter of protection, which he carried about him. The
letter was produced, and its effect was magical. Bainbridge often spoke
of it as even ludicrous, and of being so sudden and marked as to produce
glances of surprise among the common soldiers. From a furious tyrant,
the sovereign of Algiers was immediately converted into an obedient
vassal; his tongue all honey, his face all smiles. He was aware that a
disregard of the recommendation of the Capudan Pacha would be punished,
as he would visit a similar disregard of one of his own orders; and that
there was no choice between respect and deposition. No more was said
about the return of the frigate to Constantinople, and every offer of
service and every profession of amity were heaped upon the subject of
our memoir, who owed his timely deliverance altogether to the friendship
of the Turkish dignitary; a friendship obtained through his own frank
and generous deportment.
The reader will readily understand that dread of the Grand Seignior’s
power had produced this sudden change in the deportment of the Dey. The
same feeling induced him to order the flag-staff of the French consulate
to be cut down the next day; a declaration of war against the country to
which the functionary belonged. Exasperated at these humiliations, which
were embittered by heavy pecuniary exactions on the part of the Porte,
the Dey turned upon the few unfortunate French who happened to be in his
power. These, fifty-six in number, consisting of men, women and
children, he ordered to be seized and to be deemed slaves. Capt.
Bainbridge felt himself sufficiently strong, by means of the Capudan
Pacha’s letter, to mediate; and he actually succeeded, after a long
discussion, in obtaining a decree by which all the French who could get
out of the regency, within the next eight-and-forty hours, might depart.
For those who could not remained the doom of slavery, or of ransom at a
thousand dollars a head. It was thought that this concession was made
under the impression that no means of quitting Algiers could be found by
the unfortunate French. No one believed that the George Washington would
be devoted to their service, France and America being then at war; a
circumstance which probably increased Bainbridge’s influence at
Constantinople, as well as at Algiers.
But our officer was not disposed to do things by halves. Finding that no
other means remained for extricating the unfortunate French, he
determined to carry them off in the George Washington. The ship had not
yet discharged the guns of the Dey, but every body working with good
will, this property was delivered to its right owner, sand ballast was
obtained from the country and hoisted in, other necessary preparations
were made, and the ship hauled out of the mole and got to sea just in
time to escape the barbarian’s fangs, with every Frenchman in Algiers on
board. It is said that in another hour the time of grace would have
expired. The ship landed her passengers at Alicant, a neutral country,
and then made the best of her way to America, where she arrived in due
season.
This act of Bainbridge’s was quite in conformity with the generous
tendencies of his nature. He was a man of quick and impetuous feelings,
and easily roused to anger; but left to the voluntary guidance of his
own heart, no one was more ready to serve his fellow creatures. It
seemed to make little difference with him, whether he assisted an
Englishman or a Frenchman; his national antipathies, though decided and
strong, never interfering with his humanity. Napoleon had just before
attained the First Consulate, and he offered the American officer his
personal thanks for this piece of humane and disinterested service to
his countrymen. At a later day, when misfortune came upon Bainbridge, he
is said to have remembered this act, and to have interested himself in
favor of the captive.
On reaching home, Bainbridge had the gratification of finding his
conduct, in every particular, approved by the government. It was so much
a matter of course, in that day, for the nations of Christendom to
submit to exactions from those of Barbary, that little was thought of
the voyage to Constantinople, and less said about it. A general feeling
must have prevailed that censure, if it fell any where, ought to light
on the short-sighted policy of trade, and the misguided opinions of the
age. It is more probable, however, that the whole transaction was looked
upon as a legitimate consequence of the system of tribute, which then so
extensively prevailed.
Bainbridge must have enjoyed another and still more unequivocal evidence
that the misfortunes which certainly accompanied his short naval career,
had left no injurious impressions on the government, as touching his own
conduct. The reduction law, which erected a species of naval peace
establishment, was passed during his late absence, and, on his arrival,
he found its details nearly completed in practice. Previously to this
law’s going into effect, there were twenty-eight captains in the navy,
of which number be stood himself as low as the twenty-seventh in rank.
There was, indeed, but one other officer of that grade below him, and,
under such circumstances, the chances of being retained would have been
very small, for any man who had not the complete confidence of his
superiors. He was retained, however, and that, too, in a manner in
defiance of the law, for, by its provisions, only nine captains were to
be continued in the service in a time of peace; whereas, his was the
eleventh name on the new list, until Dale and Truxtun resigned; events
which did not occur until the succeeding year. The cautious and
reluctant manner in which these reductions were made by Mr. Jefferson,
under a law that had passed during the administration of his
predecessor, is another proof that the former statesman did not deserve
all the reproaches of hostility to this branch of the public service
that were heaped upon him.[1]
Not satisfied with retaining Capt. Bainbridge in the service, after the
late occurrences at Algiers, the Department also gave him immediate
employment. For the first time this gallant officer was given a good
serviceable ship, that had been regularly constructed for a man-of-war.
He was attached to the Essex 32, a fine twelve-pounder frigate, that had
just returned from a first cruise to the East Indies, under Preble; an
officer who subsequently became so justly celebrated. The orders to this
vessel were issued in May, 1801, and the ship was directed to form part
of a squadron then about to sail for the Mediterranean.
Capt. Bainbridge joined the Essex at New York. He had Stephen Decatur
for his first lieutenant, and was otherwise well officered and manned.
The squadron, consisting of the President 44, Philadelphia 38, Essex 32,
and Enterprise 12, sailed in company; the President being commanded by
Capt. James Barron, the Philadelphia by Capt. Samuel Barron, and the
Enterprise by Lieut. Com. Sterrett. The broad pennant of Com. Dale was
flying on the President. This force went abroad under very limited
instructions. Although the Bashaw of Tripoli was seizing American
vessels, and was carrying on an effective war, Mr. Jefferson appeared to
think legal enactments at home necessary to authorize the marine to
retaliate. As respected ourselves, statutes may have been wanting to
prescribe the _forms_ under which condemnations could be had, and the
other national rights carried out in full practice; but, as respected
the enemy, there can be no question his own acts authorized the cruisers
of this country to capture their assailants wherever they could be
found, even though they rotted in our harbors for the want of a
prescribed manner of bringing them under the hammer. The _mode_ of
condemnation is solely dependent on municipal regulations, but the right
to capture is dependent on public law alone. It was in this singular
state of things that the Enterprise, after a bloody action, took a
Tripolitan, and was then obliged to let her go!
The American squadron reached Gibraltar the 1st day of July, where it
found and blockaded two of the largest Tripolitan cruisers, under the
orders of a Scotch renegade, who bore the rank of an admiral. The
Philadelphia watched these vessels, while the Essex was sent along the
north shore to give convoy. The great object, in that day, appears to
have been to carry the trade safely through the Straits, and to prevent
the enemy’s rovers from getting out into the Atlantic; measures that the
peculiar formation of the coasts rendered highly important. It was while
employed on this duty, that Capt. Bainbridge had an unpleasant collision
with some of the Spanish authorities at Barcelona, in consequence of
repeated insults offered to his ship’s officers and boats; his own barge
having been fired into twice, while he was in it in person. In this
affair he showed his usual decision and spirit, and the matter was
pushed so far and so vigorously, as to induce an order from the Prince
of Peace, “to treat all officers of the United States with courtesy and
respect, and more particularly those attached to the United States
frigate Essex.” The high and native courtesy of the Spanish character
renders it probable that some misunderstandings increased and
complicated these difficulties, though there is little doubt that
jealousy of the superior order and beauty of the Essex, among certain
subordinates of the Spanish marine, produced the original aggression. In
the discussions and collisions that followed, the sudden and somewhat
_brusque_ spirit of the American usages was not likely to be cordially
met by the precise and almost oriental school of manners that regulates
the intercourse of Spanish society. Bainbridge, however, is admitted to
have conducted his part of the dispute with dignity and propriety;
though he was not wanting in the promptitude and directness of a
man-of-war’s man.
On the arrival of the Essex below, with a convoy, it was found that the
enemy had laid up his ships, and had sent the crews across to Africa in
the night; the admiral making the best of his way home in a neutral.
Com. Morris had relieved Com. Dale, and the Essex, wanting material
repairs, was sent home in the summer of 1802, after an absence of rather
more than a year. During her short cruise, the Essex had been deemed a
model ship, as to efficiency and discipline, and extorted admiration
wherever she appeared. On her arrival at New York, the frigate was
unexpectedly ordered to Washington to be laid up, a measure that excited
great discontent in her crew. One of those _quasi_ mutinies which, under
similar circumstances, were not uncommon in that day, followed; the men
insisting that their times were up, and that they ought to be paid off
in a sea-port, and “not on a tobacco plantation, up in Virginia;” but
Bainbridge and Decatur were men unwilling to be controlled in this way.
The disaffection was put down with spirit, and the ship obeyed her
orders.
Bainbridge was now employed in superintending the construction of the
Siren and Vixen; two of the small vessels that had been recently ordered
by law. As soon as these vessels were launched, he was again directed to
prepare for service in the Mediterranean, for which station the
celebrated squadron of Preble was now fitting. This force consisted of
the Constitution 44, Philadelphia 38, Siren 16, Argus 16, Nautilus 14,
Vixen 14, and Enterprise 12; the latter vessel being then on the
station, under Lieut. Com. Hull. Of these ships, Bainbridge had the
Philadelphia 38, a fine eighteen-pounder frigate that was often, by
mistake, called a forty-four, though by no means as large a vessel as
some others of her proper class. It was much the practice of that day to
attach officers to the ships which were fitting near their places of
residence, and thus it followed that a vessel frequently had a sort of
local character. Such, in a degree, was the case with the Philadelphia,
most of whose sea-officers were Delaware sailors, in one sense; though
all the juniors had now been bred in the navy. As these gentlemen are
entitled to have their sufferings recorded, we give their names, with
the states of which they were natives, viz:
_Captain._—William Bainbridge, of New Jersey.
_Lieutenants._—John T. R. Cox; Jacob Jones, Delaware; Theodore Hunt,
New Jersey; Benjamin Smith, Rhode Island.
_Lieutenant of Marines._—Wm. S. Osborne.
_Surgeon._—John Ridgely, Maryland.
_Purser._—Rich. Spence, New Hampshire.
_Sailing-Master._—Wm. Knight, Pennsylvania.
_Surgeon’s Mates._—Jonathan Cowdery, N. York; Nicholas Harwood, Va.
_Midshipmen._—Bernard Henry, Pa.; James Gibbon, Va.; James Biddle, Pa.;
Richard B. Jones, Pa.; D. T. Patterson, N. Y.; Wm. Cutbush, Pa.; B. F.
Reed, Pa.; Thomas M’Donough, Del.; Wallace Wormley, Va.; Robert Gamble,
Va.; Simon Smith, Pa.; James Renshaw, Pa.
The Philadelphia had a crew a little exceeding three hundred souls on
board, including her officers. One or two changes occurred among the
latter, however, when the ship reached Gibraltar, which will be
mentioned in their proper places.
The vessels of Com. Preble did not sail in squadron, but left home as
each ship got ready. Bainbridge, being equipped, was ordered to sail in
July, and he entered the Straits on the 24th of August, after a passage
down the Delaware and across the Atlantic of some length. Understanding
at Gibraltar that certain cruisers of the enemy were in the neighborhood
of Cape de Gatte, he proceeded off that well-known headland the very
next day; and, in the night of the 26th, it blowing fresh, he fell in
with a ship under nothing but a foresail, with a brig in company, under
very short canvass also. These suspicious circumstances induced him to
run alongside of the ship, and to demand her character. After a good
deal of hailing, and some evasion on the part of the stranger, it was
ascertained that he was a cruiser from Morocco, called the Meshboha 22,
commanded by Ibrahim Lubarez, and having a crew of one hundred and
twenty men. The Philadelphia had concealed her own nation, and a boat
coming from the Meshboha, the fact was extracted from its crew that the
brig in company was an American, bound into Spain, and that they had
boarded but had not detained her. Bainbridge’s suspicions were aroused
by all the circumstances; particularly by the little sail the brig
carried; so unlike an American, who is ever in a hurry. He accordingly
directed Mr. Cox, his first lieutenant, to board the Meshboha, and to
ascertain if any Americans were in her, as prisoners. In attempting to
execute this order, Mr. Cox was resisted, and it was necessary to send
an armed boat. The master and crew of the brig, the Celia of Boston,
were actually found in the Meshboha, which ship had captured them, nine
days before, in the vicinity of Malaga, the port to which they were
bound.
Bainbridge took possession of the Moorish ship. The next day he
recovered the brig, which was standing in for the bay of Almeria, to the
westward of Cape de Gatte. On inquiry he discovered that Ibraham Lubarez
was cruising for Americans under an order issued by the governor of
Mogadore. Although Morocco was ostensibly at peace with the United
States, Bainbridge did not hesitate, now, about taking his prize to
Gibraltar. Here he left the Meshboha in charge of Mr. M’Donough, under
the superintendence of the consul, and then went off Cape St. Vincent in
pursuit of a Moorish frigate, which was understood to be in that
neighborhood. Failing in his search, he returned within the Straits, and
went aloft, in obedience to his original orders. At Gibraltar, the
Philadelphia met the homeward bound vessels, under Com. Rodgers, which
were waiting the arrival of Preble, in the Constitution. As this force
was sufficient to watch the Moors, it left the Philadelphia the greater
liberty to proceed on her cruise. While together, however, Lieut.
Porter, the first of the New York 36, exchanged with Lieut. Cox, the
latter gentleman wishing to return home, where he soon after resigned;
while the former preferred active service.
The Philadelphia found nothing but the Vixen before Tripoli. A
Neapolitan had given information that a corsair had just sailed on a
cruise, and this induced Capt. Bainbridge to despatch Lieut. Com. Smith
in chase. In consequence of this unfortunate, but perfectly justifiable,
decision the frigate was left alone off the town. A vigorous blockade
having been determined on, the ship maintained her station as close in
as her draught of water would allow until near the close of October,
when, it coming on to blow fresh from the westward, she was driven some
distance to leeward, as often occurred to vessels on that station. As
soon as it moderated, sail was made to recover the lost ground, and, by
the morning of the 31st, the wind had become fair, from the eastward. At
8, A. M., a sail was made ahead, standing like themselves to the
westward. This vessel proved to be a small cruiser of the Bashaw’s, and
was probably the very vessel of which the Vixen had gone in pursuit. The
Philadelphia now crowded every thing that would draw, and was soon so
near the chase as to induce the latter to hug the land. There is an
extensive reef to the eastward of Tripoli, called Kaliusa, that was not
laid down in the charts of the ship, and which runs nearly parallel to
the coast for some miles. There is abundance of water inside of it, as
was doubtless known to those on board the chase, and there is a wide
opening through it, by which six and seven fathoms can be carried out to
sea; but all these facts were then profound mysteries to the officers of
the Philadelphia. Agreeably to the chart of Capt. Smyth, of the British
navy, the latest and best in existence, the eastern division of this
reef lies about a mile and a half from the coast, and its western about
a mile. According to the same chart, one of authority and made from
accurate surveys, the latter portion of the reef is distant from the
town of Tripoli about two and a half miles, and the former something
like a mile and a half more. There is an interval of quite half a mile
in length between these two main divisions of the reef, through which it
is possible to carry six and seven fathoms, provided three or four
detached fragments of reef, of no great extent, be avoided. The channels
among these rocks afforded great facilities to the Turks in getting in
and out of their port during the blockade, since a vessel of moderate
draught, that knew the land-marks, might run through them with great
confidence by daylight. It is probable the chase, in this instance, led
in among these reefs as much to induce the frigate to follow as to cover
her own escape, either of which motives showed a knowledge of the coast,
and a familiarity with his duties in her commander.
In coming down from the eastward, and bringing with her a plenty of
water, the Philadelphia must have passed two or three hundred yards to
the southward of the northeastern extremity of the most easterly of the
two great divisions of the reef in question. This position agrees with
the soundings found at the time, and with those laid down in the chart.
She had the chase some distance inshore of her; so much so, indeed, as
to have been firing into her from the two forward divisions of the
larboard guns, in the hope of cutting something away. Coming from the
eastward, the ship brought into this pass, between the reef and the
shore, from fourteen to ten fathoms of water, which gradually shoaled to
eight, when Capt. Bainbridge, seeing no prospect of overhauling the
chase, then beginning to open the harbor of Tripoli, from which the
frigate herself was distant but some three or four miles, ordered the
helm a-port, and the yards braced forward, in the natural expectation of
hauling directly off the land into deep water. The leads were going at
the time, and, to the surprise of all on board, the water shoaled, as
the frigate run off, instead of deepening. The yards were immediately
ordered to be braced sharp up, and the ship brought close on a wind, in
the hope of beating out of this seeming _cul de sac_, by the way in
which she had entered. The command was hardly given, however, before the
ship struck forward, and, having eight knots way on her, she shot up on
the rocks until she had only fourteen and a half feet of water under her
fore-chains. Under the bowsprit there were but twelve. Aft she floated,
having, it is said, come directly out of six or seven fathoms of water
into twelve and fifteen feet; all of which strictly corresponds with the
soundings of the modern charts.[2]
There was much of the hard fortune which attended a good deal of
Bainbridge’s professional career, in the circumstances of this accident.
Had the prospects of the chase induced him to continue it, the frigate
might have passed ahead, and the chances were that she would have hauled
off, directly before the mouth of the harbor of Tripoli, and gone clear;
carrying through nowhere less than five fathoms of water. Had she stood
directly on, after first hauling up, she might have passed through the
opening between the two portions of the reef, carrying with her six,
seven, nine and ten fathoms, out to sea. But, in pursuing the very
course which prudence and a sound discretion dictated to one who was
ignorant of the existence of this reef, he ran his ship upon the very
danger he was endeavoring to avoid. It is by making provision for war,
in a time of peace, and, in expending its money freely, to further the
objects of general science, in the way of surveys and other similar
precautions, that a great maritime state, in particular, economizes, by
means of a present expenditure, for the moments of necessity and danger
that may await it, an age ahead.
Bainbridge’s first recourse, was the natural expedient of attempting to
force the ship over the obstacle, in the expectation that the deep water
lay to seaward. As soon, however, as the boats were lowered, and
soundings taken, the true nature of the disaster was comprehended, and
every effort was made to back the Philadelphia off, by the stern. A ship
of the size of a frigate, that goes seven or eight knots, unavoidably
piles a mass of water under her bows, and this, aided by the shelving of
the reef, and possibly by a ground swell, had carried the ship up too
far, to be got off by any ordinary efforts. The desperate nature of her
situation was soon seen by the circumstance of her falling over so much,
as to render it impossible to use any of her starboard guns.
The firing of the chase had set several gun-boats in motion in the
harbor, and a division of nine was turning to-windward, in order to
assist the xebec the Philadelphia had been pursuing, even before the
last struck. Of course the nature of the accident was understood, and
these enemies soon began to come within reach of shot, though at a
respectful distance on the larboard quarter. Their fire did some injury
aloft, but neither the hull nor the crew of the frigate were hit.
Every expedient which could be resorted to, in order to get the
Philadelphia off, was put in practice. The anchors were cut from the
bows; water was pumped out, and other heavy articles were thrown
overboard, including all the guns, but those aft. Finally the foremast
was cut away. It would seem that the frigate had no boat strong enough
to carry out an anchor, a great oversight in the equipment of a vessel
of any sort. After exerting himself, with great coolness and discretion,
until sunset, Bainbridge consulted his officers, and the hard necessity
of hauling down the colors was admitted. By this time, the gun-boats had
ventured to cross the frigate’s stern, and had got upon her weather
quarter, where, as she had fallen over several feet to leeward, it was
utterly impossible to do them any harm. Other boats, too, were coming
out of the harbor to the assistance of the division which had first
appeared.
The Tripolitans got on board the Philadelphia, just as night was setting
in, on the last day of October. They came tumbling in at the ports, in a
crowd, and then followed a scene of indiscriminate plunder and
confusion. Swords, epaulettes, watches, jewels, money, and no small
portion of the clothing of the officers even, disappeared, the person of
Bainbridge himself being respected little more than those of the common
men. He submitted to be robbed, until they undertook to force from him a
miniature of his young and beautiful wife, when he successfully
resisted. The manly determination he showed in withstanding this last
violence, had the effect to check the aggression, so far as he was
concerned, and about ten at night, the prisoners reached the shore, near
the castle of the Bashaw.
Jussuf Caramelli received his prisoners, late as was the hour, in full
divan; feeling a curiosity, no doubt, to ascertain what sort of beings
the chances of war had thrown into his power. There was a barbarous
courtesy in his deportment, nor was the reception one of which the
Americans had any right to complain. After a short interview, he
dismissed the officers to an excellent supper which had been prepared
for them in the castle itself, and to this hour, the gentlemen who sat
down to that feast with the appetites of midshipmen, speak of its merits
with an affection which proves that it was got up in the spirit of true
hospitality. When all had supped, they were carried back to the divan,
where the Pacha and his ministers had patiently awaited their return;
when the former put them in charge of Sidi Mohammed D’Ghies, one of the
highest functionaries of the regency, who conducted the officers, with
the necessary attendants, to the building that had lately been the
American consular residence.
This was the commencement of a long and irksome captivity, which
terminated only with the war. The feelings of Bainbridge were most
painful, as we know from his letters, his private admissions, and the
peculiar nature of his case. He had been unfortunate throughout most of
his public service. The Retaliation was the only American cruiser taken
in the war of 1798, and down to that moment, she was the only vessel of
the new marine that had been taken at all. Here, then, was the second
ship that had fallen into the enemy’s hands, also under his orders. Then
the affair of the George Washington was one likely to wound the feelings
of a high spirited and sensitive mind, to which explanations, however
satisfactory, are of themselves painful and humiliating. These were
circumstances that might have destroyed the buoyancy of some men; and
there is no question, that Bainbridge felt them acutely, and with a
lively desire to be justified before his country. At this moment, his
officers stepped in to relieve him, by sending a generous letter, signed
by every man in the ship whose testimony could at all influence the
opinion of a court of inquiry. Care was taken to say, in this letter,
that the charts and soundings justified the ship in approaching the
shore, as near as she had, which was the material point, as connected
with his conduct as a commander; his personal deportment after the
accident being beyond censure. Bainbridge was greatly relieved by the
receipt of this letter, the writing of which was generously and kindly
conceived, though doubts may exist as to its propriety, in a military
point of view. The commander of a ship, to a certain extent, is properly
responsible for its loss, and his subordinates are the witnesses by
whose testimony the court, which is finally to exonerate, or to condemn,
is guided; to anticipate their evidence, by a joint letter, is opening
the door to management and influence which may sometimes shield a real
delinquent. So tender are military tribunals, strictly courts of honor,
that one witness is not allowed to hear the testimony of another, and
the utmost caution should ever be shown about the expression of opinions
even, until the moment arrives to give them in the presence of the
judges, and under the solemnities of oaths. This is said without direct
reference to the case before us, however; for, if ever an instance
occurred in which a departure from severe principles is justifiable, it
was this; and no one can regret that Bainbridge, in the long captivity
which followed, had the consolation of possessing such a letter. It may
be well, here, to mention that all the officers whose names are given
already in this biography, shared his prison, with the exception of
Messrs. Cox and M’Donough; the former of whom had exchanged with
lieutenant Porter, now a captain, while the latter had been left at
Gibraltar, in charge of the Meshboha, to come aloft with Decatur, and to
share in all the gallant deeds of that distinguished officer, before
Tripoli.
Much exaggeration has prevailed on the subject of the treatment the
American prisoners received from the Turks. It was not regulated by the
rules of a more civilized warfare, certainly, and the common men were
compelled to labor under the restrictions of African slavery; but the
officers, on the whole, were kindly treated, and the young men were even
indulged in many of the wild expressions of their humors. There were
moments of irritation, and perhaps of policy, it is true, in which
changes of treatment occurred, but confinement was the principal
grievance. Books were obtained, and the studies of the midshipmen were
not neglected. Sidi Mohammed D’Ghies proved their friend, though the
Danish consul, M. Nissen, was the individual to whom the gratitude of
the prisoners was principally due. This benevolent man commenced his
acts of kindness the day after the Americans were taken, and he
continued them, with unwearying philanthrophy, down to the hour of their
liberation. By means of this gentleman, Bainbridge was enabled to
communicate with Com. Preble, who received many useful suggestions from
the prisoner, concerning his own operations before the town.
The Turks were so fortunate as to be favored with good weather, for
several days after the Philadelphia fell into their hands. Surrounding
the ship with their gunboats, and carrying out the necessary anchors,
they soon hove her off the reef into deep water; where she floated,
though it was necessary to use the pumps freely, and to stop some bad
leaks. The guns, anchors, &c., had, unavoidably, been thrown on the
rocks; and they were also recovered with little difficulty. The
prisoners, therefore, in a day or two, had the mortification to see
their late ship anchored between the reef and the town; and, ere long,
she was brought into the harbor and partially repaired.
It is said, on good authority, that Bainbridge suggested to Preble the
plan for the destruction of the Philadelphia, which was subsequently
adopted. His correspondence was active, and there is no question that it
contained many useful suggestions. A few weeks after he was captured he
received a manly, sensible letter from Preble, which, no doubt, had a
cheering influence on his feelings.
It will be remembered that the Philadelphia went ashore on the morning
of the 31st October, 1803. On the 15th of the succeeding February, the
captives were awakened about midnight by the firing of guns. A bright
light gleamed upon the windows, and they had the pleasure to see the
frigate enveloped in flames. Decatur had just quitted the ship, and his
ketch was then sweeping down the harbor, towards the Siren, which
awaited her in the offing!