Sir Sidney Smith, having pulled back to the Vengeance, found our hero
busily engaged routing out all the shot that could be found; but, to
their exceeding surprise and vexation, not more than three or four
pounds could be discovered.
“This is very unfortunate, Thornton,” said Sir Sidney. “However, get
under weigh, for, by Jove, I perceive a large lugger coming out, no
doubt to attack us.”
Our hero accordingly got the lugger under sail, though, as the wind
blew, and with the strong flood tide making, there was very little
prospect of reaching the Diamond, though they did not perceive it at
the time, so very much engaged were they. Captain Baptiste Gaudet,
the late skipper of the Vengeance, who was put ashore with his crew,
seeing the way the wind and tide set, manned two large boats, with
their crews well armed, and pulled out for the lugger, to recapture
her. In the meantime, several shots from the shore reached the vessel.
All, on board, however, were prepared for a desperate resistance. As
the enemy came up, a continued discharge of musketry took place from
both vessels, but the lugger discharged her four-pounders rammed full
of grape into the Vengeance, wounding several of the men, and a young
midshipman named Beecroft. This gallant young lad refused to leave the
deck, merely tying a handkerchief over the wound.
“I fear, Thornton,” said Sir Sidney, stooping to pick up his hat, which
a musket ball had knocked off, “I fear we shall have to give in, or
needlessly sacrifice our brave fellows; there are four dead already,
and I see those boats coming up are full of men.”
“I wish most devoutly, Sir Sidney,” said William Thornton, anxiously
gazing seaward, “that you had not turned back, the consequence would
then have been as nothing. Your capture would be a terrible blow to the
service.”
There was no time for words, for a furious fire commenced with musketry
from the boats from the crew of the Vengeance, who came alongside,
scrambled up over the quarters with loud cries and shouts.
“There!” exclaimed Baptiste Gaudet, the skipper, pointing to William
Thornton, who with Saunders alone was making a desperate attempt to
drive back a boat’s crew boarding over the starboard quarter, whilst
Sir Sidney was repelling the troops in the boats, “Sacre tonnerre!
that’s the man who shot my brother-in-law. Don’t kill him; drag him
down, and that fellow with him.”
But our hero and Saunders were not so easily dragged down; a furious
fight ensued, and several of the crew of the Vengeance were struck to
the deck. Just as Sir Sidney surrendered, they were overpowered and
at last disarmed, dragged down the companion stairs by the legs, and
kicked brutally; they were then strongly bound hand and foot to ring
bolts on the cabin-floor, and then Captain Gaudet left them, swearing
savagely he would make them remember him before he had done with them.
Whilst this was occurring, Sir Sidney Smith and the midshipman, Westly
Wright, were forcibly thrust into the boats alongside with the rest
of the men. The former repeatedly asked after William Thornton, but
the men only insulted him; they were at once carried ashore and landed
at Havre. Sir Sidney and Wright were marched to Rouen, and thence to
Paris. This occurrence, however, is history, and has nothing to do with
our future narrative; we return to our hero and his faithful follower,
Bill Saunders.
Though severely bruised, and with one or two sharp cutlass wounds,
William Thornton and Bill Saunders felt little the worse, experiencing
more indignation at the treatment they had received than pain from
their injuries.
The cabin, on the floor of which our hero and his fellow-captive were
stretched, was large and commodious, but perfectly dark, with the
exception of a faint light through some bulls’ eyes, a tarpaulin having
been thrown over the skylight.
“Do these villains mean to murder us, sir?” asked Bill Saunders, after
a fierce and vain effort to free himself. “I cannot understand why they
should treat your honour in this way.”
“I cannot exactly understand it myself, Bill,” replied William
Thornton. “I soon recognised the skipper of this infernal lugger,
that has brought such misfortune upon us and our Commander, as the
instigator of this attack upon us, for I heard him say, ‘Pull them
down, don’t kill them;’ so to cut our throats is not their intention,
or they would have done so at once.”
“I’m blessed, your honour, if I did not also see the same black-looking
rascal I stuck my pike into once before; I thought I had settled his
hash then, and I’m blowed if he aint turned up again. I expect if
we don’t get the use of our fins they will cut our windpipes, after
they gives us a dose of torture; not that what we are enjoying now is
pleasant by any means.”
“No,” returned our hero, “it’s not pleasant to be trussed up like
barn-door fowls. I wonder what they have done with our Commander and
the rest of our comrades.”
“Look, your honour; I’m blowed, now my eyes are getting accustomed to
this here light, if I don’t see a big clasp knife hanging by a cord to
a key in the locker, behind your honour, close to your feet; only try,
sir, if you can kick it out.”
Lieutenant Thornton worked himself round, and by a powerful effort
got on his knees, and seeing the knife, after repeated and tiresome
efforts, he jerked it out of the lock, and then lying down contrived to
get hold of it. As he did so they heard the companion pushed back, and
some persons descended the stairs. Our hero had only time to say:
“Lie still, and be quiet, whatever they say or do.”
“Blow me,” muttered Bill to himself, “it’s easy to do that, seeing I
don’t understand a word of their cursed lingo, and haven’t the power
even to rub my nose; curse them!”
The cabin door was opened, and two men entered, one holding a lantern.
Lieutenant Thornton at once recognised the skipper of the Vengeance,
and the mate of the Bon-Citoyen, whom our hero recollected having
put on board the Babet, who was afterwards put ashore at Belleisle
by Lieutenant O’Loughlin, and finally, after the departure of the
corvette, got onboard the Vengeance, with several more of the
schooner’s men.
“So,” exclaimed Baptiste Gaudet, with a savage oath, throwing the faint
light of the lantern on the young Lieutenant’s features.
“So there you are—curse you! it was you that shot my brother-in-law,
and took his schooner. Sacre diable! I have a mind now to slice your
throat, only I’ll work with a bitter revenge out of you.”
“You are a cowardly, ungrateful ruffian,” said Lieutenant Thornton,
calmly, “I gave you the quarter you vowed to refuse us, and besides
treated you well, and even restored you to liberty, and this is the
return you make.”
“It’s a cursed deal too good for you; and this beast too,” added the
mate of the Citizen, giving Bill Saunders a savage kick, “run his pike
into me;” and again he brutally kicked Saunders, whose blood was fever
heat with rage.
“Ah! let them bide,” said Gaudet, “till we come back, and that cursed
frigate has put to sea. Mind if I don’t cut your hides into strips; I
swore to do so, if we had the luck to catch you: I’ll do it, and pitch
your carcases into the sea;” and with fearful oaths, each administering
a kick to their helpless captives, they left the cabin, closing the
companion.
Bill Saunders foamed at the mouth, till he was in danger of
suffocation. He bore the kicks administered to himself tolerably; but
when he saw the skipper do the same to his Lieutenant, the honest
fellow thought his heart would burst.
“Your honour,” said Bill, half choking, “I should like to have died, if
it would have saved you. The villain; I only wish to live to have my
hands round that ruffian’s throat.”
“Well, Bill, our turn may come yet. I have the knife, and presently we
will see what we can do with it; the difficulty is, our hands being
bound behind us, to open it.”
“Try, sir!” exclaimed Bill; “for the love of heaven do hold it to my
mouth. I’ll open it with my teeth!”
“I am so fast to this ring-bolt that I cannot turn.”
After many efforts, however, Bill succeeded in opening the clasp knife.
“Ah! blow me, if we aint a match for them now,” exultingly exclaimed
Bill, who, clasping the knife between his bound hands, contrived to saw
his cords through, with only one or two slight cuts. In five minutes
more, by great exertion, they were both totally freed from their bonds,
Bill declaring he could then face a dozen Frenchmen, whilst his master
breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. They did not fear death, but to be
probably stripped, and cruelly flogged by a set of piratical ruffians,
was infinitely worse than death.
“Now, keep quiet a few minutes,” said our hero, as Bill stretched
his huge frame, to recover his powers, as he declared that he might
annihilate every soul remaining on board the lugger. They listened for
several moments, but did not hear a single foot pacing the deck above.
“Most of them have gone ashore,” whispered the Lieutenant.
“Let us look in the lockers, your honour; we may find cutlasses, or
pistols.”
Opening the lockers with the key they picked up from the floor—to their
intense joy, they found the large locker full of cutlasses. Bill almost
shrieked for joy as he grasped a brace of them.
“Now, your honour, let us burst up the companion, and slice their
gizzards.”
Cautiously ascending it, as they reached the top, they heard a step
pacing the deck, and then our hero heard a voice saying—
“Do you see the boats, François?”
“No,” returned a voice in the forepart of the vessel. “Sacre diable!
how long they are, and here’s a fine breeze and a strong down tide.”
“Now, Bill, put your shoulder to the companion, and up with it, there
are only a few on board; the rest, I suppose, are ashore with the
boats.”
“More’s the pity,” growled Bill, as putting his strength to the slide,
he sent it into shivers with a loud crash. A volley of oaths from
four, or more men, located in various parts of the lugger, saluted the
liberated captives as they sprang upon the deck.
“Fire the bow-gun, Pierre! fire the gun!” shouted the man near the
companion, drawing his cutlass, and, joined by four others with
boarding pikes, making a desperate rush at our hero and Bill. But the
Frenchmen had to do with two remarkably powerful, active men, both very
expert in the use of the cutlass; the man ran, however, with a lighted
match, and fired the bow-gun; its loud report echoing from the shore.
Our hero’s superior skill soon told upon his adversaries, two of whom
fell dead upon the deck; Bill, dashing at three others, they fled;
one in his terror threw himself overboard, whilst the remaining two,
leaping down the fore-hatch into the fore-cabin, left the victors in
complete possession of the Vengeance.
“Cut the cable, Bill; cut the cable!” shouted our hero, running to the
tiller; “hack it with your cutlass.”
Bill stumbled upon an axe, and with a single blow severed the cable,
when instantaneously the lugger, in the strong tide and wind, swung
round. By great good fortune, and the carelessness of those on shore,
drinking and carousing, the only craft that could have pursued them
with a chance of success had just taken the ground, and was hard and
fast, when the men, alarmed by the sound of the bow-gun, rushed down
to their boats. It was a dark night, with a strong land wind, and
a fast ebb tide. Lieutenant Thornton could hear the splash of oars
in boats passing; so lashing the heavy tiller amidship, he hastened
forward to see if he and Bill could run up the immense fore-lug.
There was a Spanish windlass attached to the mast; so taking a turn
of the haulyards, they put their whole strength to it, and ran it up,
perspiring with the effort. Making fast the sheet-blocks, our hero ran
aft, just as the foremost boat, finding they began to lose ground, the
moment the lug filled, fired their muskets into the lugger, but with no
further result than knocking a few splinters out of the bulwarks.
“I wish I could give you a dose of grape, you beggars!” exclaimed Bill,
shaking his clenched hand at the boats, now dropping astern fast.
The reports of the guns evidently aroused the attention of the forts on
the north shore, for our successful adventurers beheld lights moving
along the front of the battery; but as it was impossible for those on
the battery to know what was the cause of the firing, and the darkness
of the night rendering the lugger almost imperceptible, she ran past
unsuspected. Bill Saunders, with our hero’s help, set the mizen, and
under these two sails the Vengeance ran out rapidly into the outer
road. They did not expect to see the Diamond at anchor after the events
of the day, but fully expected, as they ran off the land and daylight
came, to see her either lying to or standing off and on.
“What shall I do with the two vagabonds forward?” questioned Bill,
coming aft to take the tiller; “one is dead, and the other has an ugly
clip over the left eye. Your honour hits hard; I seed him catch it as
he drove his boarding pike at your breast. There are two others below;
I can work these lubbers on deck and make them lend a hand.”
“Let us run three or four miles out, Bill; we can then lie to for
daylight. You can, however, put the dead man overboard, and we will see
what we can do for the one that is wounded. Just go and see if you can
find a lantern. I should be glad if you could also lay your hand upon
something stronger than water. I have lost some blood and feel a little
fagged; nothing to signify though.”
“We want to splice the main brace, your honour, after our scrimmage,
and mayhap I may find a keg of brandy;” and Bill dived down below,
and after a good search found plenty of wine and some brandy in the
steward’s lockers, besides three or four days’ provisions.
A little brandy and biscuit refreshed both our hero and his follower.
The night continued dark and the breeze very fresh, shifting as they
cleared the outward harbour, blowing partly along the coast. The
Vengeance was one of the fastest and handsomest privateer luggers
out of a French port. She was above one hundred and sixty tons, and
remarkably well provided with every requisite.
Bill taking the tiller, our hero proceeded with a lighted lantern to
explore the cabin. He discovered the late skipper’s stock of garments,
and a locker full of pistols; but no store anywhere in the cabin of
powder and ball. Returning upon deck, he found Bill consoling himself
with a large lump of salt beef and a bottle of wine.
“She’s a very fine craft, sir,” said Saunders, “and slips through the
water under her fore-lug, though only half hoisted, like a witch. It
was nearly up with us, sir, only for the knife.”
“In truth it was, Bill! Such events should teach us never to despair,
and that there is a Providence always watching over us. Now if we
cannot make out the Diamond we must make a run across the Channel.
Rouse up those two fellows in the fore cuddy to help us to make sail,
hunger will freshen them up if they should turn sulky.”
“What’s that smoke?” continued our hero, rather startled at seeing a
wreath of smoke issuing from the fore cuddy; “run forward, Bill, and
see what those fellows are about, they cannot have been so mad as to
fire the craft!”
Saunders rushed forward, and as he did so the two Frenchmen staggered
up on deck, and seeing Bill alone threw their arms round his neck,
strove to drag him down, and to stick him with their open knives; smoke
and flame at the same time bursting up through the hatch.
Bill shook off his two opponents as a mastiff would a lapdog, and with
a terrible blow with his clenched fist, sent one sprawling against the
windlass. Lieutenant Thornton had rushed to his assistance, but Bill
wanted no help, for his other assailant fled to the bows with savage
oaths, exulting that they had fired the vessel.
“Did you think,” he fiercely exclaimed, as our hero came up, “that you
were going to have the Vengeance for a prize? We are all sworn to sink
or fire her.”
“Then blow me,” said Bill Saunders, when the Lieutenant told him what
the man had said, “if you shall either sink or be burned in her,” and
seizing the Frenchman in his terrible grasp before our hero could
prevent him, he hurled him over the bows.
Despite their imminent danger, the Lieutenant ran aft and threw the
drowning wretch a rope; he made an effort to grasp it, failed, and sank
with a despairing cry. Thus the wretch who did not fear to meet death
by fire, shrieked in despair in meeting his doom by water.
“Haul aft the sheet, Bill!” shouted our hero; “it’s quite in vain to
think of extinguishing this fire; we must run her ashore round yonder
headland. Providentially the wind permits us to make the land without a
tack.”
As the deck caught, the flames threw a vivid glare over the waters,
as the lugger dashed on for the land, as if urged by her prospect of
certain destruction. It was an awful moment! The flames spread to
the rigging of the lugger, and then the sail, and the sheets being
consumed, the fiery mass dashed wildly about, as the flames roared, the
strong breeze increasing their force.
“Come down below, Bill, she will strike in a few moments, and let us
put on the Frenchmen’s garments; who knows but we may do something for
freedom yet.”
“Curse the villains!” cried Bill; “they have burned the craft, and now
I am to be turned into a frog-eating, soup-swilling Frenchman.”
In a few minutes they were completely rigged in two French seamen’s
garments, and the furious flames hurried them on deck just as the
lugger struck upon a reef, gave two or three heavy lurches, heeled
over, and sunk in deep water under a lofty cliff, extinguishing the
flames of the hull, and leaving the remnants of the burning sail
fluttering in the wind. That part of the deck unconsumed was level
with the water, but the swell over the bank washed over it. Lieutenant
Thornton and Saunders, half blinded by the smoke and flying sparks from
the burning sail, threw themselves over the side, a few strokes brought
them ashore under the cliff. Landing upon some sharp and slippery
rocks, and shaking themselves as they landed and clambered over the
rocks, our hero said to his companion—
“We must get as far from this spot as we can, and dry ourselves in the
morning sun, before we reconnoitre inland.”
“Ah! your honour, it was a bad job. I ought to have pitched those two
lubbers overboard at first;” and growling and lamenting, Bill followed
his officer along the base of the cliff, where we must leave them, and
retrace our narrative many years in our next chapter.