The fifth morning after the cutting out of the Vengeance, Madame
Coulancourt and her daughter, and Monsieur Plessis and his family,
left the château in two carriages for Havre, to embark in the Ca-Ira
chase-mare, apparently destined for Rouen. The party reached Havre in
time to take advantage of the first of the flood-tide; and though not
without experiencing some degree of anxiety, they felt no positive
fear, having seen no more of Monsieur Gramont, and having arranged
everything with Dame Moret and her daughters, leaving them under the
impression that they were actually going to Paris. Monsieur Plessis,
though perfectly persuaded of their fidelity and trustworthiness, yet,
for their own sakes, in case of any future investigation, he wished
them to remain perfectly clear of any participation in their escape to
England.
Havre de Grace, seen from the water, presents an imposing and handsome
appearance. The breadth of the Seine is considerable; the citadel and
arsenal, and the immense storehouses for the construction and arming
of ships, give it the appearance of a formidable sea-port town, being
entirely surrounded by walls and deep ditches. The harbour of Havre is
subject to a curious phenomenon—the tide does not begin to ebb till
three hours after the full tide.
Having embarked on board the chasse-mare, and all being ready, the
warps were cast off, and the sails set, the vessel glided out from the
quay into the broad stream, with Havre on one side, and the town and
spacious harbour of Honfleur on the other. There was an awning over the
stern of the vessel, and the wind being fair, and the tide strong, the
Ca-Ira, under her fore-sail and mizen, went rapidly up with the tide.
Jean Plessis pointed out to Madame Coulancourt, Mabel, and his daughter
Julia, several privateers in the harbour, one a remarkably handsome
lugger, the Etoile, which they passed close alongside.
“That,” said Jean Plessis, “is a larger vessel than the Vengeance,
though not reputed so fast or so fortunate as the other was before her
capture. The Etoile has eighty men on board, and carries twelve guns
of various calibre. I am told she is going to sea to-morrow evening
with a frigate called the Virginie, lying in the outer harbour. This
is fortunate, for if we run out to-night we shall be well out of
sight—indeed, across the Channel—before they lift their anchors.”
Little did Monsieur Plessis imagine that, as they shot past the Etoile,
Bertram Gramont and Augustine Vadier were both, from the cabin windows,
regarding all the motions of those on board the Ca-Ira. No sooner had
the chasse-mare, with her party, proceeded a mile from the Etoile, than
a fast rowing-boat, pulled by four oars, left the privateer, and with
Augustine Vadier, his head bandaged, but his one eye keen and vengeful,
seated in the stern-sheets, pulled quickly after the Ca-Ira, merely
keeping her in sight.
Mabel felt her spirits rise as they receded from the view of Havre,
shut out by the head of the noble river, on whose placid surface the
chasse-mare glided with scarcely a perceptible motion.
“I feel,” said our fair heroine to Julia, as they sat together under
the awning, gazing at the beautiful scenery on both sides of the wide
river, “I feel such a lightness of heart now that we have lost sight of
Havre. Do you know, I detest the sight of walled towns, frowning forts,
with stern sentinels pacing gloomily backwards and forwards, seemingly
engaged in nothing, and still ready to pounce upon any unwary intruder.
It appears as if the inhabitants of those towns were prisoners, and
shut out from all intercourse with those without; then the tiresome
examination of papers and passports, as if every soul going in or out
was suspected of something, annoys me.”
Julia smiled, saying, “Custom, ma chere; but have you no walls to your
towns in England?”
“No, thank goodness! if I except the picturesque ivy-covered ruins of
barbarous times, that you may yet get a glimpse of in some of our very
old cities. In dear old England you may come and go into our cities
and towns, and no one inquires whence you come or whither you go. The
houses and cottages, gardens and fields, seem mingled together in happy
liberty of situation, neither kept in by prescribed limits, or ruled by
arbitrary restrictions.”
“Well,” observed Julia, with a half-sigh, “I love France, with all its
faults—faults of its rulers. Providence has bestowed upon it a fine
climate, and beautiful scenery, not inferior to any other country, in
my poor opinion—only marred by the ambition and sad acts of its sons.”
“I trust, dear Julia,” returned Mabel, affectionately, “you do not too
much regret the land we are about to leave.”
“Oh, no, my sweet Mabel,” interrupted Julia, “it is a consolation that
I carry my heart with me.” There was a slight increase of colour in her
cheek as she said the words, for Mabel’s expressive eyes were fixed
upon hers; “fortunately I am heart-whole,” she added, with a gay laugh;
“for if I left a lover behind me it would be a sad thing.”
Mabel made no reply; at that moment her thoughts were occupied. Madame
Coulancourt was conversing with Madame Plessis, whilst Jean Plessis and
the captain of the Ca-Ira were in close consultation. Having proceeded
up the river as far as the village of Eure, the chasse-mare furled her
sails and let go her anchor. It was nearly sunset, and a light-grey
mist—a sign of a still, hot night—began to steal up from the water and
creep lightly over the land. The row-boat, which had carefully followed
them at a safe distance, saw the chasse-mare anchor, whilst yet there
was flood-tide to run farther up, now pulled in shore, and Augustine
Vadier and one of the crew took the road to the village, about five
hundred yards from the western shore of the river.
Having reached within a short distance of the road that led up from
the river to the village, they stationed themselves behind a hedge,
observing every person that passed along that road.
Presently they perceived two young men, in sailor’s attire, come out
from a cabaret, and take their way towards the water.
“Ha!” said Augustine Vadier, “I should say that tall one is the Master
Louis Lebeau we seek.”
“Parbleu!” said the sailor, “he may be; but I know that the short one
is Pierre Leveque, one of the crew of the Ca-Ira. I sailed with him
several times in her, and many a jolly cargo we landed under the cliffs
of Dover.”
“Then, we are both right,” said Vadier, “and it’s a very clear case,
too, that they will drop down with the night’s tide and get to sea, if
we don’t prevent them.”
“As for that, you may do as you please,” returned the sailor, “you may
arrest those that are passengers in the Ca-Ira, but, morbleu! you’re
not going, surely, to have up her captain and crew for making a good
bargain for the use of their craft. I, for one, won’t turn against an
old comrade.”
“Diable! what do we want with the Ca-Ira?” said Augustine Vadier,
“or her crew? they will not be touched. We only intend arresting her
passengers, for that Louis Lebeau you see with Pierre Leveque is
comrade to the Englishman who cut out the Vengeance.”
“Sacre diable! is that the case?” said the privateer’s man; “I would
rather have a shot at those blustering Englishmen than a quarter’s pay.”
He was right in his conjecture.
“Ah!” said Vadier, as he and his comrade crept along the hedge, and
watched the movements of the two young men, “a boat is pulling to shore
from the chasse-mare, you will see they will go on board.” For the two
men in sailors’ attire were Louis Lebeau and Pierre Eveque.
“We may now pull back to the Etoile,” remarked Vadier, “I am satisfied;
the fog is getting thick on the river, and we shall have to keep a
sharp look-out that the vessel does not pass us in the mist.”
It was dusk by the time the boat got back to the Etoile. Augustine
Vadier, getting on board, proceeded to the cabin, where he found
Bertram Gramont, the captain of the Etoile, Guillaume, Yves Obet, and
Captain Pierre Gaudet, late of the Vengeance. Augustine Vadier went by
a false name. None of the party in the cabin knew him only as a friend
of Monsieur Gramont.
“Well,” said Bertram Gramont, “where did they anchor?”
“Oh, just where we suspected,” said Augustine Vadier, “off the village
of Eure, and then we saw this pretended Louis Lebeau and one Pierre
Eveque, one of the crew of the Ca-Ira, who has been away from his
vessel these last three or four days, go on board the chasse-mare in
their boat.”
“Just as I expected,” said Bertram Gramont.
“It is a well laid and well-planned scheme,” observed the skipper of
the Etoile; “they will drop down no doubt with the ebb, and then join
the Vengeance outside.”
“What!” exclaimed Vadier, savagely, and fixing his one eye on the
speaker, “is the lugger, the Vengeance off the coast?”
“Yes, sacre voleur! it is there, sure enough; but we’ll have her again
from these accursed Anglais. We intend to get under weigh presently,
and wait for the coming in sight of the Ca-Ira, which is a very fast
boat, and can easily beat the Etoile; but as we pass the Vengeance,
now lying at anchor, the Etoile will at once put to sea and effectually
cut off the Vengeance, and this Ca-Ira also.”
“But how the diable did you not discover that your lugger was outside?”
said Augustine Vadier; “I understood that she sailed with the brig for
England.”
“Ay, ay! so it was thought,” said Gaudet; “but the night before last
this infernal Lieutenant Thornton, who cut out the lugger with the
boats of the Onyx corvette, ran on board the privateer Belle Poule and
took her by surprise, as well as her prize, the Fox schooner, and this
under the nose of the battery of Grantell Point.”
“Parbleu! he’s a brave officer, at all events,” said the skipper of the
Etoile, “but I think he has now run out his log.”
“When did you hear all this cursed intelligence?” remarked Vadier to
Monsieur Gramont.
“Half an hour after you left, a boat crossed over from Harfleur, with
two of the crew of the Belle Poule, who were landed below the battery
of Grantell; they brought the news, and their captain, Orbet, sent his
boat with the intelligence to the frigate Virginie, which was luckily
lying at single anchor in the roads. The commander of the Virginie is
extremely anxious to recapture the Vengeance; so you see our plans
are well laid. This lugger has become remarkably notorious. In fact
there is quite a fever amongst the officers and men belonging to the
privateers to regain possession of the Vengeance.”
Shortly after this conversation the Etoile was got under weigh. The
light mist still lay upon the surface of the water, but the land wind
was rising, which would most likely disperse it.
As the Etoile came up with the Virginie they perceived that the frigate
was already getting under weigh, and one of the officers hailed the
lugger, desiring the skipper to heave to at the entrance, rather to the
westward, as they were going to take advantage of the fog, and run well
out.
Two hours after this there was not a breath of wind, and the mist lay
thicker than ever upon the surface of the deep. Those on board the
Etoile were in a state of great anxiety, for they were merely drifting
with the tide, and could not see twenty yards from them.
“Morbleu! this is a contretemps,” said Guillaume Orbet to Captain
Gaudet, who were pacing the deck, trying anxiously to distinguish
objects through the mist; “that Ca-Ia may slip through our fingers if
this fog continues.”
“No, there is no fear of that,” returned Captain Gaudet; “the frigate
must have gained a good offing whilst the breeze lasted, so that when
the fog lifts, with the rising of the sun, we shall not be far off our
chase, depend on it; for the Ca-Ira, coming down the river, must also
have been becalmed like ourselves, whereas the frigate stood out with
the breeze.”
At sunset, as was his usual custom, Lieutenant Thornton stood close in
for the harbour’s mouth; but, the wind getting very light, and a mist
setting in over the line of coast, the Vengeance was hove to about a
league from the entrance into the harbour, and a strict and careful
watch kept. Our hero was beginning to get uneasy. Five days had passed,
and no craft had left the port of Havre steering a direct course out to
sea. He was sure of this, for the weather had been beautifully fine,
and the nights clear, and the watch kept incessant and vigilant. There
was no sign either of the Onyx corvette.
About midnight, finding it still perfectly calm, and the mist thick, he
retired for a few hours’ sleep, so that he might be on deck with the
break of day, when he expected the fog to lift with a land breeze.
Between three and four o’clock in the morning he jumped up, and,
dressing, repaired upon deck. As he expected, with the rising of the
sun the fog began to lift from the sea, and the breeze off the coast
came fresh and pleasant after the heat of the previous night. Suddenly
the haze dispersed like magic, as if it had never existed, and the full
rays of a dazzling July sun fell upon the sea around them, the water
sparkling and rippling under the influences of that most pleasant of
breezes—a land wind—especially if in the Mediterranean, where it comes
off laden with the perfume of the orange and citron, and the hundred
other odoriferous plants that flourish beneath the southern skies of
Italy. The sight that met the anxious gaze of Lieutenant Thornton
brought all the blood into his cheeks and temples with excitement.
The Vengeance was about four miles off the Port of Havre, the breeze
blowing steadily out. Coming before the wind was a large chasse-mare,
under all the sail she could carry, and from her fore-topmast waved
a large red ensign; she was scarcely two miles from the Vengeance.
Stretching across from the western side of the Seine’s mouth was the
Etoile privateer, also under a cloud of canvas. She was scarcely a mile
from the Ca-Ira, and it appeared to be her evident intention to cross
her course.
As yet, so absorbed were those on board the Vengeance regarding the
chasse-mare, which carried the signal at the mast-head, so long wished
for, that no one thought of looking seaward till their attention was
attracted by the boom of a heavy gun in that direction. Turning round,
with a startled look, Lieutenant Thornton beheld a frigate about three
miles to leeward, covered from her trucks to her deck with a snow-white
cloud of canvas. There was no mistaking her, it was the French frigate
of thirty-two guns, the Virginie.
“By heavens!” exclaimed Lieutenant Thornton, after a glance with his
glass, “that is the same frigate we saw five days ago run into Havre.”
“There is another lofty-rigged ship away in south-west, sir,” called
out Midshipman Burdett from the top-gallant cross-trees, “I can make
out her royal and top-gallant sails.”
“Ha! by Jove!” said our hero, “if this should be the Onyx; and yet
she would be no match whatever for this frigate. The situation is
perilous,” continued our hero to Bill Saunders, who came to his side,
knowing full well how deeply anxious his master must be, seeing the
object he so ardently longed to behold coming towards him.
“We must cross between that lugger and the chasse-mare, Bill. Get your
men to the guns; I will take the helm and pass as close to her as I
can. We will prevent this privateer lugger closing with her; and if the
chasse-mare with the red flag hauls her wind she may stand along shore,
having the advantage of the breeze, and thus escape, for the frigate
will not look to her.”
“Ay, ay, sir. As soon as that fellow comes in range of our long
eighteen-pounder shall I give him a dose of round shot, and mayhap
cripple him?”
“Yes, cripple him, by all means, Bill; bring down some of his spars,
and we may get out of this scrape yet. Now, Master Burdett, look to the
men and see they do not want for ammunition, for the lugger approaching
us is a formidable opponent in men and metal.”
Whilst speaking, Lieutenant Thornton kept his eye fixed upon the
movements of the frigate. She was close hauled, and standing with her
head to the eastward. She would thus intercept any attempt of the
Ca-Ira to gain the open sea. But his attention was more imperatively
called to the Etoile privateer, on which, coming within range of his
carronade, Bill Saunders opened fire, and with such exceeding good aim
that at the second discharge he brought down the main-lug, knocking the
yard to splinters. This gave our hero an opportunity of tacking, and
though the Etoile fired a broadside at him with her eight-pounders, she
merely cut some tacks and sheets, which were immediately replaced.
The Vengeance, on the starboard tack, could now run close under the
stern of the chasse-mare, which had already hauled her wind, keeping
along shore to the eastward. Our hero could see by the white dresses,
on which the sun shone, that there were several females on the deck of
the vessel; and his heart told him that Mabel was surely amongst them.
In ten minutes he was nearly within hail, and with his glass could
distinguish Mabel, Madame Coulancourt, and Julia, gazing towards the
Vengeance. The Etoile had rapidly repaired her disaster, and was again
steering towards them.
Lieutenant Thornton stood ready to hail the Ca-Ira, as the Vengeance
came tearing through the water under her immense lugs, over which were
hoisted a kind of gaff-topsail, shaped like the lugs themselves. She
presented a very beautiful sight, for the breeze was fresh and the
sails all filled to their fullest extent. The captain of the Ca-Ira
stood close to the topsail, ready to answer our hero’s hail, whilst
the females made anxious signals, showing their joy at seeing him.
Waving his hat to them, Lieutenant Thornton, as the helm was put down
a little, so that the Vengeance should range up partly alongside,
addressed the captain of the Ca-Ira, telling him not to attempt to
leave the coast, but to keep close in with the land, and, sooner than
get within range of the frigate’s guns, to run the vessel into some
bight, saying that he hoped to induce the frigate to chase him, and
thus leave the Ca-Ira free, and not to care about the privateer in
their wake.
Whilst speaking, Julian Arden, who longed to get on board the
Vengeance, hailed Lieutenant Thornton to stand by and pick him up,
and, notwithstanding the tears of Mabel, and the earnest entreaties of
his mother and Julia, who in this moment of excitement betrayed the
interest she felt in his safety, he threw himself overboard.
The Vengeance immediately backed her fore-sail, and ropes being thrown
to the daring and gallant youth, he was safely hauled on board.
There was only time for an ardent pressure of the hand between the two
friends, for the guns of the Etoile began to open upon them.
“Change your dress, Julian,” said our hero; “you will find garments in
the cabin. Do you think they understand me on board the chasse-mare?”
“No fear in the world of them,” said Julian. “Captain Bonafoux says he
can outsail the Etoile, and that he will run into a bight where the
frigate cannot come near. You need not be uneasy. Let us take this
fellow; the frigate is full a league to leeward yet. Never mind my wet
clothes; it’s refreshing, this deuced hot weather. Give me a berth, for
I see you are short-handed.”
“Thank God! there is a chance of their escaping, Julian; and I rejoice
in having you by my side. Go, get arms, for I am determined to board
this privateer, though he is full of men. I must try and cripple him
first, though.”
After several exchanges of broadsides, the heavy metal of the
Vengeance, well served, left the Etoile in half an hour with only her
main-mast standing, several of her crew killed, and numbers wounded.
On board the Vengeance there were two killed and five wounded, and
her mizen-mast shot away, when, suddenly putting her helm to port,
Lieutenant Thornton ran her on board with such a severe shock that her
injured fore-mast fell right along the deck, covering her guns and many
of the men beneath the folds of her immense lug.
Then, with the usual cheer of British seamen, the English commander,
with Julian by his side, and followed by his daring and eager crew,
jumped on deck. Almost the first opponent he encountered was Bertram
Gramont. He had a sash tied round his waist, in which were a brace of
pistols, and rushing upon our hero with his drawn sabre in his right
hand, he discharged a pistol at his head as he leaped from the shrouds
upon the deck of the Etoile.
“Ah! Monsieur Gramont,” said Lieutenant Thornton, the ball of his
opponent’s pistol passing through the breast of his jacket, inflicting
a mere scratch, “do we meet again?”
The Frenchman was a first-rate swordsman, and a man of undoubted
courage.
“Yes, Monsieur de Tourville that was, we do meet again; but this time
you shall not escape me.”
The Frenchman was mistaken. In general, English naval officers are not
so skilful with the sword as French cavalry officers. Bertram Gramont
found, however, that he had his match in skill, and twice his match in
power.
Whilst the short but fierce contest raged between them, two events took
place that decided the fate of the Etoile.
The sails over the guns had caught fire, owing to some desperate
fellows beneath turning one of them loaded with grape towards the
stern of the privateer, and applying a match, the iron shower actually
slaughtering friend and foe. Captain Ovet was desperately wounded, and
Captain Gaudet killed, with one or two of his men, whilst several of
Lieutenant Thornton’s men were wounded, but none killed.
The onset of Julian Arden and Bill Saunders carried all before them,
when suddenly the flames burst up in a sheet from the blazing lug-sail.
Whilst this was taking place, and Lieutenant Thornton had pressed his
antagonist, almost at the last gasp, against the bulwarks, a figure
crept out from under the long boat, between the masts, with a cocked
pistol in his band. It was Augustine Vadier. Stealing cautiously on,
he gained the back of Lieutenant Thornton, and lifting the pistol,
with a smothered curse, to within a few inches of his head, he was
in the act of pulling the trigger, and our hero’s fate would have
been sealed, had not Bill Saunders, who in the midst of the fiercest
strife, kept his eye upon his master, perceived the movements of
Augustine Vadier, and with a bound across the deck, despite blows of
pikes and cutlasses aimed at him in passing, reached the spot. Just
as the villain raised the pistol, Bill’s grasp was on his throat.
Nevertheless, the trigger was pulled, but the aim was disturbed. Our
hero had just disarmed Bertram Gramont, inflicting a severe wound on
his sword arm, but the tool was destined to slay his master. The ball
from Vadier’s pistol grazed the cheek of William Thornton, and passed
through the brain of Bertram Gramont, who, falling back against the
bulwarks, went over the side a corpse.
“Curse you, you sneaking lubber!” shouted Bill, as he raised the
struggling form of Augustine Vadier in his arms; “the death of a brave
man is too good for you. Die like a dog!”
And raising him in his powerful arms, he hurled him overboard.
Lieutenant Thornton saw the act, and would, if he could, have prevented
it, but a rush of the enemy aft separated him and Bill; and, after
another furious struggle, the men of the Etoile, without a commander,
threw down their arms and surrendered. By great exertions the flames
of the blazing lug were got under, and the efforts of the sailors were
directed to separate the two vessels, and secure the prisoners. Julian
Arden, who had fought most gallantly, and was unwounded, called our
hero’s attention to the movements of the frigate Virginie.