Chapter Forty Two.
The sun rose and chased away the clouds, and the heat was overpowering. What would have been our situation if it had not pleased Heaven to refresh us?
The consequence of their thirst being appeased made the demand for food imperative, and a raw potato was given to each man. The day passed, and so did a third, and fourth, and our hopes began to fail us, when at daylight the next morning I spied a sail to the westward. The breeze was light but the vessel was evidently coming down towards us, and before noon we made it out to be the cutter.
We then sat on the bulwarks, and held out a white shirt, as a signal to attract their attention. When about three miles from us, the cutter rounded to, not appearing to notice us, and for two hours we were left in this state of maddening anxiety and suspense, when at last we perceived her bows pay off, and she again stood towards us. They had at last seen us, and as soon as they had run down to within three cables’ length, the boat was lowered and sent to take us off. In three trips we were all on board, and devoutly thanked Heaven for our preservation.
The lieutenant of the cutter said that at first the sun prevented his seeing us, which I believe was the fact; but he acknowledged that he had no idea that we had been wrecked, although he thought that the Dryad was, as he had seen a mast floating, and, sending a boat to look at it, found her name on the cross-trees. We were, however, too much exhausted to enter into much conversation. As soon as we had been supplied with food, we were all put to bed in their hammocks; the first lieutenant resigned his standing bed-place to me. A long sleep recovered me, and I felt little the worse for what I had suffered, and sat down to a breakfast at noon on the following day with a good appetite. The cutter had, by my directions, shaped a course for the island of Heligoland, where we should find means of returning to England.
“I have letters for you, Captain Keene,” said the lieutenant, “if you are well enough to read them.”
“Thank you, Mr D—; I am now quite well, and will be happy to have them.”
The lieutenant brought me a large packet, and I took a position on the sofa to read them comfortably while he went on deck. I first opened those on service—those, of course, had little interest for me, now that I had lost my ship—I skimmed them over, and then threw them on the table one after another. There were three private letters from England, one of which was in Lord de Versely’s hand-writing; I opened it first. It was very kind, but short, complaining that he had not been very well lately. The second was from my mother. I read it; it contained nothing of importance; and then I took up the third, which had a black seal. I opened it; it was from Mr Warden, acquainting me that Lord de Versely had expired very suddenly, on his return from the House of Lords, of an ossification of the heart.
In my weak state this blow was too much for me, and I fainted. How long I remained in that state I cannot say; but when I came to my senses I found myself still down in the cabin. I rallied as well as I could, but it was some time before I could take up the letter again, and finish it. He stated that his lordship had left me all his personal property, which was all that he could leave—that the library and wines were of some value, and that there would be about a thousand pounds left at the banker’s, when the funeral expenses and debts had been paid. “Oh! if he could but have left me his family name!” I cried, “it was all I coveted. My father! my kind father! I may really say who will lament your loss as I do?” I threw myself on the pillow of the sofa, and for a long while shed bitter tears, not unmixed, I must own; for my grief at his death was increased by my disappointment in having for ever lost the great object of my wishes.
The lieutenant of the cutter came down into the cabin, and I was compelled to hide my emotion. I complained of headache and weakness, and, collecting the letters, I again lay down in the standing bed-place, and, drawing the curtains, I was left to my own reflections. But there was a sad tumult in my mind. I could not keep my ideas upon one subject for a moment. I was feverish and excited, and at last my head was so painful that I could think no more. Fortunately exhaustion threw me again into a sound sleep, and I did not wake till the next morning. When I did, I had to recollect where I was and what had happened. I knew that there was something dreadful which had occurred; again it flashed into my memory. Lord de Versely was dead. I groaned, and fell back on the pillow.
“Are you very ill, Captain Keene!” said a voice close to me. I opened the curtains, and perceived that it was Cross, who was standing by my bedside.
“I am indeed, Cross, very ill; I have very bad news. Lord de Versely is dead.”
“That is bad news, sir,” replied Cross—“very bad news, worse than losing the frigate. But, Captain Keene, we must have our ups and downs in this world. You have had a long run of good fortune, and you must not be surprised at a change. It is hard to lose your frigate and your father at the same time—but you have not lost your life, which is a great mercy to be thankful for.”
I turned away, for my heart was full of bitterness. Cross, perceiving my mood, left me, and I remained in a state of some indifference, never rising from the bed-place during the remainder of the time that I was on board.
On the second day we arrived at Heligoland, and I was requested by the governor to take up my quarters with him, until an opportunity occurred for my return to England. My spirits were, however, so much weighed down that I could not rally. I brooded over my misfortunes, and I thought that the time was now come when I was to meet a reverse of the prosperity which I had so long enjoyed.
The sudden death of Lord de Versely, at the age of fifty-six, left me without a patron, and had destroyed all my hopes centred in him. The object of my ambition was, I considered, for ever lost to me. There was now no chance of my being acknowledged as a member of his family. Then the loss of so fine a frigate, and such a noble ship’s company. That I should be honourably acquitted by a court-martial I had not a doubt; but I had no chance of future employment; for, now that Lord de Versely was dead, I had no one to support my claims. My prospects, therefore, in the service were all gone, as well as the visions I had indulged in. I dwelt with some pleasure upon the idea that Lord de Versely had left me his personal property—it proved his regard; but I wanted his family name, and I preferred that to thousands per annum. The second day after our arrival Cross called, and was admitted. He found me in bad spirits, and tried all he could to rouse me. At last he said, “As for the loss of the frigate, Captain Keene, no human endeavour could have saved her, and no one could have done his duty better than you did, as the court-martial will prove; but sir, I think it would be proper just now to show that your zeal for the service is as strong as ever.”
“And how am I to do that, Cross?”
“Why, sir, you know as well as we all do how the Frenchmen are going to the wall; that they have been thrashed out of Russia, and that they are retreating everywhere. They say that they have left Hamburg, and I understand that the gun-brigs here are going on an expedition from this island, either to-morrow or next day, to storm the batteries of Cuxhaven, and so create a diversion, as they call it—and very good diversion it is—licking those French rascals. Now, Captain Keene, if I may take the liberty of saying so, would it not be as well to take as many of your men as are able to go and join the storming party? Much better than sitting here all day, melancholy, and doing nothing.”
“It’s the first I’ve heard of it, Cross; are you sure you are correct?”
“How should you hear it, sir, shut up here, and seeing nobody? It’s true enough, sir; they were telling off the men as I came up, and I think they start at daylight to-morrow.”
“Well, Cross, I will think of it, and let you know my decision if you call here in half an hour.”
Cross left me, and I was still undecided, when the governor called to pay me a visit. After the first exchange of civilities, I asked him if the report was true that there was an expedition about to proceed to Cuxhaven. His reply was that the Russians had entered Hamburg, which the French had evacuated on the 11th, and that the French garrisons at Cuxhaven were reported to be in a very distressed state, and, in consequence, the Blazer, and another gun-brig, were about to proceed to attack the forts.
Hamburg! thought I; why, Minnie Vanderwelt is at Hamburg with her father. I will go and try if I cannot get to Hamburg. The remembrance of Minnie gave a spur to my energies, and created a new stimulus. I then told the governor that I had a few men doing nothing; that I would join them to the expedition, and serve as a volunteer. The governor thanked me for my zeal, and I left him to go down and communicate my intentions to the commanding officer of the gun-brig, who expressed himself most happy at my assistance and co-operation.