Chapter Sixteen.
The “Mouette”, the “Vigilant”, and the “Requin.”
On reaching the port my first consideration was to discover a suitable craft in which to make the trip along the coast to the north end of the island. When it actually came to the point I must confess that the idea of seizing and carrying off the property of somebody else was extremely repugnant to me. Still, I could see no other course open without exposing the party to imminent danger of betrayal, and I had resolved in my own mind that, since necessity seemed to point to the deprivation of some unfortunate individual of his property, the deprivation should be only temporary; I would take the most suitable boat I could find, and when done with seek some means of returning her to her owner with a handsome sum of money as hire.
Having made up my mind so far, I took counsel with Giaccomo, who knew the place well, and he immediately ran over a list of craft belonging to the port, any one of which he thought would serve our purpose passably well. In the midst of his statement, however, he suddenly interrupted himself with many objurgations upon his own stupidity, to which he added a statement that he had just that instant thought of a craft which would suit us admirably, one, moreover, which we need not distress ourselves about returning.
“That sounds rather promising,” said I. “What is she, Giaccomo?”
“She is a pleasure-boat measuring about fifteen tons,” replied the man; “she is a very strange-looking craft, but she sails like the wind. She is the property of one of the French officers, who built her for his own amusement.”
“Then,” said I, “if she is likely to suit us, we will certainly make a prize of her without compunction. Lead on, my man, and let us see if we can find her.”
We went on some distance further until we came to the waterside, not meeting with a single soul on the way, and there we helped ourselves to a rowing-boat and pulled out into the bay, where, according to Giaccomo’s account, we should find her if she then happened to be in port.
We pulled through a large fleet of fishing-boats, coasting feluccas, and other craft, mostly of a size ranging from two to fifty tons, and at length, just as I was beginning to think our search would be in vain, Giaccomo exclaimed,—
“There she is!”
I looked in the direction indicated, and saw a long low-hulled craft, cutter-rigged, with what struck me as a set of spars altogether disproportionate to her size.
“Oh!” I exclaimed in a tone of disappointment, “she will never do. Why, she would capsize with half a capful of wind.”
“By no means, signor,” replied the Corsican. “Though yew would never believe it, to look at her, she carries her canvas better and longer than any boat belonging to Ajaccio, and as for working to windward—she is simply astounding.”
“If that be so,” said I, “let us paddle up alongside and take a look at her.”
We did so, and on a nearer inspection found her to be, according to the then prevalent ideas concerning naval architecture, quite as extraordinary as Giaccomo had described her to be. She was about five times as long as she was wide, with a bow like a fine wedge, a good clean run, and very little freeboard; she was in fact a singular foreshadowing of the modern type of racing cutter, and consequently, at that date, absolutely unique.
I was rather taken with her appearance, and my curiosity, moreover, being strongly excited by the marvellous stories told by Giaccomo respecting her sailing powers,—which, he asserted, he had had frequent opportunities of observing, from having been occasionally engaged to accompany her owner on his cruises,—I decided forthwith to take possession of her as a lawful prize. Mooring the boat alongside we accordingly crept softly on board, and Giaccomo immediately descended into the little forecastle to ascertain whether any one happened to be on board. The forecastle proved to be empty, but on going down into the cabin we saw by the feeble glimmer of the cabin lamp a lad of about eighteen comfortably stretched out on the cushions laid along upon the top of the lockers.
Drawing his long knife from its sheath, Giaccomo unceremoniously broke in upon the slumbers of this youth, and brandishing the gleaming blade before his astonished eyes, while admonishing him in a fierce whisper not to utter a sound above his breath if he placed the slightest value upon his life, he ordered him to enumerate what stores there were on board, and to indicate their locality. This the lad did, leading us first to a small but well-arranged pantry, and then opening the lockers and exhibiting their contents. A brief survey was sufficient to satisfy me that the craft was amply provisioned for our cruise, and this matter being thus satisfactorily settled, we repaired to the deck and proceeded to loose the sails and get the cutter under way; the lad whom we had so roughly aroused being persuaded by occasional suggestive exhibitions of Giaccomo’s knife to render his best assistance in the task.
While the two were thus engaged, I conducted Francesca below, and having indicated to her the small but luxuriously-furnished sleeping cabin of the owner, proposed that she should take possession thereof, and endeavour to recruit her somewhat exhausted energies by procuring, if possible, a few hours’ sleep. I then returned to the deck, and found my “crew” in the act of getting up the anchor. This was soon done, the head-sails were trimmed, and under a gentle westerly breeze we proceeded to work out of the bay.
As the cutter had a boat of her own towing astern, I cast adrift the one we had “borrowed,” and left her to take her chance of drifting ashore and finding her way once more into her proper owner’s hands.
Shortly after leaving our anchorage we passed close to leeward of a long rakish-looking lateener, on board which, as ill-luck would have it, an anchor-watch was being kept. I suppose the circumstance of our getting under way at so unusual an hour must have attracted attention on board this craft, at all events the casting adrift of the shore-boat had been observed; and as we approached we were hailed from her deck with an inquiry as to whether we were aware that one of our boats had gone adrift.
“Ay, ay,” replied Giaccomo, “we know it; it is all right: we shall pick her up presently, but we do not care to tack just now in this light wind for fear of— Diavolo! hold your tongue, you son of a boiled monkey, or I will let daylight into you on one side and out on the other.”
The latter part of this speech had been addressed to our prisoner, who, encouraged by the close proximity of the two vessels, had without a sign of warning lifted up his voice and shouted with all the power of his lungs,—
“Perfidie! nous som—” The remainder of the sentence had been choked back by the iron grasp of Giaccomo’s hand upon the lad’s throat, the dagger being flashed before his eyes and the threat hissed into his ears at the same moment.
But it was enough, the mischief had been done. As we glided past the craft’s stern we saw the man on watch dart to the companion and disappear, returning to the deck in less than a minute, accompanied by another individual, whose fluttering white garment sufficiently indicated that he had come direct from his berth without waiting to observe the decencies of ordinary life. He, too, hailed us, but we wasted no breath in attempting to reply, fully aware that nothing we could say would allay the suspicion which had been aroused. Instead therefore of shouting back, and possibly attracting the attention of other craft, we devoted all our energies to trimming our canvas to the best advantage, and packing upon the cutter every rag we could set.
“Per Baccho!” ejaculated Giaccomo between his set teeth, addressing the author of the mischief, and emphasising his remarks with a smart prod of the knife in the most fleshy part of that misguided individual’s person, “I have a great mind to slash your throat open, and then launch you overboard as a breakfast to the sharks. You have drawn upon us the attention of that rascally guarda-costa, the captain of which will not be satisfied until he has received a full explanation of your remark. But, maledetto! remember this, the moment our capture seems certain I will slit you up as I would a sardine,”—appropriate gesture with the knife,—“so if you object to being slit open like a sardine you will give me all the help you can. You comprehend?”
The lad comprehended so well that he was frightened half out of his wits, and went round the deck, taking an extra pull here, easing off half an inch of sheet there, shifting the water-casks, and, in short, doing all he knew to increase the speed of the cutter, glancing anxiously astern at the guarda-costa in the intervals, and from her to his dreaded shipmate.
Of course I am aware that I ought to have interfered and put a stop to this terrorism on the part of the hot-blooded Corsican, and I should have done so, had there appeared any probability of his executing his sanguinary threats; but I had already seen enough of him to believe that his bark was a great deal worse than his bite, and so, as the prisoner had evidently got us into what might prove a very awkward scrape, I was willing that he should not be allowed to go altogether unpunished.
It was even as Giaccomo had foreseen. We were scarcely a mile from the guarda-costa when we saw her canvas drooping in heavy festoons from her long tapering yards, and by the time that we had increased our distance to a couple of miles her anchor was a-trip, and she was sweeping round on her way out after us.
I called my aide aft and asked him whether he knew the craft.
“Too well, signor,” he replied. “It has been my lot to be chased by her often, and many an anxious moment has she caused me. She has the name of being the fastest sailer inside the Gut, and she is the terror of every honest smuggler round the coast here.”
“Ho, ho!” said I. “So that is how the land lies, is it, master Giaccomo? You have been a bit of a smuggler in your time, eh?”
“Yes,” he frankly returned, “and not so very long ago either. And I should have been taken to a certainty, had not a shot from one of your cruisers turned yonder inquisitive gentleman back.”
“Let us hope we may meet with a similar slice of luck this time,” said I. “Do you think we stand any chance of getting away from her?”
“Everything depends on the weather,” was the reply. “In light winds, such as this, I have never seen anything to approach this cutter for speed; but should it come on to blow, the ‘Vigilant’ will run us under water.”
This was a singularly agreeable piece of information to receive just at that moment, for the sky had gradually become flecked with fast-flying patches of scud, and a dark threatening bank of cloud was working up to windward. So far, however, the breeze remained light, and while we were gliding through the water at the rate of something like five knots, with scarcely a ripple under our bows to indicate the fact, the guarda-costa appeared to have little beyond bare steerage-way.
At first I was sanguine enough to hope that, seeing how we slipped away from her, the lateener would ’bout ship, and return to her moorings; but nothing of the kind: she held on like grim death, her skipper, no doubt, being seaman enough to read in the increasingly-threatening aspect of the heavens a promise that his turn should come by-and-by.
In the meantime the wind grew rapidly lighter until it became “breathless” calm; and there we both lay, heaving sluggishly on the long swell, our sails flapping idly from side to side, and our bows boxing the compass.
The cloud-bank meanwhile had been steadily rising, and at length it completely veiled the sky, obscuring first the stars, and finally the moon, and enveloping the whole face of nature in a mantle of inky blackness. So intense was this darkness that we lost sight of the guarda-costa, the land, and in fact everything save the two or three riding-lights which the more prudent of the skippers had chosen to display on board their craft in the roadstead.
A breathless hush prevailed, broken only by the loud creak of our boom and the flap of the sails. Giaccomo and his shipmate, or prisoner—whichever the reader likes—were somewhere forward, probably sitting down; but it was impossible to see them in the impenetrable darkness.
I called Giaccomo aft, and his voice, when he spoke in reply, sounded strange, weird, and unnatural. I considered the aspect of the sky portentous in the extreme, but I wished to have his opinion, as that of a man accustomed to the weather of that region, and I asked him what he thought of it.
“We shall have it down upon us very heavily before long,” he replied; “but I do not think it will last above three or four hours.”
“Then we had better bear a hand and shorten sail,” said I. “You take in the gaff-topsail, and bowse down a double reef in the mainsail, and I will in foresail and shift the jib. I suppose there is a storm-jib somewhere on board?”
“Down in the locker, forward,” said he. “Be careful to close the hatch securely when you come up, signor, or we shall be swamped in less than ten minutes; she will bury herself in the breeze that we are going to have.”
We all three worked like Trojans, and in a remarkably short space of time had the “Mouette”—as I found the cutter was named—under double-reefed mainsail and storm-jib, the latter well in along the bowsprit, with topmast lowered as far as it would come, the fore-hatch and cabin skylight battened down, and everything made snug and ready for a regular stand-up fight with the elements.
While we were busy with these preparations, I admonished Giaccomo to keep a smart lookout, and I was careful also to do the same myself, in case the guarda-costa should endeavour to cut matters short by sending away a boat after us; but the man assured me that the skipper of the craft knew too well what he was about to risk the loss of a boat’s crew by sending them away under such threatening conditions of weather.
Smart as we had been in making our preparations, we were only barely in time. We had just comfortably completed our work, and I had established myself at the tiller, with Giaccomo at the mainsheet, and François—as the French lad called himself—at the jib-sheet, when there came a terrific flash of lightning, green and baleful, illumining for a single instant the entire scene, and revealing our pertinacious friend, the “Vigilant,” in her old berth astern, with her long tapering yards lowered to the deck, and two stumpy lugs and a pocket-handkerchief of a jib hoisted in their place. Then, as the opaque darkness closed down upon us again, there followed the long deep reverberating roll of the thunder. Another vivid flash quickly succeeded, the thunder this time being much louder and nearer; and then, after a pause of about a minute, there came a perfect blast of lightning, so intensely bright that the whole atmosphere appeared for one brief moment to be literally on fire. Simultaneously with the flash came the awful deafening crackling crash of the thunder, the terrific detonations of which completely stunned and unnerved me while they lasted, so overpowering were they in comparison with anything of the kind which I had before heard. We had scarcely time to recover our hearing before we became conscious of a hissing roaring sound in the atmosphere, momentarily increasing in intensity, and, looking to windward, there appeared in startling relief against the sable background a long line of luminous milky foam rushing down toward us from the horizon. In an incredibly short time the squall was upon us. On it came, like a howling fiend, over the tortured surface of the ocean, causing it to hiss and seethe like the contents of a boiling cauldron, and striking the cutter with such resistless fury that she went over helplessly before it, burying her lee-rail so deeply in the brine that her sails lay prostrate upon the surface of the water.
Each of us instinctively shouted to the others to “hold on,” grasping at the same moment whatever came nearest. I managed somehow to clamber up the deck, as the cutter went over, and, passing out over the low bulwarks, established myself on the upturned side of the little craft. Giaccomo had done the same, while François was standing on the side of the cabin-companion, and clinging convulsively with both hands to the weather-rail.
Crawling up to the side of the Corsican, I placed my mouth to his ear and shouted,—
“Do you think you can cut away the mast?”
“No! no! no!” he earnestly returned. “See, signor, her head is paying-off, and she will come up again in a minute or two; she cannot turn over altogether, her ballast is too well secured for that, and she will not fill even if she remains thus for half an hour yet; no water can get below except through the companion, and the doors fit so well that very little will get down even through them. See there, she is coming up again already.”
It was even so. While the man was speaking, the cutter’s bows had been rapidly paying-off, until we headed, as nearly as we could guess, straight for the shore; when, the pressure of the wind being no longer upon her broadside, the heavy ballast had gradually dragged the yacht into an upright position, and we had, somewhat precipitately, to scramble inboard again.
The moment that the yacht recovered herself, the wind of course caught her sails, and away we at once started to leeward with the speed of a hunted stag. This, however, would never do; the shore was straight ahead, and, at the rate at which we were travelling, twenty minutes would have seen us dashed into matchwood upon the rocks.
Very cautiously, therefore, we brought her upon a wind, and though, when we again got broadside-to, she threatened to go over once more with us, we managed by careful manipulation of the sheets to avoid such a catastrophe; and when we had got her once fairly jammed close upon a wind, some former experience of mine in cutter sailing enabled me to keep her right side uppermost. But it was perilous work for a good hour after the squall struck us. I have occasionally seen in my later days some bold and even reckless match-sailing, but I have never yet seen a craft so desperately overdriven as was, perforce, the little “Mouette” on that memorable night. While the first strength of the gale lasted we were literally under water the whole time, the sea boiling and foaming in over our bows, and sweeping away aft and out over the taffrail in a continuous flood.
I believe we should have sailed faster, and we should assuredly have made much better weather of it, had we been able to get a close reef down in the mainsail; but under the circumstances this was impossible, since, being so short-handed, it would have delayed us long enough to allow the “Vigilant” to get alongside us before we had got through with the work. There was, therefore, nothing for it, but to keep on as we were, the cutter heeling over to an angle of quite 50 deg., so that we were really standing upon the inside of the lee bulwark, with our backs resting against the steeply-inclined deck, up above our knees in the sea, beneath which the little craft’s lee-rail was deeply buried; while, owing to our great speed, we rushed through instead of riding over the sea which was rapidly getting up, so that, when an unusually heavy “comber” met us, we were literally buried for the moment, while it swept over us.
Luckily the first mad fury of the blast lasted only for two or three minutes, or our mast could never have resisted the tremendous strain upon it; as it was, stout though the spar—absurdly disproportionate to the size of the craft, I then considered it—it swayed and bent like a fishing-rod, causing the lee-rigging to blow out quite in bights, while that to windward was strained as taut as harp-strings, the resemblance to which was increased by the weird sound of the wind as it shrieked through it.
Scarcely had the tempest burst upon us before the veil of cloud which had obscured the heavens was rent to shreds by its fury, the sky was cleared as if by magic, the moon and stars reappeared—the former low down upon the horizon,—and we had an uninterrupted view of the wild scene around us.
We were heading straight out from the land, and sailing so close to the wind that we were taking the seas nearly stem-on; and I frankly confess that my heart was, metaphorically speaking, in my mouth for the greatest part of that night, while watching the little craft rush bodily into the steep slope of wave after wave, and felt her quiver like a frightened thing as they swept hissing and seething over our heads. My admiration for the skill of her builder was boundless; for, had I not witnessed the cutter’s achievements, I could never have credited the power of wood and iron to successfully resist such a terrific strain and battering as she received.
When the first wild struggle for existence was over, and we had fairly settled down to our work in that mad life-or-death race, we had time to look round and see how our opponent had come out of the struggle. We had not far to look. There she was, about three miles to leeward, and well on our quarter, dashing gallantly on; now rushing upward upon the crest of a wave, amid a deluge of spray, and lifting her fore-foot out of the water as though about to leave the element altogether and take flight into the air, like a startled sea-bird; and anon plunging down into the trough until only a small portion of the heads of her sails was visible. She was evidently making much better weather of it than we were; but on the other hand half-an-hour’s patient observation revealed to us the comforting fact that, notwithstanding her vaunted speed, we were both head-reaching and weathering upon her.
Satisfied at length that this was actually the case, I asked Giaccomo what he now thought of our chances of escape.
“We shall get away from her,” he replied exultingly. “I have no longer any fear of her; what I now dread is the possibility of the cutter foundering from under us. There must be a considerable amount of water making its way into her interior, with the sea sweeping over us thus incessantly; indeed, I am convinced that we are sensibly deeper in the water than we were.”
“Do you think you could manage to get the pump under way?” I asked.
“I would try,” he replied; “but the well is on the larboard side, close by my feet, and deep under water.”
“Then,” said I, “we must endeavour to get her round upon the other tack. We will watch for a ‘smooth,’ and directly it comes, you and François must round-in upon the mainsheet. Are you both ready?”
They replied in the affirmative, and after watching in vain for some five minutes, a terrific sea burst over us, burying the craft—as it seemed to me—nearly half-way up her mast, and beyond it the water was comparatively smooth.
“In with it!” I gasped, as we came out on the other side of this liquid hill. They gathered in the sheet as though their lives depended on it, and at the same moment I eased off the weather tiller-rope, and gave the craft her head. She surged up into the wind, her canvas flapping so furiously that it threatened to shake the mast out of her; her lee-gunwale appeared above the surface, and placing my feet against the tiller I pressed it gradually over, helping her round while stopping her way as little as possible; a sea rushed up and struck her on the port-bow, sending her head well off on the other tack, the jib-sheet was promptly hauled over, the mainsail filled, and as we hurriedly scrambled over to the other side of the deck and secured ourselves anew with lashings round our waists, the “Mouette” plunged forward on the larboard tack, looking well up to windward and heading about due north.
The fixing and rigging of the pump was a work of considerable difficulty and danger, but it was eventually done; and then Giaccomo and François, placing themselves one on each side, set resolutely to work, with the determination of not leaving off as long as a drop of water would flow from the spout.
The clear stream which gushed out as soon as the brake was set going showed us unmistakably that we had not begun a moment too soon, and had we still entertained any doubt upon this point, it would have been dispelled by the length of time it took to clear the little craft of water. It was broad daylight when at length Giaccomo panted triumphantly,—
“There she sucks!”
Just before sun-rise we noticed the first indications of a break in the gale, and by eight o’clock it had so far moderated that our lee-rail was just awash, and instead of diving through the seas, as we had been ever since the gale struck us, the cutter managed to rise over everything but the heaviest. It was still too wet forward to permit of taking off the forecastle-hatch, but communication between cabin and forecastle could be effected by means of a sliding door in the bulkhead; so François was sent below with instructions to prepare a thorough good breakfast, with plenty of hot coffee—which, let me say, I have found infinitely more comforting and refreshing than spirits, after long exposure to wet or cold, or both combined.
After the setting of the moon we had lost sight of the guarda-costa until dawn once more betrayed her whereabouts. When first seen she was hull-down and about three points on our lee quarter, still under her two lugs and jib. So far, this was satisfactory; we had walked fairly away from her in her own weather, and Giaccomo was in ecstasies.
“Ah!” he chuckled, “Monsieur Leroux would have almost forgiven us for running away with his ‘Mouette,’ had he been here to see what a shameful beating she has given the ‘Vigilant.’ The story is sure to leak out through some of the lateener’s people, and poor old Lieutenant Durand, who commands her, will not dare to show himself ashore at Ajaccio, he will be so laughed at.”
But the guarda-costa’s people had no idea of tamely accepting their defeat as final. No sooner was it light enough for them to fairly make us out, than they shifted their sails, substituting single-reefed lateens for the lugs, and taking in their storm-jib out of the way. Their increased spread of canvas soon told a tale, for before half an hour had passed it became evident that they were gaining upon us, going faster through the water, that is; but she did not appear to weather on us much, if at all. The fact that the “Vigilant” was overhauling us, however, gave me very little uneasiness, for I calculated that, as we were both then sailing, it would take her quite three hours to get within gunshot of us, and probably another half-hour before there would be much probability of her hitting us, and by that time I expected we should be within four hours’ sail of San Fiorenzo, where I fully expected to find the old “Juno,” and probably a few more of our own ships; and I thought it very doubtful whether the Frenchmen would keep up the chase so far as that, for fear of running into a trap and being themselves caught.
We therefore went to breakfast with tolerably easy minds, to say nothing of good appetites, and thoroughly enjoyed the meal,—a most sumptuous one, considering the place and the circumstances of its preparation,—Giaccomo condescending so far to relax the sternness of his demeanour to François as to pat that individual approvingly on the shoulder, and to assure him that such cookery went far to atone for his extraordinary indiscretion of the night before.
Francesca sat down to breakfast with us, having quite unexpectedly made her appearance on deck, fresh, blooming, and cheerful, about half an hour before. To my unbounded surprise, she assured me that she had passed a very tolerable night, having indeed been sound asleep for the greater portion of the time. She had been somewhat alarmed when the cutter was thrown upon her beam-ends, but had not been in the least incommoded by the accident, nor indeed aware of its full extent, the cot upon which she was lying being a very ingenious affair, so contrived that it always maintained a perfectly horizontal position, no matter how much the cutter rolled and pitched, nor how greatly she heeled over. This was very gratifying news to me, for I fully expected to see her appear in the morning excessively frightened, and possibly very seriously bruised by the violent motion of the little craft in which she had passed so adventurous a night.
By the time that we had all breakfasted the wind had so far moderated that it became necessary to make sail upon the cutter; the “Vigilant” having crept up well abeam of us, though still hull-down and apparently close in with the land. We accordingly shook both reefs out of the mainsail, and got the foresail and working-jib set, with which canvas we rushed along in true racing style, our lee-rail well buried, and the craft taking just enough weather-helm to allow of her being steered to a hair’s-breadth. Her performance perfectly enchanted me; I had never seen anything like it before, and to my unaccustomed eyes she seemed fairly to fly. Even Giaccomo and François, both of whom had repeatedly sailed in her, asserted that they had never seen her do so well before.
When we again had time to take a glance to leeward at the “Vigilant,” we discovered that well-named craft bowling along under whole canvas, and evidently trying her hardest to head-reach upon us. For the first half-hour we endeavoured to flatter ourselves that we were still holding our own, but at the end of that time such self-deception was no longer possible; the breeze suited us admirably, but there was still too much sea for the little “Mouette,” and the “Vigilant’s” superior power at length began to tell. Had they carried sail as recklessly through the night as we had, there can be no doubt they would have been alongside of us by daylight. By this time, too, we were abreast of Calvi, and were able to bear away with a beam wind for Acciajola Point, round which, and at the bottom of the bay, lay San Fiorenzo, our destination. Our altered course gave our opponent a further advantage by bringing her a couple of points before our beam, and we had the mortification of seeing that the craft was edging out to intercept us, and would, to a moral certainty, cut us off before we could reach the headland.
Still, I resolved to stand on, and trust to the chapter of accidents for our ultimate escape. If the change in our course had given the “Vigilant” one important advantage, it had given us another, to which I attached quite as much weight; it had brought the wind and sea abeam, and permitted us to ease up our sheets, while the sea no longer retarded us: it also permitted us to set a little extra canvas, and we accordingly lost no time in getting our topmast on end and setting the gaff-topsail, after which we could do nothing but sit still and anxiously watch the result.
Meanwhile the two vessels were rapidly converging upon a point distant about a mile from Cape Acciajola. The wind continued to drop, the sea going down at the same time; and as the morning advanced and the weather became lighter, we appeared to be once more getting rather the advantage of our pertinacious antagonist. So completely was our attention engaged by the “Vigilant,” that it was not until that craft had hoisted her colours that we became aware of the fact that a new actor had appeared upon the scene, and was within seven miles of us. This was a brig, which when we first caught sight of her was running in for the land from the W.S.W., with every stitch of canvas set that would draw, including lower, topmast, and topgallant studding-sails on her port side. She lay about three points on our weather quarter, and was steering for the Gulf of San Fiorenzo.
The appearance of this stranger naturally added very greatly to my anxiety. I could not in the least make up my mind as to her nationality, for she hoisted no colours in response to the “Vigilant’s” display of her ensign, and though she struck me as being thoroughly French, both in build and rig, I could not understand why she should be running for San Fiorenzo, if our fleet was there; while if it was not, it seemed pretty certain that I had run into what old Rawlings, the sailing-master, was wont to designate “the centre of a hobble,” in other words—a decided predicament. How to act, under the circumstances, I knew not; I was thoroughly embarrassed.
Away to leeward was the “Vigilant,” in such a position that if we bore up we should be simply running straight into her clutches; up there to windward was this mysterious brig, from which there was no possibility of escape if we hauled our wind, while if we kept straight on we were still almost certain to fall into her hands, assuming that we were lucky enough to escape the “Vigilant.” Of course there was just a bare possibility of her being English, but if so her appearance strangely belied her.
It seemed to me that the least imprudent thing to do would be to keep straight on as we were going, and this I accordingly did. I still felt very anxious to know for certain who and what this brig really was, and at last I determined to hoist the English flag over the French at our gaff-end, hoping that this signal would evoke some response; but as far as the brig was concerned it was entirely without effect.
Not so, however, with regard to the “Vigilant;” the sight appeared to greatly irritate her worthy skipper, for he immediately hauled his wind, and very soon afterwards tried the effect of his long brass nine upon us. The shot fell short some sixty or seventy fathoms, but it was well aimed, and pretty conclusively demonstrated that Monsieur Durand was growing angry. Finding that we were as yet out of range, the lateener once more kept away upon her former course, evidently recognising the possibility that, if she did not, we might still slip past her.
Another quarter of an hour brought us abreast of the Cape, and in about ten minutes more we had opened the town of San Fiorenzo. Well out in Mortella Bay a large fleet of ships lay at anchor, while much nearer the shore a 74-gun ship and a frigate were visible, also apparently at anchor, and briskly engaging a battery of some sort, which appeared to be built on a projecting point of land. At the same time the roar of the distant cannonade, which had been shut off from us by the intervening high land, was borne distinctly to our ears. Meanwhile the inscrutable brig had steadily pursued her course, without appearing to take the slightest notice of the little drama which was being enacted ahead of her, and now came foaming up upon our weather quarter, steering so as to shave close past our taffrail.
I had by this time lost all doubt as to her nationality, though she still kept her bunting well out of sight; she was unmistakably French all over, from keel to truck. And though she was an enemy I could not help admiring the beautiful order and neatness which characterised her appearance: two qualities which were rarely to be witnessed on board French ships at that period. I was rather surprised that she had not pitched a shot across our fore-foot before this, as a delicate intimation that the time had arrived for us to heave-to; but as she had not, I began to entertain a faint glimmer of hope that she was engaged upon some special service of such importance that she could not spare time to interfere with us.
It was evident that she had no intention of rounding-to, for there still stood her studding-sails without a sign of any preparation for taking them in. Our attention was now of course, for the moment, given exclusively to her; our curiosity being strongly roused as to her intentions. In another moment she swept magnificently across our stern, so closely that a bold leap would have carried a man from her weather cat-head down upon our deck; and as she did so we became aware of sundry tanned and bearded faces, some of which seemed familiar to me, peering curiously down upon us through her open half-ports. At the same moment a dapper young fellow in the uniform of a British midshipman sprang into the main-rigging, speaking-trumpet in hand, and hailed us somewhat in the following fashion,—
“Cutter ahoy! who are you, and whither bound? and what is that piratical-looking craft down to leeward? If he is interfering with you, you had better bear up and follow in my wake; I’ll take care that—hilloa! if that isn’t Chester may I never—ahoy! Chester, old boy! don’t you know me?—Bob Summers, you know. Up helm, old fellow; the ‘Juno’ is in there, and—”
The rest was unintelligible, the brig being by this time too far away to allow of further conversation. Of course I bore up at once, for the brig being in English hands, I had no further occasion for anxiety with regard to the “Vigilant.” That craft, true to her name, had evidently been on the watch to see what would come of the meeting which had just taken place, and had already arrived at the conclusion that what had passed boded her no good, for the moment we bore up, she did the same, wearing short round upon her heel, and shaping a course, as nearly as we could judge, for Calvi. Bob, however, who was evidently burning to distinguish himself, seemed to regard this as a favourable opportunity for so doing, and promptly squared away, steering a course which would enable him to intercept the guarda-costa; we following steadily in his wake to witness the fun. Almost immediately afterwards we heard the shrill notes of the bo’sun’s whistle, followed by the hoarse bellowing sound in which that functionary is wont to transmit the commanding officer’s orders to the ship’s company. And occasionally we were gratified with the sight of Mr Bob Summers squinting curiously at us through his telescope, out of one of the stern-ports.
The moment that the brig was fairly within range of the “Vigilant,” Bob bowled a 9-pound shot across that craft’s fore-foot, as an invitation to her to heave-to. Monsieur Durand, however, seemed in no humour for accepting any such invitation just then, for he immediately returned a decided negative from his long brass 9-pounder, sending the shot very cleverly through both Bob’s topsails, and narrowly missing the mainmast-head. I expected to see Master Bob round-to and deliver his whole broadside in retaliation—it would have been quite like him to do so; instead of this, however, he maintained a grim silence, notwithstanding that Monsieur Durand continued his efforts to cripple the brig. At length, however, Bob got within short pistol-shot of his adversary, and then in came his studding-sails, all together, down went his helm, and crash! went his broadside of four 9-pounders into the devoted Frenchman, bringing his sails and his flag down by the run, together.
As the brig rounded-to, her main-topsail was thrown aback, bringing her to a standstill directly to windward of the “Vigilant,” and within easy hailing distance. Then Master Bob hove into view in the main-rigging once more, still with the precious speaking-trumpet in his hand, and the guarda-costa was sternly ordered to surrender—as I afterwards learned, we being at the moment rather too far astern to hear what passed,—which she forthwith did. The cutter was thereupon lowered and manned, and a prize crew went on board to take possession, little Summers himself also going with the party.
In the meantime we in the “Mouette” joined company, heaving-to close under the brig’s quarter, and making out for the first time the word “Requin” (Shark), which was painted on her stern in small red letters.
After the lapse of perhaps a quarter of an hour the brig’s cutter shoved off from the side of the “Vigilant,” and in another minute Bob and I were shaking hands as vigorously as though we had not seen each other for years. As soon as he had done with me, the young rascal turned to Francesca, whereupon I introduced him in due form in French. Francesca at once frankly gave him her hand, and made a pretty little speech as to the happiness which it afforded her to make the acquaintance of any friend of her “cher Ralph,” etcetera, etcetera.
Master Bob, whose knowledge of French was of the slenderest and most flimsy description, was in no wise disconcerted by being addressed in what was to him practically an unknown tongue. He bowed with all the elegance and grace he could muster, smiling meanwhile as suavely as he knew how, and finally responding somewhat in this style,—
“Je suis most happy a avez le plaisir a-makez votre acquaintance, Mile. Paoli. J’ai already l’honneur de being partially acquainted with votre oncle, General di Paoli, and a fine fellow he is. And—my eye! won’t he be surprised to see you? I only wish you could stay on board le ‘Juno,’ or, better still, take up your quarters aboard the brig, the skipper giving her of course to Chester and me with a roving commission. That would be jolly; but there—what’s the use of thinking of such a thing? Of course it is ever so much too good to be true. By the way, Chester,”—turning to me—“have you dined yet? Neither have I. Now suppose we all go aboard the brig then; I’ll leave a couple of hands to help your crew here, and we can then make sail in company. I say, we shall present quite an imposing appearance as we bring-up in the roadstead. I expect the skipper will send for us on the quarter-deck, and thank us before all hands for our gallantry and important services.”
Bob jumped into the boat alongside, as he concluded; I followed, and then Francesca stepped daintily down into the dancing craft, where the gallant Bob established her snugly in the stern-sheets, close alongside himself. He then seized the yoke-lines, gave the order to “shove off and give way” in his most authoritative manner, and in ten minutes more we were all three comfortably established in the cosy little cabin of the brig, with a very tolerable dinner on the table before us.