A STORY OF THE WAR OF 1812 BETWEEN AMERICA AND ENGLAND.
BY JAMES BARNES.
CHAPTER XVI.
WHY I NEVER REACHED FRANCE.
We drew up our horses before the house nearest to the stone pier or jetty that ran out some hundred feet or more from the shore. On one side of it was a small dock or basin large enough to give shelter to four or five fishing-boats about the size of those we call dories in New England.
As we dismounted, Monsieur de Brissac gave a halloo, and a figure appeared in the doorway. I was surprised to see that it was Monsieur de la Remy. He called back into the room, and a man followed him out and took our horses.
"Ah, De Brissac! you're on time as usual, and I see that you have not forgotten your way," Monsieur de la Remy cried, as he grasped my patron's elbows in his two hands in a half embrace. Then he bowed to me without much effusion. "Good-morning, Monsieur le Marquis," was all he said.
I had not known that my host of the Gloucester Arms was going to be one of us, and so expressed my surprise at seeing him. He made no explanation, but I take it he must have been in London for some time, and that he had come direct from there, although I had not met him at any of the routs or parties I had attended.
"Why should I forget my way, monsieur?" my patron said, laughing, as he paused on the door-step. "Have I not travelled it every month for three years?"
As we entered the house the Marquis de Senez was standing at the door, and greeted us in his usual reserved way. We were in a large room, and I noticed the smell of the same kind of tobacco that the sailors use on shipboard in the English service—a smell that seems to cling to them and to all of their belongings—but apparently none of the gentlemen had been smoking.
"Everything is most propitious," said De Senez, as he brought forward two chairs from the table. "Dame Fortune smiles on us. But pardon me; you have not noticed Monsieur de Rembolez."
It was then that I saw for the first time that there was a figure sitting back in the dark shadows in the corner of the room. I recognized the name, and as soon as the man stepped forward into the light of the single candle, I remembered his face, and that I had seen it in London. He was a sharp-featured, thick-set man—that is, big as to his chest and shoulders, but very light and muscular in his underpinning. His eyes were so black that they appeared all pupils, and his teeth were so large and even that I believe that he could have bitten a tenpenny nail in two with them, as his jaw also looked strong as a vise. I did not like the man, and as I had good cause to remember afterwards, he on his part had conceived no great affection for me.
At the mention of my name he merely glanced up and showed his teeth, at which I was tempted to show mine in return, for the meaning of that display was rather ambiguous. He was to be the fifth one of the party, and I am quite sure he was not of Monsieur de Brissac's choosing.
"It's a good night for the crossing," observed Monsieur de Senez. "Did you see the lookout on the cliff as you came down?"
"I doubt not he saw us," retained my patron. "But he probably kept well hidden. Is everything ready? Is Captain St. Croix here?"
"Yes, and most of his crew within calling distance," returned the steel-jawed man, casting a look over his shoulder.
I saw no door, or anything that would suggest that there was an adjoining room, for the one we were in occupied the whole ground-floor of the house; but behind De Rembolez was a tall oak cupboard that reached almost to the ceiling. There had come a lull in our conversation; De Senez and the host of the Gloucester Arms were talking in whispers, and Monsieur de Brissac was engaged in pulling off his heavy riding-boots. All at once the low grumbling of men's voices in talk was heard, and then an oath in good seafaring English issued apparently from the tall cupboard. I fairly jumped as the door of it was opened outward and a great, black-whiskered man stepped out of it. Then I saw where the smell of tobacco came from, for the smoke rolled out with him, and the ember in his long clay pipe was glowing.
ASTONISHED, I LOOKED PAST HIM, AND SAW THAT THE CUPBOARD CONCEALED A GOOD-SIZED TRAP-DOOR.
Astonished, I looked past him, and saw that the cupboard concealed a good-sized trap-door; it was open, the top of a ladder extended through the floor, and the sound of voices came from below. It was a most ingenious idea. The cellar to which this passageway led was not under the house, but under the garden at the back of it. The floor of the room in which we were was made of hard, dry earth, and digging there would have revealed nothing.
I found out, by questioning afterwards on the voyage over, that the two other houses which abutted on the innocent-looking garden also had passageways that led to the cleverly concealed smugglers' cabin.
The bewhiskered man was addressed by the company as Captain St. Croix, but I would bet a new anchor to a ship's biscuit that he was more English than French, although his accent was fairly good.
"It looks the night for our purpose, gentlemen," he said. "We have brewed a punch below. What say you I send for some of it, and we will pledge a successful passage to the Hirondelle, eh?"
"And destruction to the Corsican upstart," put in he of the beady eyes.
The Captain gave a halloo down the shaft and ordered some one to bring up the punch-bowl. At the same time he set about getting us something to eat from a rough side-board near the fireplace.
Just as a man's head appeared coming up the ladder there were three sharp knocks on the door, and a tall fisher-lad in a dripping great-coat came in.
"It's thick and raining," he said. "I've seen the lights of the old boat. She'll be off the point in a few minutes."
"Then we must bear a hand," said the Captain. "So, gentlemen, let us eat and drink and dispense with ceremony."
I was very hungry, and fell to at once, as did the others. In half an hour we left the shelter of the house, and hurrying down to the dock, we were all crowded into one of the row-boats. Then pulling away, we headed against the driving rain through the half-darkness.
As it was wet when we reached the Hirondelle, I followed the four other gentlemen down into the little cabin, although my love of the sea was returning so strongly that I was tempted to stay on deck and court a soaking.
The little box of a place in which we were sitting was dimly lighted with a swinging lamp, and as we conversed of the plot and object of our trip (of which I shall say nothing), I could tell that we were travelling at a good rate of speed by the rushing and lapping of the water against the bull. The reason I do not give any full account of the plot in which I was supposed to be engaged is that I think even now I should keep it silent, as it concerns neither me nor my story.
After a time we all fell asleep, most of us in a sitting posture, and I was the first to awaken. It was between three and four, and still raining, when I came out of the close musty cabin and breathed the fine air. I noticed we had shortened sail, and that a man in the bow was heaving the lead. He did not call out the soundings, but signalled them to the Captain by motions of his hand. I knew we must be in shoal water, but in how many fathoms I could not tell. All at once the man at the wheel threw the lugger up into the wind, and we lay hove to for probably half an hour. Every one on deck was listening.
Suddenly the dark shape of a great row-boat could be seen approaching, and going below into the cabin I aroused the rest of the passengers; De Rembolez appeared rather nervous.
Where the lugger put off her cargo I do not know, for as soon as the five of us had clambered over her side into the row-boat, and Monsieur De Senez had given a handful of gold to the Captain, the latter stood off presumably to the southward, while we rowed directly to the east.
Not a word had been spoken by the rowers or the man at the tiller, and I was so interested in wondering what next was going to happen that I was perfectly satisfied to curb my curiosity and ask no questions. I was not anxious to anticipate, and felt really sad to think that I was soon to leave M. De Brissac—for what, I knew not.
We were off the coast between Dunkerque and Gravelines, and I should judge that the boat had rowed out some seven or eight miles. The men at the oars looked part Dutch and part French. They were a villanous-looking set, however, and the fellow at the tiller appeared little above them in order of intelligence; but while we were pulling straight ahead, the cockswain suddenly stood up straight in his box.
"Arrêtez!" he whispered, hoarsely.
The men backed-water skilfully, but yet such headway did the boat have on that it required three or four efforts before we came to a stop. There right ahead of us lay a long white, lapstreak boat, sharp at both ends. She had pulled directly athwart our bows. Had we been keeping a sharp lookout we would have seen her long before, as her crew must have had us in sight for some minutes. One glance at them told me that these men were not Frenchmen. De Rembolez had stood up almost as soon as the cockswain, and was looking forward eagerly, but I saw his face change to a puzzled expression.
"Les Anglais!" exclaimed the cockswain between his teeth.
A few strokes of the long oars that the men in the stranger craft wielded, and she was almost alongside of us.
"Un pilote," said a voice with an execrable accent and a drawling twang through the nose. "We want a pilot. Avez-vous un pilote?"
"We have no pilot for you!" answered Monsieur de la Remy, in good English. "Keep away from us."
But what was I doing at this very moment?
It was with difficulty that I was restraining an inclination to plunge overboard and strike out for the whale-boat.
It is almost past believing, but unless my eyes were playing me false, there stood my old friend Cy Plummer of the Minetta, balancing a boat-hook in his hand. This aside, it would have required but a close glance at the wiry, strong-knit figures and the keen sharp-featured faces, for one who knew, to declare that they were no English press-gang bullies, but Yankee sailor-men.
I was trying to find my voice, which had left me in my astonishment, but the nobleman landlord did not notice my condition, and was still continuing his warning.
"Come no closer," he said. "At your peril. We have no pilot for you."
At the same time he drew from the breast of his coat a small double-barrelled pistol.
"Who are you and where do you come from?" put in De Rembolez.
There was evidently some consternation in the white boat at hearing the sound of English. The men were leaning forward preparing to take a stroke, and Plummer was evidently perplexed and at a loss what to do, when I found my tongue.
"Plummer! Cy Plummer! get me out of this," I cried.
We were so near by this time that our oars were almost touching, but the astonishment occasioned on both sides by my sudden outbreak seemed to paralyze all hands.
"Who in the name of Davy Jones are you?" Plummer questioned, quickly.
"John Hurdiss of the Young Eagle," I cried, throwing off my cloak. Just as I was about to dive overboard I felt myself grasped about the arm.
It was De Rembolez who had laid hold of me. The words he hissed I did not catch, but in order to loose myself I drew back my free hand and caught him a blow fairly between the eyes. He did not relax his hold, however, and endeavored to throw me into the bottom of the boat. Although he was a powerful man, he probably did not know much about wrestling. I had the firmer footing, and twisting him round, I turned the tables, and was forcing him away from me, when he sank his great white teeth into the sleeve of my coat. Had he caught my flesh I might have lost the use of my arm, but as it was he laid hold of the cloth only, and the sleeve parted at the shoulder; but the little French cockswain now decided to take a hand, and sprang upon me from behind, but the result was to my helping. I just remembered hearing the sharp snapping of Monsieur de la Remy's pistol, which missed fire, when I went overboard over the gunwale, and with me fell Beady Eyes and the little cockswain. I came up between the two boats. In the mean time both the crews were laying about with their oars over my head, and there was a lusty scrimmage going on. As soon as he felt the water closing over him, De Rembolez released his hold, but the little 'longshoreman in the striped shirt still held on, and before I knew it some one grabbed me and him also, and pulled us both over into the long white boat. Somehow the combatants had drifted apart, and with a quickness that was surprising the Yankees had got out their oars and were giving way.
I scrambled to my feet, and looking over the stern I saw that the other boat was after us, but they never could have caught us had they been pulling two men on a thwart. In five minutes they turned about and made off in the opposite direction.
"Douse my top-lights!" exclaimed Plummer, leaning forward and smearing the blood away from a slight wound on the side of his face. "Where, in the name of goodness, did you come from, lad?"
"From an English prison, in the first place," I said; "but it's a long story. Oh, but I will be glad to see our colors again!"
The French cockswain here interrupted any more questions or explanations by an effort to jump overboard.
"Lay hold of him," cried Plummer to the men in the bow. "Hold the frog-eater!" and in a minute they had pinioned the little Frenchman down. "Pull, larboard; hold, star-board!" Plummer cried all at once, jamming the helm down, and I, following the glance of his eye, saw the outlines of a vessel not five hundred yards away.
"What ship is that?" I asked.
"The Yankee, privateer," my friend replied. "The luckiest vessel ever launched—that's honest truth. Oh, we've some yarns to spin, my son, and so must you, and, ecod! we'll have a time of it. I can scarce believe that it is you at all, lad. But it's just the sort of a thing I might expect would happen on a cruise like the one we've had since leaving Buzzard's Bay."
"Well, I have had some adventures myself, Plummer," I said. "And in the very first place, I owe you a debt of gratitude for the loan of the clothes and cap, my man."
Now upon my soul I did not mean to be condescending in my speech, but there must have been something in my tone that caused the honest seaman to make a change in his.
"I hope they brought you luck, sir," he said.
I noticed that he had said "sir" involuntarily.
"Indeed they did," I returned. "I'll have to tell you all about it."
But now the bowmen were getting in their oars, and we were close alongside of a small topsail schooner, as fine a bit of ship-building as one would wish to see. She was hove to, and the great mainsail was crackling, and the reef-points keeping up a continuous drumming against it; and the sound was good to my ears.
"What have we here?" called a voice over the rail, only a few feet above our heads.
"A pilot and a passenger," answered Plummer, fending the whale-boat off from the side of the schooner with his hands.
A short rope was thrown over to us, and, laying hold of it, I clambered over the bulwarks, and came down on deck, where I found myself face to face with one of the strangest-looking figures that I have met in the course of my adventures.
Before me stood a slight stoop-shouldered man, dressed in a blue broadcloth coat and a long yellow satin waist-coat. He had on a pair of tight-fitting buckskin breeches thrust into heavy sea-boots. The expression on his face was the remarkable thing about him. At first I thought that he was laughing at me, for his light blue eyes had such an eager twinkling light in them that they appeared to show amusement. His mouth was parted in a smile, and a continual lifting and lowering of his eyebrows lent the idea that he considered me or my appearance some huge joke.
"Is this the passenger or the pilot?" he asked, lifting a heavy cocked hat, and giving it a little flourish, as it were, over his head.
"Neither passenger nor pilot," I replied, "but an escaped prisoner from England, who is anxious to get a chance to fight for America again. I was captured from the Young Eagle, privateer."
The man's voice had surprised me. It was as fresh and young as a boy's. When I mentioned the Young Eagle he made a grimace as if he were about to whistle, but he changed it to a little rippling laugh.
"Oh, ho! Temple of Stonington, eh! Such a reckless, careless devil. I know him. Good sailor, though. So you would ship with us?"
"Yes, sir," I answered. "And try to do my duty."
"Oh, we can use you, never fear," the strange man chuckled. "And now where are we?"
"Eh?" I ejaculated.
"What's our latitude and longitude?" he inquired.
This was a puzzler for me, for I hardly knew one from the other, and could not have answered.
"Do you mean to say that you don't know that?" I asked, trying to fend off answering.
"I haven't the slightest idea where I am," he answered. "I don't know whether I'm in the English Channel, the North Sea, or the Bay of Biscay."
This was told to me as if it were another huge joke, but I thought it was a strange condition for the Captain of a vessel to be in.
"We're off the coast of France," I said, "not far from Dunkerque."
"Dunkerque?" repeated the Captain. "Ho, ho! that's fortunate."
At this moment Plummer, with two or three of the crew of the whale-boat, which was being hoisted in, came aft. They had the little Frenchman, who looked half frightened to death, with them.
"Here's the pilot, Captain Gorham," Plummer said, touching his cap.
The Captain's reply to this, and the effect of it, almost took my breath away.
"Ah, Pierre," he said, "c'est donc vous? How is Madame Burron, and the little ones?"
The little Frenchman drew back, and then fell at the Captain's feet, grasping his hand.
"Ah, Capitaine Rieur, bonne fortune!" he cried, and he mumbled something I could not catch.