“‘Now girls,’ said the stranger, ‘let us have some refreshment and wine,’ and at once a large hamper was unpacked. The stranger’s two daughters, losing their timidity, laughingly displayed their stores, and most kindly invited me to share their repast. We were in a nice cool, shady place, well protected from the sun’s rays, otherwise the heat would have been oppressive. Some roast fowls and bread, and fruit, and good wine, made an excellent repast, and, before it was finished, I had become quite friendly and familiar with the two charming sisters and their kind-hearted father. The young ladies were attired in loose cotton dresses, simply drawn in at the waist, and wore rice straw hats. Their father was a man rather above the middle size, broad-shouldered and deep-chested, with very handsome, pleasing features, dark hair and beard, and in years about forty-five. His two daughters were, as he afterwards told me, seventeen and fifteen. The eldest was a lovely girl, and so fair, I judged she could not have been long exposed to a southern sun. The negro girls were very young, with slender, fine forms, and dazzling white teeth; of their dress, the less said the better—it was the attire of the country, and no one thought anything about it.”
A summons on deck, a large ship being in sight, put an end to Julian Arden’s story for that night, and all went upon deck.
CHAPTER XXV.
On gaining the deck, all eyes were turned in the direction of the strange ship. It was a clear, fine night, and the wind and sea moderate.
“Ah, that’s a merchant ship,” said Captain O’Loughlin, looking through his night-glass. “I am sure of it. What has brought her so close in with the French coast? It’s a great and unnecessary risk.”
The stranger was soon within hailing distance. The Onyx altered her course, and then ran in a parallel line with the strange vessel; she was a full-rigged ship, under top-gallant sails. The Lieutenant hailed her, demanding from whence she sailed, and where bound to. They saw at a glance she was an English ship, but she might be in the hands of a prize crew, running for some French port.
A strong, manly voice replied that the vessel was the Flying Fish, from Jamaica to London. She had been chased by a French frigate until close in with the French coast, where she fell in with three English ships of war. One gave chase to the Frenchman, and she continued her voyage. One of the English vessels hailed her, asking name, &c.; told her she would fall in with the Onyx, off Havre, and that there was little or no risk of encountering an enemy as she was then steering; the wind was too scant to keep off the land.
Captain O’Loughlin told the captain he had better get on the other tack, and make the best of his way and sight the English coast. The Flying Fish then put about, and after exchanging compliments, the two ships separated; as did the friends, for the night. Nothing particular occurred the following day, there being little or no wind, so the party again assembled in the cabin, and Julian Arden resumed his narrative.
“As we sat, or rather reposed on the heaps of soft grass,” began Julian Arden, “after finishing our meal, the stranger told me he should like to know something about me; how I came to be mixed up in the French Revolution, and what I intended doing with myself in such a pestiferous climate as Sierra Leone. I merely told him my father was an English gentleman of the name of Arden, and that my mother, some time after his death, was, in a certain measure, forced to marry the Duke de Coulancourt; and then I briefly related how I lost my poor mother and sister, and my own sufferings in prison. I saw the tears in the eyes of the two young girls, and felt flattered by the kind commiseration of both father and daughters.