CHAPTER XXVI.
Julian Arden was unable to continue his narrative, for the corvette had approached so close to the French coast as to require all her commander’s attention to their situation. The Onyx was hove-to till daybreak, and during the night was disguised as much as possible, so as to resemble a French vessel of war. Towards morning the tricolour was hoisted, and the vessel turned her head seaward. They were then about three leagues to the eastward of Havre. It became a fine, clear day, and before noon they beheld a fine French brig running for the port of Havre.
The captain evidently mistook the Onyx for what she was not, for he came unsuspectingly into the jaws of the lion, and when too late endeavoured to fly; but the corvette ran alongside and took possession. The brig had a rich cargo, and had, owing to the fog, escaped the several cruisers to the westward, only to become a prize in sight of her destined harbour.
“This is exactly what we wanted,” said Captain O’Loughlin to Julian Arden; “this craft will furnish you with cash and garments suited to your purpose, and also with papers. We will select these belonging to a young seaman called Lebeau; I have looked them over. He is second mate of this brig; about your age and height. I have ordered a suit of his garments to be brought on board. The brig, with a midshipman and eight hands, I will send across Channel to Portsmouth, and land her crew some miles down along the coast. I will then put you on shore, with a supply of cash, close to Havre, where you say the Château Coulancourt is situated. With your perfect knowledge of French, you will easily pass through the country without suspicion. I shall cruise on and off this coast till I receive orders to go elsewhere. Now, should circumstances arise that might induce you to return on board, you will recognise this corvette, and any kind of signal, should we happen to be within sight, will cause me to send a boat for you.”
Julian Arden warmly thanked the kind-hearted O’Loughlin for his attention, and wish to render him service.
“You are the brother of Sir Oscar de Bracy’s protégé—that’s enough to ensure my services; and if you were not, I should still wish to serve you, now that I have the pleasure of knowing you,” replied the warm-hearted sailor, pressing the young man’s hand.
As he was to be landed the following night, Julian Arden resumed his adventures in the evening.
“We all felt relieved and highly elated on regaining our boat; well aware how difficult would have been the enterprise against John Sinclair and his associates had not the slaves broken their bondage. The cause of all this bloodshed and fury on the part of the slaves, Pompey told us, was the frightful cruelty practised upon them chiefly by John Sinclair. For the slightest offence they were flogged till they fainted, and the night the schooner stranded several tried to escape along with Pompey. In revenge for this, John Sinclair and four of his most hardened associates cruelly flogged and beat the rest, and pinched their flesh with hot pincers, and other cruelties. One of their number contrived to free his hands, and by the most incredible exertions he freed two more, and then all were untied; and setting up a yell of triumph, they broke down the sheds, seized the stakes as weapons, and fell upon their oppressors just at the very moment we happened to arrive. What became of them I know not; the schooner was entirely burned, as well as the negro village. The boat with the seamen put to sea, and were perhaps picked up, or landed farther down the coast.
“We made the best shelter we could for the rescued captives, and the next morning early embarked on the lake, and by night-fall arrived on the banks of the river without accident. The next day we reached the settlement, and were received with shouts of joy and congratulations. Colonel Packenham regained his senses on the restoration of his beloved children, and four or five days’ rest completely restored him; a week afterwards the French ships sailed, and we all returned to the town. The inhabitants commenced at once to repair the damages committed by the French, but, unfortunately, the fever began to show itself and to spread fatally. Many were attacked and died. I had a slight seizure, but soon recovered. Miss Packenham had a severe attack, but, thank God, she recovered. One of Captain Stanhope’s daughters and poor Henry Stanhope, who so bravely helped to rescue the Misses Packenham, fell victims. So deeply anxious became the colonel to leave, that a month afterwards we all embarked in a small English brig that put in from the Cape. She was a slow sailer, and her captain a thorough seaman; but the fates were against us; to avoid falling in with any of the French cruisers, we steered a wide course. After getting a glimpse of the Spanish coast, and just as we were flattering ourselves, and on the eve of sighting the Irish coast, we were chased by a French privateer. Our poor little brig, as I said, sailed like a tub, and on receiving a shot through her mainsail hauled down her colours and backed topsails. The privateer’s boats came alongside, put a prize crew on board, but otherwise behaved extremely well; of course all the colonel’s effects and baggage became plunder, but they offered no insult to the ladies, and left them in possession of the cabin. Colonel Packenham was permitted to remain in the brig, but the captain, myself, and four of the crew were removed into the privateer. I suppressed any mention of my feelings on this untoward conclusion to our voyage; I could only press poor Cherry’s hand—the tears were in her eyes; but her brave, noble father cheered us by his example, and put faith and trust in a merciful Providence who had hitherto protected us through so many trials. The next morning a brig under French colours hove in sight. Captain Eltherme, who commanded the Sanspareil privateer, said to me—
“‘That’s a wolf in a sheep’s skin; that’s an English brig, and too strong for me.’