Chapter Forty Seven.
I am sent away after prizes and meet with a hurricane—Am driven on shore, with the loss of more than half my men—Where is the “Rattlesnake?”
In three weeks we were again ready for sea, and the admiral ordered us to our old station off Martinique. We had cruised about a fortnight off St. Pierre’s, and, as I walked the deck at night, often did I look at the sights in the town, and wonder whether any of them were in the presence of Celeste, when, one evening, being about six miles off shore, we observed two vessels rounding Negro Point, close in-shore. It was quite calm, and the boats were towing ahead.
“It will be dark in half-an-hour, Peter,” said O’Brien, “and I think we might get them before they anchor, or if they do anchor, it will be well outside. What do you think?”
I agreed with him, for in fact I always seemed to be happier when the brig was close in-shore, as I felt as if I was nearer to Celeste; and the further we were off, the more melancholy I became. Continually thinking of her, and the sight of her after so many years’ separation, had changed my youthful attachment into strong affection. I may say that I was deeply in love. The very idea of going into the harbour, therefore, gave me pleasure, and there was no mad or foolish thing that I would not have done, only to gaze upon the walls which contained the constant objects of my thoughts. These were wild and visionary notions, and with little chance of ever arriving at any successful issue; but at one or two-and-twenty, we are fond of building castles, and very apt to fall in love, without considering our prospect of success. I replied that I thought it very possible, and wished he would permit me to make the attempt, as, if I found there were much risk, I would return.
“I know that I can trust you, Peter,” said O’Brien, “and it’s a great pleasure to know that you have an officer you can trust but hav’n’t I brought you up myself, and made a man of you, as I promised I would, when you were a little spalpeen, with a sniffling nose, and legs in the shape of two carrots? So hoist out the launch, and get the boats ready—the sooner the better. What a hot day this has been—not a cat’s-paw on the water, and the sky all of a mist. Only look at the sun, how he goes down, puffed out to three times his size, as if he were in a terrible passion. I suspect we shall have the land breeze off strong.”
In half-an-hour I shoved off with the boats. It was now quite dark, and I pulled towards the harbour of St. Pierre. The heat was excessive and unaccountable; not the slightest breath of wind moved in the heavens, or below; no clouds to be seen, and the stars were obscured by a sort of mist; there appeared a total stagnation of the elements. The men in the boats pulled off their jackets, for after a few moments’ pulling, they could bear them no longer. As we pulled in, the atmosphere became more opaque, and the darkness more intense. We supposed ourselves to be at the mouth of the harbour, but could see nothing—not three yards a-head of the boat. Swinburne, who always went with me, was steering the boat, and I observed to him the unusual appearance of the night.
“I’ve been watching it, sir,” replied Swinburne, “and I tell you, Mr Simple, that if we only know how to find the brig, that I would advise you to get on board of her immediately. She’ll want all her hands this night, or I’m much mistaken.”
“Why do you say so?” replied I.