The Blue Pavilions by Arthur Quiller-Couch (leveled readers .TXT) 📕

M. de la Pailletine was in some respects a weak man. He was impatient. Up to this moment his behaviour in an extremely galling position had been perfect. He had been content to bide his time and had furthered every order issued by his rival with the cheerfullest alacrity.

But when the man at the masthead announced the advance of the merchant fleet, he allowed himself to be tempted and turned to Captain Salt who stood beside him.

"You will follow them, of course?"

"Of course I shall do nothing of the sort. On the contrary, I intend to steer to the south, out of their sight."

"You will fling away this splendid prize?"

"Let me remind you, monsieur, that we are bound for Harwich."

"But this is folly, Captain Salt! Harwich will remain where it is, and we can ravage it at any time. Never again may we have so fine an opportunity of capturing thirty-six merchantmen and a British frigate almost without a blow."

"Excuse me, M. de la Pailletine, but I do not allow my orders to be criticised."

"Then listen to me, sir," retorted the Commodore, his face red with fury, as he drew from his coat the orders which the King had addressed to him. "You see this paper? Very well; I destroy it." He tore it into shreds, and let the pieces flutter over the galley's side.

"Are you aware of what that action means?" Captain Salt was white to the lips.

"I am, sir."

"It is treason."

"You think so, perhaps. But a Frenchman should best know what is due to the King of France. Nevertheless, I shall summon the captains to confirm my action. Will you attend them in my cabin?"

"Thank you; no, sir. I am quite sure that they will support you. It remains to see what his Majesty will say when I report your contempt of his orders."

"That is for the future to decide. Meanwhile be good enough to recollect that I command the squadron from this moment. Should you choose to volunteer, well and good. If not, my cabin is at your disposal as soon as the captains have left it."

He bowed and turned away to summon the captains.

They came in haste, and were, of course, unanimous; though it is difficult to say how far they were influenced by sound argument and how far by pique and a desire to thwart the Englishman. While they sat, Captain Salt remained on deck cursing quietly and examining the approaching enemy with no pleasant stare.

Orders were issued to all the six galleys to attack the fleet. Four were told off against the merchantmen and commanded to make all speed to get between them and the Thames; while L'Heureuse herself and La Merveille (commanded by the Chevalier de Sainte-Croix) were to attack and take possession of the frigate.

Immediately they began to make all possible haste with sails and oars. Captain Salt withdrew to the cabin in dudgeon and M. de la Pailletine took his place. From their benches below the slaves heard his voice shouting out orders right and left, and at once they had to catch up their oars and row. The English fleet when first spied was coming right across their course, and still held on its way when it perceived the Frenchman's intent. In pursuance of this intent the four galleys made off with all speed to place themselves between the merchantmen and the coast, while the Commodore and the Chevalier de Sainte-Croix bore down on the frigate, straight as an arrow.

And now began a hard time for Tristram and his companions below. They tugged and sweated, and presently L'Heureuse began to leap through the water. Above the swish of the long sweeps rose a tumult of oaths, imprecations, outcries, sobs, as the overseers plied their whips, not caring where they struck. Overhead they heard the guns running out, the rolling of shot and trampling of feet, the shouts and replies of officers and men. They could see nothing of the frigate for which they were bound, but from the confusion and hurry expected every moment to feel the shock as the galley's beak drove into her.

Then for a second or two all the noise ceased.

The reason was this. For some little while the frigate held on her course for the mouth of the Thames. Not a sail more did she carry than when she first came in sight. It almost seemed as if her captain had not seen the enemy sweeping to destroy him. For thirty-five minutes she held quietly on beside her convoy. And then the helm was shifted, and she came down straight into the Frenchman's teeth.

It was a gallant stroke, and a subtle—so subtle that M. de la Pailletine mistook its meaning and gave a great shout of joy. He fancied he saw the English delivered into his hand. But his rejoicing was premature.

To begin with, he perceived the next moment that the frigate, by hastening the attack, had caught his galley alone. Into this trap he had been led partly by the excellence of his crew. Not only was his the fleetest vessel of the six, but he had always been jealous to choose the strongest forçats to man it. Moreover, M. de Sainte-Croix had been slow in starting, and by this time La Merveille was a league or more behind her consort.

Still the Commodore was in no way disturbed. He admitted to his lieutenant beside him that the frigate was showing desperate gallantry; but he never doubted for a moment that his galley alone, with two hundred fighting-men aboard, would be more than a match for her.

Down came the Merry Maid, closer and closer, her red-crossed flag fluttering bravely at the peak; and on rushed the galley, until the two were within cannon-shot. M. de la Pailletine gave the order, and sent a shot to meet her from one of the four guns in the prow. As the thunder of it died away and the smoke cleared, he waited for the Englishman's reply. There was none. The frigate held on her course, silent as death.

The two English captains stood on the quarterdeck, side by side, the tall man and the dwarf. Beyond issuing an order or two, neither had spoken a word for twenty minutes. Once Captain Barker glanced over his shoulder to see how the merchantmen were faring, and calculated that within half an hour their enemies would intercept them. Then he looked down on his men, who stood ready by the guns, motionless, with lips set, repressing the fury of battle; and beyond them to the galley as she came, churning the sea, her oars rising and falling like the strong wings of a bird.

"My God!" he said softly, "if only Tristram were here to see!"

When the frigate failed to answer his salute, M. de la Pailletine jumped to a fresh conclusion.

"Mordieu!" he cried, "here is another English captain who, like our friend Salt, is weary of carrying his Sovereign's colours. He doesn't mean to strike a blow. A minute and we shall see his flag hauled down."

But the minute passed, and another, and yet a third, and the English flag still flew.

By this time they were within musket-shot. One by one the four guns had spoken from the galley's prow and still there was no answer. On the brink of the tragedy there was silence for an instant. Then a few of the French musketeers seemed to find this intolerable and fired without receiving the order. Followed a silence again, and still the Merry Maid came on as if to impale herself on the galley's beak.

And then, suddenly, when in five minutes the vessels must have collided, round flew the frigate's wheel. For a minute and a half she fetched up as if awaking to the consequences of her folly; shuddered and shook against the wind; and, as her sails filled again, fetched away on the westerly tack for her life.

For a full two minutes the French were taken aback.

"Fools, fools!" shouted M. de la Pailletine, beside himself with joy.

The order flew for the slaves on the larboard benches to hold water for a minute and the galley's head came round. Nothing gives more spirit than a flying enemy. From mouth to mouth ran the whisper that the English were showing their heels; and in a moment these poor devils, who owed all their misery to France, were pulling like madmen. Jeers rose from the deck.

"If Monsieur the Englishman does not strike within two minutes, down he goes to the bottom."

"The idiot, to expose his stern!"

"On the whole, it is just as well that La Merveille is so far behind. We shall have all the glory to ourselves—eh, my children?"

On board the frigate Captain Barker said four words only:

"Take the wheel, Jemmy."

Captain Runacles stepped to it and the steersman gave place.

In truth the hunchback, though this was his first acquaintance with a galley, knew well enough that she would strike for the frigate's stern as the weakest point. This was precisely what he wished her to do.

Captain Runacles stood with his hand on the wheel and waited, glancing back over his shoulder.

Captain Barker stood by the taffrail with one eye upon the galley and his face turned in profile to his friend. His right hand was lifted.

The Commodore had made all his dispositions. The galley was to plunge her beak straight into the Merry Maid's stern, and its crew, after one discharge of cannon to clear the frigate's poop, were to board at once. The men stood ready with their hatchets and cutlasses and set up a wild yell as they drove straight for her. From below the slaves echoed it with a melancholy wail.

On they tore. As they yelled again, L'Heureuse's beak was but thirty yards from her prey. A few more leaps and it would strike.

"One—two—"

The little man looked back in their faces and smiled.

"Three—four—five—"

He dropped his hand. Quick as lightning Captain Jerry spun the wheel round. The stern swung sharply off, her sea-way gauged to a nicety.

The next moment the galley flew past. Her beak, missing the stern, rushed on, tearing great splinters out of the Merry Maid's flank. Her starboard oars snapped like matchwood, hurling the slaves backwards on their benches and killing a dozen on the spot. Then she brought up, helplessly disabled, right under the frigate's side.

And then at length the English cheer rang forth. In an instant the grappling-irons were out and the frigate held her foe, clasped, strained close against her ribs, close under her depressed guns.

And at length, too, with a blinding flash and a roar, those English guns spoke. A minute had done it all. Sixty seconds before the gallant vessel had lain apparently at the Frenchman's mercy. Now the Frenchman was fastened inextricably, while the crowd upon deck stood as much exposed as if the galley were a raft.

Down swept the grape-shot, tearing ghastly passages through them. They were near enough to be scorched by the flame of it. Down and across it rent them, as they crouched and fought with each other to get away and hide. There was no hiding. Before the breath of it they went down in rows, strewing the deck horribly, mangled, riddled, blown in miserable pieces.

In a trice, too, the English masts and rigging were swarming with musketeers and sailors who poured hand-grenades among them like hail, scattering wounds and death. The Frenchmen no longer thought of attacking. Such was the panic among officers as well as common men that they were incapable even of resistance. Scores who were neither killed nor wounded lay flat on their faces, counterfeiting death and hoping to find safety.

This carnage lasted, perhaps, for less than five minutes. L'Heureuse's consort was still near upon a league behind, and the other four galleys were still busily chasing the merchantmen.

Captain Barker looked and was well content. But he had much work still before him, and to do it properly he must husband his ammunition.

He gave the order to board. Forty or fifty men dropped over the Merry Maid's side, cutlass in mouth, and rushed along the galley's deck, hewing down all who ventured to oppose them and sparing only the slaves, who made no resistance. At last, and merely by the weight of numbers, they were driven back. But this did the Frenchmen no good. Instantly the frigate opened fire again and murdered them by scores.

It was in this extremity that M. de la Pailletine cast his eyes around