The Blue Pavilions Part 39

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 p.o.o.p, were to board at once. The men stood ready with their hatchets and cutla.s.ses 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 pa.s.sages 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, cutla.s.s 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 and found himself forced to do what Captain Barker from the first had meant him to do. The four galleys that had started after the convoy were by this time sweeping along on the full tide of success. In another five minutes the pathway to the Thames would be blocked and all the merchant vessels at their mercy.

M. de la Pailletine hoisted the flag of distress. He called them to his help.

A wild hurrah broke out from the crew of the frigate. The order meant their destruction: for how could the Merry Maid contend against six galleys? Yet they cheered, for they had guessed what their captain had in his mind. And the little man's greenish eyes sparkled as he heard.

"Good boys!" he said briefly, turning to his friend. "The convoy is saved, my lad: and O! but Jemmy, you did it prettily!"

V.-The Galley (in the hold).

Let us go back for a minute or two to Tristram.

The oar at which he tugged was one of the starboard tier; and when L'Heureuse missed her stroke, as we have told, it went like a sugar-stick, flinging him and his companions back across the bench. Farther than this they could not fly, because the stout chains which fastened them were but ten feet long. Tristram, indeed, was hurled scarcely so far as the rest, for his seat was the inmost from the gangway, and right against the galley's side; so that he got the shortest swing of the oar.

They scrambled up just as the fire of grape-shot opened. And then Tristram made an appalling discovery.

The hole through which their oar was worked had been split wider by the crash; and now, looking out, he saw that it lay just opposite the mouth of an English cannon. In this position they had been brought up by the frigate's grappling-irons.

It took him but an instant to see also that the cannon, as it stared him in the face, was loaded.

The two vessels, moreover, lay so close that by reaching up with his hand he could have laid his hand on its muzzle.

It was a horrible moment. There were four Frenchmen and a Turk ranged along the bench beside him. He looked into their faces. They were ashen grey to the lips. No one could move to get out of the way: the chains prevented that. The Huguenot was praying wildly. Only the Turk preserved his composure, and even he had turned pale under his bronze skin.

Somebody cried: "Lie flat!"

In a second every one of Tristram's companions had flung himself flat on the bench. Tristram glanced again at the gun. Even at that moment he had enough presence of mind to note that it was pointed downwards, and at such an angle that those who lay flat must infallibly receive all its contents. He noted this even while it seemed that every one of his faculties was frozen up. He felt that he could move neither hand nor foot; and somehow he knew that since, because of the chain, he could not leave the bench, he must sit upright. And so he stiffened his back, laid his hands on his lap, and waited with his eyes on the gun.

Through the port-hole he could see the English gunner. He saw the fuse in his hand. He counted the seconds; wondered, even, how the fellow could be so deliberate. He heard the explosions all around, and speculated. Would the next be his turn? Or the next? Would it be painful? What was the next world like? And would his body be badly mangled?

The gunner had the match ready, when the lad's lips moved and a cry broke from them-a cry which astonished him as he uttered it, for he had no notion that his brain was busy with such matters.

"O! my Father, have pity on my poor soul! I have loved all men and one woman. Give comfort to her, and have mercy on my poor soul!"

As the last word dropped from his lips, a great calm fell upon him and his eyes rested quietly on the gunner's hand as the man set the lighted match to the touch-hole of the gun.

It was night when Tristram opened his eyes again. A pale ray of moonlight slanted across his face. His head was pillowed on something soft and warm. He lay for awhile and stared at the moonlight; and by degrees he made out that it was pouring through a rent in the galley's side. Then he turned his head and lifted himself a little to see what it was on which his head rested. It was the dead body of one of the three overseers, who had been killed almost by the first shot fired by the frigate.

He pulled himself up and crept towards the bench; then put a hand down to his feet. The ring was there, but no chain. Next he felt along the bench with a wish-quite stupid-to get back to his seat. His comrades were still lying on their faces. He imagined for a moment that their foolish fears still held them there and he laughed feebly. He was weak, but felt no pain from any wound, nor suspected that he was hurt.

Then he began to eye the fellows roguishly, taking a malicious pleasure in the continuance of their terror. He t.i.ttered again and suddenly found himself out of patience with them.

"Come, get up-get up! The danger's all over long ago."

He received no answer and put out his hand towards the nearest. It was the Turk-a fellow who had been a janizary, and had the reputation of not knowing what fear was.

"Hullo, Ysouf! Get up, for shame-get up, man! And you-that we called so brave!"

Ysouf lay still. Tristram bent forward and took his hand.

The hand came away from the body. It was icy cold.

Still holding it, Tristram leant back and stared; and as he stared a pettish anger took him. He tossed the hand back on the body. And now for the first time he began to hear; and as this lost sense crept back to him he knew that the place was full of moaning, and that somewhere close feet were trampling to and fro. The noise caused him agony, and he put his two hands to his ears.

He was sitting in this posture when he felt something warm and moist trickle down his body, which was naked to the waist. He took a hand from his ear and put it to his breast. It was all wet, but in the darkness nothing could be distinguished. Suspecting, however, that it must be blood from some wound, and following the smear with his fingers, he found that his shoulder, near the clavicle was pierced right through. There was no pain.

Then he began to feel himself all over, and found another gash in the left leg, below the knee. He searched no more, feeling that it was useless, as he was bound to die in a little while. The men before him and behind him were dead. Of eighteen men on the three benches he-who had been blown the full length of the coursier-was the only one left; and all owing to the explosion of one cannon only. But such was the manner of grape-shot: after the cartouche of powder, a long tin box of musket-b.a.l.l.s rammed in; and as the box breaks, destruction right and left.