In The Day Of Adversity Part 22

"I met her, _mon ami_," he wrote, "entering the gallery of audience at Versailles where I was in attendance, and she looked, although pale, for she wears no paint like the other _grandes dames_--I know not why, since his Christian Majesty expects it----"

"She wore enough when I saw her last!" St. Georges muttered.

"--most beautiful. _Mon Dieu!_ what eyes, what a figure! I knew her only from seeing her pa.s.s in to audience before, while as for me she had never deigned so much as a glance. Yet now, _figurez vous, mon ami_, she spoke to me while waiting for the others to pa.s.s before her.

'I have heard,' she said, speaking very low, 'that you are Monsieur Boussac.' I answered that that was my name. Then, after a glance around to see that no eyes were upon us, she went on: 'You did a service once to an unhappy gentleman--a _chevau-leger_--now dead?'

What she was going to say further I know not, since I interrupted her so by the slight start I gave that she paused in her intention, whatever it may have been, raised her eyes to mine and regarded me fixedly. Then she approached her face nearer to mine and whispered: 'Why do you start? He _is_ dead--is he not?' _Mon ami_, what could I reply? She is the sister, by marriage, of your foe; if I told her you lived, who knows what evil I might work? Therefore, I answered briefly, 'Madame, the _galere_ L'Idole was sunk, and he was in it.'

Still she regarded me, however--_mon Dieu!_ it seemed as though her eyes would tear the secret from out of my brains. Then--for now the throng was moving on and she had to go with it--she whispered again: 'If--if by any hazard--he was not sunk with the galley--if he still lives, there is news for him that would make him happy.' Then she pa.s.sed on with the others, and so out by the main gallery, and I have not seen her since."

There was more in the letter, but at that time St. Georges read no further. Once this news would have stirred every fibre in him, for once he had believed that Aurelie de Roquemaure was his friend--was on his side! He had long ceased, however, to do so; had, instead, come to believe that she and her mother were as inimical to him as their cowardly brother. And long months of meditation had brought him to the belief also that the marquise's scorn against the man who had attacked him and Boussac, and endeavoured to slay the child, was simulated; that they regarded his and Dorine's existence with as much hatred as did De Roquemaure himself. And now, now he felt sure that she knew he was alive and was only eager to discover if he was anywhere near them--near enough to work vengeance on them. As for the news which would "make him happy!"--well, any scheming intriguer might endeavour to hoodwink so simple a soldier as Boussac with such a tale as that!

He was only too thankful Boussac had had sufficient discretion not to betray his existence to her. To have done that would be to have put her and De Roquemaure on their guard against that return to France which should yet be made, against that revenge which should yet be taken.

He opened Sir George's letter now, quietly and without excitement, for he had grown used to occasional communications at long intervals from that gallant sailor, telling him that at present it was not in his power to be of service to him; but as he hastily ran his eye over the lines he uttered an exclamation of delight. They ran:

"Namesake, if you are still of the mind you were, the time has come. There is a big muster at St. Helens, for Tourville puts to sea to invade us. A place shall be found for you, though maybe not in my s.h.i.+p. Hurry, hurry, hurry!"

CHAPTER XXI.

MAY, 1692.

None riding along the Portsmouth road that warm April night could doubt that a great crisis was at hand. Certainly St. Georges did not do so as couriers and messengers galloped past him toward London calling out the news to all who cared to hear it. As he mounted Kingston Vale two men, hastily jumping on their steeds outside "The Baldfaced Stag," cried that they must rouse the queen even, though she be a-bed,[7] for the Frenchman was at sea with an enormous fleet and had been seen in the morning from the coast of Dorset; and all along the route it was the same. Wherever he changed his horse he found couriers setting out for London; whomsoever he pa.s.sed on the road gave him the same news. At Ripley they told him the French had landed under the command of Bellefonds and King James--but these were rustics drinking in a taproom--at Guildford the news was contradicted, but the certainty of the landing taking place shortly was much believed in.

Then, at G.o.dalming, where by now the day had come, he pa.s.sed a regiment marching as fast as might be toward the coast, and the officer in command told him that no landing had yet been effected; at Petersfield he heard the same; at Portsmouth laughter and derision, scorn and contempt were hurled at all who dared even to suppose that a French fleet would put a French army ash.o.r.e. For here, in every inn and tavern, were men who had fought in a score of naval engagements, and who were going out now to fight again. And, as he stood upon the Hard, waiting for a boat to take him off, he observed the vast fleet of sixty-three s.h.i.+ps under Russell's command lying at anchor off the island, and saw from the maintop-gallant-mast head of the Britannia (flags.h.i.+p) the admiral's flag flying. Also on the main shrouds he saw another flag, showing that a council of war was already being held.

There, too, were visible the ensigns of Rooke, Sir Cloudesley Shovell, Sir John Ashley, Sir Ralph Delaval, and Rear Admiral Carter, and as the n.o.ble spectacle met his view his heart beat fast within him. The country that had adopted him was about to help him revenge his wrongs on the country that had sent him forth to stripes and beatings and ignominy.

[Footnote 7: William was fighting on the Continent, and, as usual, being defeated.]

The sh.o.r.e boat made its way through countless others--some filled with officers and their baggage going off to the s.h.i.+ps, some with sailors half drunk, who would, nevertheless, fight to the death when once they boarded the Frenchmen; some with provisions for the fleet; and some with other volunteers like himself, and with, in several cases, girls going off to say farewell to their sweethearts, or with mothers and wives. From most of these boats there rose the babel of scores of different songs and ballads, all telling how when French sailors met English their doom was sealed. Yet at this time, and for about another month, the French held the supremacy of the sea. After that month was over the supremacy was gone forever!

From the Britannia there came away, as St. Georges's boat approached the lines, several barges bearing the admirals and captains who had attended the council of war, and among them St. Georges saw that of Admiral Rooke, who, as he saluted him, made signs for the other boat to follow to his s.h.i.+p.

"Now," said Rooke, after he had greeted St. Georges and complimented him upon his prompt.i.tude in hastening down to the fleet, and also on his improved appearance--for the two years he had pa.s.sed in London had done much to restore his original good looks, and, with the exception that there rested always upon his face a melancholy expression, none would have guessed the sufferings he had once endured--"now let me understand. Therefore, speak definitely and frankly. You have thrown in your lot forever with England."

"Forever," St. Georges replied.

"Without fear of change, eh?" the admiral said. "Remember--recall before we sail to-night--all you are doing. If you fight on our side now, there will be--henceforth--no tie between you and France. That dukedom of which you told me once is gone forever, no matter how clearly you may find your t.i.tle to it. Louis will never forgive the work we mean to do. If you are English to-day--for the next week, the next month--you are English for always."

"I have come down here," St. Georges replied, his voice firm, his words spoken slowly, so that Rooke knew that henceforth his resolution would never be shaken, "to fight on England's side against France.

There will be no wavering! If I fall, I fall an Englishman; if I survive, I am an Englishman for the rest of my life. I renounce my father's people, whomsoever that father may have been, provided he was a Frenchman: I acknowledge only my mother's. Short of one thing--my endeavour to regain my child."

"How is that to be accomplished? If you survive this which we are about to undertake, your life will be forfeited in France."

"It is forfeited already. Remember, sir, I am still, in the eyes of the law of France, a galley slave. That alone is death, or worse than death. In the future when I go, as I intend to go if I live, upon another quest for her I have lost, I shall be in no worse case. Only, then, it will be the halter and not the galleys. So best!"

"Be it so," the admiral replied. "Henceforth you belong to us. Now, this is what I can do for you. Listen. I find there is a place for you here on this very s.h.i.+p. You know something of seamans.h.i.+p from your bitter experiences; as a soldier, also, you understand discipline. The master's mate of this s.h.i.+p was drowned a week ago; you can try the post if you please. And when the campaign is over, it may be that I can find you a better one."

"I accept, with thanks," St. Georges said. "I adopt from to-day your calling. Henceforth I am an English sailor."

"Come, then, and see your captain," Rooke replied; "you will find him a good one, and hating France as much as you can desire."

He followed the admiral to another cabin, where they found the captain, who was Lord Danby--Rooke's flags.h.i.+p being now the Windsor Castle--and here they were made acquainted with each other, though Danby had already heard the history of the man who was coming into his s.h.i.+p.

"I am very glad to see you, sir," he said quietly. "I know your story--at least so far as it concerns me. I only trust you will encounter some of your late friends' galleys and be able to repay them for some of the kindnesses they once testified toward you."

So St. Georges became a sailor once more--though in a very different manner from what he had last been--and as master's mate sailed in the Blue Squadron of Russell's fleet against the French fleet under Tourville.

The Dutch allies were coming in rapidly ere they left St. Helen's and Spithead on the 26th of April, and already of the fleet of thirty-six s.h.i.+ps under Van Almonde many had joined. Their first cruise was, however of no result; they simply picked up their pilots from the Sally Rose, these men having been got from Jersey, and observed that all along the peninsula of Cotentin--where James and Marshal Bellefonds were encamped--great beacons were burning by night. They knew, therefore, that France expected the English fleet. A little later, while once more they lay off Spithead and St. Helen's, they knew that Tourville had put to sea to meet them. Fishermen coming into harbour, spies sent out in various directions, the Sally Rose herself--all brought the news that the French admiral was on the sea--his squadron headed by his own flags.h.i.+p, Le Soleil Royal, and by Le Triumphant and L'Ambitieux, had been seen from Portland cliffs.

The time had come.

On May 18th that great English fleet, formed into two squadrons--the Red commanded by Russell, Delaval, and Cloudesley Shovell, and the Blue by Sir John Ashby, Rooke, and Carter--and followed by the Dutch, stood away from the English coast, their course south and south by west. Swiftly, too, when clear of the Isle of Wight, the line of battle was formed, the Tyger leading the starboard and the Centurion the larboard tacks. And so they sailed to meet the enemy, and to frustrate the last attack of any importance ever made by the French to invade England.

It was not long ere that frustration commenced.

Scouts coming back swiftly on the morning of the 19th reported the enemy in full force near them, and from the Britannia ran out the signal--received with cheers from thousands of throats--to "clear the s.h.i.+ps for action!" And St. Georges, busy with his own work, knew that the time was at hand for which he longed.

To the west there loomed up swiftly the topmasts of the French flags.h.i.+ps; soon the figurehead of Le Soleil Royal was visible--a figurehead representing Louis standing upon his favourite emblem, a great sun, and with the inhabitants of other nations lying prostrate at his feet and bound in chains.

"Behold," said Rooke, as St. Georges pa.s.sed close to him, "your late king! Ah, well! that sun shall set ere long, or----"

His words were drowned in more cheers. From all those English seamen on board the various s.h.i.+ps--nearly thirty thousand men exclusive of the Dutch allies--there rose hurrah after hurrah, as swiftly the opposing forces advanced to meet one another. Then the Britannia saluted the Soleil Royal--a sinister politeness--and from the French flags.h.i.+ps there came an answer in the shape of a discharge of small shot. The battle had begun.

From the English vessels that discharge was answered by broadsides from their great guns: from the Britannia, the Royal Sovereign--Delaval's flags.h.i.+p--those broadsides were poured in with merciless precision.

Moreover, the wind favoured the English foe more than it did the French; their great s.h.i.+ps being enabled to form a circle round their foes and to pour in their fire on either side of them. Already one Frenchman had blown up, hurling her contents into the air; already, too, the Soleil Royal had had her maintopsail shot away by the Britannia; in another moment she had let down her mainsail and was tacking away from her untiring foe. And following her went L'Admirable and Le Triumphant.

"Heavens!" exclaimed St. Georges, as, black and grimed with powder, he worked with the men under his direction at the lower-deck tier of guns in the Windsor Castle, "they run already! Is that the king the world has feared so long--the king I served?"

The French flags.h.i.+p was not beaten yet, however--it was too soon; and though she could not force her way through those enemies which surrounded her, she could still keep them off, prevent them from boarding her. Twice the Britannia and another had endeavoured to lay themselves alongside her for that purpose, but the fire she vomited from her gunports was too hot; like a gaunt dying lioness she made it death to come too near. Yet her struggles were the struggles of despair; already twenty of her squadron had deserted her and, pursued by English vessels, were tearing through the Race of Alderney as fast as their shot sails would take them, in the hopes of reaching the lee of Cotentin. Two alone remained with her--remained to share her fate--the Admirable and Triumphant.

That fate was not yet, however; those three s.h.i.+ps had yet a few hours of existence left to them. Fighting still, still belching forth flames and destruction, they closed together, and so withstood the merciless broadsides of the Britannia and Royal Sovereign; then, at last wounded and shattered--the figure of Louis, his emblem the sun, and the downtrodden representatives of other nations were long since shot away and floating, or sunk, in the sea--a favourable wind sprang up and beneath it they ran, Tourville having already transferred his flag to L'Ambitieux. Yet, fly as they might, behind them came their pursuers as fast as they. Delaval in the Royal Sovereign with a small squadron never halted in the chase. Still pouring volley upon volley from his bow fire into their sterns, he hung upon them, and, when they found they could not enter St. Malo, followed them to Cherbourg.

And here their end came. They had struggled into shoal water, forcing themselves aground in the hope the English men-of-war could not follow them, and rapidly, in a frenzy of fear, the men were casting themselves over the sides and gaining the land. The s.h.i.+ps were doomed they knew, their own lives might still be saved. They were none too soon even for that. The fires.h.i.+ps and attenders were soon among those three. Le Soleil Royal was ablaze first, Le Triumphant next, and then L'Admirable. As the night came on they lit up the coast for miles around; as morning dawned they were burnt to the water's edge. Their own magazines as they took fire a.s.sisted in their destruction and helped by their explosions to finish them.

Meanwhile the remainder of the great French fleet had run for the bay of La Hogue, and behind them, like sleuthhounds, went Russell, Shovell, and Rooke with their squadrons.

CHAPTER XXII.

LA HOGUE.

The sun was setting brilliantly behind the peninsula that juts out into the English Channel and forms the department of La Manche; its last rays as it fell away behind Cherbourg lit up a strange scene. On land, looking east, were thirty thousand so-called French troops; they were, indeed, mostly Irish rapparees whom Louis had thought suitable for an invasion of England under James and his own marshal, Bellefonds; among them and in command were Bellefonds, Melfort, and James himself--now a heartbroken man. Also there stood by his side one who knew that not only his heart but his life was broken too--Tourville, who had now come ash.o.r.e.

What they gazed on in the bay was enough to break the hearts of any.