Back Aa

Peter Simple

Close

<h3>Chapter Forty Five.</h3> <h4>Some remarkable occurrences take place in the letter of marque—Old friends with improved faces—The captor a captive; but not carried away, though the captive is, by the ship’s boat—The whole chapter a mixture of love, war, and merchandise.</h4> We had had possession of the vessel about an hour, when the man who was sentry over the hatchway told me that one of the prisoners wished to speak with the English commanding officer, and asked leave to come on deck. I gave permission, and a gentleman came up, stating that he was a passenger; that the ship was a letter of marque, from Bordeaux; that there were seven lady passengers on board, who had come out to join their husbands and families; and that he trusted I would have no objection to put them on shore, as women could hardly be considered as objects of warfare. As I knew that O’Brien would have done so, and that he would be glad to get rid of both women and prisoners if he could, I replied, “Most certainly;” that I would heave-to, that they might not have so far to pull on shore, and that I would permit the ladies and other passengers to go on shore. I begged that they would be as quick as possible in getting their packages ready, and that I would give them two of the boats belonging to the ship, with a sufficient number of French seamen belonging to her to man the boats. The Frenchman was very grateful, thanked me in the name of the ladies, and went down below to impart the intelligence. I then hove-to, lowered down the boats from the quarters, and waited for them to come up. It was daylight before they were ready, but that I did not care about; I saw the brig in the offing about seven miles off, and I was well clear of the batteries. At last they made their appearance, one by one coming up the ladder, escorted by French gentlemen. They had to wait while the packages and bundles were put into the boats. The first sight which struck them with horror was the many dead and wounded Englishmen lying on the decks. Expressing their commiseration, I told them we had attempted to take the privateer and had been repulsed, and that it was coming out of the harbour that I had fallen in with their ship and captured it. All the ladies had severally thanked me for my kindness in giving them their liberty, except one, whose eyes were fixed upon the wounded men, when the French gentleman went up to her, and reminded her that she had not expressed her thanks to the commanding officer. She turned round to me—I started back. I certainly had seen that face before—I could not be mistaken; yet she had now grown up into a beautiful young woman. “Celeste,” said I, trembling. “Are you not Celeste?” “Yes,” replied she, looking earnestly at me, as if she would discover who I was, but which it was not very easy to do, begrimed as my face was with dust and gunpowder. “Have you forgotten Peter Simple?” “O! no—no—never forgot you!” cried Celeste, bursting into tears, and holding out her hands. This scene occasioned no small astonishment to the parties on deck, who could not comprehend it. She smiled through her tears, as I told her how happy I was to have the means of being of service to her. “And where is the colonel?” said I. “There,” replied she, pointing to the island; “he is now general, and commands the force in the garrison. And where is Mr O’Brien?” interrogated Celeste. “There,” replied I; “he commands that man-of-war, of which I am the second lieutenant.” A rapid exchange of inquiries took place, and the boats were stopped while we were in conversation. Swinburne reported that the brig was standing in for us, and I felt that in justice to the wounded I could no longer delay. Still I found time to press her hand, to thank her for the purse she had given me when I was on the stilts, and to tell her that I had never forgotten her, and never would. With many remembrances to her father, I was handing her into the boat, when she said, “I don’t know whether I am right to ask it, but you could do me such a favour.” “What is it, Celeste?” “You have allowed more than one-half of the men to pull us on shore; some must remain, and they are so miserable—indeed it is hardly yet decided which of them are to go. Could you let them all go?” “That I will, for your sake, Celeste. As soon as your two boats have shoved off, I will lower down the boat astern, and send the rest after you; but I must make sail now—God bless you!” The boats then shoved off, the passengers waving their handkerchiefs to us, and I made sail for the brig. As soon as the stern-boat was alongside, the rest of the crew were called up and put into her, and followed their companions. I felt that O’Brien would not be angry with me for letting them all go; and especially when I told him who begged for them. The vessel’s name was the Victorine, mounting fourteen guns, and twenty-four men, with eleven passengers. She was chiefly laden with silks and wine, and was a very valuable prize. Celeste had time to tell me that her father had been four years in Martinique, and had left her at home for her education; and that she was then coming out to join him. The other ladies were all wives or daughters of officers of the French garrison on the island, and the gentlemen passengers were some of them French officers; but as this was told me in secrecy, of course I was not bound to know it, as they were not in uniform. As soon as we had closed with the brig, I hastened on board to O’Brien, and as soon as a fresh supply of hands to man the boat, and the surgeon and his assistant had been despatched on board of the prize, to superintend the removal of the wounded, I went down with him into the cabin, and narrated what had occurred. “Well,” said O’Brien, “all’s well that ends well; but this is not the luckiest hit in the world. Your taking the ship has saved me, Peter; and I must make as flourishing a despatch as I can. By the powers but it’s very lucky that she has fourteen guns—it sounds grand. I must muddle it all up together, so that the admiral must think we intended to cut them both out—and so we did, sure enough, if we had known she had been there. But I am most anxious to hear the surgeon’s report, and whether poor Osbaldistone will do well. Peter, oblige me by going on board, and put two marines sentry over the hatchway, so that no one goes down and pulls the traps about; for I’ll send on shore everything belonging to the passengers, for Colonel O’Brien’s sake.” The surgeon’s report was made—six killed and sixteen wounded. The killed were, O’Farrel and Pepper, midshipmen, two seamen, and two marines. The first lieutenant, Osbaldistone, was severely wounded in three places, but likely to do well; five other men were dangerously wounded; the other ten would, in all probability, return to their duty in less than a month. As soon as the wounded were on board, O’Brien returned with me to the prize, and we went down into the cabin. All the passengers’ effects were collected; the trunks which had been left open were nailed down: and O’Brien wrote a handsome letter to General O’Brien, containing a list of the packages sent on shore. We sent the launch with a flag of truce to the nearest battery; after some demur it was accepted, and the effects landed. We did not wait for an answer, but made all sail to join the admiral at Barbadoes. The next morning we buried those who had fallen. O’Farrel was a fine young man, brave as a lion, but very hot in his temper. He would have made a good officer had he been spared. Poor little Pepper was also much regretted. He was but twelve years old. He had bribed the bowman of the second cutter to allow him to conceal himself under the foresheets of the boat. His day’s allowance of spirits had purchased him this object of his ambition, which ended so fatally. But as soon as the bodies had disappeared under the wave, and the service was over, we all felt happier. There is something very unpleasant, particularly to sailors, in having a corpse on board. We now sailed merrily along, the prize keeping company with us; and, before we reached Barbadoes, most of the men were convalescent. Osbaldistone’s wounds were, however, very severe; and he was recommended to return home, which he did, and obtained his promotion as soon as he arrived. He was a pleasant messmate, and I was sorry to lose him: although—the lieutenant appointed in his room being junior to me—I was promoted to be first lieutenant of the brig. Soon after Osbaldistone went home, his brother broke his neck when hunting, and Osbaldistone came into the property. He then quitted the service. We found the admiral at Barbadoes, who received O’Brien and his despatch very well. O’Brien had taken two good prizes, and that was sufficient to cover a multitude of sins, even if he had committed any; but the despatch was admirably written, and the admiral, in his letter to the Admiralty, commented upon Captain O’Brien’s successful and daring attack; whereas, if the truth had been known, it was Swinburne’s advice of pulling up the weather shore, which was the occasion of our capturing the Victorine; but it was very hard to come at the real truth of these sort of things, as I found out during the time that I was in His Majesty’s service. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2