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The Wing and Wing by J. Fenimore Cooper

J >> J. Fenimore Cooper >> The Wing and Wing




"Halloo, Captain Rule!" called out Ithuel, "you are wrong there. Let the
boat lie where it is, and it will answer a better turn than another
breastwork. The English will scarcely fire through their own wounded."

The look that Raoul cast toward his auxiliary was fierce--even
indignant; but, disregarding the advice, he motioned for his own men to
obey the order he had already given them. Then, as if mindful of
Ithuel's importance, his late timely succor, and the necessity of not
offending him, he walked to the side of the islet nearest to the
felucca, and spoke courteously and cheerfully to him whose advice he had
just treated with indifference, if not with disdain. This was not
hypocrisy, but a prudent adaptation of his means to his circumstances.

"_Bon, brave Etooelle_," he said, "your bags of bullets were welcome
friends, and they arrived at the right moment."

"Why, Captain Rule, in the Granite country we are never wasteful of our
means. You can always wait for the white of Englishmen's eyes in these
affairs. They're spiteful devils, on the whull, and seem to be
near-sighted to a man. They came so clus' at Bunker Hill, our folks--"

"_Bon_," repeated Raoul, feeling no wish to hear a thrice-told tale gone
through again, Bunker Hill invariably placing Ithuel on a great horse in
the way of bragging; for he not only imagined that great victory a New
England triumph, as in fact it was, but he was much disposed to
encourage the opinion that it was in a great measure "granite." "_Bon_,"
interrupted Raoul--"Bunkair was good;--_mais, les Roches aux Sirens_ is
bettair. If you have more_ de ces bulles_ load _encore_.

"What think you of this, Captain Rule?" asked the other, pointing up at
a little vane that began to flutter at the head of one of his masts.
"Here is the west wind, and an opportunity offers to be off. Let us take
wit, and run!"

Raoul started, and gazed at the heavens, the vane, and the surface of
the sea; the latter beginning to show a slightly ruffled surf ace. Then
his eye wandered toward Ghita. The girl had risen from her knees, and
her eyes followed his every movement. When they met his, with a sweet,
imploring smile, she pointed upward, as if beseeching him to pay the
debt of gratitude he owed to that dread Being who had as yet borne him
unharmed through the fray. He understood her meaning, kissed his hand in
affectionate gallantry, and turned toward Ithuel, to pursue the
discourse.

"It is too soon," he said. "We are impregnable here, and the wind is
still too light. An hour hence, and we will all go together."

Ithuel grumbled; but his commander heeded it not. The judgment of the
latter had decided right. The boats were rallying within musket-shot,
indifferent to the danger, and it was evident the attack was to be
renewed. To have attempted to escape at such an instant would have been
throwing away the great advantage of the ruins, and might have
endangered all, without benefiting any one.

In point of fact, Sir Frederick Dashwood had become keenly alive to a
sense of the disgrace he was likely to incur, in the event of the ships'
getting round, and robbing him of the credit of capturing the lugger.
The usually apathetic nature of this young man was thoroughly aroused,
and, like all who are difficult to excite, he became respectable when
his energies were awakened. The boats were already collected; all the
disabled were put into one of them, and ordered off to the ships; and
with those that remained arrangements were made to renew the attempt.
It was fortunate that Cuffe had sent an expedition so strong-handed;
for notwithstanding the loss, the three launches and the cutters could
still muster double the number of the French.

This time, Sir Frederick was willing to listen to counsel. Winchester,
McBean, Griffin, and Strand united in advising that the boats should
separate, and make their assaults from different points. This would
prevent the possibility of a recurrence of so concentrated a disaster as
that which had already befallen them. To the Scotchman was assigned the
felucca; the Terpsichore's launch was to assail the lugger; while the
two cutters and the heavier boat of the Proserpine were to dash in at
the ruins. Sir Frederick still remained in his own gig, to push for the
point that might seem to require his presence.

McBean was the first to fire on this occasion. He threw a round-shot
from his carronade into the felucca, aimed by himself, and directed with
care. It fell upon one of Ithuel's carronades, broke it into a dozen
pieces, knocked down no less than three men, besides injuring others
less severely, and actually drove the gun it struck off its slide into
the felucca's hold. This was a rough commencement, and the result being
seen by all hands it greatly encouraged the assailants. Three hearty
English cheers followed, and Ithuel was so far disconcerted as to fire
the remaining gun, loaded as before with bullets, at least two minutes
too soon. The sea was thrown into a foam, but not a man in the boats was
hurt. Then the fire became general, gun after gun exploding; the
rattling of small-arms filling up the pauses. The boats came on with
steady, strong pulls of the oar, and this too with an impunity that
often happens, though difficult to be explained. Several shot fell among
the ruins, knocking the stones about, and for a minute or two all the
injury was on one side. But Pintard and Ithuel felt the security
conferred by the rocks in their front, and each endeavored to give one
effective discharge. Ithuel succeeded the best He repaid McBean in his
own coin, sending a grist of bullets into the bows of his launch, which
admonished that prudent officer of the necessity of shearing toward the
islet of the ruins. Pintard's assailant was brought up by the barrier in
front, and turned aside also. Then, in the midst of a cloud of smoke,
shouts, curses, cries, shrieks, orders, and the roar of guns, all the
English precipitated themselves in a body on the principal post, and
became the masters of the battery in the twinkling of an eye.



CHAPTER XXIX.

"Thus doth the ever-changing course of thing!
Run a perpetual circle, ever turning;
And that same day, that highest glory brings,
Brings us to the point of back returning."

DANIEL,

In scenes like that just related, it is not easy to collect details. All
that was ever known, beyond the impetuous manner of the assault in which
the ruins were carried, was in the dire result. Half the French on the
islet were weltering in their blood, and the surface of the rocks was
well sprinkled with enemies who had not been more fortunate. It had been
a desperate onset, in which mortification increased natural intrepidity,
which had been nobly resisted, but in which numbers had necessarily
prevailed. Among the English slain was Sir Frederick Dashwood himself;
he lay about a yard from his own gig, with a ball directly through his
head. Griffin was seriously hurt, but Clinch was untouched, on the low
rampart, waving an English Jack--after having hauled down a similar
emblem of the French. His boat had first touched the rock, her crew had
first reached the ruin, and, of all in her, he himself had taken the
lead. Desperately had he contended for Jane and a commission, and this
time Providence appeared to smile on his efforts. As for Raoul, he lay
in front of his own rampart, having rushed forward to meet the party of
Clinch, and had actually crossed swords with his late prisoner, when a
musket-ball, fired by the hands of McBean, traversed his body.

"_Courage, mes braves! en avant!_" he was heard to shout, as he leaped
the low wall to repel the invaders--and when he lay on the hard rock,
his voice was still strong enough to make itself heard,
crying--"_Lieutenant--nom de Dieu--sauve mon Feu-Follet!"_

It is probable that Pintard would not have stirred, even at this order,
had not the English ships been seen, at that instant, coming round
Campanella, with a leading westerly wind. The flap of canvas was audible
near by, too, and turning, he saw the Michael falling off under her
foresail, and already gathering steerage-way. Not a soul was visible on
her decks, Ithuel, who steered, lying so close as to be hid by her
waist-cloths. The hawsers of the lugger were cut, and le Feu-Follet
started back like an affrighted steed. It was only to let go the brails,
and her foresail fell. Light, and feeling the breeze, which now came in
strong puffs, she shot out of the little bay, and wore short round on
her keel. Two or three of the English boats attempted to follow, but it
was idle. Winchester, who now commanded, recalled them, saying that it
remained for the ships to perform their task. The day had been too
bloody, indeed, to think of more than securing the present success, and
of attending to the hurt.

Leaving the party on the islets for a moment, we will follow the two
vessels in their attempt to escape. Pintard and his companions abandoned
Raoul with heavy hearts, but they plainly saw him prostrated on the
rocks, and by the hand placed on his side understood the desperate
nature of his wound. Like him, they felt some such interest as one
entertains for a beloved mistress in the fate of the lugger, and the
words--"_sauve mon Feu-Follet!_" were ringing in their ears.

As soon as the lugger got round, she set her after-sail, and then she
began to glide through the water with the usual knife-like parting of
the element under her bows. The course she steered took her directly out
of the bay, seeming to lead across the forefoots of the English ships.
Ithuel did not imitate this manoeuvre. He kept more away in the line for
Paestum, rightly enough believing that, in the greedy desire to overtake
the lugger, his own movement would pass unheeded. The owner of this
craft was still on board the Terpsichore; but every remonstrance, and
all the requests he made that his own vessel might be followed and
captured, were utterly unheeded by the lieutenant now in command. To
him, as to all others in authority, there seemed to be but one thing
desirable, and that was to secure the lugger. Of course none yet knew of
the fatal character of the struggle on the rocks, or of the death of the
English leader; though the nature of the result was sufficiently
understood by seeing the English Jack flying among the ruins, and the
two vessels under weigh, endeavoring to escape.

The season was now so far advanced as to render the old stability of the
breezes a little uncertain. The zephyr had come early, and it had come
fresh; but there were symptoms of a sirocco about the barometer and in
the atmosphere. This rendered all in the ships eager to secure their
prize before a shift of wind should come. Now that there were three fast
vessels in chase, none doubted of the final result; and Cuffe paced the
quarter-deck of the Proserpine, rubbing his hands with delight, as he
regarded all the propitious signs of the times.

The Ringdove was ordered by signal to haul up south-southwest, or close
on a wind, with a view to make such an offing as would prevent the
possibility of the lugger's getting outside of the ships, and gaining
the wind of them; an achievement Cuffe thought she might very well be
enabled to accomplish, could she once fairly come by the wind under
circumstances that would prevent any of his vessels from bringing her
under their guns. The Terpsichore was directed to run well into the bay,
to see that a similar artifice was not practised in that direction;
while the Proserpine shaped her own course at the angle that would
intercept the chase, should the latter continue to stand on.

It was an easy thing for the French to set all their canvas, the hamper
of a lugger being so simple. This was soon done; and Pintard watched the
result with intense interest, well knowing that everything now depended
on heels, and ignorant what might be the effect of her present trim on
the sailing of his beautiful craft. Luckily some attention had been paid
to her lines, in striking in the ballast again; and it was soon found
that the vessel was likely to behave well. Pintard thought her so light
as to be tender; but, not daring to haul up high enough to prove her in
that way, it remained a matter of opinion only. It was enough for him
that she lay so far to the west of south as to promise to clear the
point of Piane, and that she skimmed along the water at a rate that bade
fair to distance all three of her pursuers. Anxious to get an offing,
however, which would allow him to alter his course at night in more
directions than one, he kept luffing, as the wind favored, so as
sensibly to edge off the land.

As the two chases commenced their flight quite a mile to the southward
of the ships, having that much the start of them on account of the
position of the rocks, it rendered them both tolerably free from all
danger of shot at the beginning of the race. The course steered by
Ithuel soon placed him beyond their reach altogether; and Cuffe knew
that little would be gained, while much might be lost, in making any
attempt of this sort on the lugger. Consequently not a gun was fired;
but the result was thrown fairly on the canvas and on the sailing of the
respective vessels.

Such was the state of things at the beginning of this chase. The wind
freshened fast, and soon blew a strong breeze; one that drove the ships
ahead under clouds of studding-sails and staysails--the latter being
much used at that period--at the rate of quite ten knots the hour. But
neither gained on le Feu-Follet. The course was by no means favorable to
her, the wind being well on her quarter; still, she rather gained than
was gained on. All four vessels went off rapidly to the southward, as a
matter of course; nor was it long before they were to leeward of the
felucca, which had both shortened sail and hauled up to the eastward, as
soon as Ithuel felt satisfied he was not to be followed. After a
sufficient time had elapsed, the Holy Michael tacked, and came out of
the bay, crossing the wake of the Terpsichore just beyond gunshot. Of
course, this manoeuvre was seen from the frigate; and the padrone of the
felucca tore his hair, threw himself on the quarter-deck, and played
many other desperate antics, in the indulgence of his despair, or to
excite sympathy: but all in vain; the lieutenant was obstinate, refusing
to alter tack or sheet to chase a miserable felucca, with so glorious an
object in full view before him as the celebrated lugger of Raoul Yvard.
As a matter of course, Ithuel passed out to sea unmolested; and it may
as well be said here that in due time he reached Marseilles in safety,
where the felucca was sold, and the Granite-seaman disappeared for a
season. There will be occasion to speak of him only once again in
this legend.

The trial of speed must soon have satisfied Pintard that he had little
to apprehend from his pursuers, even with the breeze there was. But
circumstances favored the lugger. The wind hauled materially to the
northward, and before the sun set it enabled the French to run off
wing-and-wing, still edging from the land. It now began to blow so
heavily as to compel the ships to reduce their light canvas. Some time
before the night set in, both frigates and the sloop were under
maintopgallant-sails only, with topmast and lower studding-sails on each
side. Le Feu-Follet made no change. Her jigger had been taken in, as
soon as she kept dead away, and then she dashed ahead, under her two
enormous lugs, confident in their powers of endurance. The night was not
very dark; but it promised to carry her beyond the vision of her
pursuers even before eight bells, did the present difference in
sailing continue.

A stern chase is proverbially a long chase. For one fast vessel to
outsail another a single mile in an hour, is a great superiority; and
even in such circumstances, many hours must elapse ere one loses sight
of the other by day. The three English ships held way together
surprisingly, the Proserpine leading a little; while le Feu-Follet might
possibly have found herself, at the end of a six hours' chase, some four
miles in advance of her, three of which she had gained since keeping
off, wing-and-wing. The lightness of the little craft essentially aided
her. The canvas had less weight to drag after it; and Pintard observed
that the hull seemed to skim the waves, as soon as the sharp stem had
divided them, and the water took the bearings of the vessel. Hour after
hour did he sit on the bowsprit, watching her progress; a crest of foam
scarce appearing ahead, before it was glittering under the lugger's
bottom. Occasionally a pursuing sea cast the stern upward, as if about
to throw it in advance of the bows; but le Feu-Follet was too much
accustomed to this treatment to be disturbed, and she ever rose on the
billow, like a bubble, and then the glancing arrow scarce surpassed the
speed with which she hastened forward, as if to recover lost time.

Cuffe did not quit the deck until the bell struck two, in the middle
watch. This made it one o'clock. Yelverton and the master kept the
watches between them, but the captain was always near with his advice
and orders.

"That craft seems faster when she gets her sails wing-and-wing than she
is even close-hauled, it seems to me, Yelverton," observed Cuffe, after
taking a long look at the chase with a night-glass; "I begin to be
afraid we shall lose her. Neither of the other ships does anything to
help us. Here we are all three, dead in her wake, following each other
like so many old maids going to church of a Sunday morning."

"It _would_ have been better, Captain Cuffe, had the Ringdove kept more
to the westward, and the frigate further east. Fast as the lugger is
with her wings spread, she's faster with them jammed up on a wind. I
expect every moment to find her sheering off to the westward, and
gradually getting us in _her_ wake _on_ a wind. I fear we should find
that worse work than even this, sir."

"I would not lose her now, for a thousand pounds! I do not see what the
d--l Dashwood was about, that he did not secure her when he got
possession of the rocks. I shall rattle him down a little, as soon as
we meet."

Cuffe would have been shocked had he known that the body of Sir
Frederick Dashwood was, just as that moment, going through the
melancholy process of being carried on board a two-decker, up at Naples,
the captain of which was his kinsman. But he did not know it, nor did he
learn his death for more than a week; or after the body had
been interred.

"Take the glass, Yelverton, and look at her. To me she grows very
dim--she must be leaving us fast. Be careful to note if there are any
signs of an intention to sheer to the westward."

"That can hardly be done without jibing her forward lug--hang me,
Captain Cuffe, if I can see her at all. Ah! here she is, dead ahead as
before, but as dim as a ghost. I can barely make out her canvas--she is
still wing-and-wing, d--n her, looking more like the spectre of a craft
than a real thing. I lost her in that yaw, sir--I wish you would try,
Captain Cuffe--do my best, I cannot find her again."

Cuffe did try, but without success. Once, indeed, he fancied he saw her,
but further examination satisfied him it was a mistake. So long had he
been gazing at the same object, that it was easy for the illusion to
pass before his mind's eye, of imagining a dim outline of the little
lugger flying away, like the scud of the heavens, wing-and-wing, ever
seeming to elude his observation. That night he dreamed of her, and
there were haply five minutes during which his wandering thoughts
actually portrayed the process of taking possession, and of manning
the prize.

Previously to this, however, signals were made to the other ships,
ordering them to alter their courses, with a view to meet anticipated
changes in that of le Feu-Follet. Lyon was sent to the westward, the
Terpsichore a little easterly, while the Proserpine herself ventured so
far as to steer southwest, after two o'clock. But a sudden and violent
shift of wind came an hour before day. It was the expected--nay, the
announced--sirocco, and it brought the lugger to windward beyond all
dispute. The south breeze came strong from the first puff; and, while it
did not amount to a gale until the afternoon of the next day, it blew
heavily, in squalls, after the first hour.

When the day dawned, the three ships were out of sight of each other.
The Proserpine, which we shall accompany, as our old acquaintance, and
an actor in what is to succeed, was under double-reefed topsails, with
her head up as high as west-southwest, laboring along through the
troughs of the seas left by the late Tramontana. The weather was thick,
rain and drizzle coming in the squalls, and there were moments when the
water could not be seen a cable's-length from the ship; at no time was
the usual horizon fairly visible. In this manner the frigate struggled
ahead, Cuffe unwilling to abandon all hopes of success, and yet seeing
little prospect of its accomplishment. The lookouts were aloft, as
usual, but it was as much for form as for any great use they were likely
to be, since it was seldom a man could see further from the cross-trees
than he could from the deck.

The officers, as well as the men, had breakfasted. A species of sullen
discontent pervaded the ship, and the recent kind feelings toward Raoul
Yvard had nearly vanished in disappointment. Some began to grumble about
the chances of the other ships falling in with the lugger, while others
swore "that it mattered not who _saw_ her; _catch_ her none could, who
had not an illicit understanding with the Father of Lies. She was well
named the Jack-o'-Lantern; for Jack-o'-Lantern she was, and
Jack-o'-Lantern would she ever prove to be. As well might a false fire
be followed in a meadow, as such a craft at sea. They might think
themselves fortunate if the officers and-people sent against her in the
boats ever got back to their own wholesome ship again."

In the midst of such prognostics and complaints; the captain of the
foretop shouted the words "Sail ho!" The usual inquiry and answer
followed, and the officers got a glimpse of the object. The stranger was
distant half a league, and he was seen very indistinctly on account of
the haze; but seen he _was_.

"'Tis a xebec," growled the master, who was one of the grumblers of the
day--"a fellow with his hold crammed with a wine that would cover the
handsomest woman's face in Lunnun with wrinkles."

"By Jupiter Ammon!" Cuffe exclaimed, "'tis le Feu-Folly, or I do not
know an old acquaintance. Quartermaster, hand me the glass--not that,
the shorter glass is the best."

"Long or short, you'll never make _that_ out," muttered the master. "The
Folly has more folly about her than I give her credit for, if _we_ get
another look at her this summer."

"What do you make of him, Captain Cuffe?" Yelverton eagerly demanded.

"Just what I told you, sir--'tis the lugger--and--I cannot be
mistaken.--Aye, by Jove, she is coming down before it, wing-and-wing,
again! That's her play, just now, it would seem, and she does not appear
to have got enough of it yet."

An attentive look satisfied Yelverton that his commander was right. Even
the master had to confess his error, though he did it ungraciously and
with reluctance. It was the lugger, of a certainty, though so dimly seen
as to render it difficult at moments, to trace her outlines at all. She
was running in a line that would carry her astern of the frigate about a
mile, and she was rather more than thrice that distance to windward.

"She cannot see us," said Cuffe, thoughtfully, "Beyond a doubt she
thinks us to windward, and is endeavoring to get out of our
neighborhood. We must get round, gentlemen, and now is a favorable
moment. Tack ship, at once, Mr. Yelverton--I think she'll do it."

The experiment was made, and it succeeded. The Proserpine worked
beautifully, and Yelverton knew how to humor her to a nicety. In five
minutes the ship was round, with everything trimmed on the other
tack;--close-reefed mizzen, and double-reefed fore and maintop-sails--a
reefed mainsail, with other sails to suit. As she was kept a rap full,
or a little off, indeed, to prevent the lugger from slipping past, she
might have gone from five to six knots.

The next five minutes were intensely interesting to the people of the
Proserpine. The weather became thicker, and all traces of le Feu-Follet
were lost. Still, when last seen, she was wing-and-wing, flying rather
than sailing down toward their own track. By Cuffe's calculation, the
two vessels would nearly meet in less than a quarter of an hour, should
neither alter her course. Several guns were got ready, in preparation
for such a rencontre.

"Let the weather hold thick a few minutes longer, and we have her!"
cried Cuffe. "Mr. Yelverton, you must go down and see to those guns
yourself. Plump it right into her, if you're ordered to fire. The fellow
has no hamper, and stripping him must be a matter of pure accident. Make
it too hot for him on deck, and he'll have to give up, Raoul Yvard or
the d--l!"