THE SAILOR HERO;
OR,
THE FRIGATE AND THE LUGGER

THE SAILOR HERO,
OR,
THE FRIGATE AND THE LUGGER.
BY
CAPTAIN F. C. ARMSTRONG,
AUTHOR OF “THE CRUISE OF THE DARING,” “THE TWO MIDSHIPMEN,”
“THE MEDORA,” “THE YOUNG COMMANDER,” ETC.

LONDON:
WARD, LOCK, AND TYLER,
WARWICK HOUSE PATERNOSTER ROW.

LONDON:
B. C. BARRETT, ROUPELL STREET, BLACKFRIARS.

THE SAILOR HERO;
OR,
THE FRIGATE AND THE LUGGER.

CHAPTER I.

The war with France had just commenced. Vice-Admiral Lord Hood hoisted his flag on board the Victory, of one hundred guns; and, with the English fleet under his command, sailed from Spithead.

Amongst the many midshipmen on board the Victory, were two youths, who will occupy prominent places in our story;—one, William Thornton, our intended hero, was at this period between sixteen and seventeen years of age, and was known on board the Victory as the Admiral’s protégé. He was a high-spirited and generous youth, and had, thus early in life, distinguished himself on several occasions, and was a general favourite; but all that was known of his parentage was, that his supposed father had been formerly Lord Hood’s favourite coxswain, and that the Admiral had taken him on board the Victory as one of his midshipmen. Henry Howard Etherton, the other, the younger son of a wealthy baronet, was nearly two years older than William Thornton, but unlike him in every respect, except, perhaps, in personal appearance. He was well-looking, tall, and of gentlemanly manners; he had served two years in another ship, had been four years the schoolfellow of William Thornton; and when he left the school, which he did before William, it was with a feeling of bitter hatred against his schoolfellow, and for no better reason than that he excelled him in mental acquirements, and bodily exercises.

The meeting of the two youths on board the Victory was a surprise to both.

William Thornton was, as we have said, a general favourite, but especially with a fine young fellow, named Saunders, a top-man, whose life he had saved under very trying circumstances.

Howard Etherton took especial care to circulate all he knew of young Thornton’s antecedents. He stated that he passed at school as the son of Lord Hood’s coxswain; but it was doubtful whose son he was; some one had paid his schooling and other expenses munificently, but that it was too bad to have as a comrade in the midshipmen’s berth one of so doubtful, or at all events, of so low an origin.

Only some of Howard’s cronies and toadies listened to these spiteful stories; the officers, perhaps, heard, but gave no heed to them, for the young midshipman was a noble-looking boy, singularly powerful and tall for his age.

One day nearly all the midshipmen happened to be assembled together in their berth, when one of their number, a stout youth of eighteen, who was noted for his envious disposition, took up a large book, like an account book, saying—

“Gentlemen, I wish to ask your attention for a moment.”

Then, turning to William Thornton, he continued, with a serious countenance:—

“In this book, Master Thornton, we enter the names of our fathers and mothers, as well as of our sisters, provided we have any. Now, ours are all down; pray oblige me with your father’s name, and also your mother’s maiden name, if you remember such a personage.”

William Thornton fixed his dark, expressive eyes upon the speaker with a most unmitigated expression of contempt; but with perfect self-control, said,—

“You cannot suppose, Master Joshua Dykes, that I am quite so green as to listen seriously to your nonsense. You have been put up to this intended insult by Howard Etherton, who knows remarkably well that I have the misfortune not to know who my parents were; therefore you are weak and silly enough to get this trash up for the express purpose of provoking me; but——”

“Oh, by St. Peter’s toe! and that’s a brass one,” exclaimed a loud, manly voice, the speaker at the moment entering the midshipmen’s berth, “give us your hand, William; I’ll be your father and mother, and, faith, your grand-mother too, if you’re in want of one; you’re a broth of a boy, and have shown us what pluck and heart can do. Now, if any of these sky-larking lubbers bother you again with their balderdash, by the powers of Moll Kelly, I’ll tache them better manners. Hark ye, my lads! my name, as you all know, is Patrick O’Loughlin, and, as far as I know, I never had a father or mother; but look at this (and clenching his hand, he tucked up his sleeve, and stretched out an arm capable of felling an ox); there, this has been my father and mother, and, faith, a whole host of relations beside; it has made me third lieutenant of the Victory; and that’s what I call being a father and mother. Now if any of you want to be better acquainted with William Thornton’s father and mother, he can show you just such another fist and arm, and is quite willing to give you a taste of it, to establish his parentage; and now, William, come with me; I want to have half-an-hour’s chat with you.”

Most of the mids burst into a hearty laugh, taking the Lieutenant’s words good-humouredly, for he was greatly loved by all the officers and crew of the ship. Howard Etherton and two others, his special cronies, sneered, though they evidently did not admire Lieutenant O’Loughlin’s father and mother.

William Thornton and Lieutenant O’Loughlin sat down in the latter’s berth, with a bottle of light wine and some biscuits before them.

“Now tell me, William,” said the kind-hearted Lieutenant, “all you know about yourself. You promised to tell me. We have an idle hour now—to-morrow may see us in action.”

“Most willingly, dear friend,” replied our hero. “I have no desire to conceal any part of my history, and least of all from you; so now listen to a very short yarn, and then you will know as much as I do myself.

“I was reared in a cottage at Deal, by one of the kindest and most generous of men, and whom I honour and love as a fond father. He was once coxswain to Lord Hood, but, having lost a leg and an arm in the service, now lives upon a pension. Shortly after his retirement, he was left a comfortable annuity, and persuaded a sister of his—a widow in poor circumstances—to live with him, purchased a pretty cottage on the sea-coast near Walmer, where I grew up till I was eight years old.

“I was then sent to one of the best seminaries in the county, where I first met Howard Etherton. I remained at school till I was fourteen years old, when I returned to my supposed father’s cottage. He told me I was going to serve His Majesty as a midshipman. I was delighted. One evening the old tar, who was never so happy as when relating sea-yarns, said, ‘Bill, my lad, I’ll spin you a yarn; mix my grog—there, you’re bountiful with the water—sit quiet and listen, for it consarns you.

“‘I was aboard the Quebec, 36-gun frigate,’ began the old tar, ‘commanded by as brave a fellow as ever trod a deck. We were cruising off Ushant, with the Rambler cutter in company. It was the month of October, in the year 177—, we fell in with a large frigate to the sou-west of Ushant, and she had a smart cutter cruising in company. Well, we were soon hammering away at it, and kept it up for three mortal hours. Our decks were slippery with blood, our masts all gone, and our sails, lying over the guns, caught fire, and soon after we blew up, with our colours flying, and—the Lord be merciful to us!—our captain, and most of our crew were hurled into the air.

“‘I can’t say how I got out of her; all I remember is that I found myself struggling in the water amid a mass of rigging and spars. I was finally picked up and carried on board the French frigate Surveillante, where I found several of my shipmates. We were treated with the greatest kindness, by order of the dying commander, who also desired that we should be put aboard the first neutral vessel they came across, for we had fought gallantly and nobly, and it was not our fault that the ship blew up.

“‘The French frigate had suffered awfully; her masts, sails, and rigging were cut to pieces, and her crew half killed and wounded. We were permitted to walk about the deck. I could speak a little of their lingo, and some of them spoke ours.

“‘One morning I saw a little boy, not much more than two years old, toddling about the ship’s deck, and, to my surprise, I heard him speak some words in English to one of the men.

“‘“You may parley-vous to that little chap in your own language,” said one of the sailors, seeing me caress the child—for I was always soft-hearted, and the child took to me at once. “How did he come here?” asked I.

“‘“Why,’ said the Frenchman, “about ten days before we fought your frigate, in a heavy gale we ran down a ship in the night; we put out our boats, though it did blow a treble-reefed-topsail breeze, but all we could see was the long boat, and all that we found inside of it was that child, wrapped up in a heap of blankets. The poor little thing was half dead with wet and cold.” That’s all I could learn, but the man said, and I could see it, “that the child was sure to be a gentleman’s son, his little garments were so costly and handsome.”

“Well, after a time jury-masts were rigged and we made way; but a gale drove the frigate ashore on Gros Point, to the lee of Isle Dieu. A scene of terrible confusion ensued, in the midst of which, I, with eight comrades, got off in one of the boats. I took the child with me, for I loved it, and it was English. The next day we were picked up by the ——, 74, commanded by Rear-Admiral Hood, who was proceeding to join the fleet under Admiral Rodney. We were all glad, of course, to join that ship, and be under so gallant and brave a seaman.

“‘The child became the pet of the ship, he throve like a young bantam, and crowed like one whenever he heard a gun fired.

“‘The admiral called me to the quarter-deck, and desired me to say how I came by the child, and I did so. Before I left the ship I became his coxswain, and, to finish my yarn,’ said Bill Thornton, finishing his grog, ‘I now tell you you are the child so strangely found on board the Surveillante.’

“You may imagine my emotion, O’Loughlin, when I heard this, and how I blessed and caressed the dear old man for the love he had bestowed upon me.

“Now this is all I have to tell you, dear friend; I went to sea shortly after in the —— frigate as midshipman, and in the course of two years was appointed to this ship through the interest Bill Thornton had with his old commander. The admiral knows I am the same child that used to toddle about the quarter-deck of the —— 74, when he commanded her, and thus probably feels an interest for me from the peculiarity of my introduction on board his ship, and his esteem for his old and favourite coxswain.”

“Here’s your health, my lad,” said the Lieutenant, tossing down a full glass, “and here’s my hand; I’ll be a second father to you. I’m five-and-twenty, and upon my conscience it appears to me I have lived fifty years, or I was in some other person’s skin before I got sewed up in this, I’ve been so knocked about in this world. We are in a glorious service, and if we have luck, why, by St. Patrick, we may advance to be admirals by the time we get to seventy!”

CHAPTER II.

In the month of August the British fleet, under Lord Hood, arrived before the port of Toulon. Two commissioners from the Royalist party came on board the Victory, to treat for the surrender of the port and shipping to the British. William Thornton’s favorite companion amongst the mids was a youth named Charles Pole, a fine spirited lad of his own age. They were leaning over the bulwarks, gazing at the boats rowing aboard with the two commissioners, and then a look was cast at the bold high land of Cape Cesi, and the entrance to the noble gulf of Toulon.

“I wish they would commence hammering away at those grim looking forts on the heights,” said Charles Pole to his comrade, “I’m tired of doing nothing.”

“Il dolce far niente,” said William Thornton, “the Italian’s supreme delight, that and serenading his lady love by the light of a bright moon.”

“Oh! wait a bit, my beauties,” said O’Loughlin, joining them, “you won’t talk of the dolce far niente in a day or two, for it’s all up with negotiations. We shall have those grim forts talking to us shortly, and faith, I’m longing myself to have a bout with those republican bloodhounds.”

O’Loughlin was right in his conjectures. Lord Hood, in great perplexity as to the intentions of the royalist party, resolved upon the hazardous experiment of sending an officer into the town to ascertain how matters stood, being aware that Rear-Admiral St. Julian with the bulk of the French fleet sided with the Republicans.

This perilous expedition was confided to the judgment and courage of Lieutenant Edward Cooke, who was to select a midshipman to accompany him.

“Take Thornton, Cooke,” said O’Loughlin, “that’s the lad for the work; as courageous as a lion and as cool as a lettuce. Do you remember how he behaved in the affair off Cadiz? If you come back safe, which I predict you will, it will be a feather in his cap.”

“The very one I would have selected,” said Lieutenant Cooke; “but he’s too young to run the gauntlet through the French fleet; it’s almost a pity.”

To the great delight of Thornton he was selected.

“I think,” said Howard Etherton, with a malicious grin, and giving his chum Dykes a poke in the ribs, “I think we shall be one less in our mess by this time to-morrow. I suppose he will leave his kit to you, Pole?”

“I hope he will live to break your head yet,” said Charles Pole, with a look of contempt as he walked on.

“Thank you, Master Pole; we shall not forget that,” bawled out Howard Etherton.

A remarkably fast gig was selected to take the Lieutenant and his young companion, and eight picked men, Saunders, the top-man, being one of them. It was ten o’clock at night when the gig left the side of the ship. It was blowing very fresh, and, considering the time of year, extremely dark. Our hero was steering.

“Now, William,” said the Lieutenant, “keep her away for the high land, yonder; and when we come abreast of the ships, steer boldly right into the midst of them.”

After entering the harbour, our hero could see the light on the dockyard pier plain enough; and he knew from drafts and maps every inch of the outward and inner harbour, whilst the Committee-General were aware of the intended attempt to communicate with them.

The boat flew through the water, under the strokes of eight vigorous oarsmen, and passed close under the stern of a huge hundred-and-twenty-gun ship, which they knew was the Commerce de Marseilles. There were eighteen or more ships moored in two lines, with a considerable space between, through which the light boat was impelled rapidly, and without even a challenge from any of the ships. It was evidently taken for one of their own boats. William Thornton steered steadily for the jetty, which was known to be in the hands of the royalist party. In a few minutes they were alongside the pier, which was crowded with persons of all grades and denominations, the soldiers on duty finding it almost impossible to keep them back. A naval officer came to the side of the boat, and addressed Lieutenant Cooke, saying—

“You have done a daring feat, monsieur; and, fortunately, you have succeeded. I am desired to let you know that until to-morrow morning you cannot land. It would be dangerous.”

“Very good,” said Lieutenant Cooke. “We can pass the rest of the night in our boat-cloaks.”

“Wine and refreshments,” continued the officer, “shall be sent to you for yourself and men; and I pray you, monsieur, not to feel aggrieved at this delay; it is unavoidable.”

Ere half-an-hour had elapsed a large hamper was handed on board the boat, and then they were told to pull off from the jetty, and make fast to one of the buoys, which they did.

“Come my lads,” said Lieutenant Cooke, “rip up the hamper, and let us feel the contents if we can’t see them; we shall not require light to appease our hunger.”

William Thornton was delighted with the excitement of the affair. They could hear the various sounds from the interior of the town; loud shouts and cries, and all the noises attending the assembly of a number of people in the street; but all was perfectly quiet within the dockyard and basin. Not a boat passed in or out, and the crowd, a while back standing on the jetty, were all put outside the gates, and only the sentries remained, walking backwards and forwards on their watch.

The hamper contained a dozen of wine, a couple of fowls, and a ham, with abundance of bread.

“Well, by Jove, William, this is not bad; I suppose you expected a mess of frogs, or some other outlandish dish, eh?”

“I prefer the half of a fowl, I confess,” returned our hero, pulling out his knife to commence operations; “though frogs may not be such a bad dish as we may imagine.”

“Oh, confound their frogs!” said the Lieutenant, drawing a cork out of one of the bottles. “By Jupiter! there’s neither cup nor glass of any kind.”

“Here’s a horn, your honour,” said one of the men; “I brought it, thinking it might serve a turn somehow if we got anything better than water.”

“You’re a thoughtful man, Saunders,” said the Lieutenant; “hand it here,” and giving it a rinse first with water and then with wine, he filled himself a bumper and tossed it off. “Good Bordeaux, by Jove! and no mistake. Come, these fellows know what’s good.”

“There’s a row in the town, Mr. Cooke,” said the midshipman; “you can hear them rioting very distinctly.”

“Those cursed, bloodthirsty Republicans trying to cut the throats of the Royalists, I suppose,” returned the Lieutenant; “and that’s the reason they would not let us land during the tumult. We shall have to remain here till to-morrow night, as we cannot attempt to pass the ships in the broad daylight.”

Telling the men to help themselves to the remains of the fowl and ham, and letting them have a couple of bottles of wine between them, a regular watch having been set, the Lieutenant and midshipman wrapped themselves up in their boat-cloaks, and reclined on the thwarts, conversing together till they dropped off into a short slumber. William Thornton slept an hour or two, and then, waking, sat up; the Lieutenant was fast asleep, and so were the men, excepting the two that kept watch. The night was still extremely dark, but as our hero sat gazing over the dark water, looking at the huge dismasted hulls of some unfinished war vessels, he thought he heard at a little distance a splashing in the water, like a person swimming.

“Do you see anything in the water, right ahead, Saunders?” asked the midshipman to one of the watch, stooping down low as he spoke, and looking along the surface of the water.

“I thought as how I heard a noise, sir,” said the man; “and I think I see a dark object moving towards us.”

“So do I now,” returned William Thornton; “it is a man swimming. Hush! do not make a noise, one man cannot hurt us.”

Bill Saunders put down the boat-stretcher he had taken up with the laudable intention of hitting the swimmer over the head, and the next moment a man swam up alongside, stripped all to his drawers, holding up his hand and requesting them to make no noise. He seized the gunnel of the boat, and Saunders and the other men being roused helped him in. The heeling over of the boat rolled Lieutenant Cooke off the thwart, who immediately sprang up, saying—

“Hollo, William! what’s in the wind now?”

Our hero told him that a man had swum alongside with a letter in his cap for the English officer, and that they had taken him on board. Fortunately, both Lieutenant Cooke and Thornton spoke French fluently.

“Well, monsieur,” said the Lieutenant, looking at the Frenchman in the dim light, and taking the letter, “I cannot read this till daylight; tell me, if you please, what it is about, and what has induced you to incur so great a risk.”

“I have undertaken this adventure, monsieur,” returned the stranger, “to serve a most persecuted lady, a countrywoman of yours, and of high rank in this country. She is even now concealed in the vaults of a house in the Rue Province. She escaped from the fearful massacres of Lyons in a miraculous manner, even when brought out with her young daughter to be shot, by order of that infernal monster Collet de Herbois.”

Lieutenant Cooke and the midshipman listened to the stranger’s account with considerable interest, and no little surprise. Our hero had lent the stranger his boat-cloak, and given him a small quantity of brandy, and Lieutenant Cooke then said—

“May I ask, monsieur, who you are, that have so generously perilled your life to serve this lady?”

“I was, monsieur, the intendant of the husband of Madame la Duchesse, her second husband, who alas! perished with many other loyal noblemen in defending his unfortunate king. Her first husband was an English gentleman of the name of Arden, perhaps you may know the name, the Duchess’s daughter is by her first husband.”

“The Ardens are an old and wealthy family,” said Lieutenant Cooke; “but I do not know them. I should be delighted to serve this unfortunate lady and her daughter, but you see, I am now employed upon a most important mission, and dare not depart from my instructions, or take part in any private affair. Nevertheless, some effort must be made to rescue this lady; but could she not trust herself to the Royalist party in Toulon; they are strong, are they not?”

“No, in truth, monsieur, they are not, as I fear the result will show. Madame la Duchesse is, I am satisfied, closely sought after. She trusted herself to the Royalists of Lyons, and would, but for my assistance, have perished. Once known to in be Toulon, she would be sacrificed long before she could be got on board the British fleet.”

Lieutenant Cooke thought for a moment and then said—

“To-morrow morning I am to meet the Committee-General, respecting the surrender of the town and ships. If the town is given up, madame and her daughter will be instantly placed in safety. But as this may not happen, could not you, monsieur, conduct this young gentleman,” putting his hand on the midshipman’s shoulder, “to-morrow morning to where madame is concealed? He may be able, by conversing with her, to plan some method of getting her and her daughter to the sea-shore of the outer harbour by to-morrow night, for we cannot leave in the day-time, and thus, as we pass out, we may be enabled to take them on board.”

“That is a very good idea of yours, monsieur,” said the Frenchman; “therefore, if this young gentleman comes on shore to-morrow morning, I will secretly watch for his landing, and as you all proceed through the streets to the Committee-General’s, I will contrive to attract his attention; then if he will follow me at a short distance, I will introduce him to madame.”

“Very good,” said William Thornton, “I will keep a sharp look-out for you, and if you hold up your hand it will be sufficient.”

“How far have you to swim?” questioned Lieutenant Cooke.

“Not very far, monsieur,” said the stranger; “there is no boom across the basin, and once outside, I land where I left my garments.”

The Frenchman thanked the Lieutenant for his courtesy, slipped over the side, and noiselessly made his way through the still waters of the basin, and was soon lost to sight.

CHAPTER III.

After the departure of the Frenchman, Lieutenant Cooke and William Thornton commented upon what they had just heard.

“I forgot to ask the stranger,” remarked the Lieutenant, “the lady’s present title; he called her Madame la Duchesse. Her former name, at all events, was Arden.”

“I dare say,” said the midshipman, “the note he presented will explain, and perhaps give some further particulars of her situation.”

“True, I forgot the note; there will be daylight in another hour, its getting grey to the eastward. A terrible scene this poor lady and her child must have witnessed in Lyons,” continued the lieutenant; “the atrocities committed there by that fiend, Collet de Herbois, exceeds all human belief. The wretch found the guillotine too slow for his bloodthirsty soul; he had the unfortunate people of Lyons actually shot down by cannon, loaded with grape shot, hundreds at a time. He even undermined the streets, and blew up the houses with gunpowder,[1] tied his victims to trees, and shot them down like wild beasts. In five months this detestable monster slaughtered six thousand persons.”

“What extraordinary infatuation!” exclaimed our hero. “I can scarcely understand human beings becoming so suddenly seized with such a thirst for blood.”

Lieutenant Cooke, finding the daylight rapidly increasing, became curious to examine his letter. It was addressed in a female handwriting—

“TO THE ENGLISH OFFICER IN COMMAND OF THE VICTORY’S
BOAT.”

Opening the letter, he read its contents in a low voice to William Thornton.

“Sir,—Hearing that a boat from the British Admiral’s ship was lying in the dock basin, inspired me with the hope of being rescued from the perilous situation in which, with my daughter, I am placed. I am native of England, and the widow of the late Duke de Coulancourt. My first husband, the father of my little girl, was the Honourable James Somers Arden. My anxious desire is, if possible, to get on board one of the British ships, hoping thus to be able to reach England. If, therefore, any assistance can be rendered me, I shall for ever pray for the welfare of those to whom my gratitude will be due. You may implicitly trust Monsieur Jean Plessis, the bearer of this; he can give you every information.

“Anne Coulancourt,
née De Bracy.”

“Well, William, you must do your best, and try and see this poor lady and her little girl,” said Lieutenant Cooke. “If they could manage to get on the beach to the eastward of the shipping, along which we pass to get clear of the harbour, we might readily pick them up. I do not know the locality myself, but Monsieur Plessis, I dare say, knows how to get them there. Now let us pull in for the quay, I see a number of persons assembled; and there goes a signal for us. Be very cautious, William, how you act. Get back to the boat as soon as you can; Saunders will keep a good look out for you, and haul off from the quay till he sees either you or me. Now, my lads,” added the Lieutenant, “pull in for the pier.”

On reaching the pier, they found the Commissioners and several other naval officers in full uniform, waiting to receive them. As Lieutenant Cooke leaped on shore, followed by our hero, two of the Commissioners advanced and offered many apologies for leaving them in their boat all night. The tumultuous assemblies in the town was the cause. Breakfast was prepared for them in a mansion near the dock gates, after partaking of which they would conduct Lieutenant Cooke before the constituted authorities to hear his proposals. Accordingly, they all went through the dock gates, a vast concourse of people of the very lowest grade was assembled outside, and various cries and violent vociferations saluted their ears. There were royalists and republicans, Jacobins and Girondists, all furious and excited; nevertheless, they proceeded unmolested to the house where breakfast was prepared for them; after which, accompanied by more than twenty gentlemen and officers, Lieutenant Cooke arrived at the chamber where the Commissioners sat awaiting them.

“Be cautious, and take care of yourself, William,” whispered the Lieutenant, as the midshipman dropped into the rear without being particularly noticed, for the crowd rushed eagerly after Lieutenant Cooke, and his escort, Thornton, walked quietly on, attired in a plain jacket and trousers, without any marks of a naval uniform on them; his dirk he left in the boat purposely, but he carried a brace of small pistols in his pockets.

As the crowd rushed on, William Thornton found himself proceeding up a narrow street, when he suddenly felt a hand laid upon his arm. The man who had touched him passed on, but turning round, looked him in the face with a peculiar expression on his features.

“That is our friend of last night,” thought the midshipman, and he followed him at a little distance. The man presently turned down a deserted side street, for almost the entire population of the town were assembled before the hall where the Committee-General sat; an intense state of excitement existing, for it was then known that General Castenau, the fierce Republican General, was before Marseilles, and this created a fearful panic amongst the royalists, and a source of fiend-like rejoicing with the bloodthirsty Republicans. Following the stranger through several bye-streets, he suddenly dived beneath an arch, making a sign to our hero to be quick after him. William Thornton did not delay, and passing under the arch he found himself in a very small court, with his guide standing before the door of an apparently deserted house.

“This is fortunate, monsieur,” said the man, “the streets, you see, are totally deserted; no one, I think, saw us enter this court.”

Unlocking the door, they traversed a dark, damp passage. Pushing open a side door, they entered a small room, totally unfurnished, the light being admitted through a half-open shutter.

“Please to stay here a few minutes, monsieur,” said Jean Plessis; “I will get madame up from the vaults into another room, where she usually stays when I am in the house to watch. When I am absent, she and her daughter keep below; their place of concealment would not be easily discovered.”

“Poor lady!” said William Thornton; “what a state for one of her rank to live in. But are there not many Royalist families in the town not forced to live in such a state of concealment?”

“Yes,” said Jean Plessis, “but there is only one Duchesse of Coulancourt. Collet de Herbois would give ten thousand francs for her head. There are many of his spies here, who will soon track me. There will be more blood spilt here than even in Lyons.”

He then departed.

“That is very odd,” thought the midshipman. “With a magnificent British and Spanish fleet before the town, surely, if the Admiral pleases, he could take the town and fort at any time, and drive these horrid Republicans into the sea.”

William Thornton was a young reasoner; he did not know that there were wheels within wheels in politics; that, with the finest fleet in the world, it was sometimes the policy of ministers to do nothing with it. As it turned out, however, the fleet did get possession of the fort and the town, but only to abandon it and its wretched inhabitants afterwards, to one of the most fearful massacres on record.

Our hero remained waiting for the return of Jean Plessis, wondering in his heart how the unfortunate Duchesse de Coulancourt and her daughter could dwell in so desolate and unwholesome a place.

In less than half-an-hour the Frenchman returned, saying:—

“I am sorry to have kept you, young gentleman, in so dismal a chamber; but madame is now ready to receive you. Please to follow me.”

Our hero followed Jean Plessis through two or three dismal corridors and chambers, till, opening a door, he ushered him into a room partly furnished. There were two windows to the apartment, but only the top part of the shutters was kept open. As he entered the chamber—a little bashful, perhaps, for he was but seventeen, and but little accustomed to female society—he perceived a lady in deep mourning rise from a chair and advance to meet him; but he was more surprised when, instead of a fair young girl, as he expected to see, he observed a slight, fragile boy, with a pale and very thin face, but with eyes dark, large, and lustrous. He appeared about twelve years of age, and stood leaning against the high-backed chair of his mother.

The Duchess slightly started as she gazed up into the handsome, expressive features of the midshipman. For a moment she appeared to be reflecting, as if some past transaction was recalled by his presence.

“Ah!” said the lady, in French, speaking in a low voice, “he is young, very young;” but then, looking up, with a sweet smile on her pale but very beautiful features, she said, in English:—

“Pardon me, young gentleman, instead of wondering at your youth, I ought to have expressed my gratitude at seeing one so young willing to incur so much risk in his desire to befriend a perfect stranger.”

“But nevertheless, madame,” said the young sailor, “a countrywoman. Lieutenant Cooke, my superior officer, would most willingly have come in my place, but that he was forced to attend a most important meeting with the Royalist committee. He, however, bade me say that any assistance he can offer you, will be a pleasure, and that perhaps you, madame, would be able to point out to me how that assistance can be rendered.”

The Duchesse de Coulancourt seemed to reflect for a few moments, during which time our young midshipman had an opportunity of regarding her features and person, and also that of the young boy, looking so earnest and pensive beside her. The Duchess was tall, graceful in figure, and, though exceedingly pale and thin, her features were beautifully formed. Like the boy, her eyes were black, large, and expressive; with luxuriant black hair; and in years, as well as he could judge, not more than five or six-and-thirty. The boy was of a slight figure, dressed in the tunic and vest then worn by boys of his age; he had the same fine features as the mother, but his excessive thinness and pallor gave him a consumptive appearance, which was only relieved by the singularly expressive look about the eyes, and the beautifully marked eyebrows.

“I have been thinking all the morning,” said the Duchess, rousing herself from her thoughts, “how to act in the painful and trying situation in which I am placed; for no human power could save me were I recognised, or known to be living in this town. Not even to the Royalist party would I venture to show myself, unless, indeed, the British Admiral ultimately gains possession of the town. My chief desire is to secure the safety of my beloved daughter. Come hither, Mabel. I have disguised her, as you see, like a boy. Poor child! she is so attenuated by fretting, confinement, and various other privations, that she appears a mere shadow.”

Madame Coulancourt turned, and took her disguised daughter by the hand, the child’s pale face slightly flushed as she saw that William Thornton’s dark eyes were fixed upon her, with an expression of deep interest and surprise. The midshipman thought her plain, even with her large speaking eyes.

The Duchess sighed, and the tears ran down her cheeks as she kissed her daughter’s forehead, and then taking her hand, she said:—

“Mabel, this young gentleman will be a brother to you. Pray what is your name?” she added, as our hero took the little hand in his, and stooped and kissed her forehead, with the dark hair cut close all round, like a boy’s. “I know not how it is, but I feel a strange spirit of prophecy creeping over me, that tells me you will serve this poor child, who is, as it were, alone in the world. You have a strong likeness, young sir, to some one I dearly loved; but memory is almost dead within me. You will protect my child, I know you will!”

“On my soul, madame,” returned William Thornton, with his eyes kindling with all the fire and romance of his enthusiastic disposition—“on my soul, madame, I will do all I can; willingly peril life if necessary to be of service to you or this dear little girl.”

The child pressed his hand to her lips, and her eyes full of tears were lifted to his, as she said:—

“And Mabel will always be a sister to you, and love you with all her heart.” Prophetic words to her, which were never forgotten. “I had a brother once,” she added; and shuddering she said in a low broken voice, “but they killed him.”

Madame Coulancourt drew her daughter towards her; she was weeping, but, checking her feelings and her painful remembrances of terrible moments, now passed, she looked up, saying;—

“It is wrong thus to waste valuable time, by giving way to recollections of events that cannot be recalled. This morning I made up my mind how to act, after consulting with Monsieur Jean Plessis. This faithful friend of my unfortunate husband saved my life and my child’s life, risking not only his own existence, but the safety of a wife and child dear to him. He was Monsieur le Duke’s intendant and then mine; but he is a man of good family, and at one time had considerable property; but, like many alas! in this land, stripped of all—of everything—save his noble devotion to me and mine. He procured these garments for my little girl, and agreed with me in my intention of confiding her to the care of the English officer, who was expected from the Admiral’s ship. Dressed thus, she may more easily pass through the town with you and thus gain the boat, and to-night Monsieur Plessis says he is pretty certain he will be able to get me disguised to the beach of the outer harbour, where there is a ruined quay that juts out into the sea; and where, as you row along the shore in your boat, you may be able to take me in without attracting observation. Still I prefer my little girl going with you, because I am sure it will ensure her escape from this land of misery. Whereas a few hours hence—nay, the very result of the meeting now taking place—may rouse a furious bloodthirsty mob into sedition and outrage, for there are a hundred of the followers and spies of the atrocious Collet de Herbois in the town at this moment, leading the easily excited lower order into revolutionary excesses.”

“Your daughter will be quite safe in the boat, madame,” said the midshipman earnestly, “and I know that every protection will be afforded her when we reach the Victory. Perhaps, madame, if you make the attempt you will succeed in getting safely to the boat now, whilst the mass of the people surround the council chamber.”

“No! no!” said the Duchess sadly, “the risk of being recognised in broad daylight by some of the spies of De Herbois would be too great. Ah! young sir, if you only knew a hundredth part of the horrors and sufferings this dear child and I went through whilst in the power of those monsters who rule this once fair land, you would, like us, shudder at the very idea of again falling into their hands. Attired as my child is, she will escape notice walking by your side, whereas should an agent of De Herbois recognise me, we should be both lost.”

Madame Coulancourt then rose and took from a table a casket, closing the lid as she placed it beside our hero, and locking it with a very peculiar key. It was a work of foreign manufacture, and beautifully clasped with silver, chased.

“I wish you, also, Master Thornton,” continued Madame Coulancourt, “to take charge of this casket; for should it be the will of Heaven that I should be unable to rejoin my child—”

“Ah, mamma!” passionately interrupted the young girl, throwing her arms round her mother’s neck, and weeping violently, “what words are those? No! no! I will not leave you; whatever peril you incur, your own Mabel will share it with you, and you shall not hear me murmur.”

“But, my beloved child,” said the mother soothingly, “even Jean Plessis himself says he would not be able to take us both to-night to the beach. You could not surmount the difficulties of the way. Besides, your presence would render us remarkable going through the gates; he has only a pass for two.”

Thus the mother soothed her little girl, showing her how necessary it was for the salvation of both that she should put herself under the care of the young midshipman. After a time Mabel Arden allowed herself to be persuaded.

William Thornton also talked to and soothed the child; and she looked so confidingly on him, and appeared to feel his kindness to her so much, that he vowed in his heart to suffer death sooner than Mabel should be injured whilst under his care.

“I was saying,” said the Duchess, rewarding our hero with a sweet affectionate smile, “that I wish to confide this casket to your charge till we meet again. In it there are important letters and papers respecting my daughter and her relatives in England, who will at once acknowledge and receive her. There are also a few jewels of value, and money; but I trust in God we shall be able to join you to-night in the boats. At what hour do you suppose you will leave the dock basin?”

“Perhaps, after ten o’clock, madame. It was very dark last night, when we passed through the shipping; and, as there is no moon, it will be nearly as dark to-night; or at all events, it will be only star-light. You ought, madame, to be provided with a dark lantern to show a light when your hear the noise of our oars, as we row along shore.”

“No doubt Jean Plessis will provide one,” said Madame de Coulancourt; “but you will remember the ruined quay; he says you cannot mistake the spot, as it is the only erection of the kind on that line of beach. I trust I am not detaining you too long,” said the Duchess; “I have now said all I have to say; so come, my beloved child, embrace me once more, and then I will confide you to the care of your young protector, whom may God prosper and preserve!”

Mabel threw herself into her mother’s arms; again and again she kissed her passionately, whilst the tears streamed down both mother’s and daughter’s cheeks.

William Thornton was considerably affected at witnessing the suffering the separation caused Mabel and the Duchess. He spoke some kind and assuring words to the little girl, and what he said appeared to abate her grief. Madame de Coulancourt then put a boy’s cloak over her shoulders, and a cap on her head, and then summoned Jean Plessis, who kept watch without. This faithful friend of the Duchess de Coulancourt was a tall and highly respectable-looking man, in years, scarcely forty, with a fine and expressive countenance. For several moments he conversed with our hero, respecting the place at which they were to meet that night; he described the inner and outward harbour accurately, and the best way for Lieutenant Cooke to steer on leaving the basin that night, and then covering the casket with a cloth cover, William Thornton took it under his care, remarking to himself that it was, for its size, uncommonly heavy.

“I shall go on before you, monsieur,” said Jean Plessis, “till I bring you in sight of the dock gates. Should you by chance be questioned as to who the boy is with you, say your superior officer ordered you to take him with you, and that he is an English lad; they will not attempt to stop you.”

Madame de Coulancourt was greatly agitated on parting. She embraced William Thornton as she would had he been her son, and, drawing a ring from her finger, begged him to keep it in remembrance of her. Our hero was greatly impressed; he was beginning very early, indeed, to be a protector to a young girl, scarcely three years his junior; but he felt proud of the confidence placed in him, and interested beyond measure. Taking the weeping and trembling Mabel by the hand, they passed out from the house, Jean Plessis going first to see that all was clear; then making a sign to William Thornton, they all three proceeded down the street.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Fact.

CHAPTER IV.

It became very apparent to our hero, after traversing one or two streets, that there was some great commotion going on in other parts of the town, for the shouts and outcries from the distance were deafening. As yet they had passed but few persons, and those seemed all to be hurrying in one direction.

Toulon at this period contained nearly five thousand inhabitants within its walls; three parts of this population were Republicans, and so were the bulk of the fleet. Jean Plessis led the way some distance ahead, when suddenly, in turning the corner of a street, they encountered a mob, swearing and shouting furiously; and to the great astonishment of William Thornton, he perceived that a large body of the people surrounded Lieutenant Cooke and a few of the Committee, and were evidently bent upon obstructing their path to the dock gates, which were now in sight. In a moment the young man and his terrified charge were pushed out of the road, and the next instant became mingled with the riotous mob they had so unfortunately stumbled upon. Still holding Mabel by the hand, the midshipman, a resolute and strong youth for his age, sturdily strove to gain the side of Lieutenant Cooke[2] and the Commissioners, who were arguing with the mob; but just then a ferocious-looking man, with his neck and throat bare, no coat on his back, but with an apron and a butcher’s knife tied round his waist, suddenly clutched our hero by the collar, in a terrible grip, spluttering out:

“Ah, cursed aristocrat Anglais, what are you doing with this boy?”

Without a moment’s hesitation William Thornton drew a pistol from his pocket, cocked it, and putting it close to the man’s head, said—

“Let go, ruffian, or you are a dead man!”

The surly villain let go his hold with a horrid oath, and the midshipman, catching his young and terrified companion round the waist, burst through the startled group surrounding him, and the next instant was by Lieutenant Cooke’s side, just as a large body of the Committee and a Royalist guard of marines came up to protect the British envoy.

“Is that you, William?” said the Lieutenant, astonished. “Put up your pistol; do not let them see you armed. What boy is this?”

“I will tell you, sir, when we get to the boat; but push on for the dock gates, they are getting furious. See that tall ruffian—I should like to shoot him—is exciting the mob.”

“How bloodthirsty you are, William,” said the Lieutenant, and then turning to some of the Commissioners, he urged their getting within the dock gates as soon as possible. The marines cleared the way, and in a few minutes they were safe within the gates, but not before the huge butcher, struggling through the crowd, had aimed a large brick with violence at our hero, shouting out—

“Take that, cursed aristocrat! I will have your head one of these days!”

The missile missed its intended mark, but knocked down one of the Commissioners in front. William Thornton would have shot the fellow instantly, but Lieutenant Cooke pushed him inside the gate with his little charge, saying—

“By Jove, you are a hot-headed boy; your impetuosity must be restrained!”

The great gates of the dock basin being closed, kept out the mob, and the party proceeded quietly along the jetty.

“I fear, Mabel,” said the midshipman, stooping and looking into the little pale face of his charge, “all this has frightened you very much.”

“Yes,” said the child, in her quiet, sweet voice; “but I am more frightened about mamma; and, awhile ago, I thought more of you, when that horrid man seized you, than of myself.”

“Well, please God, Mabel, your mamma will join us to-night. At all events, all danger to you is over; there is our boat yonder pulling in for the jetty.”

Lieutenant Cooke, taking our hero by the arm, said, in a low voice—

“Well, how did you get on? and who is that delicate-looking boy?”

“This is the Duchesse De Coulancourt’s little girl,” returned William Thornton. “We shall take the Duchess up on the beach to-night as we go by; but I will tell you all when I get on board. What occurred at the meeting?”

“A precious row, my lad; I thought at one time we should all have had our throats cut. However, in the end, they signed a declaration, agreeing to our Admiral’s proposal, so all we have to do is to get back to our ship, and I suppose in a day or so we shall be in possession of the town or port.”

On board one of the dismasted craft in the basin, provisions and all kinds of drinkables were prepared for the English officers and the crew of the gig, and thither they all proceeded, with several naval officers of the Royalist party. No one seemed to notice the child; whether they thought he came in the boat with them or not, William Thornton could not say; but, leaving the Lieutenant to entertain the French officers, the midshipman and his protégée sat down in one of the private cabins of the frigate, and Bill Saunders brought them a share of the repast from the main cabin.

Mabel recovered her spirits a little when our hero told her that the Royalists would hold possession of the town, and that the British fleet would sail into the port in a day or two, so that there would be no fear of her mamma, even if she was not able to join them that night.

“Ah!” said the little girl; “but what will become of me, in this horrid dress, if she does not? Are there any females on board your ship?”

“No, Mabel, there are not (luckily,” he added to himself, “or adieu to discipline); but if by any chance your mamma should be prevented joining us, I will take you on board the Thetis; Captain Timmins’s wife and daughter are there. They are going in a day or two to Genoa; they will, I am sure, take great care of you for a night or two.”

“Oh! dear William,” said the child, anxiously clasping his hand in hers, “do not let me go from you; put me in any corner near you; I won’t mind wearing this dress for a day or two, but do not send me amongst strangers. I look upon you as a brother now.”

Our hero promised all he could promise, but he recollected that, after all, he was but a midshipman, and one without rank or station, and entirely depending on his own exertions. However, he tried to keep up the poor girl’s spirits, and, by chatting to her, keep her from fretting.

“How long, Mabel,” questioned young Thornton, “were you confined in that dismal house I found you in?”

“Oh, nearly—let me see—yes, fully a month; sometimes in the dismal vaults. When good Jean Plessis was out getting food we always went below, and he closed the trap down over us. Oh, how damp and chill it was; but we were well wrapped up in blankets, and he never stayed away more than an hour or two at most.”

“I think I heard your mamma say she escaped from Lyons, and that you suffered much there?”

“Oh, you can’t think what we endured! You must know we were living in a very grand château, belonging to mamma’s husband, the Duke de Coulancourt, who, alas! was beheaded in Paris, for fighting for the poor king. Oh, my poor mamma, when Jean Plessis came from Paris with the frightful intelligence, lost her senses. My brother—dear brother Julian—was furious and distracted. He was only fifteen; he wanted to go to Paris, but Jean Plessis said we must fly or we should perish, for the order was to arrest all the Duke’s family. But, alas! mamma was not able to fly; we moved into Lyons, thinking to be safer there, as they were all Royalists. I am not able to tell you all mamma suffered whilst there; she will tell you herself, another time. I am now so frightened and anxious about her that I can scarcely recollect anything.”

Thus the remainder of the day passed, till Lieutenant Cooke’s entertainers, officers and all, quitted the ship, leaving the English officer to make his daring passage through the hostile fleet.

“Now, William, tell me all about your adventure,” said Lieutenant Cooke to his young companion—little Mabel being fast asleep in a berth, worn out by fatigue and great anxiety, with the casket placed at her feet.

William Thornton made his superior officer fully acquainted with all that had occurred, and explained the manner in which they were to take the Duchesse de Coulancourt on board.

“By Jupiter!” returned Lieutenant Cooke, looking surprised, and not a little puzzled, “you are a young hero, William, for an adventure with Royalist duchesses and Republican ruffians, and all of a sudden to become the protector of a young girl and a valuable casket. Faith! it’s a very curious affair. What shall we do if circumstances prevent us pulling along the beach where we may expect to find this unfortunate lady? We may be suspected by some of the nearest men-of-war; and, if so, the whole bay along that beach is exposed to their fire. Supposing we fail in rescuing the mother, what in the name of fate is to be done with this poor little child? A girl, too, on board a ship with above a thousand sea bears in her!—nice nurses for a delicate child, eh?”

“I was thinking,” said the midshipman, “if, as you say, we miss the mother, that she might be received by Captain Timmins’s lady and daughter. They are on board the Thetis frigate, which is going to Genoa. The Captain’s wife and daughters are to land at Malta, I understand.”

“Faith! may be Captain Timmins would not be very much obliged to you for troubling his good lady with the care of such a delicate little girl as the poor thing asleep there.”

“She is only delicate from suffering and privation,” said William Thornton; “besides, she belongs to a good English family, who will receive her most willingly; and who knows what’s in this casket—the Duchess said there were jewels of value.”

“Well, by Jove! my lad,” said the good-humoured Lieutenant, “you are standing up stoutly for your young protégée. However, there’s no use imagining disasters that may not occur. Her mother may be rescued; and, if not, we must do our best for the child, and try to get her to England. Now I think of it, there are two transports returning to England at anchor outside, and lots of women on board one of them, so, at least, I heard. However, let us get ready for a start; it’s nearly time, so wake up your little charge.”

It was nearly eleven o’clock ere the boat left the basin to return to the Victory. Mabel Arden, carefully muffled in a boat-cloak, and keeping as close to her young protector as she dared, was extremely anxious, and won upon the good-nature of Lieutenant Cooke by her gentle, affectionate manner, and sweet, interesting face. It was a very still, fine night, but fortunately much overcast. Having passed out into the inner harbour, the men pulled steadily, and without speaking a word, till they cleared the dangerous vicinity of some of the vessels of war anchored near the dock basin. Without being challenged, they gained the outward harbour, avoiding the line of heavy ships anchored in double rows. William Thornton kept the boat away from the shore. As there is no tide in Toulon harbour, or in the Mediterranean, of more than a few inches, and that merely caused by peculiar gales of wind, they were able to row close along the beach. It was scarcely possible to distinguish objects on the shore, so, for fear those they expected might miss them, a dark lantern was opened, with its light towards the beach. They could distinctly distinguish the huge hulls and masts of the nearest men-of-war, several of them not being more than a couple of hundred yards from them. As they pulled slowly along, they suddenly beheld a bright light ashore; it was held up for a moment only, and then all became dark again, but at the same moment a hail from the nearest ship came over the still waters.

“Pull in, my men,” said the Lieutenant. “By Jove! we are seen, and shall have a shot next.”

The next moment the boat’s keel touched the beach, close beside a ruined quay. A man came forward. The midshipman knew him at once; it was Jean Plessis. Mabel threw off her cloak, exclaiming eagerly, in French—

“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Where is mamma, Monsieur Jean Plessis?”

The man sprang into the boat, saying, “Make way out of the harbour, monsieur; we are betrayed. I will explain—ha! there goes a gun.” The same moment a ball struck the ruined wall some four paces from them, knocking a heap of rubbish about, and covering them with a cloud of splinters.

“Push off—by Jove! that’s close shaving!”—said Lieutenant Cooke; “and give way with a will.”

On flew the light boat, and again a flash, and a prolonged report pealed over the water, the shot drenching them with spray, as it actually bounded over them, and tore along the beach afterwards; but, vigorously urged along by the hardy crew, they turned a long, projecting point of high rock, that effectually sheltered them from further danger. The agonised Mabel, bursting into tears, implored Jean Plessis to say what had become of her mother.

“My poor child,” said the Frenchman, with great feeling in voice and manner, “don’t be alarmed; there is no fear of the Duchess’s life, but they have carried her off.”

“Oh, my God! I shall never see mamma again. Why, why did I leave her? If they have taken her away they would have taken me too.”

“How has this occurred?” said Lieutenant Cooke, while the midshipman strove to soothe the weeping girl.

“I will tell you, monsieur,” said Jean Plessis, “and then you must put me on shore, for I will never cease till I trace madame to where her enemies have taken her. She has not been, I feel certain, carried off by the revolutionary party, but by private enemies, who have contrived to track us to Toulon.”

“Why do you think that, Monsieur Plessis?” asked Lieutenant Cooke.

“I will tell you, monsieur,” replied the Frenchman. “We had scarcely passed the gates, and were making the best of our way to gain the appointed spot—the ruined quay—when from behind a low hedge half-a-dozen men sprang out. I was instantly knocked down by a blow from the butt end of a carbine, and rolled into a ditch. I was quite sensible, but remained still. They had seized the Duchess; she did not scream nor attempt to fly. I then heard one of the men say, ‘Bring up the Berlin;’ the next moment a calèche with two horses came out from behind the hedge through a gateway. Madame was put inside, and then the same man said, ‘Parbleu! I forgot; have you finished that fellow Plessis? Do not leave him to be hunting us out, I pray you; it’s bad enough to lose the little girl.’ As soon as I heard these words, I crept along the ditch, and fled as fast as I could, to save those villains the trouble of knocking me on the head.”

“Have you any idea,” said Lieutenant Cooke, “who these ruffians are?”

“I suspect they are employed by a kinsman of the late Duke and next heir, who would have inherited the property, had not the Duchess’s husband, some five years ago, made over the whole of his property to her, having had the power to will it to whom he pleased. This kinsman’s name is Ganel-Maria Montaut. He will not bring the Duchess to the guillotine, because, if she loses her life, the estates will be seized by the nation. Collet de Herbois would destroy her from motives of hatred and vengeance, she having scorned his daring proposals, after her husband’s death.”

“Then what do you think the best to do with this poor child?” questioned William Thornton, anxiously, as the keel of the boat grounded on a shingly beach.

“Get her as soon as possible to England, where she has wealthy relatives,” said Jean Plessis, “and God will reward you. The Ardens are of good family; besides, there are jewels of great value in that casket you have. As to me, I will never cease till I trace Madame la Duchesse, and if I can I will communicate with Mademoiselle Arden hereafter in England.”

So saying, he took the weeping girl in his arms and kissed her affectionately, and then, laying his hand on William Thornton’s arm, said emphatically—

“Never desert this little girl whilst you have life and power to assist her;” the next moment he sprang on shore, waved his hand, and disappeared in the obscurity of the night.

Mabel burst into a flood of tears, and putting her little arms round young Thornton’s neck, exclaimed—

“Oh! my mother! my poor mother; shall I never see her again? But you—you will not desert poor Mabel?”

William Thornton kissed the cold cheek of the little girl, for whom he already felt the affection of a brother, saying—

“Do not give way to grief, Mabel; God, who has protected you through such perils, will protect you now, and restore your dear mother to you. Call me brother, for I will show you all the affection a brother can.”

“Well, upon my honour,” said the Lieutenant, “if this is not a romance I know not what is. Give way, my lads, give way, and let us get on board, and thank our stars that one of those round shot did not stop our logs.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Bill Saunders, pulling the stroke oar, and making the tough ash bend to his powerful arm, whilst muttering to himself, “yes, blow me if I wouldn’t be a father to the little thing myself.”

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Lieutenant Cooke was arrested in the streets of Toulon by the mob, but was in the end allowed to proceed to his boat.—James’s Naval History.

CHAPTER V.

In less than an hour the boat ranged up alongside of the huge Victory, towering above them in the dim light like a mighty fortress, her lofty masts being clearly defined in the clear blue sky. Mabel was in trembling agitation as to what would be done with her, her little heart beating with anxiety.

“You cannot take this child away to-night,” said Lieutenant Cooke to our hero, “you had better place her under the care of the steward; he is a steady, middle-aged man, and very kind-hearted. He will put her in his own berth, and to-morrow I will speak to the Admiral about her. It’s a strange adventure altogether.”

They ascended the side of the ship, Bill Saunders carrying Mabel in his arms as tenderly as an infant. The next moment the little girl found herself standing on the deck of the Victory.

The sight of this monstrous ship, her huge masts towering to the sky, the lights here and there flashing from the battle-lanterns, showed to the astonished child many incomprehensible things. The groups of hardy tars hovering round filled the mind of the young girl with awe, and, trembling and dismayed, she grasped her young protector’s arm, and gazed up into his face with her large, intelligent eyes, so full of all her little heart felt, that William Thornton began to feel almost as much as she did.

Lieutenant Cooke returned with the steward.

“Now, my dear child,” said the officer, “we place you for the night under the care of the steward, he will show you every attention. He is a father himself, and will feel for you as for one of his own children in a like situation.”

“To-morrow,” whispered the midshipman, “you will be placed under the care of a kind lady and her daughters.”

Poor Mabel, scarcely able to keep from weeping, kissed the midshipman’s hand, and bade him good-night in a voice that trembled with emotion, and then Mr. Osborn, the steward, took her under his care.

William Thornton, who never quitted his hold of the casket, proceeded to his berth, and locked it up carefully in his chest. Several of his comrades tormented him with inquiries, but hastily swallowing his supper and a glass of grog, he tumbled into his berth, turning a deaf ear to all their questions.

Midshipmen always sleep under every variety of disturbance, either of body or mind; so William Thornton slept in ten minutes as if he had not had a night’s rest for twelve months.

How long he rested he knew not, but he was awoke by the voice of Charles Pole shouting in his ear, “You are wanted, William, in the state room.”

He sprang out of bed, and began dressing as if for a wager.

“Why did you let me sleep so long, Charley, eh?”

“Because Lieutenant Cooke said you wanted a good snooze, as you had none the night before. Why, Thornton, you are likely to turn out quite a hero of romance; there’s Saunders been spinning a frightful yarn of your having shot a lot of Republicans and released two princesses, and I don’t know how many duchesses, and gained a casket of crown jewels.”

“Stuff and nonsense, Charley. I’m off. I’ll tell you all about it when I come back. I’ll get Saunders’ grog stopped for spinning such confounded yarns,” and running up the stairs, he made his way towards the Admiral’s state room, but O’Loughlin interrupted his course, shaking him by the hand.

“Faith, you’re a broth of a boy, William, to be galivanting duchesses and distressed damsels before you are fledged. Go on and prosper, by the time your beard grows you’ll do. But be off with you, and mind your P’s and Q’s before the Admiral.”

He next encountered Lieutenant Cooke coming from the Admiral’s cabin.

“Well, Thornton,” said the Lieutenant, good-humouredly, “how do you feel now? Your little protégée has been making a hundred inquiries after you; she is sitting at breakfast with his lordship, who, strange to say, after listening to her account of herself, seems to know a great deal about her family. But go in, they are waiting for you.”

The young midshipman entered the Admiral’s state room, and at once perceived little Mabel sitting at the breakfast table with the kind-hearted old Admiral. On his entrance she sprang from her chair with an exclamation of joy, and ran to him, taking his hand, saying—

“Oh! dear brother William, how glad I am to see you! if my dear mamma were here how happy I should feel!” and then with childish innocence, quite ignorant of the etiquette between an Admiral and a midshipman, she added, “have you breakfasted? Do come and have some, his lordship is so kind to me, and knows who I am.”

William Thornton’s face flushed as he looked into the Admiral’s fine expressive features, and Lord Hood, who was then in his sixty-ninth year, said with a good-humoured smile—

“Sit down, Master Thornton, sit down; I dare say you have not breakfasted, and I wish to ask you a few questions.”

William Thornton sat down next Mabel, eyeing a cold turkey and a ham with a side glance. The steward was in attendance as well as the Admiral’s own special attendant, and very shortly our hero found himself doing justice to fare very rarely in those days exposed to the always voracious appetite of a midshipman.

He then, at the Admiral’s request, gave a distinct account of the events of the previous night, to which the Admiral listened with a great deal of interest expressed on his features.

“If I am not very much mistaken,” said Lord Hood, “this young lady is the daughter of a once very dear friend, though a much younger man than myself at the time of our intimacy. Do you remember your father, my dear young lady?” asked the Admiral, looking at Mabel.

“No, monsieur,” said Mabel; “I only remember my second father, the Duke; he was so good and so kind, and so loved mamma.”

“This young lady,” continued Lord Hood, “is, no doubt, the daughter of Hugh Granby Arden, whose widow I know married a French duke. I believe she was induced to do so under very peculiar circumstances. If I am right, her daughter is a cousin of Master Howard Etherton.”

William Thornton started and looked surprised.

“Ah!” said the Admiral, “I see you are not aware that Howard Etherton’s father, before he came to the title and estates of the Ethertons, was called Arden; in fact, he was brother to this young lady’s father. However, there is no time, neither is this a period for investigating these circumstances. What we must now do, is to procure a suitable asylum for Miss Arden till she can be restored to her mother, or taken to England and placed under the care of her uncle. Therefore, you will at once take her on board the Thetis frigate, Captain Timmins has his wife and daughters with him. His good lady will take charge of the child, and provide her with proper garments; one of his girls is about the same age. But stay! I will write a few lines to Captain Timmins; he will remain with the fleet till we take possession of Toulon, which I expect to do in a few days.”

The young girl got up, and going over to the Admiral, took his hand, and would have kissed it, but he stooped and pressed her little pale cheek, saying he felt much interested about her, and would, when he had an opportunity, cause inquiries to be made after her mother.

An hour afterwards William Thornton, with Mabel by his side, was steering the Victory’s gig, pulled by four seamen, for the Thetis frigate.

Captain Timmins was an exceedingly kind man, and a thorough good sailor. Nevertheless, we must admit, though nominated captain of his ship, as long as his wife remained on board he was only second in command. He was a small, spare man, with a mild, patient expression of countenance. Mrs. Captain Timmins (she always insisted on being styled captain, firmly believing that if necessary she could command, and actually work the Thetis) was in person the very opposite of her spouse, being tall and portly in person; carried her head high, and always interlarded her conversations with sea terms, not always, however, made use of in the right places. Notwithstanding a few follies of this sort, she was in reality a very kind and generous person; she was not more than five or six-and-thirty, and had a very pleasing countenance. She was also fond of dress.

It was a fine, lovely morning, though somewhat hot, the quarter-decks of the various ships were protected by snow-white awnings. A light westerly breeze played over the bright blue sea, the high land to the south and east of Toulon looked almost within grasp, so clear and fine was the atmosphere.

Mrs. Captain Timmins was walking the quarter-deck with her two daughters, her worthy spouse looking through his glass at the various ships of war.

“What boat is that pulling for us, Timmins?” asked the Captain’s lady.

“It’s a gig from the Victory, with a mid and a little boy in it,” said the Captain.

“Bless me!” returned the lady, “what little fellow can that be, the Victory has no little boys on board?”

“We shall soon know,” replied her spouse, “for here they are alongside.”

The ladder was let down, and, leading Mabel by the hand, William Thornton advanced along the deck of the Thetis, and touching his cap to the Captain, presented the Admiral’s note.

In the meantime the mother and daughters were scrutinising the pale and thin face of poor, sad little Mabel.

“Dear me! Very singular—very; quite romantic. Poor little thing!” muttered Captain Timmins, quite loud enough for his good lady and daughters to hear.

“Mary, my dear,” he said aloud, finishing the perusal of the note from the Admiral, “his lordship has sent this little girl,” looking at Mabel, “to stay with us for a few days.”

“Bless me!” said the Captain’s wife, “little girl! Do you mean to say this little thin boy is a girl?—if so, she is badly rigged, not ship-shape.”

“Exactly, my dear, exactly. The Admiral wishes you to make her ship-shape, and be kind to her for a few days. She is the daughter of a duchess, and fled from Toulon for her life, and this young gentleman—Master Thornton—was mainly instrumental in saving her life.”

“If she were the daughter of a peasant,” said the lady with a grand air, but a most kind look, as she advanced and took Mabel’s hand, “being unfortunate, she demands our attention, under the flag of old England. Beg pardon, my dear; do you speak English?” asked Mrs. Captain Timmins, afraid that the fine speech she was about to make would be only for the edification of her husband, the second Lieutenant of the Thetis, who was standing near, and a solitary mid, who was regarding Mrs. Captain Timmins at a safe distance, for it must be confessed she kept the mids in awful subjection.

“Oh, yes, madame,” said Mabel; “my father was English, and so is mamma.”

“Dear me!” said the Captain’s wife, surprised, “an English duchess amongst those horrid Republicans; but come into my state room, Angelina and Seraphina are about the same height, and you shall be thoroughly re-fitted and rigged from their stores.” Then, looking into the thoughtful, handsome features of William Thornton, whose fine, manly figure struck her at once, she continued: “And you, young gentleman, accompany us. I will order the steward to place refreshments on the table; you will then tell me all about this dear, sensible-looking child, whom I wish to present to you before you leave, in a trim more becoming her age and sex.”

Taking Mabel by the hand, the entire party descended into the main cabin. The two girls then took their young companion into their private cabin, and the Captain and his lady, having ordered wine to be placed on the table, requested our hero to satisfy their curiosity respecting his adventures the preceding night.

Whilst the midshipman was satisfying their curiosity, little Mabel was undergoing the necessary metamorphosis from a little boy into a very sweet, interesting little girl. Captain Timmins’s two daughters were kind and engaging, and they soon succeeded in winning the confidence of our poor heroine. When introduced into the cabin, all were delighted with the change. Thornton was surprised, and soon after rose to take leave of his little protegée. The tears were in Mabel’s eyes, but she bore the parting with fortitude, for the midshipman promised to visit her whenever he could. It was not without pain that he kissed her cheek and bade her farewell.

Returning on board the Victory, Thornton’s comrades gathered around him, fully determined to hear his adventures in full.

“What a racket they all make,” observed Master Etherton, with a sneer, “about a brat of a girl, because she calls herself the daughter of a duchess—a French duchess. There are no titles in France now—an adventuress, most likely.”

“You are very likely to make a very great mistake, Howard Etherton,” remarked our hero, quietly; “this child is an English girl, and, I am told, bears the same name as your father did before he took that of Etherton.”

“What’s that you say, Master Thornton?” exclaimed young Etherton, with a start, and changing colour. “My father’s name was Arden—as good a name as any in England; but we knew of no other branch of our family bearing that name.”

“You are in error, nevertheless, Master Etherton,” returned our hero, “for this young lady’s mother, the Duchesse de Coulancourt, had previously been married to a Mr. Granby Arden; the Admiral knew him intimately, and this little girl we are talking about is his child, Mabel Arden.”

“A confounded impostor!” passionately exclaimed young Etherton, with a very pale cheek, and with a vehemence that quite amazed his comrades. “Mr. Granby Arden was my father’s brother. He was never married, and died abroad; so that, as I said before, this duchess is an impostor, and her daughter a nameless brat, thrust upon you, seeing what a soft head you possessed,” and he laughed mockingly as he said the words.

“I have a great mind to try,” said William Thornton, angrily, “whether your head possesses the same qualification that I know your heart does; and if you use such language again in my hearing I will do so, let the consequences be what they may. I have done it once before, but if I have to repeat the lesson you will remember it.”

“Be the powers of war! what’s all this squabbling amongst you unruly youngsters?” exclaimed Lieutenant O’Loughlin, who, unobserved, had heard the whole dialogue, and who knew very well that if our hero promised a fellow mid a thrashing, he would faithfully stick to his word. Now the Admiral was extremely strict with his midshipmen, and always severely punished both parties who infringed the rules. Fighting was on no account allowed.

“Well, Mr. O’Loughlin,” said William Thornton, “what would you have me do? Here is a young lady, protected by the Admiral, who was an intimate friend of her father’s, and Master Etherton takes it into his head to call her mother an impostor, and herself a nameless brat.”

“Oh, by the Immortals! he’ll put his foot in it in earnest,” said the Lieutenant; and, turning to the cowed Howard Etherton, he added, “Faith, my lad, you must have more pluck than I ever gave you credit for, thus to give the lie to his lordship.”

“I did not give the lie, Mr. O’Loughlin,” said Howard Etherton, “to anybody. I spoke to the best of my belief. I ought to know more of my family than any one here.”

“Bedad, you’re right there, my lad; for the devil a hair any one here cares for your family. You may be cousin-German to Master Noah, for all I know; but, if the Admiral knew that a young lady he acknowledges and protects was called an impostor and a brat, be gor! I wouldn’t be in your skin for a trifle. But come with me, William; I want to talk to you a bit;” and, taking the midshipman by the arm, he forced him to leave his companions.

At the expiration of two or three days, the British fleet became in a state of intense expectation and excitement, the Admiral having determined to land troops and take possession of the forts commanding the ships in the harbour; for intelligence had arrived of the surrender of Marseilles to General Carteau and his army, whilst Rear-Admiral St. Julian manned the forts to the left of the harbour to oppose the entrance of the British fleet.

Captain Elphinstone, of the Robust, was entrusted with the command of the expedition against the forts, with fifteen hundred soldiers and two hundred marines and sailors; Lieutenant O’Loughlin and our hero being permitted by the Admiral to volunteer on that expedition. This was the third time William Thornton was exposed to the fire of an enemy’s guns.

It was not without a quicker pulsation of the heart, both from the excitement and the novelty of the affair, that young Thornton leaped from the boat upon the beach, and gazed up at the heights of Toulon that they were to storm, which were full six hundred feet high, rugged, and, to judge from the crumbling of the rocks under their feet, extremely difficult of ascent.

“Hurrah! by dad!” said Lieutenant O’Loughlin to his young companion, the midshipman, “this is one foot forward and two backwards. By the powers! I was near going with that big fellow,” as a huge rock gave way under his feet, and thundered down with a cloud of dust upon those following, forcing them to jump nimbly out of the way.

The forts, keeping up an incessant cannonade, killed and wounded many; but still the hardy sailors pressed onwards with incessant cheering; at times gaily laughing as a comrade clutched at a rock which gave way, and he and it rolled down together for several yards.

“You’re a trump, William,” said the Lieutenant, as a ball tore up the ground within a yard of the daring boy, who, with a bound, sprang over a deep fissure, and waved his cap to some of the tars of the Victory to follow, whilst a cloud of dust, stones, and gravel covered the ascending party. But the forts were gallantly stormed, and, after a fierce contest, the British remained in possession.

“You are a brave and gallant lad,” said Captain Elphinstone, putting his hand upon young Thornton’s shoulder, as, besmeared with dust and clay, without covering to the head, and his jacket cut in several places by musket balls, he made his appearance before the Captain, having just returned from bearing a message to the officer commanding the troops through a fierce fire of musketry—“Go on as you have begun, and, if God spares you, you will be an honour to your country.”

It was a glorious sight, the following day, standing on the ramparts of the fort, to behold the entrance of the British fleet into the outward harbour of Toulon, where they came to an anchor.

CHAPTER VI.

As strict matter of history, we must refrain from recording the events that followed the taking of Toulon by the British. It will be sufficient to say as a midshipman William Thornton so distinguished himself, receiving only one slight wound, that he won the approbation and elicited the admiration of not only Vice-Admiral Lord Hood, but several of the other commanders. During the proceedings, Sir Sidney Smith arrived from Smyrna in a small latine rigged vessel, which he had purchased and manned with over forty British seamen. In storming a fort, the gallantry of William Thornton attracted Sir Sidney, and chancing to render him an important service during the attack, he afterwards solicited the Admiral’s permission to retain the midshipman with him; and finally so satisfied was Sir Sidney with his skill and cool courage, that he entrusted the command of his little craft, the Swallow, to our hero.

Whilst the British were in possession of Toulon, William Thornton exerted himself to the utmost in endeavours to trace the unfortunate Duchesse de Coulancourt and Jean Plessis, but in vain. The frigate commanded by Captain Timmins had sailed for Genoa and Malta; but little Mabel had been placed in a cottage without Toulon, under the care of a Royalist family of distinction, a Madame Volney and daughters, who were very kind to her. Our hero visited her several times, and the joy of the little girl was great, indeed, when she beheld him. She wept incessantly after her mother; but though pale and thin, she appeared to be improving in health.

At length the British Admiral found it necessary to evacuate Toulon, and then a scene of indescribable confusion and dismay took place, for the unfortunate Royalists well knew the fate that awaited them from the savage Commissioners of the Republic, and that monster, the deputy Carrier. Madame Volney, her two daughters, and Mabel were received on board the Robust, whilst nearly four hundred fugitives were taken on board the Princess Royal, bearing the flag of Rear-Admiral Goodall.

The important service of destroying the ships and magazines was entrusted to Captain Sir Sidney Smith. Our hero and Charles Pole, who accompanied him in the Swallow tender, prepared to attend upon Sir Sidney in his fearfully dangerous expedition. It was now the month of December, the weather wild and stormy, the wind north-west and extremely cold.

Sir Sidney, attended by the Swallow, three Spanish and three English gun-boats—one commanded by Lieutenant O’Loughlin, proceeded to the arsenal to prepare whatever combustible materials were required for the work of devastation he was bent upon. By this time the dockyards had substituted the tricolour for the white cockade.

“By Jove, William,” said Charles Pole, “they have turned loose all the galley slaves, and they say there are eight hundred of them; they seem inclined to commence hostilities. Those gentlemen, I suppose, now consider themselves worthy citizens of regenerated France.”

“We’ll soon show them, Charley, my boy, a sight that will rapidly develop their ideas of liberty and equality;” and forthwith he placed the little tender in a position so that her guns could completely command those on shore. Lieutenant O’Loughlin did the same with his gun-boat. This proceeding awed the turbulent galley slaves. Whilst performing this manœuvre, the two boats were exposed to the shots and shells fired from the fort and the neighbouring hills, which Charles Pole declared was throwing a light upon the affair. Now and then the Republicans, posted in the houses, opened fire upon Sir Sidney’s party, busy at their operations, which induced our hero to try the effect of one of his guns pointed at the upper storey of a house, the inhabitants of which had been remarkably civil and liberal with their shots. The ball went crashing through the wall, knocking the bricks and mortar in a shower into their faces. This dispersed them in double quick time; but as the shades of night rapidly concealed the movements of those on shore, hundreds came down from the hills, and commenced rapid discharges of musketry.

“Come, my lads,” said the Swallow’s commander, “they are getting ready; just give them a dose of grape.”