Chapter IV
Never was there a more instructive lesson issued to the nations of the earth than that which marked the origin, progress, and termination of the French Revolution, with all its concomitant circumstances and final results.
England with free institutions, and increasing in population, industry, and commerce, had set a bright example of what may be achieved under constitutional means; and as the English were ardent lovers of liberty, it cannot be supposed that they were indifferent to its extension on the Continent. Nor were they inactive at home; the changes in France had caused a feverish excitement amongst the working classes here, which interested traders in politics were not slow in turning to their own advantage. In order to counteract and defeat the evil machinations of such men, the government took into pay a number of individuals to act as spies in the camp of the disaffected; and as their wages depended upon the continuance of commotion, it very naturally followed that in numerous cases they were the secret promoters of agitation. But the political movement was not confined exclusively to the lower ranks in life; many of the middle grade had joined in it, and amongst the active disseminators of revolutionary principles was Mr. Jocelyn Brady. But he moved in an elevated sphere, and was looked upon and treated with confidence by his party, both high and low. His legal practice was reported to be extensive, and he was said to be possessed of considerable property. He had both a town and a country residence, and he gave excellent dinners. But he was unrelenting in his avarice, vindictive when offended.
The principal associate of Mr. Brady in most of his political transactions was a Mr. Acteon Shaft, an acute intelligent man, whose grey hairs proclaimed him to be of an advanced age; and to him the lawyer was greatly indebted for much of the information and knowledge he obtained. Mr. Shaft had travelled far, and had visited foreign courts, and though his manners were rather uncouth, yet there was a charm in his conversation that rendered his society courted by men of talent. He was an ardent lover of rational liberty, and his generosity was the theme of universal praise.
Why two men so opposite in temper and disposition should form companionship must remain amongst those anomalies which every day’s experience displays; even the pure metal requires a base alloy before it can be converted into sterling coin. But to return to Mrs. Heartwell, who had once more a comfortable residence, and devoted herself in every way to the improvement of her son. Frank, on his part, was most affectionately attached to his mother, whom he revered with an intensity of feeling that was truly gratifying to her heart, and she was pleased to see that he evinced a kindly and generous feeling towards his fellow-creatures. He was mirthful, but inoffensive, mild and forbearing, except when aroused by severe injury to himself or others, and then his rage was uncontrollable.
The first lodger that occupied Mrs. Heartwell’s apartments was a Monsieur Polverel, a French deputy, who under the specious pretext of visiting and studying the institutions of England, availed himself of the opportunity to disseminate the doctrines of “liberty and equality;” nor was he long in finding an enlarged circle of congenial spirits—members of revolutionary clubs and corresponding societies, who, though advocating “equality,” took especial care that no one below a certain rank should be admitted to their meetings; and the minister of liberty from France, Monsieur Polverel, finding that his black servant was accustomed to go out during his absence, actually locked him up in his room whenever he himself went in an evening to enjoy festivity amongst his friends, and to preach up the blessings of freedom.
Ben and Frank, however, could not reconcile such tyranny to their minds, and a duplicate key being procured, the door was speedily thrown open, and forth issued Sambo to join in their amusements, and many hours did the youth listen to the negro’s narratives of his native place—Port au Prince, in San Domingo—but care was always taken that he was again placed in confinement before the time of his master’s return.
Monsieur Polverel was one of those finicking, all legs-and-wings sort of Frenchmen who when in conversation throw themselves into attitudes not inaptly resembling the wooden harlequins of children whose members are put into motion by pulling a string, only that his body was more elongated and had something of the greyhound build; his head was very large, and when he stood erect he looked like a beadle’s staff with a globe on the top; in fact, it would have been no difficult task to have doubled him up like a two-foot rule, or to have put his body between his legs like a clasp knife. Although a leveller, and affecting to despise distinctions, his clothes were richly ornamented and his fingers were brilliant with costly rings.
When he passed an evening at home without company, he generally contrived to get Frank and Ben, and the negro into his room, where, in broken English, he propounded to them the doctrines of republicanism. Sometimes Mr. Peach was admitted, and the discussions, whilst they afforded mirth to Frank, and offence to the seaman, tended to open the understanding of the youth to subjects to which he had hitherto been a stranger.
Frank had now passed his thirteenth year. His predilection was for the sea; but his mother, who still had numerous difficulties to contend against, and looked upon her child as her best hope and encouragement, endeavoured by earnest persuasion to prevail upon him to settle on shore. In this she was supported by Mr. Peach; but the lad’s longings could not be overcome, though he was deterred from proclaiming them, and thus balancing between affection for his parent and the desire to become a sailor, he remained undetermined and inactive.
It was about this time that, to the great regret of Mrs. Heartwell, and the almost inconsolable grief of her son, Ben Brailsford was pressed; and disdaining to be anything but a volunteer in the service of his king and country, he entered for a ship-of-the line, then commanded by the Honourable Keith Elphinstone (afterwards, Lord Keith). He wrote to inform them of this event, hoped that he should make prize-money—wished Frank was with him on the quarter-deck as an officer—expressed sorrow at parting with them, but wound up all with his old expletive—“But what’s the odds, so as you’re happy?”
The youth fretted, and almost sickened at the loss of his old and faithful associate; he neglected his studies, became melancholy and restless, and adhered closer to Monsieur Polverel, so as to be noticed by a distinguished visitor to the deputy, no other than the Duke of Orleans, who had been prevailed upon to visit London, by Lafayette, in order to get him out of the way of doing mischief. Frank became a great favourite with the Duke, who treated him with much kindness, and made Mrs. Heartwell a very handsome present to assist in promoting the lad’s welfare; and ultimately offered to take him to Paris and provide for him; but this was declined—the mother could not part with her child.
The beheading of the King of France excited a general feeling of horror and indignation throughout England. War was declared. The utmost activity prevailed in the dockyards; and a naval armament was put in motion. The aristocracy, the clergy, the corporate bodies, the landed proprietors, the merchants, the bankers, became alarmed, and took the lead in the re-action that ensued. The Sectarians looked upon the French as infidels, and hailed the approach of war as the mighty engine which was to restore religion and morality.
In this state of things the situation of Monsieur Polverel was not of the most pleasant description. He was well known to the French emigrants who crowded the metropolis; and on his returning one afternoon from a republican party, he was pointed out as a disseminator of those principles which had compelled them to abandon their country. A crowd collected, who vented their abhorrence in groans and hisses. He quickened his pace, but his pursuers increased as they progressed, till the deputy was urgently persuaded to run, by hearing the clattering of stones along the pavement, and feeling more than one or two hard blows on his back. Now it was that the length of his legs rendered him good service, and a chase commenced that caused roars of laughter to the spectators, who clapped their hands and shouted with delight. On reaching Mrs. Heartwell’s he knocked and rung violently, but Sambo was locked up, and the maid-servant being busy, was in no great hurry to let him in. Frank, however, had been looking out at the window, and instantly suspecting the cause of the uproar, he ran and opened the door, and the Frenchman had just time to enter as his assailants were ascending the steps. It was at first feared that they would attack the house, but on being assured that Monsieur Polverel had taken his departure by the back way, the mob again set out in pursuit, but the deputy distanced them; for without waiting for bag or baggage, he hurried to Dover as fast as a chaise-and-four could convey him, and at this latter place he received a no very gentle intimation that his presence on British ground could be entirely dispensed with; and elated was Monsieur Polverel when he once more found himself within the gates of Calais.
Nothing could exceed the joy of Sambo at his master’s departure—the door was no longer locked upon him—he was free. Since Ben’s departure Frank had greatly attached himself to the negro, whose good humour and constant willingness to oblige rendered him a favourite in the house. Other lodgers came to Mrs. Heartwell’s; and as Sambo had become useful, his services were retained.
Frank continued at school for a few months longer, when a new scene opened before him. He had heard of a seventy-four to be launched at Deptford, and never having witnessed a ship-launch, he went, accompanied by Sambo, to see it. But the press-gangs were abroad, and they both fell into their hands; for such was, at that time, the demand for men and lads to complete the complements of the ships of war, that respectable shopkeepers, who had formerly been to sea, were impressed at their own doors, and youths of “gentle blood” forced away by the gangs if found near the water-side.
Sambo would have resisted when he saw that Frank was seized, but the youth saw how unavailing it would be, and desired him to desist. He told the officer that he was the son of a lieutenant in the navy, and requested to be allowed to return to his home; but this was positively refused. He then entreated that some one might be sent to apprise his mother of his detention, and the officer promised that it should be done, and the lad, who suffered most on his parent’s account, became more appeased, till on being put on board the Tender, off the Tower, a spectacle presented itself that filled his very soul with disgust.
The receiving-ship was an old sloop of war, and in her hold were not less than three hundred human beings crowded together on the shingle ballast, without a single seat except the bundles which some few possessed, and sat upon for safe protection. Here were crowded together seamen and landsmen, pickpockets, the refuse of the streets, and shabby-genteel gentlemen. Many a countenance was marked by sorrow, but the principal portion was composed of wild, reckless, and even lawless, men. The gratings were over the hatchways, above which sentinels were placed, and the atmosphere in the hold was hot and fetid. Several of the impressed men were in a state of intoxication, which produced repeated quarrels; and though there was scarcely room to move, blows were exchanged, and heavy falls upon the shingle or against the timbers in the side caused swollen and blackened eyes, and severe contusions. Some had received cuts and injuries in their contest with the gangs, and lacerated faces presented a hideous and sickening spectacle.
There was but little light during the day; but when night arrived, only a solitary lantern shed its feeble rays, and the prowling thieves commenced their work of plunder upon their unfortunate fellow-captives. Resistance was vain; cries of distress arose, but they were quickly subdued; two or three held down the victim whilst his pockets were rifled: the means of obtaining liquor were thus in the power of the abandoned; nor was it scantily, though stealthily supplied; and drunkenness increased the disorder that prevailed till a general fight took place, which was only quelled by an armed party of seamen being sent down to preserve order.
Horrible, indeed, was that night to poor Frank. To sleep was impossible. The noise was almost deafening; and his heart sickened at the oaths and imprecations he was compelled to hear. A miscreant had forcibly grappled with him and demanded his money; but Sambo, who had patiently borne with the jokes and the taunts, and even the mischievous pranks of his fellow-captives, would not endure this; he manfully resisted, exclaiming, “Me young massa good massa for me! Ye nebber for do him harm while Sambo here!” Nor did the youth tamely yield to the plunderers: his spirit was aroused, and placing himself in attitude, he not only repelled the attack, but with determined resolution he stood up to his assailants, whilst the negro dealt out sturdy blows and kept them in check. One fellow was struck down, but another immediately came on, whom Frank met with vigorous boldness; and thanks to the instructions of Ben, his opponent found that he had both courage and science to contend against; and having no love for fighting, and seeing Sambo come to the assistance of his young master, he drew back. But the thieves commenced another desperate attack. One of them rushed in and seized Frank by the throat; another gathered up a handful of shingle to throw in his face; whilst a third drew a large knife, and laying hold of the youth’s long hair, was about to inflict a deadly wound, when a stout old man-of-war’s man, who had been leaning against the mast, suddenly seized the cowardly rascal by the wrist, and twisting his arm round so as nearly to throw him on his back, exclaimed, “Avast there, you lubber! do you call that English fashion? bright blades again a countryman’s fist? drop the knife, and let the lad alone—drop it, I say!” and another twist compelled the fellow to obey. The seaman gave him a kick in the stern that sent him flying away amongst the crowd, and then springing to Frank’s rescue, the robbers were driven off.
“What cheer, what cheer, my lad, eh?” said the tar, taking the youth’s hand; “you tackled to ’em bravely, the picarooning vagabones. But here, keep under my lee, and no soul fore and aft shall mislest you. Have you ever been to sea?”
“No,” returned Frank, placing himself by the side of the seaman, “I have never been to sea, but I am the son of a sailor; my father was a lieutenant in the navy.”
“Indeed!” said the tar, “and pray what name did he hail by?—the son of a British officer ought to have better usage.”
Frank felt the justice of the latter remark, but he did not allude to it, and merely replied, “His name was Heartwell.”
“What?” exclaimed the seaman, looking earnestly in the youth’s face, “Heartwell,—Muster Frank Heartwell as was in the ould Robust?”
“Yes, he was the senior lieutenant of the Robust,” responded the youth, who had through Ben’s means made himself acquainted with his father’s history.
“Then I sailed with him,” rejoined the tar, “and a better officer never had charge of a quarter-deck. And what’s become of him, my boy?”
The youth briefly related the circumstances of his father’s disappearance, and a conversation ensued, the seaman fully performing his promise to preserve Frank from further molestation; he also praised the negro for standing up for his young master, and Sambo remarked, “Ah Massa Frank, dis no laand o’ liberty board a ship.”
Still Frank’s wretchedness was great; he reflected on the delightful dictures of enjoyment from universal freedom and equality which Monsieur Polverel had powerfully delineated, and he contrasted them with the scene before him, where the defenders of their country were treated worse than brutes by the hand of power. It is probable that he would have sunk under the infliction, but the hope that he cherished of seeing his mother come to his rescue. Yet even that hope was mingled with many misgivings, lest the officer should not have communicated with her, and he might be sent away without being able to acquaint her where he was.
The morning came, a cutter was hauled alongside the Tender, and Frank and Sambo, with about one hundred and fifty others, were put on board; her sails were set, and with a fair breeze she was soon gliding down the river. But Frank, though aware that they were on the move, could see nothing of the proceedings; the impressed men were all confined in the hold, and so crowded together that to sit down was impossible.
At length they reached the Nore, and the impressed hands were transferred to a gun-brig that immediately got under-weigh for the Downs. Confinement was now at an end, the men were permitted to be on deck, and the refreshing breeze came delightful to the wearied frame of the youth. Provisions were also served out, and by the time they had reached their first destination he had in a great measure recovered his proper tone. But the brig did not anchor here; a signal was made for her to proceed to Plymouth, and without delay she made sail through the Straits of Dover. The noble white cliffs and the beautiful scenery of the coast delighted Frank. The sun sparkled upon the waves of the blue ocean, and threw its golden gleams upon the fertile land of his nativity, whose lofty barriers rose in grandeur to defend its shores, and whose “wooden walls” floated in pride to protect its commerce. The horizon was studded with the white sails of distant vessels, and the ships as they approached or passed, hoisting their ensigns, gave a bright break in the picture.
Still the thoughts of his mother’s uneasiness operated on Frank’s heart, and he determined to write to her as soon as they got to Plymouth; but even this satisfaction was denied to him, for when abreast of Torbay a seventy-four came out and received a draft of hands from the brig, amongst whom was the disappointed lad and the negro, and without communicating with the shore she spread her canvas for the Mediterranean.
This preyed upon the lad’s mind, but no time was allowed him to indulge in dejection; he was ordered to go to the purser’s steward and get supplied with sailor’s apparel, which having dressed himself in, he was mustered before the first lieutenant, who questioned him as to his abilities in order to give him a station. Frank at once told him he was the son of an officer, and had never been to sea before; he named his father, and as the circumstances of his disappearance were pretty well known, Mr. Evans not only took the lad by the hand, but declared himself an old friend and messmate of Mr. Heartwell’s, and the emotion he evinced plainly indicated what his feelings towards him were. He was requested to stand on one side till the muster was over, when the lieutenant introduced him to the captain, a noble and generous-minded seaman, who listened with attention and commiseration to Frank’s narrative, inquired whether he wished to continue in the service, and finding the lad was desirous to do so he sent for the clerk, and the rating of midshipman was entered against the name of Frank in the muster-book.
It would be impossible to describe the varied feelings of Frank at this favourable change in his fortune, which he regretted he could not at once communicate to his mother. On the passage out, however, they fell in with a corvette homeward bound, and the newly-made midshipman having a letter ready written describing the events that had occurred, he was enabled to send it by this conveyance, and his mind became more tranquil, and his heart more buoyant.
As for Sambo, he was very soon reconciled to his lot, especially when he saw that his young friend and master was made an officer, and treated with kindness and respect. The negro was stationed in the main-top, and showed himself desirous to learn his duty.
History has recorded the events connected with the occupation of Toulon by the allied forces; and here it was that Frank first beheld a scene of warfare. Splendid was the spectacle to his young and ardent mind. There lay the combined fleets of England and Spain, their bright colours and floating pennants flashing in the sun; whilst in the background rose the almost perpendicular mountains of granite, relieved at the base by the white batteries and buildings of the town. As they approached the noble harbour, the smoke from the cannon and musketry proclaimed that active hostility was going on; and Frank felt his heart swell at the thoughts of being engaged with the enemies of his country.
They had scarcely moored the ship, when reinforcements were demanded for the shore; and a party of seamen and marines was landed under the command of Lieutenant Evans, and Frank was permitted to accompany him on duty in the town.
Here he had indeed opportunity of beholding all the pomp, the circumstances, and the cruelties of war; for scarcely a day passed that did not bring with it a skirmish with the enemy. It was not, however, till several weeks had elapsed that Frank was engaged in hostility. It was on the night of the sortie made by General O’Hara against the masked battery that had been constructed by Buonaparte to play upon Fort Malbosquet.
Armed with a cutlass, a brace of pistols, and a pike, the young midshipman accompanied his party to the attack. He felt that he was now an officer in the service of his country; and though his heart palpitated at the thoughts of going into battle, he determined not to flinch. The night was dark; and silently and stealthily they proceeded up the mountain.
This enemy had suspected the design, and were in readiness to receive them; and then began the terrible affray. Frank kept as close to Mr. Evans as he could; he had in some measure become used to the peals of musketry, but not to the consequences of the murderous discharge; and his heart quailed when he beheld body after body rolling down the declivity, and heard the shrieks of the wounded as they lay bleeding on the ground, or fell from crag to crag mangled and dying.
This dread did not last long, for he was hurled into the very thick of the mêlée, and desperation lent strength to his arm. Encouraged by Mr. Evans, who cheered on his men, he rushed forward with the advance, his spirit rising as the strife increased. For a short time he was separated from the lieutenant, but the tide of contest ranging back, he once more joined him at the moment that he had been brought to the earth by a blow from the butt of a French musket; and the soldier was about to repeat the stroke, when Frank with his pike charged with the utmost violence he could muster against the man; the sharpened iron entered his breast so as to throw the soldier off his balance, the blow descended short of the intended victim, and the weapon was shattered to pieces.
But the French soldier was not defeated; and snatching at the prostrate officer’s sword he possessed himself of it, and prepared to take ample revenge on the stripling who had no other weapon to oppose to his gigantic strength than his cutlass. Frank gazed at his powerful adversary and believed his last hour was come; but he determined not to abandon the lieutenant. One thought—one moment’s thought of his mother intruded—a pang of bitterness and anguish passed through his heart; and then placing himself on the defensive, and purposing if possible to elude his enemy by activity, he saw him advance. At this instant, however, a British corporal interposed, and lunged at the Frenchman with his bayonet; but the brave fellow had been previously wounded and his strength was failing him; still his spirit was indomitable, and a sharp conflict ensued, Frank occasionally getting a cut at the Frenchman, whose superior fencing gave him an admirable command of his weapon; and the youth with horror saw the sword of Mr. Evans passed through and through the body of the corporal: it was done with the rapidity of lightning, and the gallant man fell to the ground with one deep and parting groan.
A laugh—a horrible laugh of triumph issued from the enemy as he now considered his young victim safe to satiate his revenge. The body of the lieutenant lay between them; and as he began to give tokens of returning animation, the soldier seemed undecided whether he should attack the youth or give the officer the coup-de-grace. Frank beheld him advance—he would not retreat, but with cool determination parried the thrust; but the superior strength of his opponent prevailed; his guard was beat down, and the sword that had so recently taken life was again wet with blood; the youth was borne backward on its point, and in all probability another second would have stretched him lifeless by the side of Mr. Evans, had not a bold athletic seaman flung himself against the soldier, who promptly recovered his blade, but not till he was staggered by a blow from the tar, who shouted in a voice that Frank instantly recognised, “Ware hawse, you lubber—puckalow that—what’s the odds, so as you’re happy?”—it was Ben Brailsford.
A cry of delight burst from the youth as he incautiously hailed his old companion; for Ben was not aware who it was that he had preserved; but on hearing the well-remembered tongue of his young friend, he turned suddenly round. The Frenchman instantly perceived his advantage, and made a pass that must have dangerously wounded if not killed the worthy seaman, but that the tar, intuitively sensible of his error, sprang on one side, and the sword of his antagonist did but graze his arm. For several minutes the conflict was desperate; Ben was unskilled in the practices of scientific fencing, but he was perfect master of the guards and cuts; and the Frenchman’s vigour began to relax through the wounds he had received, and the excessive exertions he had undergone. At last finding resistance futile, the soldier dropped the point of his sword in token of surrender, and the seaman, after disarming him, hastened to the side of the youth, who had fallen to the ground inanimate.