Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

  CHAPTER XXXIII. A BOLD STROKE FOR FAME AND FORTUNE

  To be awakened suddenly from a sound sleep, hurried half-dressed up agangway, and, ere your faculties have acquired free play, be passed overa ship's side, on a dark and stormy night, into a boat wildly tossedhere and there, with spray showering over you, and a chorus of loudvoices about you, is an event not easily forgotten. Such a scene stilldwells in my memory, every incident of it as clear and distinct asthough it had occurred only yesterday. In this way was I 'passed,' withtwelve others, on board his Majesty's frigate, _Temeraire_, a vesselwhich, in the sea-service, represented what a well-known regiment didon shore, and bore the reputation of being a 'condemned ship'--thisdepreciating epithet having no relation to the qualities of the vesselherself, which was a singularly beautiful French model, but only to thatof the crew and officers, it being the policy of the day to isolate theblackguards of both services, confining them to particular crafts andcorps, making, as it were, a kind of _index expurgatorius_, where allthe rascality was available at a moment's notice.

  It would be neither agreeable to my reader nor myself, if I shoulddwell on this theme, nor linger on a description where cruelty,crime, heartless tyranny, and reckless insubordination made up allthe elements. A vessel that floated the seas only as a vastpenitentiary--the 'cats,' the 'yard-arm,' and the 'gangway,' comprisingits scheme of discipline--would scarcely be an agreeable subject. And,in reality, my memory retains of the life aboard little else than scenesof suffering and sorrow. Captain Gesbrook had the name of being able toreduce any, the most insubordinate, to discipline. The veriest rascalsof the fleet, the consummate scoundrels, one of whom was deemedpollution to an ordinary crew, were said to come from his hands modelsof seamanship and good conduct; and it must be owned, that if thecharacter was deserved, it was not obtained without some sacrifice. Manydied under punishment; many carried away with them diseases underwhich they lingered on to death; and not a few preferred suicide to theterrible existence on board. And although a 'Temeraire'--as a man whohad served in her was always afterwards called--was now and then shownas an example of sailorlike smartness and activity, very few knewhow dearly that one success had been purchased, nor by what terribleexamples of agony and woe that solitary conversion was obtained.

  To me the short time I spent on board of her is a dreadful dream. Wewere bound for the Mediterranean, to touch at Malta and Gibraltar, andthen join the blockading squadron before Genoa. What might have beenmy fate, to what excess passionate indignation might have carriedme, revolted as I was by tyranny and injustice, I know not, when anaccident, happily for me, rescued me from all temptation. We lost ourmizzen-mast, in a storm, in the Bay of Biscay, and a dreadful blow onthe head, from the spanker-boom, felled me to the deck, with a fractureof the skull.

  From that moment I know of nothing till the time when I lay in my cot,beside a port-hole of the maindeck, gazing at the bright blue watersthat flashed and rippled beside me, or straining my strength to rest onmy elbow, when I caught sight of the glorious city of Genoa, with itsgrand mountain background, about three miles from where I lay. Whetherfrom a due deference to the imposing strength of the vast fortress,or that the line of duty prescribed our action, I cannot say, but theBritish squadron almost exclusively confined its operations to the actof blockade. Extending far across the bay, the English ensign was seenfloating from many a taper mast, while boats of every shape and sizeplied incessantly from ship to ship, their course marked out at night bythe meteorlike light that glittered in them; not, indeed, that the eyeoften turned in that direction, all the absorbing interest of thescene lying inshore. Genoa was, at that time, surrounded by an immenseAustrian force, under the command of General Melas, who, occupying allthe valleys and deep passes of the Apennines, were imperceptible duringthe day; but no sooner had night closed in, than a tremendous cannonadebegan, the balls describing great semicircles in the air ere they fellto scatter death and ruin on the devoted city. The spectacle was grandbeyond description, for while the distance at which we lay dulled andsubdued the sound of the artillery to a hollow booming, like far-offthunder, the whole sky was streaked by the course of the shot, and, atintervals, lighted up by the splendour of a great fire, as the red shotfell into and ignited some large building or other.

  As, night after night, the cannonade increased in power and intensity,and the terrible effects showed themselves in flames which burst outfrom different quarters of the city, I used to long for morning, to seeif the tricolour still floated on the walls; and when my eye caught thewell-known ensign, I could have wept with joy as I beheld it.

  High up, too, on the cliffs of the rugged Apennines, from many a craggyeminence, where perhaps a solitary gun was stationed, I could see thebeloved flag of France, the emblem of liberty and glory!

  In the day the scene was one of calm and tranquil beauty. It would haveseemed impossible to connect it with war and battle. The glorious city,rising in terraces of palaces, lay reflected in the mirrorlike waters ofthe bay, blue as the deep sky above them. The orange-trees, loaded withgolden fruit, shed their perfume over marble fountains, amid gardensof every varied hue; bands of military music were heard from the publicpromenades--all the signs of joy and festivity which betokened a happyand pleasure-seeking population. But at night the 'red artillery' againflashed forth, and the wild cries of strife and battle rose throughthe beleaguered city. The English spies reported that a famine and adreadful fever were raging within the walls, and that all Massena'sefforts were needed to repress an open mutiny of the garrison; but themere aspect of the 'proud city' seemed to refute the assertion. The gaycarolling of church bells vied with the lively strains of martial music,and the imposing pomp of military array, which could be seen from thewalls, bespoke a joyous confidence, the very reverse of this depression.

  From the 'tops,' and high up in the rigging, the movements inshorecould be descried; and frequently, when an officer came down to visita comrade, I could hear of the progress of the siege, and learn, I neednot say with what delight, that the Austrians had made little or no wayin the reduction of the place, and that every stronghold and bastion wasstill held by Frenchmen.

  At first, as I listened, the names of new places and new generalsconfused me; but by daily familiarity with the topic, I began toperceive that the Austrians had interposed a portion of their forcebetween Massena's division and that of Suchet, cutting off the latterfrom Genoa, and compelling him to fall back towards Chiavari andBorghetto, along the coast of the Gulf. This was the first success ofany importance obtained; and it was soon followed by others of equalsignificance, Soult being driven from ridge to ridge of the Apennines,until he was forced back within the second line of defences.

  The English officers were loud in condemning Austrian slowness--theinaptitude they exhibited to profit by a success, and the over-cautionwhich made them, even in victory, so careful of their own safety. Fromwhat I overheard, it seemed plain that Genoa was untenable by any troopsbut French, or opposed to any other adversaries than their present ones.

  The bad tidings--such I deemed them--came quicker and heavier. Now,Soult was driven from Monte Notte. Now, the great advance post of MonteFaccio was stormed and carried. Now, the double eagle was floating fromSan Tecla, a fort within cannon-shot of Genoa, A vast semicircleof bivouac fires stretched from the Apennines to the sea, and theirreflected glare from the sky lit up the battlements and ramparts of thecity.

  'Even yet, if Massena would make a dash at them,' said a young Englishlieutenant,' the white-coats would fallback.'

  'My life on 't he 'd cut his way through, if he knew they were only twoto one!'

  And this sentiment met no dissentient. All agreed that French heroismwas still equal to the overthrow of a force double its own.

  It was evident that all hope of reinforcement from France was vain.Before they could have begun their march southward, the question must bedecided one way or other.

  'There's little doing to-night,' said an officer, as he descended theladder to the
sick bay. 'Melas is waiting for some heavy mortars thatare coming up; and then there will be a long code of instructions fromthe Aulic Council, and a whole treatise on gunnery to be read, beforehe can use them. Trust me, if Massena knew his man, he 'd be up and athim.'

  Much discussion followed this speech, but all more or less agreed in itssentiment. Weak as were the French, lowered by fever and by famine, theywere still an overmatch for their adversaries. What a glorious avowalfrom the lips of an enemy was this! The words did more for my recoverythan all the cares and skill of physic Oh, if my countrymen but knew! ifMassena could but hear it! was my next thought; and I turned my eyes tothe ramparts, whose line was marked out by the bivouac fires, throughthe darkness. How short the distance seemed, and yet it was a wholeworld of separation. Had it been a great plain in a mountain tract, theattempt might almost have appeared practicable; at least, I had oftenseen fellows who would have tried it. Such were the ready roads, theroyal paths, to promotion, and he who trod them saved miles of wearyjourney. I fell asleep, still thinking on these things; but they hauntedmy dreams. A voice seemed ever to whisper in my ear--'If Massena butknew, he would attack them. One bold dash, and the Austrians would fallback.' At one instant, I thought myself brought before a court-martialof English officers, for attempting to carry these tidings; and proudlyavowing the endeavour, I fancied I was braving the accusation. Atanother, I was wandering through the streets of Genoa, gazing on theterrible scenes of famine I had heard of. And lastly, I was marchingwith a night party to attack the enemy. The stealthy footfall of thecolumn appeared suddenly to cease; we were discovered; the Austriancavalry were upon us! I started and awoke, and found myself in the dim,half-lighted chamber, with pain and suffering around me, and where,even in this midnight hour, the restless tortures of disease were yetwakeful.

  'The silence is more oppressive to me than the roll of artillery,'said one, a sick midshipman, to his comrade. 'I grew accustomed to theclatter of the guns, and slept all the better for it.'

  'You 'll scarcely hear much more of that music,' replied his friend.'The French must capitulate to-morrow or next day.'

  'Not if Massena would make a dash at them,' thought I; and withdifficulty could I refrain from uttering the words aloud.

  They continued to talk to each other in low whispers, and, lulled by thedrowsy tones, I fell asleep once more, again to dream of my comrades andtheir fortunes. A heavy bang like a cannon-shot awoke me; but whetherthis were real or not I never knew; most probably, however, it was themere creation of my brain, for all were now in deep slumber around me,and even the marine on duty had seated himself on the ladder, and withhis musket between his legs, seemed dozing away peacefully. I looked outthrough the little window beside my berth. A light breeze wasfaintly rippling the dark water beneath me. It was the beginning of a'Levanter,' and scarcely ruffled the surface as it swept along.

  'Oh, if it would but bear the tidings I am full of!' thought I. 'But whynot dare the attempt myself?' While in America I had learned to becomea good swimmer. Under Indian teaching, I had often passed hours in thewater; and though now debilitated by long sickness, I felt that thecause would supply me with the strength I needed. From the instant thatI conceived the thought, till I found myself descending the ship's side,was scarcely a minute. Stripping off my woollen shirt, and with nothingbut my loose trousers, I crept through the little window, and loweringmyself gently by the rattlin of my hammock, descended slowly andnoiselessly into the sea. I hung on thus for a couple of seconds, halffearing the attempt, and irresolute of purpose. Should strength fail, oreven a cramp seize me, I must be lost, and none would ever know in whatan enterprise I had perished. It would be set down as a mere attemptat escape. This notion almost staggered my resolution, but only for asecond or so; and with a short prayer, I slowly let slip the rope, andstruck out to swim.

  The immense efforts required to get clear of the ship's side discouragedme dreadfully, nor probably without the aid of the 'Levanter' should Ihave succeeded in doing so, the suction of the water along the sides wasso powerful. At last, however, I gained the open space, and found myselfstretching away towards shore rapidly. The night was so dark that I hadnothing to guide me save the lights on the ramparts; but in this lay mysafety. Swimming is, after all, but a slow means of progression. Afterwhat I judged to be an hour in the water, as I turned my head to lookback, I almost fancied that the great bowsprit of the _Temeraire_ wasover me, and that the figure who leaned over the taffrail was steadilygazing on me. How little way had I made, and what a vast reach of waterlay between me and the shore! I tried to animate my courage by thinkingof the cause, how my comrades would greet me, the honour in which theywould hold me for the exploit, and such like; but the terror of failuredamped this ardour, and hope sank every moment lower and lower.

  For some time I resolved within myself not to look back--thediscouragement was too great; but the impulse to do so became all thegreater, and the only means of resisting was by counting the strokes,and determining not to turn my head before I had made a thousand. Themonotony of this last, and the ceaseless effort to advance, threw meinto a kind of dreamy state, wherein mere mechanical effort remained.A few vague impressions are all that remain to me of what followed. Iremember the sound of the morning guns from the fleet; I remember, too,the hoisting of the French standard at daybreak on the fort of the Mole;I have some recollection of a bastion crowded with people, and hearingshouts and cheers like voices of welcome and encouragement; and thena whole fleet of small boats issuing from the harbour, as if by oneimpulse; and then there comes a bright blaze of light over one incident,for I saw myself, dripping and almost dead, lifted on the shoulders ofstrong men, and carried along a wide street filled with people. I was inGenoa!