The King's Own

by Frederick Marryat

  CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

  Thou art perfect, then, that our ship hath touched upon the deserts of Bohemia?

  Ay, my lord and fear we have landed in ill time.

  WINTER'S TALE.

  About midnight the moon burst through the clouds, which gradually rolledaway to the western horizon, as if they had been furled by someinvisible spirits in the air. The wind, after several feeble gusts,like the last breathings of some expiring creature unwilling to loosenthe "silver cord," subsided to a calm. It then shifted round to theeastward. The waves relaxed in their force until they did little morethan play upon the side of the wreck, so lately the object of theirfury. The dark shadows of the rocks were no longer relieved by thewhite foam of the surf, which had raged among them with such violence.Before morning all was calm, and the survivors, as they shrunk andshivered in their wet garments, encouraged each other with the prospectof a speedy termination to their sufferings on the reappearance ofdaylight. The sun rose in splendour, and seemed, as he darted hissearching rays through the cloudless expanse, to exclaim in his pride,"Behold how I bring light and heat, joy and salvation, to you, latedespairing creatures!" The rocks of the reef above water, which hadpreviously been a source of horror, and had been contemplated as thesure engines of their destruction, were now joyfully reckoned as so manyresting-spots for those who were about to attempt to reach the land.

  The most daring and expert swimmers launched themselves into the water,and made for the nearest cluster of rocks, with difficulty gaining afooting on them, after clinging by the dark and slippery sea-weed whichcovered their tops, like shaggy hair on the heads of so many emerginggiants. The waving of the hands of the party who had succeeded ingaining the rocks, encouraged a second to follow; while others, whocould not swim, were busily employed in searching for the means ofsupporting themselves in the water, and floating themselves on shore.Self, that had predominated, now lost its ground. Those who had allowedtheir shipmates to perish in attempting to gain the same place ofsecurity as themselves, without an effort in their favour, or one sighfor their unlucky fate, now that hope was revived almost to a certaintyof deliverance, showed as much interest in the preservation of otherslying in a state of exhaustion, as they did for their own. Theremaining officers recovered their authority, which had beendisregarded, and the shattered fragment of the _Aspasia_ reassumed theirrights of discipline and obedience to the last. In a few hours, sick,disabled, and wounded were all safely landed, and the raft which hadbeen constructed returned to the wreck, to bring on shore whatever mightbe useful.

  Our hero, who was the only officer who had been saved, with theexception of the boatswain, had taken upon himself the command, andoccupied himself with the arrangements necessary for the shelter andsustenance of his men. A range of barren hills, abruptly rising fromthe iron-bound coast, covered with large fragments and detached piecesof rock, without any symptom of cultivation, or any domesticated animalin sight which might imply that human aid was not far distant, met theeye of Seymour, as he directed it to every point, in hopes of succourfor his wounded and exhausted companions. One of the men, whom he hadsent to reconnoitre, returned in a few minutes, stating, that behind ajutting rock, which he pointed to with his finger, not two hundred yardsdistant, he had discovered a hut, or what in Ireland is termed ashealing, and that there appeared to be a bridle road from it leadingover the mountain. To this shelter our hero determined to remove hisdisabled men, and in company with the boatswain and the man who hadreturned with the intelligence, set off to examine the spot. Passingthe rock, he perceived that the hut, which bore every sign, from itssmokeless chimney and air of negligence and decay, to have been sometime deserted, stood upon a piece of ground, about an acre in extent,which had once been cultivated, but was now luxuriant with a spontaneouscrop of weeds and thistles. He approached the entrance, and as the rudedoor creaked upon its hinges when he threw it open, was saluted by afaint voice, which cried, "_Qui va la_?"

  "Why there's Irishmen inside," observed the sailor.

  "Frenchmen rather, I should imagine," replied our hero, as he enteredand discovered seven or eight of the unfortunate survivors of the Frenchline-of-battle ship, who had crawled there, bruised, cut, and apparentlyin the last state of exhaustion.

  "_Bonjour, camarade_," said one of them, with difficulty raising himselfon his elbow--"_As-tu d'eau-de-vie_?"

  "I am afraid not," replied Seymour, looking with compassion on thegroup, all of which had their eyes directed towards him, although, fromtheir wounds and bruises, they were not able to turn their bodies. "Weare shipwrecked as well as you."

  "What! did you belong to that cursed frigate?"

  "We did," replied Seymour, "and there are but few of us alive to tellthe tale."

  "_Vive la France_!" cried the Frenchman; "_puisqu'elle n'a pasechappee--je n'ai plus des regrets_."

  "_Viva, viva_!" repeated the rest of the French party, in faint accents.

  "_Et moi, je meurs content_!" murmured one, who, in a few secondsafterwards expired.

  "Are you the only survivors?" demanded Seymour.

  "All that are left," replied the spokesman of the party, "out of eighthundred and fifty men. _Sacristie--as-tu d'eau-de-vie_?"

  "I hardly know what we have--something has been saved from the wreck,"replied Seymour, "and shall cheerfully be shared with you with all theassistance we can afford. We were enemies, but we are now brothers inaffliction. I must quit you to bring up our wounded men; there issufficient room, I perceive, for all of us. _Adieu, pour le moment_!"

  "_Savez-vous que c'est un brave garcon ce lieutenant-la_?" observed theFrenchman to his companions, as Seymour and his party quitted the hut.

  Seymour returned to the beach, and, collecting his men, found thesurvivors to consist of forty-four seamen and marines, the boatswain andhimself. Of these, fifteen were helpless, from wounds and fracturedlimbs. The articles which had been collected were a variety of sparsand fragments of wood, some of the small sails which had been triced upin the rigging, one or two casks of beef and pork, and a puncheon ofrum, which had miraculously steered its course between the breakers, andhad been landed without injury. The sails which had been spread out todry, were first carried up to form a bed for the sick and wounded, who,in the space of an hour, were all made as comfortable as circumstanceswould admit, a general bed having been made on the floor of the hut,upon which they and the wounded Frenchmen shared the sails between them.The spars and fragments were then brought up, and a fire made in thelong deserted hearth, while another was lighted outside for the men todry their clothes. The cask of rum was rolled up to the door, and aportion, mixed with the water from a rill that trickled down the sidesof the adjacent mountain, served out to the exhausted parties. Theseamen, stripping off their clothes, and spreading them out to drybefore the fire which had been made outside, collected into the hut toshield their naked bodies from the inclemency of the weather.

  The spirits, which had been supplied with caution to the survivors ofthe French vessel, had been eagerly seized by the one who had firstaddressed our hero, and in half an hour he seemed to be quite revived.He rose, and after trying his limbs, by moving slowly to and fro,gradually recovered the entire use of them; and by the time that thecirculation of his blood had been thoroughly restored by a second doseof spirits, appeared to have little to complain of. He was a powerful,well-looking man, with a large head, covered with a profusion of shaggyhair. Seymour looked at him earnestly, and thought he could not well bemistaken, long as it was since they had been in company.

  "Excuse me--but I think we once met at Cherbourg. Is not your nameDebriseau?"

  "_Sacristie_!" replied the Frenchman, seizing himself by the hair, "_jesuis connu_! And who are you?"

  "Oh! now I'm sure it's you," replied Seymour, laughing--"that's your oldtrick--do you not recollect the boy that Captain McElvina took off thewreck?"

  "_Ah mon ami_--Seymour, I believe--midshipman, I believe," criedDebriseau. "_Est-
ce donc vous? Mais, mon Dieu, que c'est drole_"(again pulling his hair as he grinded his teeth) "_Un diable derencontre_!"

  "And how is it that you have been on board of a French man-of-war?"

  "How! oh, I was unlucky after McElvina went away, and I thought, onreflection, notwithstanding his arguments, that it was a dishonest sortof concern. Being pretty well acquainted with the coasts, I shipped onboard as pilot."

  "But, Debriseau, are you not a native of Guernsey, which is part of theBritish dominions?"

  "Bah! it's all one, _mon ami_; we islanders are like the bat in thefable--beast or bird, as it suits us--we belong to either country. Formy own part, I have a strong national affection for _both_."

  The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the boatswain,who had remained outside, in charge of the cask of rum, upon which hehad seated himself occupied with his Bible. "Here's assistance coming,Mr Seymour. There's at least twenty or thirty men descending thehill."

  "Hurrah for old Ireland! they are the boys that will look after a friendin distress," shouted Conolly, one of the seamen, who thus eulogised hisown countrymen, as he hung naked over the fire.