The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great Shadow and Other Napoleonic Tales by Arthur Conan Doyle This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Great Shadow and Other Napoleonic Tales Author: Arthur Conan Doyle Release Date: March 22, 2004 [EBook #11656] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT SHADOW *** Etext produced by Lionel G. Sear HTML file produced by David Widger
A SON MAJESTE, LE ROI DE SUEDE, STOCKHOLM.I did not know very much French, but I had enough to make that out. What sort of eagle was this which had flown into our humble little nest?
"My friends,— I didn't thought to have left you so suddenly, but the matter was in other hands than mine. Duty and honour have called me back to my old comrades. This you will doubtless understand before many days are past. I take your Edie with me as my wife; and it may be that in some more peaceful time you will see us again at West Inch. Meanwhile, accept the assurance of my affection, and believe me that I shall never forget the quiet months which I spent with you, at the time when my life would have been worth a week at the utmost had I been taken by the Allies. But the reason of this you may also learn some day." "Yours," "BONAVENTURE DE LISSAC" "(Colonel des Voltigeurs de la Garde, et aide-de-camp de S.M.I. L'Empereur Napoleon.")I whistled when I came to those words written under his name; for though I had long made up my mind that our lodger could be none other than one of those wonderful soldiers of whom we had heard so much, who had forced their way into every capital of Europe, save only our own, still I had little thought that our roof covered Napoleon's own aide-de-camp and a colonel of his Guard. "So," said I,﹃de Lissac is his name, and not de Lapp. Well, colonel or no, it is as well for him that he got away from here before Jim laid hands upon him. And time enough, too,﹄I added, peeping out at the kitchen window, "for here is the man himself coming through the garden." I ran to the door to meet him, feeling that I would have given a deal to have him back in Edinburgh again. He came running, waving a paper over his head; and I thought that maybe he had a note from Edie, and that it was all known to him. But as he came up I saw that it was a big, stiff, yellow paper which crackled as he waved it, and that his eyes were dancing with happiness. "Hurrah, Jock!" he shouted. "Where is Edie? Where is Edie?" "What is it, man?" I asked. "Where is Edie?" "What have you there?" "It's my diploma, Jock. I can practise when I like. It's all right. I want to show it to Edie." "The best you can do is to forget all about Edie," said I. Never have I seen a man's face change as his did when I said those words. "What! What d'ye mean, Jock Calder?" he stammered. He let go his hold of the precious diploma as he spoke, and away it went over the hedge and across the moor, where it stuck flapping on a whin-bush; but he never so much as glanced at it. His eyes were bent upon me, and I saw the devil's spark glimmer up in the depths of them. "She is not worthy of you," said I. He gripped me by the shoulder. "What have you done?" he whispered. "This is some of your hanky-panky! Where is she?" "She's off with that Frenchman who lodged here." I had been casting about in my mind how I could break it gently to him; but I was always backward in speech, and I could think of nothing better than this. "Oh!" said he, and stood nodding his head and looking at me, though I knew very well that he could neither see me, nor the steading, nor anything else. So he stood for a minute or more, with his hands clenched and his head still nodding. Then he gave a gulp in his throat, and spoke in a queer dry, rasping voice. "When was this?" said he. "This morning." "Were they married?" "Yes." He put his hand against the door-post to steady himself. "Any message for me?" "She said that you would forgive her." "May God blast my soul on the day I do! Where have they gone to?" "To France, I should judge." "His name was de Lapp, I think?" "His real name is de Lissac; and he is no less than a colonel in Boney's Guards." "Ah! he would be in Paris, likely. That is well! That is well!" "Hold up!" I shouted. "Father! Father! Bring the brandy!" His knees had given way for an instant, but he was himself again before the old man came running with the bottle. "Take it away!" said he. "Have a soop, Mister Horscroft," cried my father, pressing it upon him. "It will give you fresh heart!" He caught hold of the bottle and sent it flying over the garden hedge. "It's very good for those who wish to forget," said he; "I am going to remember!" "May God forgive you for sinfu' waste!" cried my father aloud. "And for well-nigh braining an officer of his Majesty's infantry!" said old Major Elliott, putting his head over the hedge. "I could have done with a nip after a morning's walk, but it is something new to have a whole bottle whizz past my ear. But what is amiss, that you all stand round like mutes at a burying?" In a few words I told him our trouble, while Jim, with a grey face and his brows drawn down, stood leaning against the door-post. The Major was as glum as we by the time I had finished, for he was fond both of Jim and of Edie. "Tut, tut!" said he. "I feared something of the kind ever since that business of the peel tower. It's the way with the French. They can't leave the women alone. But, at least, de Lissac has married her, and that's a comfort. But it's no time now to think of our own little troubles, with all Europe in a roar again, and another twenty years' war before us, as like as not." "What d'ye mean?" I asked. "Why, man, Napoleon's back from Elba, his troops have flocked to him, and Louis has run for his life. The news was in Berwick this morning." "Great Lord!" cried my father. "Then the weary business is all to do over again!" "Aye, we thought we were out from the shadow, but it's still there. Wellington is ordered from Vienna to the Low Countries, and it is thought that the Emperor will break out first on that side. Well, it's a bad wind that blows nobody any good. I've just had news that I am to join the 71st as senior major." I shook hands with our good neighbour on this, for I knew how it had lain upon his mind that he should be a cripple, with no part to play in the world. "I am to join my regiment as soon as I can; and we shall be over yonder in a month, and in Paris, maybe, before another one is over." "By the Lord, then, I'm with you, Major!" cried Jim Horscroft. "I'm not too proud to carry a musket, if you will put me in front of this Frenchman." "My lad, I'd be proud to have you serve under me," said the Major. "And as to de Lissac, where the Emperor is he will be." "You know the man," said I. "What can you tell us of him?" "There is no better officer in the French army, and that is a big word to say. They say that he would have been a marshal, but he preferred to stay at the Emperor's elbow. I met him two days before Corunna, when I was sent with a flag to speak about our wounded. He was with Soult then. I knew him again when I saw him." "And I will know him again when I see him!" said Horscroft, with the old dour look on his face. And then at that instant, as I stood there, it was suddenly driven home to me how poor and purposeless a life I should lead while this crippled friend of ours and the companion of my boyhood were away in the forefront of the storm. Quick as a flash my resolution was taken. "I'll come with you too, Major," I cried. "Jock! Jock!" said my father, wringing his hands. Jim said nothing, but put his arm half round me and hugged me. The Major's eyes shone and he flourished his cane in the air. "My word, but I shall have two good recruits at my heels," said he. "Well, there's no time to be lost, so you must both be ready for the evening coach." And this was what a single day brought about; and yet years pass away so often without a change. Just think of the alteration in that four-and-twenty hours. De Lissac was gone. Edie was gone. Napoleon had escaped. War had broken out. Jim Horscroft had lost everything, and he and I were setting out to fight against the French. It was all like a dream, until I tramped off to the coach that evening, and looked back at the grey farm steading and at the two little dark figures: my mother with her face sunk in her Shetland shawl, and my father waving his drover's stick to hearten me upon my way.
"The 32-gun frigates Leda and Dido (Captains A. P. Johnson
and James Munro) are to cruise from the point at which these
instructions are read to the mouth of the Caribbean Sea, in
the hope of encountering the French frigate La Gloire (48),
which has recently harassed our merchant ships in that quarter.
H.M. frigates are also directed to hunt down the piratical craft
known sometimes as the Slapping Sal and sometimes as the Hairy
Hudson, which has plundered the British ships as per margin,
inflicting barbarities upon their crews. She is a small brig,
carrying ten light guns, with one twenty-four pound carronade
forward. She was last seen upon the 23rd ult. to the north-east
of the island of Sombriero."
"(Signed) JAMES MONTGOMERY,"
"(Rear-Admiral).
H.M.S. Colossus, Antigua."
"We appear to have lost our consort," said Captain Johnson, folding up his
instructions and again sweeping the horizon with his glass. "She drew away
after we reefed down. It would be a pity if we met this heavy Frenchman
without the Dido, Mr. Wharton. Eh?"
The lieutenant twinkled and smiled.
"She has eighteen-pounders on the main and twelves on the poop, sir," said
the captain.﹃She carries four hundred to our two hundred and thirty-one.
Captain de Milon is the smartest man in the French service. Oh, Bobby boy,
I'd give my hopes of my flag to rub my side up against her!﹄He turned on
his heel, ashamed of his momentary lapse. "Mr. Wharton," said he, looking
back sternly over his shoulder, "get those square sails shaken out and
bear away a point more to the west."
"A brig on the port-bow," came a voice from the forecastle.
"A brig on the port-bow," said the lieutenant.
The captain sprang upon the bulwarks and held on by the mizzen-shrouds, a
strange little figure with flying skirts and puckered eyes. The lean
lieutenant craned his neck and whispered to Smeaton, the second, while
officers and men came popping up from below and clustered along the
weather-rail, shading their eyes with their hands—for the tropical
sun was already clear of the palm trees. The strange brig lay at anchor in
the throat of a curving estuary, and it was already obvious that she could
not get out without passing under the guns of the frigate. A long, rocky
point to the north of her held her in.
"Keep her as she goes, Mr. Wharton," said the captain. "Hardly worth while
our clearing for action, Mr. Smeaton, but the men can stand by the guns in
case she tries to pass us. Cast loose the bow-chasers and send the
small-arm men to the forecastle."
A British crew went to its quarters in those days with the quiet serenity
of men on their daily routine. In a few minutes, without fuss or sound,
the sailors were knotted round their guns, the marines were drawn up and
leaning on their muskets, and the frigate's bowsprit pointed straight for
her little victim.
"Is it the Slapping Sal, sir?"
"I have no doubt of it, Mr. Wharton."
"They don't seem to like the look of us, sir. They've cut their cable and
are clapping on sail."
It was evident that the brig meant struggling for her freedom. One little
patch of canvas fluttered out above another, and her people could be seen
working like madmen in the rigging. She made no attempt to pass her
antagonist, but headed up the estuary. The captain rubbed his hands.
"She's making for shoal water, Mr. Wharton, and we shall have to cut her
out, sir. She's a footy little brig, but I should have thought a
fore-and-after would have been more handy."
"It was a mutiny, sir."
"Ah, indeed!"
"Yes, sir, I heard of it at Manilla: a bad business, sir. Captain and two
mates murdered. This Hudson, or Hairy Hudson as they call him, led the
mutiny. He's a Londoner, sir, and a cruel villain as ever walked."
"His next walk will be to Execution Dock, Mr. Wharton. She seems heavily
manned. I wish I could take twenty topmen out of her, but they would be
enough to corrupt the crew of the ark, Mr. Wharton."
Both officers were looking through their glasses at the brig. Suddenly the
lieutenant showed his teeth in a grin, while the captain flushed a deeper
red.
"That's Hairy Hudson on the after-rail, sir."
"The low, impertinent blackguard! He'll play some other antics before we
are done with him. Could you reach him with the long eighteen, Mr.
Smeaton?"
"Another cable length will do it, sir."
The brig yawed as they spoke, and as she came round a spurt of smoke
whiffed out from her quarter. It was a pure piece of bravado, for the gun
could scarce carry halfway. Then with a jaunty swing the little ship came
into the wind again, and shot round a fresh curve in the winding channel.
"The water's shoaling rapidly, sir," repeated the second lieutenant.
"There's six fathoms by the chart."
"Four by the lead, sir."
"When we clear this point we shall see how we lie. Ha! I thought as much!
Lay her to, Mr. Wharton. Now we have got her at our mercy!"
The frigate was quite out of sight of the sea now at the head of this
river-like estuary. As she came round the curve the two shores were seen
to converge at a point about a mile distant. In the angle, as near shore
as she could get, the brig was lying with her broadside towards her
pursuer and a wisp of black cloth streaming from her mizzen. The lean
lieutenant, who had reappeared upon deck with a cutlass strapped to his
side and two pistols rammed into his belt, peered curiously at the ensign.
"Is it the Jolly Rodger, sir?" he asked.
But the captain was furious.
"He may hang where his breeches are hanging before I have done with him!"
said he. "What boats will you want, Mr. Wharton?"
"We should do it with the launch and the jolly-boat."
"Take four and make a clean job of it. Pipe away the crews at once, and
I'll work her in and help you with the long eighteens."
With a rattle of ropes and a creaking of blocks the four boats splashed
into the water. Their crews clustered thickly into them: bare-footed
sailors, stolid marines, laughing middies, and in the sheets of each the
senior officers with their stern schoolmaster faces. The captain, his
elbows on the binnacle, still watched the distant brig. Her crew were
tricing up the boarding-netting, dragging round the starboard guns,
knocking new portholes for them, and making every preparation for a
desperate resistance. In the thick of it all a huge man, bearded to the
eyes, with a red nightcap upon his head, was straining and stooping and
hauling. The captain watched him with a sour smile, and then snapping up
his glass he turned upon his heel. For an instant he stood staring.
"Call back the boats!" he cried in his thin, creaking voice. "Clear away
for action there! Cast loose those main-deck guns. Brace back the yards,
Mr. Smeaton, and stand by to go about when she has weigh enough."
Round the curve of the estuary was coming a huge vessel. Her great yellow
bowsprit and white-winged figure-head were jutting out from the cluster of
palm trees, while high above them towered three immense masts with the
tricolour flag floating superbly from the mizzen. Round she came, the
deep-blue water creaming under her fore foot, until her long, curving,
black side, her line of shining copper beneath and of snow-white hammocks
above, and the thick clusters of men who peered over her bulwarks were all
in full view. Her lower yards were slung, her ports triced up, and her
guns run out all ready for action. Lying behind one of the promontories of
the island, the lookout men of the Gloire upon the shore had seen
the cul de sac into which the British frigate was headed, so that
Captain de Milon had served the Leda as Captain Johnson had the Slapping
Sal.
But the splendid discipline of the British service was at its best in such
a crisis. The boats flew back; their crews clustered aboard; they were
swung up at the davits and the fall-ropes made fast. Hammocks were brought
up and stowed, bulkheads sent down, ports and magazines opened, the fires
put out in the galley, and the drums beat to quarters. Swarms of men set
the head-sails and brought the frigate round, while the gun-crews threw
off their jackets and shirts, tightened their belts, and ran out their
eighteen-pounders, peering through the open portholes at the stately
French man. The wind was very light. Hardly a ripple showed itself upon
the clear blue water, but the sails blew gently out as the breeze came
over the wooded banks. The Frenchman had gone about also, and both ships
were now heading slowly for the sea under fore-and-aft canvas, the Gloire
a hundred yards in advance. She luffed up to cross the Leda's bows,
but the British ship came round also, and the two rippled slowly on in
such a silence that the ringing of the ramrods as the French marines drove
home their charges clanged quite loudly upon the ear.
"Not much sea-room, Mr. Wharton," remarked the captain.
"I have fought actions in less, sir."
"We must keep our distance and trust to our gunnery. She is very heavily
manned, and if she got alongside we might find ourselves in trouble."
"I see the shakoes of soldiers aboard other."
"Two companies of light infantry from Martinique. Now we have her!
Hard-a-port, and let her have it as we cross her stern!"
The keen eye of the little commander had seen the surface ripple, which
told of a passing breeze. He had used it to dart across the big Frenchman
and to rake her with every gun as he passed. But, once past her, the Leda
had to come back into the wind to keep out of shoal water. The manoeuvre
brought her on to the starboard side of the Frenchman, and the trim little
frigate seemed to heel right over under the crashing broadside which burst
from the gaping ports. A moment later her topmen were swarming aloft to
set her top-sails and royals, and she strove to cross the Gloire's
bows and rake her again. The French captain, however, brought his
frigate's head round, and the two rode side by side within easy
pistol-shot, pouring broadsides into each other in one of those murderous
duels which, could they all be recorded, would mottle our charts with
blood.
In that heavy tropical air, with so faint a breeze, the smoke formed a
thick bank round the two vessels, from which the topmasts only protruded.
Neither could see anything of its enemy save the throbs of fire in the
darkness, and the guns were sponged and trained and fired into a dense
wall of vapour. On the poop and the forecastle the marines, in two little
red lines, were pouring in their volleys, but neither they nor the
seamen-gunners could see what effect their fire was having. Nor, indeed,
could they tell how far they were suffering themselves, for, standing at a
gun, one could but hazily see that upon the right and the left. But above
the roar of the cannon came the sharper sound of the piping shot, the
crashing of riven planks, and the occasional heavy thud as spar or block
came hurtling on to the deck. The lieutenants paced up and down the line
of guns, while Captain Johnson fanned the smoke away with his cocked-hat
and peered eagerly out.
"This is rare, Bobby!" said he, as the lieutenant joined him. Then,
suddenly restraining himself, "What have we lost, Mr. Wharton?"
"Our maintopsail yard and our gaff, sir."
"Where's the flag?"
"Gone overboard, sir."
"They'll think we've struck! Lash a boat's ensign on the starboard arm of
the mizzen cross-jack-yard."
"Yes, sir."
A round-shot dashed the binnacle to pieces between them. A second knocked
two marines into a bloody palpitating mash. For a moment the smoke rose,
and the English captain saw that his adversary's heavier metal was
producing a horrible effect. The Leda was a shattered wreck. Her
deck was strewed with corpses. Several of her portholes were knocked into
one, and one of her eighteen-pounder guns had been thrown right back on to
her breech, and pointed straight up to the sky. The thin line of marines
still loaded and fired, but half the guns were silent, and their crews
were piled thickly round them.
"Stand by to repel boarders!" yelled the captain.
"Cutlasses, lads, cutlasses!" roared Wharton.
"Hold your volley till they touch!" cried the captain of marines.
The huge loom of the Frenchman was seen bursting through the smoke. Thick
clusters of boarders hung upon her sides and shrouds. A final broad-side
leapt from her ports, and the main-mast of the Leda, snapping short
off a few feet above the deck, spun into the air and crashed down upon the
port guns, killing ten men and putting the whole battery out of action. An
instant later the two ships scraped together, and the starboard bower
anchor of the Gloire caught the mizzen-chains of the Leda
upon the port side. With a yell the black swarm of boarders steadied
themselves for a spring.
But their feet were never to reach that blood-stained deck. From some
where there came a well-aimed whiff of grape, and another, and another.
The English marines and seamen, waiting with cutlass and musket behind the
silent guns, saw with amazement the dark masses thinning and shredding
away. At the same time the port broadside of the Frenchman burst into a
roar.
"Clear away the wreck!" roared the captain. "What the devil are they
firing at?"
"Get the guns clear!" panted the lieutenant. "We'll do them yet, boys!"
The wreckage was torn and hacked and splintered until first one gun and
then another roared into action again. The Frenchman's anchor had been cut
away, and the Leda had worked herself free from that fatal hug. But
now, suddenly, there was a scurry up the shrouds of the Gloire, and
a hundred Englishmen were shouting themselves hoarse: "They're running!
They're running! They're running!"
And it was true. The Frenchman had ceased to fire, and was intent only
upon clapping on every sail that he could carry. But that shouting hundred
could not claim it all as their own. As the smoke cleared it was not
difficult to see the reason. The ships had gained the mouth of the estuary
during the fight, and there, about four miles out to sea, was the Leda's
consort bearing down under full sail to the sound of the guns. Captain de
Milon had done his part for one day, and presently the Gloire was
drawing off swiftly to the north, while the Dido was bowling along
at her skirts, rattling away with her bow-chasers, until a headland hid
them both from view.
But the Leda lay sorely stricken, with her mainmast gone, her bulwarks
shattered, her mizzen-topmast and gaff shot away, her sails like a
beggar's rags, and a hundred of her crew dead and wounded. Close beside
her a mass of wreckage floated upon the waves. It was the stern-post of a
mangled vessel, and across it, in white letters on a black ground, was
printed, "The Slapping Sal."
"By the Lord! it was the brig that saved us!" cried Mr. Wharton. "Hudson
brought her into action with the Frenchman, and was blown out of the water
by a broadside!"
The little captain turned on his heel and paced up and down the deck.
Already his crew were plugging the shot-holes, knotting and splicing and
mending. When he came back, the lieutenant saw a softening of the stern
lines about his eyes and mouth.
"Are they all gone?"
"Every man. They must have sunk with the wreck."
The two officers looked down at the sinister name, and at the stump of
wreckage which floated in the discoloured water. Something black washed to
and fro beside a splintered gaff and a tangle of halliards. It was the
outrageous ensign, and near it a scarlet cap was floating.
"He was a villain, but he was a Briton!" said the captain at last. "He
lived like a dog, but, by God, he died like a man!"
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