Peter Simple

“Thank God!” ejaculated Swinburne, when he had directed his eyes along the coast; “she is above water, at all events!”—and looking in the direction where he pointed, I perceived the brig within two miles of the shore, dismantled, and tossing in the waves.

“I see her,” replied I, catching my breath with joy; “but—still—I think she must go on shore.”

“All depends upon whether she can get a little bit of sail up to weather the point,” replied Swinburne; “and depend upon it, Captain O’Brien knows that as well as we do.”

We were now joined by the other men who were saved. We all shook hands. They pointed out to me the bodies of our shipmates who had perished. I directed them to haul them further up, and put them altogether; and continued, with Swinburne, to watch the brig. In about half-an-hour we perceived a triangle raised; and in ten minutes afterwards, a jury-mast abaft—a try-sail was hoisted and set. Then the shears were seen forward, and in as short a time another try-sail and a storm jib were expanded to the wind.

“That’s all he can do now, Mr Simple,” observed Swinburne; “he must trust to them and to Providence. They are not more than a mile from the beach—it will be touch and go.”

Anxiously did we watch for more than half-an-hour; the other men returned to us, and joined in our speculations. At one time we thought it impossible—at another we were certain that she would weather the point. At last, as she neared it, she forged a-head: my anxiety became almost insupportable. I stood first on one leg, and then on the other, breathless with suspense. She appeared to be on the point—actually touching the rocks—“God! she’s struck!” said I.

“No!” replied Swinburne;—and then we saw her pass on the other side of the outermost rock, and disappear.

“Safe, Mr Simple!—weathered, by God!” cried Swinburne, waving his hat with joy.

“God be thanked!” replied I, overcome with delight.

Chapter Forty Eight

The devastations of the hurricane—Peter makes friends—At destroying or saving, nothing like British seamen—Peter meets with General O’Brien much to his satisfaction—Has another meeting still more so—A great deal of pressing of hands, “and all that,” as Pope says

Now that the brig was safe, we thought of ourselves. My first attention was directed to the dead bodies; and as I looked at their mangled limbs, I felt grateful to Heaven that I had been so miraculously spared. We then cast our eyes along the beach to see if we could trace any remnants of the other boats; but in vain. We were about three miles from the town, which we could perceive had received considerable damage and the beach below it was strewed with wrecks and fragments. I told the men that we might as well walk into the town, and deliver ourselves up as prisoners; to which they agreed, and we set forward, promising to send for the poor fellows who were too much hurt to accompany us.

As soon as we climbed up the rocks, and gained the inland, what a sight presented itself to us! Trees torn up by the roots in every direction—cattle lying dead—here and there the remains of a house, of which the other parts had been swept away for miles. Everything not built of solid masonry had disappeared. We passed what had been a range of negro huts, but they were levelled to the ground. The negroes were busily searching for their property among the ruins, while the women held their infants in their arms, and the other children by their sides. Here and there was the mother wailing over the dead body of some poor little thing which had been crushed to death. They took no notice of us.

About half a mile further on, to our great delight, we fell in with the crews of the other boats, who were sitting by the side of the road. They had all escaped unhurt: their boats being so much more buoyant than ours, had been thrown up high and dry. They joined us, and we proceeded on our way.

On our road we fell in with a cart blown over, under the wheel of which was the leg of the negro who conducted it. We released the poor fellow: his leg was fractured. We laid him by the side of the road in the shade, and continued our march. Our whole route was one scene of desolation and distress; but when we arrived at the town, we found that there it was indeed accumulated. There was not one house in three standing entire—the beach was covered with the remnants of bodies and fragments of vessels, whose masts lay forced several feet into the sand, and broken into four or five pieces. Parties of soldiers were busy taking away the bodies, and removing what few valuables had been saved. We turned up into the town, for no one accosted or even noticed us; and here the scene was even more dreadful. In some streets they were digging out those who were still alive, and whose cries were heard among the ruins; in others, they were carrying away the dead bodies. The lamentations of the relatives—the howling of the negroes—the cries of the wounded—the cursing and swearing of the French soldiers, and the orders delivered continually by officers on horseback, with all the confusion arising from crowds of spectators, mingling their voices together, formed a scene as dreadful as it was novel.

After surveying it for a few minutes, I went up to an officer on horseback, and told him in French that I wished to surrender myself as a prisoner.

“We have no time to take prisoners now,” replied he: “hundreds are buried in the ruins, and we must try to save them. We must now attend to the claims of humanity.”

“Will you allow my men to assist you, sir?” replied I. “They are active and strong fellows.”

“Sir,” said he, taking off his hat, “I thank you in the name of my unfortunate countrymen.”

“Show us, then, where we may be most useful.”

He turned and pointed to a house higher up, the offices of which were blown down. “There are living beings under those ruins.”

“Come, my lads,” said I: and sore as they were, my men hastened with alacrity to perform their task. I could not help them myself, my side was so painful; but I stood by giving them directions.

In half-an-hour we had cleared away so as to arrive at a poor negro girl, whose cries we had distinctly heard. We released her, and laid her down in the street, but she fainted. Her left hand was dreadfully shattered. I was giving what assistance I could, and the men were busy clearing away, throwing on one side the beams and rafters, when an officer on horseback rode up. He stood and asked me who we were. I told him that we belonged to the brig, and had been wrecked; and that we were giving what assistance we could until they were at leisure to send us to prison.

“You English are fine brave fellows,” replied he, as he rode on.

Another unfortunate object had been recovered by our men, an old white-headed negro, but he was too much mangled to live. We brought him out, and were laying him beside the negro girl, when several officers on horseback rode down the street. The one who was foremost, in a general’s uniform, I immediately recognised as my former friend, then Colonel O’Brien. They all stopped and looked at us. I told who we were. General O’Brien took off his hat to the sailors, and thanked them.

He did not recognise me, and he was passing on, when I said to him in English, “General O’Brien, you have forgotten me; but I shall never forget your kindness.”

“My God!” said he, “is it you, my dear fellow?” and he sprang from his horse, and shook me warmly by the hand. “No wonder that I did not know you; you are a very different person from little Peter Simple, who dressed up as a girl and danced on stilts. But I have to thank you, and so has Celeste, for your kindness to her. I will not ask you to leave your work of charity and kindness; but when you have done what you can, come up to my house. Any one will show it to you; and if you do not find me you will find Celeste, as you must be aware I cannot leave this melancholy employment. God bless you!” He then rode off followed by his staff.

“Come, my lads,” said I, “depend upon it we shall not be very cruelly treated. Let us work hard, and do all the good we can, and the Frenchmen won’t forget it.”

We had cleared that house, and went back to where the other people were working under the orders of the officer on horseback. I went up to him, and told him we had saved two, and if he had no objection, would assist his party. He thankfully accepted our services.

“And now, my lads,” said Swinburne, “let us forget all our bruises, and show these French follows how to work.”

And they did so—they tossed away the beams and rafters right and left, with a quickness and dexterity which quite astonished the officer and other inhabitants who were looking on; and in half-an-hour had done more work than could have possibly been expected. Several lives were saved, and the French expressed their admiration at our sailors’ conduct, and brought them something to drink, which they stood much in need of, poor fellows. After they had worked double tides, as we say, and certainly were the means of saving many lives, which otherwise would have been sacrificed.

The disasters occasioned by this hurricane were very great, owing to its having taken place at night, when the chief of the inhabitants were in bed and asleep. I was told, that most of the wood houses were down five minutes after the hurricane burst upon them. About noon there was no more work for us to do, and I was not sorry that it was over. My side was very painful, and the burning heat of the sun made me feel giddy and sick at the stomach.

I inquired of a respectable looking old Frenchman, which was the general’s house. He directed me to it, and I proceeded there, followed by my men. When I arrived, I found the orderly leading away the horse of General O’Brien, who had just returned. I desired a serjeant, who was in attendance at the door, to acquaint the general that I was below. He returned, and desired me to follow him. I was conducted into a large room, where I found him in company with several officers. He again greeted me warmly, and introduced me to the company as the officer who had permitted the ladies, who had been taken prisoners, to come on shore.

“I have to thank you, then, for my wife,” said an officer, coming up and offering his hand.

Another came up, and told me that I had also released his. We then entered into a conversation, in which I stated the occasion of my having been wrecked, and all the particulars; also, that I had seen the brig in the morning dismasted, but that she had weathered the point, and was safe.

“That brig of yours, I must pay you the compliment to say, has been very troublesome; and my namesake keeps the batteries more upon the alert than ever I could have done,” said General O’Brien. “I don’t believe there is a negro five years old upon the island who does not know your brig.”

We then talked over the attack of the privateer, in which we were beaten off. “Ah!” replied the aide-de-camp, “you made a mess of that. He has been gone these four months. Captain Carnot swears that he’ll fight you if he falls in with you.”

“He has kept his word,” replied I: and then I narrated our action with the three French privateers, and the capture of the vessel; which surprised, and, I think, annoyed them very much.

“Well, my friend,” said General O’Brien, “you must stay with me while you are on the island; if you want anything, let me know.”

“I am afraid that I want a surgeon,” replied I; “for my side is so painful, that I can scarcely breathe.”

“Are you hurt, then?” said General O’Brien, with an anxious look.

“Not dangerously, I believe,” said I, “but rather painfully.”

“Let me see,” said an officer, who stepped forward; “I am surgeon to the forces here, and perhaps you will trust yourself in my hands. Take off your coat.”

I did so with difficulty. “You have two ribs broken,” said he, feeling my side, “and a very severe contusion. You must go to bed, or lie on a sofa for a few days. In a quarter of an hour I will come and dress you, and promise you to make you all well in ten days, in return for your having given me my daughter, who was on board of the Victorine with the other ladies.” The officers now made their bows, and left me alone with General O’Brien.

“Recollect,” said he, “that I tell you once for all, that my purse, and everything, is at your command. If you do not accept them freely, I shall think you do not love us. It is not the first time, Peter, and you repaid me honourably. However, of course, I was no party to that affair; it was Celeste’s doing,” continued he, laughing. “Of course I could not imagine that it was you who was dressed up as a woman, and so impudently danced through France on stilts. But I must hear all your adventures, by-and-bye. Celeste is most anxious to see you. Will you go now, or wait till after the surgeon comes?”

“Oh now, if you please, general. May I first beg that some care may be taken of my poor men; they have had nothing to eat since yesterday, are very much bruised, and have worked hard; and that a cart may be sent for those who lie on the beach?”

“I should have thought of them before,” replied he: and I will also order the same party to bury the other poor fellows who are lying on the beach. Come now—I will take you to Celeste.

Chapter Forty Nine

Broken ribs not likely to produce broken hearts—O’Brien makes something like a declaration of peace—Peter Simple actually makes a declaration of love—Rash proceedings on all sides

I followed the general into a handsomely-furnished apartment, where I found Celeste waiting to receive me. She ran to me as soon as I entered; and with what pleasure did I take her hand, and look on her beautiful, expressive countenance! I could not say a word—neither did Celeste. For a minute I held her hand in mine, looking at her; the general stood by, regarding us alternately. He then turned round and walked to the window. I lifted the hand to my lips, and then released it.