“It must be the miscreants we left on the island of Madagascar;” said the young merchant. “I remember that murderous song well; but we’ll strive hard to spoil their singing.”
“Scrunch me if we don’t make ’em change their toon at any rate;” exclaimed the old man. “There’s nothin in life I’ve been so much wishin for as a ’portunity to sarve out that ere double distilled willain Scrumpydike, or Rifle, or whatever his name is.”
“And you must leave the other scoundrel to me;” added Oriel Porphyry. “I have an account to settle with him, and if I can get within reach, he shall not escape.”
The pirate ranged up on the quarter of the Albatross, pouring in her broadside as she advanced, which was answered with all the guns that could be brought to bear on that side of the ship, and then, by a manœuvre skilfully executed, the Albatross was made to wear round the schooner, pouring in a volley of musketry, till she presented her other side, from which another sweeping fire belched forth. The shot crashed through the timbers of the pirate, committing dreadful slaughter upon her closely packed deck, and when the smoke which enveloped her bows cleared away, it was seen that her foretop-mast had gone, her sails had been shot through in numerous places, and a considerable portion of her rigging hung in ragged shreds. Three cheers from the crew of the Albatross, and groans, and shouts and imprecations from the schooner, evinced the effect the firing had in both ships.
The pirate bore up as if with the intention of running alongside to board, and poured in her broadside as she advanced, which killed six or seven men, and wounded several others; but her opponent waited till she was within about three ships’ length, and then gave her the contents of all her available carronades. The mizen and mainmast of the pirate, which had previously been wounded, now fell by the board. At this instant the schooner fell foul of the Albatross on her larboard quarter, and the pirates made several desperate attempts to board, but the crew of the other ship kept up such a murderous discharge of musketry and small arms from her tops as well as from her decks, that every attempt was ineffectual, and the Albatross wearing off, discharged her larboard quarter-deck guns, and such of the main-deck guns as could be brought to bear, into the schooner’s larboard bow.
The excitement on board the Albatross was now at its height. Every man was at his post, and one spirit seemed to stir the whole. The wounded were carried down to the surgeon as soon as their hurts were known, and the dead thrown into the sea that they might not incommode the living. Oriel Porphyry continued in one of the most exposed parts of the ship encouraging the men, and firing a musket whenever the ships were near enough for him to do so with any effect. Broadside after broadside followed from the Albatross in rapid succession, sweeping the decks of the schooner, and splitting her timbers into fragments. But the pirate captain still made every exertion to board the merchant ship. His vessel was scarcely manageable, and nearly half her crew were either killed or wounded: but he bore up to his opponent with the same dauntless resolution that had distinguished him throughout his career; he cheered his men on to the fight; and continued to discharge every gun that could be brought into play.
A quick and well-directed fire of musketry was kept up from the tops and forecastle of the Albatross, and her quarter deck guns were discharged with scarcely any intermission and with dreadful effect. The schooner now fell on board the merchant ship on the starboard quarter, and the pirates lashed her bowsprit to the stump of their mainmast; but the lashings soon afterwards gave way, and the two vessels, yard-arm and yard-arm, continued to pour into each other their sweeping broadsides, very much to the advantage of the Albatross, who was crippling her opponent at every discharge, and slaughtering her crew.
At this time the main-mast of the pirate fell over the side, and as the smoke cleared away, she was seen with her ports jammed in, her decks torn up in several places, her hull battered, and every part of her wearing the appearance of a complete wreck. But Captain Death was not a man to think of surrendering. When his vessel became short of hands, he assisted in working a gun; and as soon as he could get the two ships close alongside, he headed a party that lashed them together, and then, followed by the remainder of his crew—men of all nations, of all colours, and of every kind of costume, rushed upon the deck of the Albatross.
The fight now became one of hand to hand. The pistol, the pike, and the cutlass seemed the only weapons in requisition. The crew of the Albatross hurried to the place where Captain Death, Lieutenant Rifle, and their followers were hewing their way with the most desperate valour. Oriel Porphyry, the captain, Climberkin, and Boggle headed their party, cheering them on, and cutting down their opponents. Oriel Porphyry was engaged with a gigantic negro, whose head he severed at a blow, and then attacked a second and a third with the same spirit, and with a similar effect. Old Hearty beheld his ancient enemy, first known to him by the name of Scrumpydike, and frantic with the remembrance of what he had once suffered at his hands, he rushed upon him, cutlass in hand. A pistol was discharged at his head as he advanced which missed its object, and the two were immediately engaged in hacking at each other with all their strength and skill. The old man in strength was the equal of his opponent, but he was his superior at the weapon, at which he had been practising ever since their previous fight, with the desire of having his revenge should they meet again. The struggle was a fierce one, but it was brief. Hearty cut his opponent’s sword-arm above the elbow with such force that it severed the bone, and at the same moment the young midshipman Loop run him through the body with a boarding-pike. With a malignant scowl he fell dead on the deck.
Oriel Porphyry had endeavoured to come in contact with the pirate captain, whom he observed at a short distance from him cutting down all by whom he was opposed; but several times he was attacked by some other of the gang whom he was obliged to dispose of before he could have the slightest chance of getting at him. At last Captain Death saw his former companion, and freeing himself from those with whom he was engaged, he hurried towards him, waving his uplifted sword streaming with blood, and shouting exclamations of rage and defiance.
“It is you I have sought far and near since you escaped me, but there’s no escape for you now;” muttered the pirate, as he rushed furiously upon the young merchant, and strived by the force and rapidity of his blows to bring the combat to a speedy termination. But he was engaged with one of the most accomplished swordsmen in existence, with a well-tried weapon, and a spirit burning to destroy the wretch with whom he fought. He parried dexterously, and warded off with the greatest ease the most furious blows that were aimed at him; and the blood flowing from wounds in the captain’s head and shoulder soon proved that he was not content with acting merely on the defensive. During the struggle these two got separated from the other combatants, and they stood in a part of the deck unnoticed by the men engaged on either side. Death, smarting from his wounds, pressed upon his antagonist with increasing rage and violence; but the latter, knowing that the victory was in his own hands, allowed the other to exhaust his strength in unavailing blows; then when he found the pirate’s exertions slacken, his sword flashed about with a rapidity that baffled the eye, and seemed to draw blood at every stroke. He followed him with a strength of arm that appeared perfectly irresistible, beating down his defence, and striking aside his blows; but just as he was hurrying forward to put a finishing stroke to the contest, he tumbled over a dead body, and fell unarmed at the feet of his foe.
“Ah, ha!” shouted the pirate chief, while a gleam of malignant satisfaction shot from his eyes; “your doom is sealed.” He swung round his sabre to bring it with all his strength upon the head of his defenceless antagonist, but before the blow had time to descend he heard a slight shriek, a rush of feet, and the next moment received two pistol bullets in his body. Oriel Porphyry regained his footing as Captain Death fell staggering on the deck, and with a wild cry of exultation Eureka rushed into his arms.
The pirates on the fall of their leader became dispirited; but knowing what would be their reward if taken, they returned to their ship, fighting desperately every inch of the way, and the strife was renewed upon their own deck till every man of them was cut down. The crew of the Albatross had upon the termination of the conflict dispersed themselves over the schooner with the intention of securing whatever valuables she might contain, when they were obliged to make a rapid retreat to their own vessel, as the schooner was rapidly sinking, but they did not depart without bringing with them a prisoner whom they had found secreted in the hold. The lashings were immediately cut away, and the Albatross had just time to sheer off, when the pirate filled and went down.
“Well, master Log!” exclaimed Boggle to his trembling prisoner; “I likes to ha’ particular notions o’ things in general, as every man as is a man and thinks like a man should have, and I has a notion o’ you as is werry particular; arn’t you a willain?”
“A villain—a villain—a great villain—a very great villain—indeed I may say a pretty considerable, atrocious, abominable tarnation villain, mister Boggle!” cried the other with a look that showed that he had been entirely put out of conceit of himself.
“What you says true’s parfectly right,” said the second lieutenant; “and I must pay you the compliment to acknowledge as how you shows a deal o’ gumption in your ’splanation o’ your own character. Don’t you desarve to be spiflicated?”
“Spiflicated—spiflicated—well spiflicated—regularly spiflicated—I must confess that I ought to be right down regularly spiflicated, smothered, smashed, dished up and done for;” acknowledged the unfortunate captain’s clerk, with a most woeful physiognomy and a sincerity of manner that carried conviction to his hearers.
“I likes to make ev’ry fellar comfortable arter his own fashion,” said Boggle, with the utmost gravity; and then addressing a sailor who was grinning from ear to ear at a few paces distant, he cried, “I say, Solemnchops! just rig a noose in the main top gallant halyards.”
“I’ll do it wi’ pleasure for the gentleman, sir;” replied the man, benevolently hastening to execute the command.
“Now, master Log, I begs to say as how I got no notion o’ hurtin’ any o’ your feelins,” continued the lieutenant; “but I considers it necessary for your health as you should be hanged. I knows unkimmon well as human natur’ is human natur’, and in consequence o’ that ere I comes to the conclusion as it is the most properest thing as is for you to make yourself agreeable to your friends wi’ a dance upon nuffin. But afore I leaves you in this here moloncholy perdickyment, I think ’t will be but friendly in me to hint to you as how you ought to die like a respectable ’dividual; arn’t you rayther a miserable sinner?”
“A miserable sinner!—a miserable sinner! a very miserable sinner—a very shocking miserable sinner, indeed I may say a very extraordinary shocking miserable sinner, and no mistake;” cried the unhappy Log.
More dead than alive the trembling wretch had the noose placed round his neck, and was run up to the halyards, accompanied by the consolations of the friendly Boggle.
“Hullo! what are you about there? Let that man down directly!” shouted the captain as he approached the scene, and the ex-captain’s clerk descended upon the deck with a velocity that sent all the breath out of his body. “What’s the meaning o’ this?”
“Why, you see, sir,” replied the second lieutenant, with his usual gravity; “I can’t say as Master Log be given to drinkin, but I sartainly seed him just now unkimmonly elewated.”
“There’s no saving his life, don’t you see;” remarked Tourniquet, who had discovered that Captain Death was not quite dead, and had been examining his wounds. “Every effort would be useless here, all skill unavailing; and there are many others in imminent danger, to whom I might be of service.”
“Stop, he moves!” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, as he stood gazing on the changing features of the dying pirate.
Captain Death lay extended on his back on the deck where he had fallen. His sword was still firmly grasped in his hand, and both his arms were stretched out nearly at right angles with his body. The long silken cap in which he used to confine his black hair had fallen off, and the hair fell in disordered masses, clotted with blood, around his face. He had allowed his beard and moustachios to grow, and they now added to the natural ferocity of his countenance. His jacket, of the richest velvet, was cut through in several places, and stiffened with gore, which had run down and soiled the crimson shawl of embroidered silk he wore girded round his waist, and had more conspicuously stained his lower garments of linen. His face was livid, and his eyes blood-shot, and the expression which was impressed upon them kept continually changing from pain to rage, and from rage to hate. Occasionally some convulsive movement of the muscles would more strongly distort his features, and his body writhed and twisted as if in great agony. After a long fit of violent shuddering, which shook every part of his body, his face assumed a more tranquil expression, and his lips moved as if with an effort to speak.
“Virgo!” he whispered; “’tis your father. He comes to drag me to the halter. See how he glares at me! He laughs. He shows me his chains. No, no, no! ’Tis not that savage old man. ’Tis not him. There is no one. Come to me, my preserver, come to me; and let the refreshing purity of your caresses drive away the evil thoughts which have made my nature so abandoned and desperate. There is the little bed, with its clean white curtains; there are the flowers. There, there! I see you all again, reminding me of a state of innocence I was unworthy to share. Come, my preserver, come!”
“He is delirious, don’t you see;” observed the doctor.
“Do you think there is any possibility of his recovering?” inquired the young merchant.
“Not the slightest; he won’t live an hour;” replied Tourniquet.
“Hush!” exclaimed Oriel; “he speaks again.”
“Virgo! ’tis time to rise. See how the rosy morning dawns upon the room! Let me kiss you before you leave me: there! my soul is on my lips, and I drink in a better life from yours. Draw around the curtains. My face is on the pillow; I cannot see you, but my blessings follow you wherever you go. Ah! you leave the room, and all is strife and hate and passion within me.”
“He’s talking of that young creature that was so fond of him, don’t you see,” said the doctor; “though for my part I can’t comprehend what she could see in him to like.”
“There’s no knowing,” replied Oriel Porphyry; “the love of woman is a mystery which none properly understand and few appreciate.”
“She’s dead!” exclaimed the pirate in a heart-broken voice; “she’s dead! the innocent, the good, the gentle, the fearless, the confiding one, who would have plucked the rank weeds from my sinful nature, has perished and left me none like her in the world. She died for me—for me, a wretch unworthy to breathe in her presence. All is lost. There is no goodness now remaining on the earth. She’s dead! she’s dead!”
“I did not think he had so much natural feeling in him;” said the young merchant.
“There’s nothing so evil but what has some good in it, don’t you see;” replied the surgeon.
The expression in the features of Captain Death now underwent a complete change: it became fierce, daring, and revengeful. His body appeared violently agitated, and his arms moved with convulsive twitches.
“Pipe all hands to quarters!” shouted the dying pirate with all his remaining strength. “Make sail—clear away for fighting—run out the guns and shot them.—She’s a rich merchantman, and there’s enough in her to enrich us all. Pour out a broadside—there goes her main-mast:—another, and her mizenmast goes by the board. Sweep her quarter deck with our quarter deck guns, and pour down upon her a fire of musketry from the tops. Board her by the bow-sprit. Now, boys, follow me and cut down all.” Here the features of the dying pirate became absolutely terrific, and he made some desperate struggles to rise from the ground, in which he at last succeeded; when, waving his sword round his head, he sung in a piercing voice—
“Ah!” screamed the singer, while an expression of the most intense agony distorted his features. He dropped the sword he had held; he drew both his hands suddenly to his wounded side, and staggering back, gasping frightfully for breath, he fell violently on his back.
“He’s dead, don’t you see;” said the doctor.
“A sail on the starboard quarter;” cried a man aloft.
“No more pirates, I hope;” exclaimed Fortyfolios, who had just ventured on deck.
“It is not quite impossible, don’t you see;” was the surgeon’s encouraging reply, and both almost immediately descended the hatchway, one to look after his patients, and the other to look after himself. Oriel Porphyry hastened to the captain, whom he found standing in the waist, examining the distant vessel through a glass.
“Any more fighting preparing for us?” inquired the young merchant.
“Can’t exactly say yet, sir, but it’s best to be prepared;” replied old Hearty, as he gave some orders to the men around him. “She looms large, and looks as if she was arter standing right across our fore-foot. Now she’s alterin her course, and is comin with all sail set right down upon us. Call all hands to quarters: Climberkin, let the guns be shotted, and the dead bodies flung into the sea;—and yet I think she’s a merchantman. Scrunch me, if it arn’t my old ship, the Whittington!”
“What, my father’s vessel?” asked Oriel Porphyry.
“The very same!” cried the old man with delight. “I knows her better nor any ship I ever sailed in. No doubt she wants to speak with us. Bring her head up to the wind, helmsman! I wonder whether my old captain is alive still? He was a right-down trump. But what a mazement he’ll be in to find me in command o’ the Albatross.”
“I know Captain Barter well. I’ve met him frequently at my father’s table, and a very gentlemanly, sensible man he is;” said the young merchant. “I have no doubt he’s brought me some communication from Columbus.”
“We shall soon see, sir, as we shall be alongside very shortly;” observed Hearty.
“Is master Oriel Porphyry on board?” was shouted from the Whittington, as the ships neared each other. Oriel caught up a speaking trumpet.
“Yes, Captain Barter, I am here;” he replied.
“I will come on board, sir, if you please, as soon as a boat is lowered;” said the captain of the Whittington.
“Have you any communication for me from my father?” inquired Oriel.
“I have, sir; and ’tis of great consequence,” replied the other.
Oriel Porphyry was now all anxiety and impatience to know the intelligence he was promised. He hurried to the quarter-deck to receive his visitor, and strode backwards and forwards with hasty steps till he made his appearance. Now he thought that the news must be bad, and in a moment after he imagined that it was good. One instant he anticipated the death of his father, and in the next, hoped that he had been raised by his fellow-citizens to the highest honours in the nation. And in this way his mind continued changing its impressions for the better and for the worse, till he had worked himself into a state of considerable excitement, when Captain Barter advanced towards him.
He was an elderly man, of gentlemanly appearance; neat in his dress, and polite in his deportment. His face was pale, and slightly marked with wrinkles; and his features were mild and pleasing. His hair was gray, and his body rather thin; but he was perfectly upright in his walk, and his step was firm and manly.
“I regret I have unpleasant intelligence to communicate to you, sir,” said Captain Barter, after they had exchanged the customary salutations.
“It is then as I suspected,” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, earnestly. “My father is dead.”
“No, sir, it is not so bad as that,” replied the captain, as if hesitating in making the communication.
“What is it then? let me know immediately. I am sure by your manner it is something dreadful,” cried the young merchant.
“Your father is a prisoner,” said Captain Barter, with a look of sincere commiseration.
“Have they dared?” exclaimed Oriel.
“But I am sorry to say it is worse than that, sir,” added his companion.
“What! what is it? Do not keep me in suspense—I implore you to tell me,” cried the other.
“He is ordered for execution,” said the captain.
“The miscreants!” muttered the young merchant. “But I knew it would be so. I knew they would not rest satisfied with their privileges curtailed. I knew they would seek the first opportunity to regain their lost power. I was convinced that they would regard my father as their enemy, and sacrifice him on the earliest occasion. But tell me how it was brought about? I would know all.”
“After the revolution, which effected those important changes in the government of which you have been informed,” said Captain Barter, “nothing could have exceeded the appearance of good will which existed in every part of the empire. The emperor seemed desirous of nothing so much as gratifying the people; and his ministers appeared to emulate each other in endeavouring to become popular. Public fêtes were given in honour of the revolution, at which the emperor assisted in person; and measures of the most liberal character were passed through the legislature, without a division. All was harmony and social order. The citizens congratulated each other on the improved state of the country—the industrious classes found themselves provided with sufficient employment, at a fair recompense—trade again became brisk—commerce flourished; and abundance seemed to be generally diffused over the whole surface of Columbia.”
“A mere trick!” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry; “nothing but an artifice to lull the people into a fancied security, I’ll wager my existence.”
“Just so, sir,” replied the captain. “The leaders of the people had now nothing to complain of. Every improvement was made before they had time to offer a suggestion on the subject; and that being rendered comparatively useless, they quickly lost their influence over their fellow-citizens. Your father, observing how well things were proceeding, withdrew himself from all participation in politics, considering that his services were no longer required, and devoted himself to his commercial pursuits, and to the realisation of those philanthropic desires that have distinguished every portion of his existence. He became again so completely the private citizen, that no person unaware of the circumstances could have imagined that he had recently played so important a part in the late changes. All the most influential of the popular leaders gradually retired into private life in the same manner.”
“I see the scheme,” cried Oriel, eagerly. “The vile treachery becomes manifest. How well ’twas planned. How artfully designed. Oh! these planners and plotters are a brilliant set; they are too wise for us poor citizens.”
“So they proved, sir,” continued the captain; “for while the things I have related were being done, the government gradually and imperceptibly concentrated a military force in the metropolis, by calling in portions of the garrisons distributed over the empire; and these were well supplied with all the necessaries of war, and liberally paid, and officered by men upon whom the government could depend. Soon after this, on the pretence that they were no longer necessary, the national guards were disbanded and deprived of their arms. Suspicion was now created among the sharp-sighted few; but the public generally did not appear to have the slightest notion of the danger which threatened them. As the object of the emperor and his party began to assume a more threatening aspect, the leaders of the people took the alarm, and endeavoured to awaken their fellow-citizens to a sense of their danger. In the course of a few hours every one of them was securely lodged in a dungeon.”
“And my father amongst them,” exclaimed the young merchant.
“He appears to have been the chief object at which their malice was directed,” observed the captain. “At this time it was thought necessary to throw off the mask. The old ministers were restored to their forfeited privileges and possessions; and your father’s implacable foe, Philadelphia, was placed at the head of the government. An imposing force of soldiery was kept continually under arms, to prevent any rising of the populace; and seizures of concealed arms were made in every direction. The people, deprived of their leaders and of their weapons, felt themselves powerless. They saw too late the trap into which they had fallen. They beheld the despotism that was approaching them, and were unable to make the slightest effort to defend themselves from its approaches. Domiciliary visits were now made, upon the most frivolous pretexts, to the houses of the principal citizens; and papers and arms were seized, and their owners, if they gave the slightest cause of offence, were hurried to prison. Any one known or suspected of entertaining hostile intentions was seized and incarcerated, and fined in heavy penalties, or sent out of the country. The citizens were confounded, and appeared utterly unable to make the slightest resistance.”
“Oh, I wish I had been there!” exclaimed Oriel, eagerly, “I would have infused such a spirit into their natures as should have made them ready to rush upon their oppressors with a certainty of success; and that conviction should have insured their triumph. I would have made their hearts astir with the love of freedom, till all obstacles in their way should have been as straws in the path of the tempest. I would have made them fight like lions—I would have made them conquer like men. But what became of my father? you have not told me that. Tell me what became of him?”
“While they were placing the citizens in a degree of subjection fit for their purpose,” replied Captain Barter, “with a monstrous deal of unnecessary parade, they were making preparations for the trial of the leaders of the people. The long-expected day came, and its proceedings were watched with eager interest by the citizens, although they dared not show the anxiety they felt. Master Porphyry, with his companions, were arraigned as rebels and traitors, accused of murder and treason, and reviled by the hired advocates of the crown in terms which only the more exposed the badness of the cause they defended. Philadelphia was president of the Chamber of Peers, by whom they were tried; and he took every occasion to abuse, brow-beat, and threaten your father in language the most intemperate that can be imagined; but your father replied in a manner that would have conciliated a savage. His language was mild, his bearing noble; and when he was called upon to make his defence, he made one of the most eloquent speeches that had ever been heard within those walls. He merely related what he had done, and what were his reasons for so doing; exposed the errors of the government, and the mischiefs to which they had led; recounted the share he had had in the revolution, which had reduced the power of the crown and of the aristocracy to reasonable limits, and the motives which induced him to use all his influence in the contest: and his defence so utterly annihilated the charges brought against him, that he must have been acquitted had he been treated with any thing like justice; but his judges were his accusers, and they sealed his doom before they entered upon his trial. The prisoners were all found guilty. Some were sent into exile, some imprisoned for life, some were heavily fined—and Master Porphyry was condemned to be beheaded, and to have all his property confiscated to the crown.”
“The murderous and insatiate tyrants!” exclaimed the young merchant.
“When Philadelphia delivered the sentence,” continued the captain, “he appeared to take a malignant joy in having such an opportunity for reviling your father—there was no name of opprobrium he did use: but your honoured parent replied to him only with a look of wonder and pity; and with a bow to his relentless judges, left the court in company with his guards.”
“Noble old man!” cried Oriel, earnestly.
“As soon as the people learned the result of the trial, they were in the deepest affliction,” added Captain Barter, “that the kind and excellent philanthropist—the true and disinterested patriot, the glory of their city, and the pride of the world—should perish on a scaffold, was more than they could endure. But they had no leaders, and no weapons; and, although they would have risen in a mass in his rescue, under the circumstances of the case they saw that any attempt of the kind was utterly hopeless. All eyes were then turned toward you. Your character had already acquired their admiration; your relationship to Master Porphyry excited their devotion; and, knowing that you had departed on a voyage, the most powerful friends of your father met secretly for the purpose of devising some plan by which they could make you acquainted with your father’s danger, and with their desire to assist in his rescue. With this idea in view, all your father’s vessels that could be sent to sea, besides a vast number of ships belonging to other merchants who had volunteered to give their assistance, sailed in quest of you. From knowing something of the plan of voyage designed by your father I imagined that about this time you would be crossing the Atlantic; so here I have been sailing about for the last two days, and there are nearly a hundred sail of merchant vessels in the same pursuit.”
“A sail on the larboard bow!” shouted a man.
“That is one of them, I have no doubt, sir,” observed Captain Barter.
“A sail on the starboard quarter!” shouted another.
“There is another, sir!” added the captain.
“A sail to leeward!” cried a third.
“We shall have them all about you soon, sir,” said Captain Barter.
“There’s a sail in every point o’ the compass,” cried Climberkin, as he swept the horizon with his glass.
“I told you so, sir,” continued the captain.
Climberkin was right. Wherever the eye could gaze the spars of a vessel were seen rising from the wave; and, apparently, as soon as each ship discovered the Albatross, she made all sail towards her. It was a beautiful sight to see them approaching, most of them with every stitch of canvass set—some bearing right down upon the Albatross, and others making tacks; while the distant cheers of their crews, answered by the crews of the Whittington and the Albatross, increased the stirring character of the scene. As soon as they were near enough a boat was seen putting off from each vessel; and, a few minutes after, the captains of the different ships came on board the Albatross, and sat with Oriel Porphyry in his cabin for several hours, in deep and earnest conference. These had scarcely departed when others arrived. New vessels kept continually approaching. As fast as one party left the ship others made their appearance, and at last the Albatross was surrounded by an immense fleet. All their commanders having at last communicated with Oriel Porphyry, they crowded sail for Columbia.
“Captain,” exclaimed the young merchant, after the last of his visitors had departed, “are you sure of the crew?”
“To a man, sir,” replied old Hearty. “There’s such a stir in the ship as never was afore. They are all impatient to be led against your enemies. I never saw such enthusiusiasm in all my life.”
“Keep them in that humour, captain,” said Oriel Porphyry. “Let every man have a good supply of ball cartridges, a musket, a pair of pistols, and a cutlass.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And let a party be formed who can use the hatchet and crow-bar with good effect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And get the carpenter to make carriages for the larger guns, so that they can be dragged by ropes upon the land; and let them be manned by picked men.”
“Yes, sir: and if we don’t rescue your honourable father out o’ the clutches o’ them ere lubbers, I’m spiflicated if we don’t diskiver the reason why.”
“How far are we from port?” asked Oriel.
“About two days sail, sir,” replied the captain.
“We shall be too late if the greatest despatch is not used,” observed the young merchant, earnestly. “I rely upon your using every effort that your skill can suggest.”
“I’ll do every thing, sir, as a mortal cretur can do!” exclaimed the old man. “I arn’t the fellow to stand shilly-shally at such a time as this. I’ll look to every thing myself, and see about it immediately.”
The captain had scarcely left the cabin, and Oriel had thrown himself back in his seat, in deep and earnest meditation, when he was disturbed by a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he cried.
“May I enter, Oriel?” said Eureka, as she gently opened the door.
“Of course, dearest!” replied Oriel Porphyry, as he hastened towards her, and led her into the cabin, with her hands clasped in his.
“You are kinder to me than I deserve, Oriel,” murmured his fair companion, with a look of gratitude from her lustrous eyes that he found perfectly irresistible.
“Not at all, my Eureka!” said her lover, affectionately; “am I not indebted to you for life and liberty, and all that render them valuable? Do I not know how much you have dared and endured for my sake? And do you think it possible, that with a knowledge of these things, I can regard you with any other feeling than that of the most devoted affection? No, Eureka, I must love you while I have life. But how cleverly you continued the disguise. When I first saw you, I recognised in the handsome page a resemblance to features it was impossible for me not to notice; but your scheme was so admirably managed that I never entertained the slightest suspicion of your true character.”
“Nor up to the present moment has any one in the ship,” replied Eureka. “They only know me as Zabra, except that worthy creature, Tourniquet, who discovered my secret when I was wounded, and I immediately made him aware of my history and object in joining you, at which he was so much delighted as to proffer his assistance in carrying on the deception; and I should have been discovered but for him on more than one occasion.”
“That accounts for his confusion at the tiger-hunt,” observed Oriel; “and for what I considered the mystery in your behaviour. But there is nothing strange or unaccountable in it now. I only wonder at you. I am amazed when I think of your risking so much for one who is so little worthy of such extraordinary devotion.”
“You will not love me the less for it, will you?” inquired Eureka, gazing in his face with a look of thrilling tenderness.
“Love you less, Eureka!” exclaimed the young merchant; “that would be ungrateful! While I have an appreciation of truth and excellence and fidelity, and that wonderful intellectual power you have so often exhibited, the admiration with which I regard you must approach idolatry. You are a creature to be proud of.”
“And yet I am afraid I shall lose you,” said his companion, anxiously; “I have just heard upon what errand you are hastening. It is full of danger. It is beset by perils. But the cause is a proud one, and I do not attempt to dissuade you from proceeding with it. Go on your career of glory. Give your impetuous soul free scope for the developement of its energies. Think not of me, except the thought can nerve your arm and strengthen your resolution. Be as daring as your fearless nature prompts you to be. With such an end in view as that you have before you, I can allow myself no other sense, or impression, or emotion than that which may accompany my earnest hopes for your success. I have come to a resolution to forget my own selfish feelings. It is time I should. Your advancement, your greatness, your fame, are the objects to which any thoughts must now always incline. If you live to triumph over your enemies, and to attain that eminence whereon you are so desirous of being placed, and to which you will do so much honour, none will rejoice more sincerely than she who has shown herself so anxious to insure your happiness—if you die——”
“Eureka, my adored!” rapturously exclaimed Oriel, pressing her to his breast, as he noticed that she was unable to proceed, “there is no fear of such a result. Believe me you alarm yourself unnecessarily. I shall succeed, I am assured of it: I shall succeed to have the proud enjoyment of glorifying you with my pre-eminence. I feel convinced that if we can only arrive in time, I shall rescue my father. Nothing shall stop me—I will not be defeated: and if we should be too late for this great object, which I see no reason to apprehend, I will not rest satisfied till I have punished his murderers. I have no dread of death; but if I should die, I shall die a death worthy of the lover of Eureka. I shall die in endeavouring to rescue my country from its oppressors.—I shall die in avenging the murder of one of the noblest and best of men.”
“One word more, Oriel—one word more,” said Eureka. “I have only to ask you, as a testimony of your love for me, that, if in the coming conflict you should meet my father, you will not kill him.”
“He deserves little mercy at my hands,” replied the young merchant. “But your desire is natural, and I will comply with it. He must answer for his crimes to the country they have disgraced. And now let us go on deck, a little fresh air would do neither of us any harm; and when you behold the noble fleet that has joined me in my enterprise, I hope that all your apprehensions will vanish.”
Among the crew of the Albatross the intelligence of the events which had occurred in Columbia created an extraordinary sensation; and as soon as it was known that Oriel Porphyry designed attempting his father’s rescue, every man in the ship volunteered to assist in the enterprise. Never was such a general indignation produced as that which burst from them when they learned the fate to which the government had doomed Master Porphyry. A land fight was something new to them, but they did not prepare themselves for it with less alacrity, nor were their tongues less active than their limbs. Various opinions prevailed as to the best method of bringing about a revolution; and as to the best form of government which should replace the old one, there were as many different notions as tongues to utter them. A group had gathered together in the forecastle, where they had been engaged for some time over an extra allowance of grog, discussing different political subjects, when Boggle, who, notwithstanding his promotion, was amazingly fond of associating with his old messmates, joined the disputants.
“I’ll tell you what it is, my mates,” said he, “government’s tryin to come their handy-dandy sugar-candy over us, and we arn’t a goin to stand nuffin o’ the sort. Are we to be slaves?”
“Never,” shouted a dozen voices simultaneously.
“Nebber,” echoed Roly Poly, with equal energy, as he was gulping down the contents of a huge black-jack of hot grog.
“Now I likes to have particular notions o’ things in general as every man as is a man, and thinks like a man, should,” continued Boggle. “And I must say as how it’s my notion that there’s never no occasion for no government whatsomdever.”
“Of course,” remarked the boatswain, who would have thought it high treason to have disagreed with his officer.
“Ob coorse,” repeated Roly Poly, still pulling away at the black-jack.
“We don’t want no rulers—there arn’t no ’cessity for ’em;” said the second lieutenant. “But if we must have kings—let every man be his own king.”
“Let every man be his own king,” was echoed from one to another throughout the circle.
“Let ebery man be his own king,” repeated the fat cook.
“The whole circumbendibus comes to this,” continued Boggle. “If so be as how we’re obligated to pay for what we don’t want, it’s hoptional on our parts not to want what we’re obligated to pay for.”
“Certainly, sir,” said the boatswain.
“Sartinly, sar,” echoed Roly Poly, endeavouring to hold his head up, and look as if he understood what was going forward.
“There’s nuffin but oppression goin on fore and aft,” said the orator. “They grinds the faces o’ the poor, and makes their bread o’ the flour; and therefore we must stand up for the liberty o’ the subject.”
“We must stand up for the liberty o’ the subject, there’s not a doubt on’t,” remarked the boatswain, evidently without knowing what the liberty of the subject expressed.
“De libty ob de subjack?” exclaimed the fat cook, vainly endeavouring to steady his position. “I like de libty ob de black-jack best;” and so saying, he waddled off after a very circuitous fashion, with the black-jack under his arm.
The morning dawned slow and sullenly over the great metropolis of Columbia; and its immense field of buildings seemed as gloomy as the skies above them. All the shops were closed, as if in a time of general mourning; and the citizens hurried along the streets with melancholy and unsocial looks. Occasionally, two or three would stop at a corner of a street and exchange a few eloquent words and gesticulations; but the approach of some of the numerous bands of soldiers that continually perambulated the streets separated them, and they continued on their way. Everywhere the houses looked cheerless, as if they had been deserted. The shutters were closed, the windows darkened, and not a sign of life appeared about them. Such of the inhabitants as had ventured out, appeared to be proceeding in one direction, communicating with one another when they could do so without being observed by the troops. All wore the same aspect—that of deep dejection; but, occasionally, a close observer might have noticed a more fierce expression in their countenances, as a muttered execration escaped from their lips.
They passed regiments of horse and foot at every commanding situation. The whole city seemed to be filled with them; and their picquets stationed at regular intervals, patroling every thoroughfare, prevented any attempt at revolt on the part of the citizens. Still they proceeded forward till they entered a spacious quadrangle, the whole space of which, including all the avenues that approached it, was filled with soldiers and citizens. Along the wall of a high gloomy building, evidently from its construction a prison, there had been erected a platform, covered with black cloth. Upon it appeared a block, and at a short distance from it a coffin, both covered with black cloth. Around the platform were a troop of horse; and others were posted along the sides of the quadrangle, the inner space of which was filled with a regiment of foot supported by several pieces of artillery.
At one corner of the principal entrance to the quadrangle was an ancient stone structure, very strongly built, from the windows of which there was a good view of the proceedings before the prison; at the opposite corner was a similar edifice, and in their windows and on their roofs crowds of anxious citizens had congregated. If any had come with an intention of attempting a rescue, the disposition of the military was sufficient to make them despair; and all they did was to throng as near as possible to the place of execution, where they stood regarding the scaffold and its defenders with scowling looks, and hearts eager for vengeance.
The utmost decorum prevailed among the multitude. There was no talking or laughing; and when Master Porphyry made his appearance upon the scaffold every head was uncovered, and blessings loud and deep were breathed from all. The philanthropist advanced to the block with a firm step, and eyes as mild and kind as they had ever beamed. His look was cheerful, and his bearing noble and manly. He wore the robe of honour, which distinguished him as the chief magistrate of the city, as if desirous of dying in possession of the dignity to which he had been raised by the respect of his fellow-citizens. After bowing in acknowledgment of the recognitions of the people, he looked unmoved upon the coffin and the block; and with the executioner on one side, masked, having a glittering axe in his hand, and with a priest on the other, who kept addressing him with pious exhortations, to which he paid respectful attention, he advanced to that part of the platform which overlooked the surrounding multitude. Some murmurs and execrations had burst from the spectators at sight of the executioner; but when it was noticed that Master Porphyry was about to address them, the vast assembly were instantly hushed to the most perfect silence.
“My countrymen!” exclaimed the philanthropist, in a clear unbroken voice, “I do not in any way regret the fate that has been prepared for me, except so far as it prevents me continuing those offices of social kindness which made the happiness of my existence. To be without the means of doing good is scarcely less desirable than to be in the commission of evil; and it was a wise and charitable thing of my persecutors, after having confiscated all my property, to take away a life no longer of value to the community.”—A low murmur escaped from the crowd. “I may safely say, and I proudly say, I have lived for you; and it is an equal gratification for me to be allowed to assert, that I die for you.”—Ten thousand blessings followed the delivery of this sentence.
“My death, therefore, is not to be considered pitiable, if regarded in that light. I am pleased that I have been thought worthy of this honour. I am delighted that my oppressors have given me an opportunity of leaving life with so much satisfaction to myself. Let me beg of you, therefore, to refrain from any exhibition of regret for the manner of my death—it is a very humane one; and my persecutors have shown me a kindness in allowing me to be so disposed of.—I see nothing in it terrible. I see nothing in it painful. I see nothing in it of shame or dishonour. ’T is a blow, and it is over.—Had my oppressors wished, I might have died suffering the most excruciating tortures. Had I lived, probably I might have been the victim of some loathsome disease; or have been deprived of my faculties—have become idiotic, or insane, or blind; and at the last extremity have been deserted by friends, or left without the means of serving those who most required assistance. How much better is it for me to close my existence in this way, without pain, in the full enjoyment of my reason, and surrounded by friends; and although I am rendered incapable of continuing of use to you, the remembrance of the pleasures I have enjoyed from a life of active benevolence is sufficiently agreeable to overpower the regret I feel in having been left to so unprofitable an end.”—Again murmurs of applause broke from all parts of the crowd.
“There is however a regret, which is powerful, and which I require all my philosophy to endure.—I regret that I leave my country in a worse condition than I found her.—I regret that the freedom for which I strived so earnestly is passing away from her people.—I regret to see a state of bondage in preparation for the free hearts around me, which is likely to deprive them of all their noblest privileges. I was born a free citizen, and a free citizen I will die. The galling chains of abject servitude which are being forged for you shall never disgrace my nature. Remember, oh, my countrymen, that freedom is your natural inheritance; and although it would be madness to attempt its repossession without sufficient means, never give up the desire of liberty—wait the fitting time; and while you endure, forget not that the graves of your fathers are disgraced, and the spirits of your children are being dishonoured.”—The citizens testified, by loud shouts and eager exclamations, their assent to the sentiments expressed by the philanthropist; and many were the fierce looks directed towards the soldiery.
“If there is any man amongst you whom I have injured, I desire of him most earnestly to tell me the wrong I have done, that I may repair it before I die. I am quite certain that I have never done any one an intentional injury; but if I have left undone any good which I might have done, I consider that I have done an injustice, and would remedy it before it be too late. Speak, my fellow-citizens; tell me what injuries against you I have committed.”—There was an eloquent silence, that lasted for several minutes. Each man looked at his neighbour, and all saw that the philanthropist had no accuser.
“There is one more subject to which I wish to draw your attention, and it is the last,” said Master Porphyry, in a voice less firm than had distinguished the delivery of the preceding portion of his discourse. “I have a son. My persecutors, while punishing me, have thought proper to make my child a beggar;—that I feel. He possesses many good qualities—many good qualities likely to render him an excellent citizen. Let me bequeath him to your care.”—A simultaneous shout of assent from the immense multitude proved that the appeal had not been made in vain.
“And now that I have left nothing undone, and nothing untold, I must take my leave of you.”
“No, no!” was shouted by every voice.
“My dear friends, it must be,” continued Master Porphyry; “I am taking up the time of these good people; and although it is a pleasure for me to linger among you, I must not purchase it at the expense of trouble to others. I should leave you with a cheerful heart, if I had not upon me the fear that there is much suffering preparing for you; and I should die without an unkind feeling against any human creature, if I did not possess at this time a natural indignation against your oppressors. For myself I have no fear—those who have wronged me I forgive; but I have the feelings of a man and a citizen, and I cannot forgive the enemies of my country.”—Groans and indignant exclamations here rose on every side. “I implore you to desist from the exhibition of any acts of violence with the hope of procuring my liberation. There is not a chance of success. You will be slaughtered in crowds the first attempt of the kind you may make. Let not my last moments be made wretched by seeing your blood shed unavailingly. If I have done that which seems good in your eyes, it was with the desire of gaining your love that I did it. Have I succeeded?”—An universal shout of assent burst from all parts of the crowd.
“Then I die with the proudest satisfaction I could enjoy under the circumstances. I hope you will raise for me no useless monuments. I desire that when I am dead my unprofitable body may meet with no funeral honours. If I have done that which is honourable, honour me in your remembrance. If I have done that which is good, teach your children to do as I have done. With my best wishes for your happiness—with my most earnest aspirations for your enfranchisement, I can now lay my head upon the block. Grieve not because I die: you should rejoice that your fellow-citizen can die without dishonour.”
“We’ll avenge you, our benefactor!” shouted a voice from the crowd.
“We’ll be revenged on your murderers!” exclaimed another.
“Down with the tyrants!” cried a third. Similar exclamations followed, and the masses of the people seemed in great commotion, pressing forward towards the soldiery with groans, hisses, and execrations; but when the different regiments made a movement forward and presented their arms as if about to fire, the multitude fell back, and order was restored amongst them.
“Think of your sins, unhappy man,” said the priest, with a hypocritical visage, who was one of those bigots who put on the garment, and know nothing of the spirit, of religion;—“think of your sins, and repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”
“I would repent, good sir,” replied Master Porphyry, mildly, “if I thought I had any thing of which I could repent; or if I thought I could do any good by repenting.”
“Confess your sins against your God! confess, and be saved! There is salvation for the worst of sinners,” drawled out the other.
“I am not aware of having committed any sins,” said the philanthropist; “therefore I can have no confession to make.”
“How have you served your Creator? What has been your religion?” inquired his companion, sharply.
“I have considered that philanthropy was the only true religion, and I have practised it,” replied master Porphyry; “and I felt convinced that the right way of worshipping God was by doing all the good in my power to my fellow-creatures; and from that way I have never deviated.”
“Atheistical, abominable, atrocious, heretical, and damnable!” exclaimed the priest, with a look of horror. “You are in the hands of the devil. The church renounces you. Flames and brimstone must be your portion; wailing and gnashing of teeth your reward.”
The philanthropist looked surprised; but turning to one of the assistant executioners who stood at a short distance, he said, “I am ready.” The man instantly proceeded to disrobe him of his upper garment, and arranged his dress so that the whole of his neck was bare.
“I would rather have died in that robe,” observed he; “for I like not parting with the honours that have been bestowed upon me. However, it is gratifying to know that I have never disgraced it. It can give me no distinction where I am going, therefore there let it lie.”—His countenance every moment appeared to become more benevolent in its expression; and there was a nobility in his manner that commanded respect from all around him.
“Kill me as quickly as you can, my good friend,” said he to the executioner; “but after you have killed me you may do what you please.”
The citizens had watched with breathless interest the preparations for Master Porphyry’s execution; but when they beheld him kneel down before the block, and saw the headsman raise his axe, a shudder seemed to pass over the whole multitude. At this instant a proud-looking man, in a military costume, appeared upon the scaffold; and, immediately he was observed, a yell of execration arose from the quadrangle, and from every place that could command a view of the platform. The officer stood up his full height, and looked down upon the people with glances of scorn and contempt. Groans, hisses, and curses became louder and more general.
“Death to the persecutor!” shouted one.
“Down with the oppressor!” cried another.
“Yell on ye wretched rabble!” exclaimed the object of their indignation, his mustachios curling with a contemptuous sneer, and his eyes flashing with malignity. “It matters not to me what is said by such vile hounds. Yell on then, it does my heart good to hear ye; and ye know full well ye dare not do any thing else.” Then turning round to Master Porphyry, he said, “I have come to testify my loyalty by beholding the death of a traitor.”
“There is no traitor here, Philadelphia,” replied the philanthropist, mildly, “unless it be yourself.”
“Oh, the hated tyrant!” shouted some of the multitude.
“The curses of the people are upon thee, thou miserable slave!” cried others.
“Down with him! Down with the despot! Down with the enslaver of his country!” exclaimed the rest. At this instant a banner was raised near the centre of the quadrangle, with the inscription upon it, in large letters, of “Porphyry, or Death!” It was the signal for an immediate rush towards the scaffold. With one simultaneous cheer the vast multitude hurried forwards, burst in upon the troops, and with frantic rage began to struggle with them for the possession of their arms. A volley of musketry from an opposite window at this moment killed the executioners and several others, and the rest, with the exception of Philadelphia and Master Porphyry, took to flight.
“Leap down here, my benefactor, and I will save you,” shouted a voice from beneath the platform.
“You shall not escape me a second time, my enemy,” muttered the noble as he drew his sword, and with a look of mingled hatred and ferocity exclaimed, “Thus I punish a traitor!” as he drove the weapon through the body of his companion.
The philanthropist gazed on his murderer, more in sorrow than in anger; and the only words he uttered, before he dropped down dead on the platform, were, “My Brother!” The miserable fratricide seemed confounded by the avowal; but little time was allowed him for reflection. Curses, yells, screams, groans, and execrations burst from the assembled citizens as they noticed the death of their chief magistrate; and Philadelphia fell by his side, pierced by a hundred bullets. A shout of triumph arose when they beheld the fall of the tyrant; and, as if inspirited by the sight, they threw themselves upon the soldiery in countless masses, and endeavoured to drag them from their horses, or wrest their weapons out of their hands. In this manœuvre, although it was attended by immense loss of life, many succeeded; but the strength and discipline of the troops at last prevailed, and the citizens were forced out of the quadrangle; and when the artillery began to play upon them they dispersed in all directions.
The soldiery were now forming ready to make a charge in case the people should re-assemble, when from the stone buildings at the corner of the avenue a most destructive fire of heavy cannon was opened upon them. Every window in the neighbourhood was broken by the concussion, and the havoc made in both the horse and foot regiments was excessive. The word was given for the foot soldiers to endeavour to take these buildings by assault, and they marched forward for that purpose; but directly they came near enough, a continuous stream of bullets issued from every place that could command a shot at them, and they fell back in confusion. Again they advanced to the assault, pouring in a steady fire at the windows; but these spaces were blocked up with sand-bags, allowing only sufficient room for a ship’s gun to be run in and out, and they were defended by the crew of the Albatross, under the command of their veteran captain. After fighting their way through all opposition, assisted by detachments from the fleet, and by the citizens, they had dragged the guns through the city, and when the people made their attack upon the soldiers, they were preparing their batteries. The military again came to the attack, amid the enthusiastic cheers of the brave sailors; and although they persisted for a long time in endeavouring to obtain possession of the buildings, they were repulsed and retreated in disorder.
The artillery was then brought to bear upon the place, but scarcely had it been placed in a proper position, before it was rendered unserviceable by the destructive fire from the batteries; and the troops finding that they were being mowed down without a chance of silencing their opponents, charged up the avenue—the horse supported by the foot regiments. Here they were met by a fire of musketry from the houses on each side, and having passed a short distance amid showers of heavy missiles, that were hurled down upon them from the tops of the buildings by the enraged citizens, they came to a barrier hastily erected of stones and earth, from which a murderous fire from three thirty-two pounders opened upon them as they advanced, throwing the cavalry into confusion, and causing them to retreat in disorder upon the infantry.
Here they were joined by a strong reinforcement, consisting of several thousand fresh troops, and a charge was made upon the barrier which, after an obstinate resistance, was forced. They then proceeded onwards, exposed to a destructive fire from the neighbouring houses; but they had not advanced above a hundred yards, when they were thrown into a complete derout by the hasty retreat of a regiment of horse, which fell back upon them, scattering dismay and terror into their ranks. Shouts of triumph were heard in the distance, accompanied by the fierce roar of cannon, and the rattle of frequent volleys of musketry. While the whole military force was on the point of endeavouring to find safety in flight, they were joined by another large reinforcement, and the cavalry having re-formed as soon as they beheld the new troops, they moved forward in a body to where it was evident that a violent contest was raging. They continued to meet parties both of horse and foot flying from the scene of action; and these were received into their ranks.
Having passed through several streets, fighting at every step, they advanced under a broad archway into an open park. Here a tremendous battle was still going on. The two contending armies were placed opposite each other, and had been engaged for several hours attacking each other’s positions, and defending their own. The army of the people had taken up a position on a slope with a plantation of fine oak trees on one side, and a deep but narrow rivulet on the other. Their centre was composed of the national guards; their right wing consisted of a body of several thousand sailors; and their left was a body of armed citizens equally numerous, supported by several batteries, and a reserve of cavalry. They were opposed by the flower of the emperor’s troops; but their superior discipline and military skill availed them nothing. Although the citizens suffered severely from the attacks which were made upon them, they increased in numbers every hour. Thousands joined their ranks; new batteries were raised; and while the enemy was losing strength, they were increasing their forces.
Oriel Porphyry, on his landing, made for the rendezvous which had been agreed upon. Here he placed himself at the head of his own regiment of dragoons; with which, assisted by the citizens from their houses, he attacked several parties of the military that paraded the streets. The national guards then began to make their appearance in great numbers; and these having provided themselves with arms from the gun-shops while the young merchant kept the imperial troops employed, soon collected together and marched to his assistance. Finding himself in two or three hours at the head of a body of nearly twenty thousand men, willing to follow wherever he led, he left the street-fighting to the citizens, and sending several detachments in different directions, so as, as much as possible, to divide the attention of the military, he took up the position that has been described, in the park, with the intention of attacking a large body of troops there posted.
The battle began by a division of the imperial troops attempting to force a bridge over the rivulet, which was defended by the sailors, supported by several pieces of cannon. The attack was continued with great spirit, reinforcements arriving almost every half hour; but it was defended with equal bravery, and the soldiers were beaten back every time with very great loss. Two regiments of cavalry then were sent against it, but the bridge being narrow, only a few could attempt to cross at a time, and these were brought down by the cannon and musketry as soon as they made their appearance. The lower part of the bridge became blocked up with dead bodies, and the cavalry, after repeated efforts, were obliged to retreat, having lost nearly one third of their number.