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قراءة كتاب The Story of the Rock
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before they get here. In which case they’ll be comfortably drowned, and we can resume our work; but if they manage to reach the rock, we’ll retire behind the lighthouse to keep clear of their musket balls; and, when they attempt to land, rush at ’em, and heave ’em all into the sea. It’s like enough that they’re more numerous than we, but you all know that one Englishman is a match for three Frenchmen any day.”
A general laugh and cheer greeted this address, and then they all took shelter behind the lighthouse. Meanwhile, the two boats drew near. The lightest one was well in advance. On it came, careering on the crest of a large glassy wave. Now was the time for broaching-to and upsetting, but the boat was cleverly handled. It was launched into the “harbour” on a sea of foam.
Most of the Englishmen, on seeing this, ran to oppose the landing.
“Surrender!” shouted an officer with a large moustache, standing up in the bow of the boat.
“Never!” replied Mr Franks, defiantly.
“Hooray!” yelled Teddy Maroon, flourishing his crowbar.
At this the officer gave an order: the Frenchmen raised their muskets, and the Englishmen scampered back to their place of shelter, laughing like school-boys engaged in wild play. Teddy Maroon, whose fertile brain was always devising some novelty or other, ran up to his old post at the windlass, intending to cast a large mass of stone into the boat when it neared the rock, hoping thereby to knock a hole through its bottom; but before he reached his perch, a breaker burst into the harbour and overturned the boat, leaving her crew to struggle towards the rock. Some of them were quickly upon it, grappling with the Englishmen who rushed forward to oppose the landing. Seeing this, Teddy hurled his mass of stone at the head of an unfortunate Frenchman, whom he narrowly missed, and then, uttering a howl, ran down to join in the fray. The French commander, a powerful man, was met knee-deep in the water, by Isaac Dorkin, whom he struck down with the hilt of his sword, and poor Isaac’s grumbling career would certainly have come to an end then and there, had not John Potter, who had already hurled two Frenchmen back into the sea, run to the rescue, and, catching his friend by the hair of the head, dragged him on the rock. At that moment Teddy Maroon dashed at the French officer, caught his uplifted sword-arm by the wrist, and pushed him back into the sea just as he was in the act of making a savage cut at John Potter. Before the latter had dragged his mate quite out of danger he was grappled with by another Frenchman, and they fell struggling to the ground, while a third came up behind Teddy with a boat-hook, and almost took him by surprise; but Teddy turned in time, caught the boat-hook in his left hand, and, flattening the Frenchman’s nose with his right, tumbled him over and ran to assist in repelling another party of the invaders who were making good their landing at the other side of the rock.
Thus the “skrimmage,” as John Potter styled it, became general. Although out-numbered, the Englishmen were getting the best of it, when the second boat plunged into the so-called harbour, and in a few seconds the rock was covered with armed men. Of course the Englishmen were overpowered. Their tools were collected and put into the boat. With some difficulty the first boat was righted. The Englishmen were put into it, with a strong guard of marines, and then the whole party were carried on board the French schooner, which turned out to be a privateer.
Thus were the builders of the Eddystone lighthouse carried off as prisoners of war to France, and their feelings may be gathered from the last remark of Teddy Maroon, who, as the white cliffs of England were fading from his view, exclaimed bitterly, “Och hone! I’ll never see owld Ireland no more!”
Note. It may be as well to state, at this point, that the incidents here related, and indeed all the important incidents of our tale, are founded on, we believe, well authenticated facts.
Chapter Four.
Unlooked-for Deliverance.
Behold, then, our lighthouse-builders entering a French port; Teddy Maroon looking over the side of the vessel at the pier to which they are drawing near, and grumbling sternly at his sad fate; John Potter beside him, with his arms crossed, his eyes cast down, and his thoughts far away with the opinionated Martha and the ingenious Tommy; Mr Franks and the others standing near; all dismal and silent.
“You not seem for like ver moche to see la belle France,” said the French officer with the huge moustache, addressing Teddy.
“It’s little Teddy Maroon cares whether he sees Bell France or Betsy France,” replied the Irishman, impudently. “No thanks to you aither for givin’ me the chance. Sure it’s the likes o’ you that bring war into disgrace intirely; goin’ about the say on yer own hook, plunderin’ right an’ left. It’s pirate, and not privateers, ye should be called, an’ it’s myself that would string ye all at the yard-arm av I only had me own way.”
“Hah!” exclaimed the Frenchman, with a scowl: “but by goot fortune you not have your own vay. Perhaps you change you mind ven you see de inside of French prisons, ha!”
“Perhaps I won’t; ha!” cried Teddy, mimicking his captor. “Go away wid yez, an’ attind to yer own business.”
The Frenchman turned angrily away. In a few seconds more they were alongside the pier, and a gangway was run on board.
The first man who stepped on this gangway was a tall powerful gendarme, with a huge cocked hat, and a long cavalry sabre, the steel scabbard of which clattered magnificently as he stalked along. Now it chanced that this dignified official slipped his foot on the gangway, and, to the horror of all observers, fell into the water.
Impulsiveness was a part of Teddy Maroon’s enthusiastic nature. He happened to be gazing in admiration at the gendarme when he fell. In another moment he had plunged overboard after him, caught him by the collar, and held him up.
The gendarme could not swim. In the first agony of fear he threw about his huge limbs, and almost drowned his rescuer.
“Be aisy, won’t ’ee!” shouted Ted, holding him at arm’s length, and striving to keep out of his grasp. At the same time he dealt him a hearty cuff on the ear.
The words and the action appeared to have a sedative effect on the gendarme, who at once became passive, and in a few minutes the rescuer and the rescued stood dripping on the schooner’s deck.
“Thank ’ee, my friend,” said the gendarme in English, extending his hand.
“Och, ye’re an Irishman!” exclaimed Teddy eagerly, as he grasped the offered hand. “But sure,” he added, in an altered tone, dropping the hand and glancing at the man’s uniform, “ye must be a poor-spirited craitur to forsake yer native land an’ become a mounseer.”
“Ireland is not my native land, and I am not an Irishman,” said the gendarme, with a smile. “My mother was Irish, but my father was French, and I was born in Paris. It is true that I spent many years in Ireland among my mother’s relations, so that I speak your language, but I am more French than Irish.”
“Humph! more’s the pity,” said Teddy. “If there was but wan drop o’ me blood Irish an’ all the rest o’ me French, I’d claim to be an Irishman. If I’d known what ye was I’d have let ye sink, I would. Go along: I don’t think much of yez.”
“Perhaps not,” replied the gendarme, twirling his long moustache with a good-humoured smile; “nevertheless I think a good deal of you, my fine fellow. Farewell, I shall see you again.”
“Ye needn’t trouble yerself,” replied Teddy, flinging off, testily.
It was quite evident that the unfortunate Irishman found it hard to get reconciled to his fate. He could scarcely be civil to his mates in