CHAPTER I. BARON DELAMERE.
UNTIL nearly midnight the cannon continued
to roar from St. George's Channel;
then the dull sound receded, was
heard at intervals only; then ceased.
Three days afterwards His French Majesty's
corvette the Solitaire, entered the port of Brest,
having in tow His Britannie Majesty's sloop-of-war
the Hornet, which had attacked the corvette
in St. George's Channel, off the coast of
Pembrokeshire, and very nearly succeded in
sinking the Frenchman.
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In fact the fight was plainly going in favor of
the Hornet, and the corvette was trying to get
off, when a boat rowed by four sailors, with a
fifth person standing in the stern, was seen making
its way from shore, directly under the fire
of the Hornet's guns—and this boat in the
midst of plunging shot, and a fire of musketry
directed at it, reached the corvette; the person
in the stern leaping instantly upon deck, and,
as the English commander could see, taking
command.
From that moment the fight became far
more obstinate; and it was soon obvious that
whoever the commanding officer of the corvette
might be, he had resolved to go to the bottom
rather than strike his flag. Success crowned
his hard work—it was the sloop-of-war which
struck her flag, and the corvette sailed away
with her, managing to evade the English cruisers
and reach Brest in safety.
Such had been the result of Earle's night
combat in St. George's Channel,—victory over
a waspish craft manned by good men, and
commanded by a brave old sea-dog. He sailed
into Brest with colors flying, and was saluted
by the fortress with the roar of cannon.
An hour afterwards he had cast anchor.
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His barge was manned, and he sprung into
it. The oars fell, the barge danced over the
waves, Earle touched shore; and was soon
bowing, cocked hat in hand, in presence of
the great Duc de Choiseul, prime minister,
who chanced, happily for the sailor's fortunes
to be on a visit to Brest, and to witness his
triumphal entry.
A week afterwards Captain Edmond Earle
was travelling post from Paris to the village
of Martigny.
The object of his visit was to procure a
copy of his baptismal register, and the formal
record of the marriage of his father and
mother.
These documents were necessary before he
could be created Baron Delamere.
That was the reward designed to be conferred
on the young sailor; and for the suggestion
he was indebted to no less a personage
than the Viscount Cecil.
A few words will place the reader in possession
of the details. Our history passes in
Wales, and only touches for a few moments
the French shore.
The capture of the viscount had pleased
everybody, and the court was thus in high
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good humour. He was released at once on
parole; fêted by the anti-war party; received
with great politeness by his grace the Due de
Choiseul, whose word was law throughout
France; and one morning when he was
shown into the minister's cabinet he found
Earle in waiting.
“Ah! you have returned then, my dear
Captain?” he said.
“As you see, my lord,” said Earle, bowing.
“And, I have heard, with a prize. What
ship had the bad luck to meet you?”
“I was attaked by His Britannic Majesty's
sloop-of-war Hornet, my lord.”
“Commanded by Digby! You had a hard
fight?”
“A very hard one, my lord. Captain Digby
did not seem to know when he ought to strike!
A very brave man!”
The Viscount Cecil bowed.
“When one brave sailor speaks well of another,
we civilians should listen.”
“Your lordship does me great honor.”
“Not more than you deserve, sir. Come to
England—I will have you made a peer!”
The Duc de Choiseul laughed.
“What say you, Monsieur le Capitaine?”
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The sailor bowed.
“I have a flag, my lord. It is the flag of
the lilies!”
The viscount approached the duke.
“See, monseigneur! you have a nobleman
already made there.”
“But you think, my Lord Viscount—” said
Choiseul.
“That you should make him a baron, at
least, monseigneur.”
“Baron—whom?”
“Stay: I find you a name, monseigneur.
Delamere—de-la-mer. He captured me while
bearing that name; and I assure your lordship
that he will honor your patent.”
The Duc de Choiseul inclined politely.
“Will it oblige Monsieur le Vicopte?”
“Very greatly, my lord. It is a great privilege
to be able to reward merit—I have enjoyed
it at times.”
The duke took a large sheet of paper, wrote
some lines upon it, and then affixed his seal
to it.
“Monsieur le Baron Delamere,” he said, turning
to Earle, “take this paper to the Bureau
of Record, which you will easily find, and
have all the formalities attended to by the
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chief of the Burean. You will then report in
fifteen days to the admiral at Brest for orders.
The Tèmèraire will await you there, and you
will take command of her!”
Earle bowed low. The Tèmèraire was a
frigate of the first class; and he was dizzy for
joy. He did not think of the paper in his
hand. But when he found himself in the
antechamber he glanced at it.
“Edmond Earle—created—by His Majesty—
for important services—Baron Delamere.
Choiseul.”
Earle read something like that. The whole
affair astonished him. And he owed this latter
distinction to his brave enemy the viscount!
As he walked on, in a dream as it were, he
felt a hand laid upon his arm.
He turned quickly. It was the Viscount
Cecil.
“Farewell, baron; I return to England to-morrow,”
said the viscount.
“You are released, then, my lord?”
“Yes.”
“I am overjoyed to be so informed. It was
by my act that you have been thus inconvenienced—
and your revenge has been
princely, my lord.”
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The viscount took the sailor's arm, and they
walked on together.
“Listen, my dear Captain Earle—for that
is your most honorable title,” said Viscount
Cecil: “I am an old man now, and have seen
a great deal of the world. I never prided myon
many things, but I think I recognize a
gentleman whenever I meet one. Well, you
conducted yourself as such in capturing me,
and you beat Digby—those two facts have
much impressed me. To day I found the
occasion—his grace was in an excellent humor.
He has made you a baron—you deserve that,
sir; and when the war ends, come and see
me. I live at Wentworth Castle—you will
always be welcome there. Farewell, Captain!
There is the Bureau of Record.”
And he held out his hand, which Earle
pressed warmly.
“Thanks, my lord,” he said. “The king ennobles
me for a fight and a victory. But there
are others who do not require that, since they
are noblemen by nature.”
And they parted,—Earle entering the
Bureau.
He was ushered into an inner apartment,
where a dry-looking individual scowled at him.
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At sight of the paper in the writing of Choiseul,
however, this individual dissolved into profuse
politeness.
“Will Monsieur le Baron be seated?” he
said, bowing and pointing to a chair. “This
patent is in regular order. I congratulate Monsieur
le Baron. A few formalities only are necessary,—
mere formalities; namely, the full
name of Moniseur le Baron's father and mother,
and the date of their marriage; also, the date
of Monsieur le Baron's birth: that will be all.
Delighted to serve Monsieur le Baron!”
And the functionary executed another bow.
Earle responded in the same manner, and
left the Bureau, with “Monsieur le Baron”
fairly ringing in his ears.
On the next morning he set out for Martigny,
in Normandy, remembering the writing
in the recluse's missal.
Just at dusk he reached the village.
As he entered it in the post-carriage, a man
muffled in a heavy overcoat passed, running
rapidly.
The man seemed making for the sea-coast, a
mile or so distant, where some sail-boats were
seen.
Earle scarcely looked at him. He stopped
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at the inn, and was directed to the house of
the curé.
“What is your pleasure, my son?” said the
old priest, meeting him on the steps.
“To see your register, father, and find the
date of the marriage of the Tèmèraire!
Pshaw!—pardon, father! They have given
me a frigate, and it has turned my head!”
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Cooke, John Esten, 1830-1886 [1871], Out of the foam: a novel. (Carleton, New York) [word count] [eaf517T].
