Jane Austen Made Me Do It (51 page)

“Keep the men steady, Mr. Packer. We do not want an abundance of fervor to cause accidents or premature fire.”

“Understood, sir.”

As the
Petterel
sailed east, the French vessels moved south, closer to the protection of the battery downshore. Mr. Thompson adjusted their course. They were running free with the wind now, coming up behind the xebec, bearing down to engage the smaller of the two French ships.

“Mr. Packer!” Austen called.

The lieutenant appeared beside him. “Yes, Captain?”

“As soon as we are in range, fire the bow-chasers.”

“With pleasure, sir.” Though he had ample time to prepare, Mr. Packer hurried back to his station, alive to the moment and keen to execute Austen's order.

They fired the guns, striking the xebec's stern with one six-pound ball and sending another rolling a destructive path down the deck from stern to stem. A second round damaged the weakened stern further.

“Bring us alongside her!”

The xebec had but three guns on her starboard side to the
Petterel
's larboard six guns and four carronades. On her deck, the French sailors scrambled. Although her gun crews were in position, an aura of panic emanated from the vessel. She maneuvered
still closer to shore, no doubt hoping that the larger
Petterel
would strike rocks before she did.

“Mr. Thompson?”

“Not to worry, Captain.”

Suddenly, with a jolt so strong that Austen seemed to feel it from his own ship, the xebec came to an abrupt stop.

She had run herself aground.

Mr. Thompson carefully slid the
Petterel
, ready and well able to deliver a powerful broadside to the motionless vessel, into position alongside her. The xebec's crew raced to strike her colors, her commander shouting
“Je cède! Je cède!”

Austen acknowledged the French officer's surrender—then ordered Mr. Thompson to pursue the corvette ahead.

On the main deck, the men were flush with success and eager for more; they would have rowed after the corvette if Austen asked them to.

“Well done!” he called out to them, and came down from the quarterdeck. “But save your celebration until we have done with her sister ships.”

He walked the length of the deck and back, exchanging words with the seamen, exhorting them to maintain their focus. As he was about to mount the steps and return to the quarterdeck, the purser approached him. Austen hoped he was not about to hear bad news from below, where Mr. Hill normally assisted the surgeon during battles.

“Yes, Mr. Hill?”

“Sir, as we are fortunate to have no injured men, and with our being short Lieutenant Glover and the others manning the prize vessels, I want to offer my services on the main deck if I can be of use.”

Austen was surprised—quite pleasantly—by the suggestion from the stout, serious man most often found distributing supplies
and examining his accounts. Even Mr. Hill wanted to be closer to the action today.

“That is a most handsome offer, Mr. Hill. Report to Mr. Packer and help with the guns.”

The purser's face lit at the prospect. “Aye, sir!”

The corvette sailed south, trying to reach the protection of the battery before the
Petterel
caught up with her. Mr. Thompson, Austen beside him, deftly handled the wheel as they gave chase.

“She is a swift vessel, sir. I'll give her that, even if she is French.”

“I would admire her speed more, Mr. Thompson, if we were not working so hard to overcome it.”

The
Petterel
finally had the weather gage, but Mr. Thompson was forced to check their speed to safely negotiate the rocks. However, the corvette also slowed, and by observing her maneuvers the
Petterel
was able to gain on her. When they neared range of her stern, they fired their bow-chasers. The balls ripped through the mizzen topsail, taking down some of its rigging as well. The corvette answered with her stern-chasers, but their shots missed.

The
Petterel
came round the corvette's starboard side, swiveled the forecastle carronades, and fired at the mizzenmast. One of the twelve-pound balls smashed into the mast, sending it crashing onto the deck and scattering crewmen as they raced to escape being hit. In the confusion, the corvette struck a shoal and ran aground.

A cheer went up on the deck of the
Petterel
.

The colors came down on the deck of the corvette.

In as high regard as Austen held his officers and men, he knew luck had contributed its share to the day's success, and he wondered whether he dared test it further. But there was a brig ahead
with which he had unfinished business. A brig that had been approaching from the south—to rendezvous with the vessels the
Petterel
had just defeated? A brig that now was turning round to head back toward Cape Croisette.

A brig Austen was determined to prevent from reaching it.

“Mr. Packer!”

The lieutenant came quickly, carrying his speaking trumpet. With Mr. Glover and the gunner absent, Mr. Packer was having a busy time of it, but he performed his duty with spirit and alacrity. “Captain?”

Austen gestured towards the brig. “Pass the word that we have one more ship to take this afternoon.”

Mr. Packer grinned. “The men will be glad to hear it, sir.”

No one aboard could match Austen's own anticipation. He loved the thrill of the chase. Let other gentlemen hunt foxes on horseback, racing across open fields amid the baying of hounds. Austen pursued his quarry on planks of oak across the open sea, amid the explosion of cannons, to an end more noble than mere sport. And this particular quarry had eluded capture long enough.

The
Mermaid
approached from leeward. If she maintained her course and speed, within half an hour she might be close enough to assist the action. But the wind yet blew so strong that he could not be confident of her participation. He was prepared, if necessary, to attempt to capture the brig alone.

“Are you ready to finish our chase, Mr. Thompson?”

“Ready indeed, sir.”

The brig required time to reverse her course, and for half an hour the sloop advanced on her. By the time she was sailing south, the
Petterel
was nearly upon her.

“Mr. Packer, our bow-chasers have served us well today,” Austen said. “Let us provide them more exercise.”

They fired the chase-pieces, getting off several successful shots
that were answered by the brig's stern-chasers. She cut closer to shore, leading the
Petterel
toward the battery. This time, Austen followed—if the battery fired upon his sloop, it also risked damaging the brig.

Fire, it did. The battery's four heavy guns launched thirty-two pound shot at the
Petterel
. The first round sailed overhead, falling to starboard.

The French ship slowed in the rocky waters.

“You know what to do, Mr. Thompson.”

“I do, sir.”

With the grace of the seabird for which she was named, the
Petterel
glided a-starboard of the brig.

When she reached position, the sloop released a broadside that cut the brig's sails and brought rigging raining down to its deck. The brig answered, making a few holes in the
Petterel
's sails and dismounting one of the forecastle carronades.

The battery fired again. More shot fell over the
Petterel
.

“Report, Mr. Packer?” Austen shouted.

“No damage, sir!”

The
Mermaid
, at last near enough to use her guns, fired random shot at the brig. None, however, hit. The frigate made sail, attempting to draw closer, but the strength of the wind prevented her.

The
Petterel
would have to win this on her own. Austen could not account for his incredible fortune up to the present, but he prayed it would hold.

“Fire again!”

The
Petterel
and brig exchanged another broadside. The French ship fired mostly into—and, thankfully, mostly missed—the sloop's rigging. For some inexplicable reason, the brig was firing round shot instead of bar or chain, which would have been much more effective against the ropes and sails. Unfortunately,
some of the lower shots did manage to dismount the
Petterel
's remaining three larboard carronades.

The sloop's guns found their targets.

Shot smashed into the hull of the brig, sending deadly splinters flying across the deck. Despite the wind, smoke and the smell of powder clouded both vessels. When it cleared, the brig struck its colors.

Again, the
Petterel
's crew cheered—then set back to work.

“Hoist out the launch,” Austen ordered. “Mr. Packer, choose fourteen men to accompany you and take possession. Include our carpenter among the party, so that Mr. Robinson can assess the damage.”

Two hours later, the launch returned with eleven officer prisoners. Lieutenant Packer handed Austen a sword.

“It belongs to this gentleman,” the lieutenant said, indicating a short, proud-looking man.

Austen bowed in acknowledgment.
“Capitaine?”

“Non, je suis Citizen Francis Auguste Pelabon, Lieutenant de Vaisseau. Le capitaine est mort.”

“Citizen Pelabon has stated that the brig is
La Ligurienne
, and that she was traveling in company with the corvette
Le Cerf
and the xebec
Le Joiliet
,” Mr. Packer said. “The
Ligurienne
's captain and one seaman were killed. Two others are injured.”

Austen put a few questions to Citizen Pelabon—whom he speculated was a political appointee—and learned that the captain was killed by the
Petterel
's first chaser shot. Upon his death, Pelabon had taken charge.

The marine guards took the prisoners below deck. Before returning to the brig to command the prize vessel, Mr. Packer accompanied Austen into his cabin to continue his report.

“I think you might find the prisoners happier to be in your
custody than under Pelabon's command,” he said. “I received the impression that the orders he issued during the action did not demonstrate a great deal of competence.”

“For which we, at least, can be grateful,” Austen replied. Pelabon's failure had enabled the
Petterel
to emerge from the engagement almost untouched. “In what condition is the vessel?”

“It was fortuitous that you sent the carpenter with us, for you will hardly believe what Mr. Robinson discovered.…”

“Well fought, Captain,” Robert Oliver greeted Austen as he boarded the
Mermaid
. “I am sorry the wind rendered me unable to offer significant assistance yesterday, but it was a glorious battle to witness.”

Austen appreciated his praise. He liked Oliver, who numbered among the navy's younger post-captains.

“Thank you, sir. I have brought my official report for you to forward to the Admiralty.”

“You single-handedly captured five French vessels in under five hours,” Captain Oliver said. “Whatever you have written, I am certain it is too modest. Come, you must tell me the whole tale over dinner.”

They entered his cabin, where Captain Oliver opened the dispatch and scanned it. “Not a single man hurt on your part—and no other damage to the ship than four carronades dismounted, and a few shots through the sails. That is extraordinary.”

“We were most fortunate,” Austen said.

“But here—what is this? ‘
La Ligurienne
 … is built on a peculiar plan, being fastened throughout with screw bolts, so as to be taken to pieces and set up again with ease, and is said to have been intended to follow Bonaparte to Egypt.' ” Incredulous, Captain Oliver looked to Austen.

“Apparently,” Austen said, “Bonaparte planned to portage the ship through the desert, then launch it into the Red Sea.”

“Had he succeeded, I cannot imagine the consequences. But you prevented him.”

“Quite by accident.”

“How it came to happen does not matter nearly so much as that it did.” Captain Oliver folded the report and set it on his desk beside other papers. Then he opened a bottle of wine, poured two glasses, and handed one to Austen.

“The Admiralty is unpredictable, of course,” Oliver said, “but I would not be surprised if I am about to dine with the navy's next post-captain.”

In consequence of the action off Marseilles and his capture of
La Ligurienne,
Francis Austen was promoted to post-captain on 13 May 1800. Due to the challenges of wartime communication, his sister Jane knew about his promotion before he did. Francis finally received the news in October, after commanding the
Petterel
through more daring engagements in Genoa and Egypt. He eventually rose to the Royal Navy's highest position, Admiral of the Fleet
.

Author's Note:
Historical documents related to the
Petterel
record the name of the sloop under multiple spellings. I have chosen the one used by Captain Austen himself, penned with his own hand aboard that very ship as he recorded hour by hour the events surrounding
La Ligurienne
's capture. For access to his logbook and other ship's records, I thank The National Archives and the Caird Library of the National Maritime Museum. For the truly extraordinary events of that day—a story that begged to be told—I thank Francis Austen.