A Sister to Evangeline

by Sir Charles G. D. Roberts

  Chapter XXXVI

  Sword and Silk

  That night the weather fell thick, and, the wind freshening suddenly,the ship dropped anchor. Captain Eliphalet Wrye was not so familiar withthe reefs and tides of Fundy that he cared to navigate her waters in thedark. This we considered very favourable to our enterprise; for the tiderunning strongly, and the wind against it, kicked up a pother that madethe hold reëcho.

  The time agreed upon was toward three, when those asleep are heaviest. Ithink that most of our men slept, but with that consciousness of eventsimpending which would bring them wide awake on the instant. Marc, Iknow, lay sleeping like a child. But for me no sleep, no sleep indeed. Icould not spare a minute from the delight of thinking and dreaming. HereI lay in irons, a captive, an exile,—but my beloved had come.

  “She has come, my beloved!” I kept saying over and over to myself.

  Then I tried planning for our future; but the morrow promised herpresence, and for the time I could not get my thoughts past that. Therewas no need to discount future joy by drawing bills of dearanticipation. But it was tonic to my brain to look back upon thehopeless despair in which I had lain weltering so few hours before. Nowthey seemed years away—and how I blessed their remoteness, those sickhours of anguish! Yes, though I had not given up my purpose, I hadsurely given up the hope that kept it alive. Then Mother Pêche’ssoothsaying over the lines of my palm came back to me: “_Your heart’sdesire is nigh your death of hope_!”

  Wonderful old woman! How came such wisdom to your simple heart, with noteachers but herbs, and dews, and stillnesses of the open marsh, andhill-whispers, and the unknown stars? Out of some deep truth you spoke,surely; for even as my hope died, had not my heart’s desire come? And Isaid to myself, “It is but a narrow and shallow heart that expects tounderstand all it believes. Do we not walk as men blindfolded in thecitadel of mystery? What seem to us the large things and unquestionablemay, the half of them, be vain—and small, derided things anuninterpreted message of truth!”

  My revery was broken by Marc laying free hands upon mine.

  “Are you awake?” he whispered. “The time has come. See! This is the wayto open them.” And very easily, as it seemed, he slipped the iron frommy wrists.

  “Feel!” he went on, in the same soft whisper. I followed his fingers inthe dimness. There was no light but the murk of a smoky lanthorn someway off, where the guards sat dejectedly smoking,—and I caught themethod of unlocking the spring. “Free your next neighbour, and pass theword along,” continued Marc; and I did so. It was all managed withnoiseless precision.

  In a very few minutes—which seemed an hour—there was a sneeze from thefurthermost corner of the hold, beyond the place where the guards sat.It was not the most natural and easy sneeze in the world, but it served.It was answered by another from the opposite corner. The shrill, sillysound was yet in the air when the ominous form of long Philibert Trouloomed high behind the sitting guards and fell upon one of them likefate; while at the same moment, like a springing cat, the lithe figureof La Mouche shot up at the other’s throat.

  For such skilled hands it was but a moment’s work, and no noise aboutit. Like the rising of an army of spectres, every man came silently tohis feet. Seizing the musket of the nearest guard, where he laymotionless, I glided to the hatch, just far enough ahead of Marc to getmy foot first on the ladder.

  As I reached the deck the sentry, not three paces distant, was justturning. With a yell to warn his comrades he sprang at me. Nimbly Iavoided his bayonet thrust, and the butt of my musket brought him down.I had reserved my fire for the possibility of a more dangerousencounter.

  There were shouts along the deck—and shots—and I saw sailors running up,and then more soldiers—and I sprang to meet them. But already Marc wasat my side, and a dozen, nay, a score, of my fellow-captives. In abreath, as it were, the score doubled and trebled—the hold seemed tospout them forth, so hotly they came.

  There were but few shots, and a fall or two with groans. The thing wasover before it was well begun, so perfect had been the surprise. We hadall who were on deck in irons, save for three slain and one grievouslywounded. Those who had been asleep in their bunks when the alarm wasgiven now promptly gave themselves up, soldiers and sailors alike, beingnot mad enough to play out a lost game. Handcuffs were abundant, whichmade our work the simpler.

  As I went forward, wondering where Shafto was this while, I was met byLa Mouche and two others leading a prisoner. It was Captain Eliphalet,with blood on his face, sorely dazed, but undaunted. Indignation andreproach so struggled within him that he could not for the moment findspeech.

  “Pardon, I beseech you, Captain Wrye,” I made haste to say, “the needwhich has compelled me to make such rude return for your courtesy.This,” and I tapped his irons with my finger, “is but for an hour or twoat most, till we get things on our ship fitly ordered. Then, believe me,you will find that this is merely a somewhat abrupt reversal of thepositions of host and guest.”

  I fear that Captain Eliphalet’s reply was going to be a rude one, but ifso it was quenched at his lips. The door of the cabin opened, a brightlight streamed forth, and down it glided Yvonne in her white gown, theblack lace over her head.

  “Oh, Paul, what has happened? Are you—are you safe?” she askedbreathlessly, ‘twixt laughing and tears. The shooting and shouting hadaroused her roughly.

  “Quite safe, my dearest,” I whispered. “And—the ship is ours.”

  All that this meant flashed upon her, and her face flushed, her eyesdilated. But before she found voice to welcome the great news, herglance fell upon Captain Eliphalet’s blood-stained countenance, and herjoy faded into compassion.

  “Oh!” she cried, “you are _not_ wounded, surely, surely!” And shepressed her handkerchief pitifully to the blood-spots.

  “It is nothing, nothing, mademoiselle, but a mere scratch, or bruise,rather,” stammered Captain Eliphalet. Then she saw that his hands werefettered.

  “Paul!” she exclaimed, turning upon me a face grown very white andgrave. “And he was so kind to me! How could you!”

  “As a matter of fact, I didn’t, Yvonne,” said I. “But this is what I amgoing to do.”

  Slipping off the irons I tossed them into the sea.

  “Captain Wrye,” said I to him, with a bow, “I have much yet to do, and Imust not stay here any longer. May I commit to your charge for a littlewhile what is more precious than all else?”

  Yvonne thanked me with a look, and laid her hand on the captain’s arm.

  “We will dress your wound, monsieur,” said she. “Mother Pêche has awondrous skill in such matters.” And she led the captain away.

  By this Marc was come up, with a squad of his men fully armed. Some halfscore approached the second cabin. A window opened, a thin stream offire flashed out, with a sharp report of a pistol; and a man fell, shotthrough the head. Another report, with the red streak in the front ofit, and a tall Acadian threw up his arms, screamed chokingly, anddropped across a coil of rope.

  The precise Lieutenant Shafto had awakened to the state of affairs.

  “Down with the door, men, before he can load again!” shouted Marc,springing forward; and long Philibert picked up a light spar which layat hand, very well suited to the purpose.

  But there was no need of it. The door was thrown open, and in the lightfrom Yvonne’s cabin was revealed the form of the English officer. Hestood in his doorway, very angry and scornful, the point of his swordthrust passionately against the deck in front of him. A fine and a bravefigure he was, as he stood there in his stockings, breeches, and fairlybe-ruffled shirt—for he had not just now taken time to perfect histoilet with the customary care. In this attitude he paused for a second,lightly springing his sword, and scowling upon us.

  “I must ask you to surrender, monsieur,” said Marc, advancing. “The shipis in our hands. I shall be glad to accept your parole.”

  “I will not surre
nder!” he answered curtly. “If there be a gentlemanamong you who can use a sword, I am willing to fight him. If not, I willsee how many more of this rabble I can take with me.” And he jerked hishead toward the two whom he had shot down.

  “I will cross swords with you,” I cried, getting ahead of Marc, “andwill count myself much honoured in meeting so brave a gentleman. But youEnglish took my sword from me, and up to the present have neglected togive it back.”

  “I have swords, of course, monsieur,” he replied, his face lighting withsatisfaction as he stepped back into his cabin to get them.

  But some one else was not satisfied. Yvonne’s hands were on my arm—hereyes, wide with terror, imploring mine. “Don’t! It will kill me, dear!Oh, what madness! Have you no pity for me!” she gasped.

  I looked at her reassuringly, not liking to say there was no danger,lest I should seem to boast; and so instant was her reading of mythought that even as I looked the fear died out of her face.

  “It is nothing, dear heart. Ask Marc,” I whispered. She turned to himwith the question in her eyes.

  “Paul is the best sword in New France,” said Marc quietly, “not evenexcepting my father, the Sieur de Briart.”

  Now so quickly was the confidence of my own heart transferred into theheart of my beloved that she was no more afraid. Indeed, what she saidwas:

  “You must not hurt him, Paul! He has been very nice to me!” and this ina voice so clear that Shafto himself heard it as he came out with theswords. It ruffled him, but he bowed low to her in acknowledgment of herinterest.

  “They are of the same length. Choose, monsieur!” said he, holding themout to me.

  I took the nearest—and knew as soon as the hilt was in my hand that itwas an honest weapon, of English make, something slow in action andlacking subtlety of response, but adequate to the present enterprise.Lanthorns were brought, and so disposed by Marc’s orders that the lightshould fall fairly for one as for the other. The Englishman had regainedhis good temper,—or a civil semblance of it,—and marked the preparationswith approval.

  “You have had abundant experience, I perceive, in the arbitrament ofgentlemen,” said he.

  “My cousin has, in particular, monsieur,” replied Marc dryly. WhereuponMr. Shafto turned upon me a scrutiny of unaffected interest.

  A moment more, and the swords set up that thin and venomous whisperingof theirs. Now, what I am _not_ going to do, even to please Yvonne,is—undertake to describe that combat. She wishes it, because under myinstruction she has learned to fence very cunningly herself. But to methe affair was unpleasant, because I saw from the first a bravegentleman, and a good enough swordsman as these English go, hopelesslyovermatched. I would not do him the discredit of seeming to play withhim. He fenced very hotly, too. He wanted blood, being bitter andhumiliated. After a few minutes of quick play I thought it best to prickhim a little sharply in the arm. The blood spurted scarlet over hiswhite sleeve; and I sprang back, dropping my point.

  “Are you satisfied, monsieur?” I asked.

  “No, never! Guard yourself, sir!” he cried angrily, taking two quicksteps after me.

  During the next two minutes or so he was so impetuous as to keep mequite occupied; and I was about concluding to disarm him, when therecame a strange intervention. It was most irregular; but the wisest ofwomen seem to have small regard for points of stringency in masculineetiquette. At a most knowingly calculated moment there descended betweenus, entangling and diverting the points of our weapons,—what but aflutter of black lace!

  “I will not have either of you defeated!” came Yvonne’s voice, gaylyimperious. “You shall _both_ of you surrender at once, to me! There isno dishonour, gentlemen, in surrendering to a woman!”

  It was a most gracious thought on her part, to save a brave man fromhumiliation; and my worship of her deepened, if that were possible. Asfor the elegant Mr. Shafto, he was palpably taken aback, and gloweredrudely for a space of some seconds. Then he came to himself and acceptedthe diversion with good grace. With a very low bow he presented hissword-hilt to Yvonne, saying:

  “To you, and to you only, I yield myself a prisoner, Mademoiselle deLamourie,”

  Yvonne took the sword, examined it with gay concern on this side and onthat, tried it against the deck as she had seen him do, and then,without so much as a glance at Marc or me for permission, gravelyreturned it to him.

  “Keep it, monsieur,” she said. “I have no use for it at present; and Itrust to hold my prisoners whether they be armed or defenceless.”

  “That you will, mademoiselle, I’ll wager,” spoke up Captain Eliphalet,just behind.