Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Alas!” she said to herself, “he does not even see that I am smiling at him. He always seems to be asking you to have patience with his infirmity.”

  This thought grieved her so much that the older woman noticed the fact, and asked:

  “What is the matter, my child? You look sad.”

  Hearing his aunt’s words, Onésime turned anxiously to the young girl, as if trying to read the expression of her face, while she, embarrassed by the housekeeper’s remark, answered:

  “You are mistaken, I am not in the least sad; but just now when you spoke of my father it reminded me that he ought to have reached home several days ago.”

  “Surely you are not going to torment yourself about that, my child. Is this the first time your father has failed to arrive at the appointed time?”

  “It worries me, nevertheless.”

  “Dear me! There isn’t the slightest doubt that business has detained him. Do you suppose that a man who acts as the business agent of a number of big factories can tell the exact hour at which he will be able to return home? An opportunity to make a large sale sometimes presents itself just as he is about to start, and he is obliged to remain. Only a couple of months ago, just before he went away, he said to me: ‘I am determined my daughter shall be rich. A couple more trips like the last, and I will never leave the dear child again.’”

  “Heaven grant that time may soon come,” sighed the girl. “I should be tranquil and happy if my kind and loving father were always with me. You are tormented by so many fears when one you love is absent from you.”

  “Fears! fears about what, I should like to know! What risk can a quiet merchant like monsieur run? A merchant who doesn’t meddle with other people’s affairs, but travels about from town to town in a post-chaise, to sell his goods. What risk does a man like that run? Besides, he travels only in the daytime, and always has his clerk with him, and you know he would go through fire and water for your father, though he really does seem to be the most unfortunate of mortals.”

  “That is true. Poor man! some accident seems to befall him every time he travels with my father.”

  “Yes, and why? Simply because he is the most meddlesome old creature that ever lived, and the awkwardest. Still, that doesn’t prevent him from being a great protection to monsieur if any one should attempt to molest him. So what have you to fear, my child?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Think how you would feel if you had a father in the army as so many girls have.”

  “I could never stand such a terrible strain as that. Why, to be always thinking that my father was exposed to danger, to death, — why, the mere idea of such a thing is appalling.”

  “Yes, my poor child, the mere idea of such a thing makes you as pale as a ghost, and sets you to trembling like a leaf. It does not surprise me, though, for I know how devoted you are to your father. But drive these dreadful thoughts from your mind, and, by the way, suppose Onésime finishes reading the paper to us.”

  “Certainly, if M. Onésime is not too tired.”

  “No, mademoiselle,” replied the young man, making almost superhuman efforts to conceal his suffering, which was becoming more and more intolerable.

  And getting the paper as close to his eyes as possible, he was preparing to resume the reading, when he remarked:

  “I think this is an article which is likely to interest mademoiselle.”

  “What is it about?”

  “It describes the exploits of that famous Dieppe privateer, of whom everybody is talking.”

  “I fear the article will be too exciting for you to-day, my dear, you seem to be so nervous,” remarked the housekeeper.

  “Is it such a very blood-curdling story, M. Onésime?” inquired the girl, smiling.

  “I think not, mademoiselle, judging from the title. The article is headed: ‘Remarkable Escape of the Brave Captain l’Endurci, Who Was Abducted from French Soil by English Emissaries.’”

  “It must be very interesting. Pray read it, monsieur.”

  So the young man at once began to read the following account of the brave captain’s escape.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE CAPTAIN’S NARRATIVE.

  “ALL FRANCE IS familiar with the name and heroic valour of Captain l’Endurci, commander of the privateer Hell-hound, as well as the large number of prizes which the gallant captain has recently captured from the English.

  “Only a few days ago Captain l’Endurci returned to Dieppe, with a large three-master belonging to the East India Company, and armed with thirty guns, in tow, while the Hell-hound can boast of only sixteen. This three-master, which was convoying several merchant vessels loaded with wheat, had, together with her convoy, been captured by the intrepid captain, after a desperate fight of three hours, in which nearly or quite one-half of the French crew had been killed or wounded.

  “The gallant captain’s entrance into the port of Dieppe was a veritable triumph. The entire population of the town assembled upon the piers, and when the brig, black with powder and riddled with shot, sailed slowly in with her prizes, shouts of the wildest enthusiasm rent the air, but the brave captain’s triumph became an ovation when the people learned that the vessels which the three-master was convoying were laden with wheat. At a time when grain is so appallingly scarce in France, such a capture is a national benefaction, and when the people discovered that Captain l’Endurci, being aware of the speedy arrival of these vessels, had spent several days lying in wait for them, allowing richer and less dangerous prizes to pass unmolested, all Dieppe went wild.”

  “How grand!” exclaimed the housekeeper, enthusiastically. “Ah, I would give ten years of my life to be the mother or sister of such a hero.”

  “And I, my friend, deem myself a thousand times more fortunate in being the daughter of an honest merchant, instead of having some bloodthirsty hero for a father,” remarked Sabine.

  “What a strange child you are! Wouldn’t you feel proud to be able to say: ‘That famous man is my father?’”

  “Not by any means. If he were absent, I should be always trembling to think of the danger he might be in; if he were with me, I should always be imagining I saw blood on his hands.”

  “Such ideas seem very strange to me, for I love heroes, myself,” said the older woman, gaily. “But go on, Onésime, I am anxious to hear how this valiant captain could have been kidnapped on French soil.” Then, noticing that her nephew was unusually pale, and that big drops of perspiration were standing on his brow, she asked:

  “What is the matter, Onésime? You seem to be suffering.”

  “No, indeed, aunt,” replied the young man, enraged at himself for not being able to conceal the agony his burn was causing him. “Now listen to the rest of the story.

  “Captain l’Endurci, after a three day’s sojourn in Dieppe, started for Paris, unfortunately leaving his head gunner, one of his oldest comrades-in-arms, who was seriously wounded in the last engagement, in Dieppe to attend to some business matters.

  “It was between the second and the third post-stations on his route that this audacious attack was made upon the captain, evidently by English emissaries who had been lying in wait for him. It seems that these emissaries had taken advantage of the postilion’s credulity to persuade him to allow one of them to take his place and drive the vehicle for awhile. This change of drivers was made while ascending a steep hill, where the progress of the vehicle was necessarily slow, but the Englishman was scarcely in the saddle before he started the horses off at a frightful pace, while the postilion was hurled half-dead upon the ground by the other Englishman, who was clinging to the back of the post-chaise.

  “The captain astonished at the terrific speed with which the horses were tearing down the steep descent, thought that the postilion had neglected to put on the brake, and had lost all control of the horses; but soon the rate of speed diminished perceptibly, though the vehicle continued to fly swiftly along.

  “The night having become very dark, the
captain could not see that the carriage, instead of following the main road, was going in an entirely different direction. Not having the slightest suspicion of this fact, and ignorant of the change of postilions, the captain rode on in this way about an hour and a half, and finally fell asleep.

  “The sudden stopping of the carriage woke him, and supposing that he had reached the next relay station, and seeing two or three lanterns flitting about, he was unsuspectingly alighting from the vehicle, when several men suddenly rushed upon him, and, before he had time to offer the slightest resistance, he was securely bound and gagged, and dragged down to the beach on the outskirts of the little seaport town of Hosey, about fifteen miles from Dieppe, and known as the headquarters of a daring gang of smugglers. Here, the captain, who was unable to make the slightest movement or utter a word, was hustled aboard a fishing-smack, and a few minutes afterward, wind and tide both being favourable, the little vessel set sail for England.

  “Several men rushed upon him.”

  Original etching by Adrian Marcel.

  “But Captain l’Endurci is not the man to tamely submit to defeat, as the following extract from that gentleman’s letter to a friend in this city conclusively proves.

  “He writes as follows:

  “‘When I found myself a prisoner in the hold, my rage at the cowardly trick which had been played upon me became ungovernable. I had been thrown upon a few pieces of old sail in the hold, with my legs securely bound together with a long piece of rope as big as my thumb, and with my hands tied behind my back. I tried by stooping to reach with my teeth the rope that bound my legs, but found it impossible. I knew by the motion of the boat that a strong wind was blowing, and that we were heading straight for the shores of England.

  “‘I knew the fate that awaited me there. A few words that had passed between my captors had enlightened me. Instead of killing me outright, they wanted to see me lead a life of torture in the hulks. One of them had even spoken of exposing me to the jeers and insults of the populace for several days.

  “‘The mere thought of such a thing nearly drove me mad, and in a paroxysm of fury I sank back on the old sails, foaming with rage. This ebullition over, anger as usual gave me new strength. My blood boiled in my veins, then, mounting to my brain, gave birth to a thousand projects, each one more audacious than the other, and I felt both my physical and mental vigour increased a hundred-fold by this effervescent condition of all my vital powers.

  “‘I finally decided upon one of the plans that this paroxysm of rage had suggested to me. In any other frame of mind, it would have seemed utterly impracticable to me, and I believe it would have seemed so to any man who was not half frenzied by a spirit of anger, — anger, that dread and powerful divinity, as the Indian poet says.’”

  For some time the young girl who sat listening had seemed to be a prey to a painful preoccupation; several times she had started impatiently as if anxious to escape from some harrowing thought, and now suddenly interrupting the reading in spite of herself, as it were, she exclaimed:

  “That man makes me shudder!”

  “And why?” demanded the housekeeper. “This brave sailor seems to me as brave as a lion.”

  “But what a man of iron!” exclaimed the girl, more and more excitedly. “How violent he is! And to think that any person should dare to excuse and even glorify anger when it is so horrible — so unspeakably horrible!”

  The housekeeper, without attaching much importance to the girl’s protest, however, replied:

  “Nonsense, my child! You say that anger is so terrible. That depends, — for if anger suggested to the captain a way and means of escape from these treacherous Englishmen, he is perfectly right to glorify it, and I, in his place — But good Heavens!” she exclaimed, seeing the girl turn alarmingly pale and close her eyes as if she were about to swoon. “Good Heavens, what is the matter with you? Your lips are quivering. You are crying. You do not answer me, — speak, what is the matter?”

  But the words failed to reach the ears of the poor child. With her large eyes distended with terror and bewilderment, she indicated with a gesture some apparition which existed only in her disordered imagination, and murmured, wildly:

  “The man in black! Oh, the man in black! There he is now! Don’t you see him?”

  “Calm yourself! Don’t allow yourself to think any more about that, in Heaven’s name. Don’t you know how hurtful such thoughts are to you?”

  “Oh, that man! He was equally terrible in his rage, when — It was years and years ago, and I was little more than a baby, but I can see him yet, in his strange, sombre costume of black and white like the livery of the dead. It was night, and my father was absent from home when this man gained an entrance into our house, I know not how. I had never seen him before. He threatened my mother, who was holding me in her arms. ‘At least spare my child!’ she sobbed. I remember it well. But he only exclaimed, still advancing threateningly upon my mother, ‘Don’t you know that I am capable of anything in my anger?’ And then he rushed out of the room. Oh, my mother, my mother dead, and I—”

  The girl could say no more, for she was relapsing into one of the nervous spasms which this terrible recollection almost always caused, — this recollection of a deplorable occurrence from which her condition of morbid susceptibility seemed to have dated.

  This crisis soon abated, thanks to the judicious attentions of the housekeeper, who was, alas! only too used to rendering them. When she was herself again, the young girl, whose character was a singular compound of weakness and firmness, thought with shame and regret of the lack of self-control she had displayed while this account of the corsair’s escape was being read, an account which, strange to say, had an inexplicable fascination for her, inspiring her at the same time with horror and a sort of morbid curiosity; so, in spite of Onésime’s entreaties, she insisted that he should continue the reading so unfortunately interrupted.

  The housekeeper, noting this insistence, and fearing that any opposition might react very dangerously upon the girl’s excitable nature just at this time, also requested Onésime to continue the account of Captain l’Endurci’s escape.

  CHAPTER IX.

  CONCLUSION OF THE CAPTAIN’S NARRATIVE.

  THE REST OF the captain’s letter read as follows:

  “‘In order to carry out my plan, the first thing I had to do was to free myself from my bonds. Being unable to reach them with my mouth so I could gnaw them in two with my teeth, I devised another means. By crawling about on my stomach and feeling around with my face — as I had no use of my hands — I finally succeeded in discovering a large iron hook, doubtless intended for holding the ballast in place. Approaching this hook, I leaned my back against it and began to rub the ropes that bound me across the iron and upon the sharp end of the hook. Two hours afterward I had worn the ropes sufficiently thin to be able to sever them by a powerful wrench, anger having endowed me with almost supernatural strength.

  “‘My hands free, the rest was only child’s play.

  “‘I had my tinder-box, my pipe, a package of tobacco, and a long whaling-knife in my pocket. In the twinkling of an eye I had cut the ropes that bound my legs and started on a tour of inspection through the hold on my hands and knees, as it was too low to admit of my standing upright.

  “‘I could find nothing but some scraps of old sail and a few pieces of rope. The only means of egress was a square hatchway. The boards of which this was made had separated a little in one place, and I could see the moonlight through the opening. Placing my hands upon my knees and making my body into a bow, I tried to force open the hatchway with my shoulders, but in vain. It was evidently secured — as it should have been — with two strong iron bars.

  “‘Taking some of the ends of rope, I cut them into small pieces, untwisted the strands, and in this way soon collected a small pile of tow. Afterward I cut some of the old canvas on which I had been lying into narrow strips and laid them on the little pile of tow, which I had placed directly
under the hatchway; after which I emptied my little bag of tobacco on it to make it more combustible, and set fire to it, blowing it vigorously all the while.

  “‘The tow took fire, communicated it to the pieces of old sail, and an instant afterward the hold was filled with a dense smoke, part of which filtered through the opening in the hatchway, while I yelled “Fire!” with all my might. My cries and the strong smell of smoke that escaped through the hatchway frightened the men on deck. I heard a great commotion up there, the hatchway was raised almost immediately, and the thick cloud of smoke that poured out through the opening was so blinding that I was able to make my way through it, unseen, to the deck, with a single bound, knife in hand. I found myself face to face with a tall, swarthy man. I plunged my knife into his heart. He fell backward into the sea. Leaping for the axe which is always kept near the bitt, so the rigging can be quickly cut away if need be, I struck down another man; then, with a back stroke, nearly cut off the arm of a man who was rushing upon me, sabre in hand. All this occurred almost in the twinkling of an eye. Taking advantage of the sort of stupor that had seized the crew, and feeling much calmer after this explosion of long-suppressed rage, I could see better where I was, or take my bearings a little, as the saying is.

  “‘It was a magnificent moonlight night; a strong breeze was blowing; an old, white-haired sailor was at the helm; a cabin-boy and three terrified sailors had taken refuge in the bow, separated from me by the open hatchway. The man I had struck down with the axe did not move; the one I had wounded was on his knees, holding his right arm in his left hand.

  “‘I still had three able-bodied men, a boy, and an old man to contend with, but they, all seemed to be demoralised by my sudden attack.