by Eugène Sue
“Although, be it said to my great shame, the curiosity to see Canaris burn a Turkish ship is not positively what decides me, I agree entirely with your plan, and you may consider me one of the passengers on your schooner.”
“Then we shall be together there for a long time!” said Falmouth to me. “So much the better, for I have to free you well from prejudices.”
I looked at him with surprise, and begged him to explain himself; he evaded.
The object of our voyage decided, it was expedient that we should set out from the Hyères Isles for Malta upon our arrival at Marseilles.
Little by little the sight of exterior objects, the experiences of the journey, calmed or rather benumbed my sufferings; but it was with uneasiness that I yielded to this sort of transient well-being. I knew that my griefs would soon return, keener than before. This beneficent sleep must have a cruel awakening. It must be said, too, that Falmouth showed the most affectionate cordiality, the most amiable cheerfulness of a most even character.
His conversation and his wit, moreover, pleased me greatly; I had sincerely appreciated his delicacy and his gracious kindness at the time of his relations with Hélène’s husband.
In spite of my apparent coldness, and my continual sarcasms against friendship, — this sentiment to which I pretended to be so indifferent, — I felt at times drawn towards Falmouth by a lively sympathy.
Then, I repeat, this voyage appeared to me under a charming aspect; instead of regarding it as a disagreeable and tiresome distraction, I had golden dreams in thinking of all that might be agreeable, if I saw, if I met in Falmouth a tender and devoted friend.
There were the long and intimate conversations of the voyage, hours so favourable for disclosing one’s inmost thoughts, and for confidences; there were the cruises, fatigues, even perils to share as brothers in an unknown country, — confidences, cruises, fatigues, perils, that might be so pleasant to recall later, in saying to each other, a Do you remember?” Sweet words, sweet echo of the past which makes the heart leap!
“Without doubt,” I said to myself, “the satiety of pleasures is bad, but at least happily surfeited are they who, satiated with all the delicacies of the most refined existence, have the valiant caprice to go to temper again their souls at the conflagration of Canaris.”
Interpreted in this manner, was not this voyage noble and grand? Was there not something touching and chivalrous in this community of dangers so fraternally shared?
When I quietly yielded to these impressions their beneficent influence softened my heart, so grievously occupied; a precious balm shed itself upon my wounds, I felt better; I still sorrowfully deplored the past, but I no longer hated it, and the generous faith that I had in myself for the future soothed the bitterness of my regrets.
Finally, during the pure and pious aspirations of my heart towards a consoling friendship, I could not express the happiness which transported me; as God embraces with a single glance all the ages of eternity, with the sudden radiance of my young hope it seemed to me to disclose all at once the horizon of the happiness which I imagined, a thousand new raptures, a thousand enchanting joys, with these words, “a friend.” I felt awaken within me the noblest instincts, the most generous enthusiasm. I was then, doubtless, well worthy of inspiring and of sharing this great and lofty sentiment, for I felt all the sympathy of it, I understood all the pious duties in it, and I experienced all the happiness of it.
But, alas! this ecstasy lasted but a short time, and from this radiant sphere I often fell again into the black abyss of the most detestable doubt, of the most humiliating scepticism.
My distrust of myself and my fear of being the dupe of the feelings which I experienced became magnified to the most suspicious monomania.
Instead of believing Falmouth attracted to me by a sympathy equal to that which I felt for him, I sought to learn what interest he could have had in inviting me to accompany him. I knew his fortune to be so large that I could not see in his offer any desire to diminish by half the expense of the voyage that he wished to make by proposing to me to undertake it with him. Nevertheless, in thinking of the contradictions of human nature, so extreme and so inexplicable, and of the more than modest simplicity which Falmouth assumed at times, I did not regard this miserable afterthought as absolutely inadmissible.
Without disclaiming this shameful supposition, I still saw in his proposition the disdainful indifference of a man, blasé, who would take by chance, indifferently, the arm of the first who came along, — take a long promenade, provided this first corner followed the same direction as himself.
Such were the mental reservations which often came in spite of myself to blemish a future which I sometimes dreamed of as so beautiful!
Oh, my father! my father! how fatal is the terrible gift which you have made me, in teaching me to doubt! I have put on your armour of war, but I have not been able to fight with it; it crushes me under its weight. Driven back, turned back upon myself, I feel my feebleness, my misery, and I exaggerate it still more.
We arrived at Marseilles and soon at the Hyères Islands without any remarkable episode.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE YACHT.
AS WE STOPPED in Marseilles only to change horses, we soon arrived at the Hyères Islands. We found Falmouth’s yacht moored in the bay of Frais-Port in the Porquerolles harbour.
The Gazelle was a marvel of luxury and elegance; nothing could be prettier or more coquettish than this little boat. The whole interior had been reserved for Falmouth’s habitation. This apartment was very commodious, consisting of a saloon and two bedrooms, each with a bath-room. The cabins of the captain and the lieutenant of the yacht were forward. The crew numbered forty sailors; they wore blue jackets with buttons bearing the Falmouth arms; red woollen sashes fastened their white trousers, and broad black ribbons floated from their straw hats.
On the deck of the schooner, dazzlingly clean, were eight carronades of bronze carefully fixed on their mahogany carriages; swivel-guns of copper, an armory symmetrically furnished with guns, pistols, sabres, spears, and axes, completed the armament of this pretty boat.
The captain of the yacht, whom Falmouth presented to me, and whom he called Williams, was a tall, robust man of about twenty-five years of age, with a gentle and open face. He was — so Falmouth told me — the son of one of his Suffolk farmers. The greater number of the sailors belonged also to his county, where my lord owned much property near the sea. The lieutenant, a younger brother of Williams, was named Geordy. Younger by five or six years, he strongly resembled his brother, with the same appearance of strength, quiet, and gentleness.
The manner of these two young officers towards Falmouth was extremely respectful; they called him “my lord” and he addressed them with a familiarity that was friendly and almost paternal.
It was early in the month of June; the weather was magnificent; the wind, quite brisk and very favourable to our voyage, was from the north. After having consulted Williams as to the time of our departure, Falmouth decided that we should set sail the following morning.
In order to take a route towards the south it was necessary that we should reconnoitre the western coasts of Corsica, Sardinia, and of Sicily, and put into port at Malta; then, after having seen the governor and taken a pilot on board we would set sail to the northeast, and enter the Grecian Archipelago, in order to reach Hydra, where Falmouth hoped to meet Canaris.
The bay of Frais-Port, where the Gazelle was moored, was situated south of Porquerolles, and frequented only by fishing-boats or small Sardinian ships which cruised along its shores.
When we reached this harbour, we found there, at anchor, some distance from the Qazelle, a large mystic, flying a Sardinian flag.
Night came on, the moon rose with all its dazzling brilliancy in the centre of a magnificent starry heaven; the air was perfumed with the odour of orange-blossoms from the gardens of Hyères.
Falmouth proposed a walk along the shore, so we set out. We followe
d a range of perpendicular rocks, rising from twenty-five to thirty feet above the shore which they outlined, and upon which the large waves of the Mediterranean broke, and died peacefully.
From the height of this sort of natural terrace, we discovered, at some distance before us, an immense sea, whose sombre azure was furrowed by a zone of silver light, — for the moon was still rising radiant and bright. In the west we could distinguish the entrance of the bay of Frais-Port, where the yacht was moored, and in the east the mountainous point of Cape Armes, whose white cliffs cut boldly into the deep blue of the sky.
We were much impressed by this calm and majestic picture; no sound disturbed the profound silence of the night, except from time to time the low, monotonous murmur of the waves breaking on the beach.
I had fallen into a deep reverie, when Falmouth pointed out to me, by the light of the moon, the mystic of which I have spoken, advancing out of the bay, towed by its long-boat. Some minutes later it cast anchor at the extreme point outside the port, as if it wished to hold itself in readiness to set sail at the first signal.
“Our yacht will pass the night alone in the bay,” said Falmouth, “for the mystic appears disposed to set sail.”
“Between ourselves, your Gazelle will have little regret for its company,” I replied, “for I have seen this boat by day, and it would be impossible to meet a ship of worse appearance; compared with your elegant and coquettish schooner it has the air of a hideous beggar before a pretty woman.”
“So be it,” answered Falmouth, “but the beggar has good legs, I can tell you. I, too, have noticed this boat; it is frightful, and, therefore, I am sure that it travels like a dolphin. See, look at the immense spread of the lateen sails which it has just hoisted.”
I interrupted Falmouth to show him, thirty feet below, his Lieutenant Geordy, who, advancing cautiously along the shore, seemed afraid of being seen. He had to cross a part of the beach lighted by the moon. Instead of walking directly, he made a détour, in order to crouch behind some masses of rock which bordered the shore in this place, and dragged himself crawling along.
“What the devil is Geordy doing?” said Falmouth, looking at me with astonishment.
We continued to follow Geordy with our eyes; suddenly we saw him stop, throw himself into the cleft of a rock, and lie close to the ground.
With an instinctive act of imitation, Falmouth and I stopped at the same time. Then, hearing the sound of voices, we cautiously lifted our heads, and saw the longboat which had towed the mystic approach and touch at the point of the bay.
A dozen sailors, wearing long caps of red wool and brown jackets with camail, manned this small boat A sailor seated at the stem steered it; he was clad in a black mantle, whose turned-up hood would not permit us to distinguish his features; however, his whole appearance gave me an unpleasant impression.
When the towboat reached the shore, the man with the mantle remained alone, and threw a rope to the sailors, which they fastened to a rock.
These men first looked carefully and suspiciously about them, then passed rapidly towards the large rock which concealed Geordy.
At their approach he took from his pockets a pair of pistols.
Falmouth and I exchanged glances, uncertain as to what we ought to do; the rock was perpendicular, its slope far distant; in case of attack, it seemed impossible to help Geordy other than by our cries, and even if they put these sailors to flight, in ten minutes their boat could reach the mystic and set sail with him.
We were in this state of perplexity when the sailors stopped in front of the rock which served as a hiding-place for Geordy. With iron levers they laboriously raised a large stone, which closed an opening, doubtless very spacious, for they hastily took from it several boxes and some very heavy barrels, which they carried to their boat At the risk of being discovered, Falmouth burst into a shout of laughter, saying to me:
“These are bold smugglers, who have concealed their booty for fear of a visit from the custom-house officers or the French coast-guards, and who are preparing to put to sea to-night with this forbidden fruit That explains why they have a ship which can travel so fast.”
“But,” said I, “if that were so, why does the lieutenant of our brig, who is neither a coast-guard nor custom-house officer, come to watch also?”
“You are right,” replied Falmouth; “I am wrong there; let us, then, see the end of all this.”
Ten minutes after the transportation of the boxes, the long-boat, so loaded that it sank almost to the level of the water, set out for the mystic, which had just hoisted its last sail.
Scarcely had the craft stood away, than Geordy leaped from his concealment, and ran rapidly in the direction of the bay where the yacht was moored; but this time the lieutenant, instead of gliding behind the rocks, followed the edge of the beach, and the seamen of the longboat saw him by the light of the moon.
Immediately the man with the black mantle, seated at the helm, arose, left the rudder, took a gun, and quickly covered Geordy.
A flash shone in the darkness as the shot was fired. Although a second shot followed the first, Geordy appeared not to have been wounded, for he continued to run until, by a turn in the shore, he was lost to our sight.
“Let us return to the yacht,” said I to Falmouth. “There will, perhaps, be time to board this mystic, and obtain justice for his attack.”
Hurrying precipitately along the range of rocks, we saw the long-boat continually urging the oars, in order to reach their boat.
In a few moments it had reached it, was hoisted aboard, and the ship, spreading to the north wind its great sails like two immense wings, soon disappeared in the dark shadows of the horizon.
“Too late,” said Falmouth, “there they go.”
We hastened to a miserable inn, situated near the wharf of Frais-Port, and there we found Geordy. He was not wounded.
“Explain to me now,” said Falmouth to him, “what you were doing on shore, and why those wretches fired two shots at you?”
Geordy, surprised to find that Falmouth knew this circumstance, gave him the following details:
It appears that this Sardinian mystic was already moored in the bay when the yacht arrived, expecting soon to set sail. Although they pretended to have the ballast on board, and were returning from Barcelona to Nice without cargo, the presence of the English schooner seemed to change the captain’s mind.
His stay at Porquerolles becoming more and more prolonged, Williams and Geordy had good reason to be surprised that such a poor merchant ship should lose so much valuable time; moreover, its crew consisted of twenty men, a singularly large number for a vessel of its size, which, lying unemployed, could hardly afford to pay for such an armament. The two Englishmen, wishing to judge for themselves as to what this boat might be, went aboard, under the pretext of asking a slight service of the captain. They had been able to examine the interior of the ship, which seemed to them much better adapted to racing than to commerce; but they saw neither arms nor munitions of war, for all was open from the hold to the bridge; they had in vain tried to meet the captain, who was no other than the man with the black mantle. But he had constantly avoided an interview.
Finally, in their trifling visit aboard this mysterious boat, as well as in their inspection of the captain’s papers, the French custom officers had found nothing to suspect.
Geordy said among the men who formed the crew were five or six Italians; the rest were Spaniards and Americans, and appeared to be pirates of sinister and patibulary countenances. That which above all had contributed to excite the suspicions of the Englishmen, was that nearly every day, during the absence of the captain for a certain time, the crew of his ship was increased little by little, and the boat had set sail with nearly fifty sailors, an exorbitant number of seamen for so small a ship.
“But,” said Falmouth to Geordy, “why did you watch them so this evening?”
“As these people, whom I believe to be pirates, prepared to set sail at the sa
me time as your Grace’s yacht, or, perhaps, before,” replied Geordy, “I suspected that at the time of departure they would perhaps go ashore to seek some concealed arms, since we had seen none on board; so, when I saw them presently leave the ship with their long-boat and go towards the rocks at the north, I ran along the shore, and arrived in time to prove what my brother Williams and I had thought to be true.”
“That is to say, these people are really pirates,” said Falmouth.
“Without doubt, my lord; the boxes are filled with arms, the barrels with powder; they had found a means of putting them there before the first visit of the French custom officers.”
“And have you heard them talk?”
“Yes, my lord, I heard an American sailor say to his companion, when showing him the barrels of powder, ‘There is the glue which will catch the English fly,’ that is to say, your Grace’s schooner.”
“It is marvellous,” I said, smiling to Falmouth; “we are still in port, and yet danger threatens us already.
You are indeed marked by fate.”
“I understand their plan perfectly,” replied Falmouth. “They calculate, without doubt, to replace their ugly mystic with my pretty Gazelle. It would be an excellent acquisition for them; for once possessors of my yacht, no ship-of-war could overtake them, and no merchant ship could escape them.”
“It is superfluous to add,” said I, “that as our presence would incommode them so much, they would, doubtless, throw us into the sea for fear of indiscretions.”
“It is one of the usual customs of this kind of an exchange, but we shall find a way of preventing them,” said Falmouth. Then he added, “I have no need, Geordy, once at sea, to recommend you to constantly watch the horizon, in order that we may not be surprised by these scoundrels. You are at all times a vigilant and brave seaman, the worthy brother of Williams. You have both been rocked from infancy upon the salt water, so I sleep tranquilly when the yacht is in your hands. I have seen you both face to face with many dangers, in the midst of frightful tempests. Ah, well, would you believe,” added Falmouth, turning to me and pointing to Geordy, “would you believe that with this quiet and timid manner he and his brother are lions in danger?”
