by Eugène Sue
From the sharp noise, from the crackling which followed the detonation, from some splinters of wood which fell at my feet, I knew that the balls had lodged either in the masts or in the hull of the ship.
My first motion was to turn back, my second to prepare and to fire in the direction of the mystic, but reflection restrained me.
My impatience, my curiosity, then became intense. I say curiosity, because this word alone seems to me to well express the eager impatience which agitated me.
I felt my veins throb violently, the blood rush to my heart, and my forehead flush.
Hardly had the echo of the detonation died away than the pirate came out of a thick cloud of smoke, having one of its sails half-brailed.
It was a strange spectacle.
By the uncertain light of the moon, the body of this ship and its rigging was outlined in black upon the whitish cloud that the wind blew towards us.
An instant afterwards the ship lay alongside the yacht from stern to bow, almost touching her.
By the light of the ship’s lantern we could see the man with the black cowl still at the helm; with one hand he worked the tiller, with the other he pointed to the yacht, and I heard him call in Italian to the pirates who were pressing tumultuously to his side: “Fire no more; board her! Board her!”
According to the manœuvres of the pirates, the boarding would take place on the right, and all the crew of the yacht precipitated themselves from this side.
The gunners seized the cords which operated the pancovers of the carronades.
I covered the man with the black cowl perfectly with the muzzle of my carbine.
At the moment when I pressed the trigger, Williams shouted, “Fire all!”
I fired, but was unable to see the effect of my ball.
A great explosion shook the yacht. It was the four starboard carronades loaded with grape-shot, which were fired almost at short range on the mystic pirate, without doubt at the moment when they boarded the yacht, for the latter received so violent a shock that I was almost thrown down.
Several balls whistled around my head.
A heavy body fell behind me, and I heard Falmouth call to me, in a feeble voice:
“Take care of yourself.”
I turned anxiously towards him, when a man, wearing the Catalan bonnet, leaped upon the deck, caught me with one hand by my cravat, and with the other fired a shot from a pistol so near me that the priming burned my hair and beard.
Making a quick movement and throwing myself backward, I averted the ball which grazed my shoulder. I was holding my carbine loaded with one shot. At the moment when the pirate, seeing he had missed me, struck me on the head with the butt end of his pistol, I thrust the barrel of my carbine full against his chest, and fired.
The concussion was so strong that my arms were benumbed.
The pirate wheeled violently, stumbled against me, and fell on his back, gasping convulsively.
I turned about and trod upon some one; it was Falmouth, who was lying at the foot of the mainmast.
“You are wounded?” I cried, throwing myself upon him.
“I believe that I have something like a broken thigh; but pay no heed to me!” he exclaimed. “Take care! there comes another of those robbers, I see his head, face him or you are lost!”
My heart was broken at the sight of Falmouth extended on the deck.
I did not for a moment dream of the danger I was running; I wished first of all to rescue Henry from a certain death, for being thus unable to defend himself, he would be inevitably massacred.
Fortunately I saw the scuttle, which had not been closed (it was an opening three feet square, which communicated with the common saloon). I immediately took Falmouth under the arms, dragged him as far as this opening, in spite of his resistance, for he struggled, crying:
“There is that brigand, he is going to leap upon you!”
Without replying, and using all my strength, I seated him on the edge of the scuttle, his legs, hanging within, and said to him, “Now let yourself slide, you, at least, will be in safety.”
“Too late! You have lost your life in saving me!” cried Falmouth, with a tone of anguish.
As he said these words, with a last effort I made him slide into the interior of the chamber, where he had nothing more to fear.
All this had happened in less time than it has taken to write it.
I was still down on one knee, when an iron hand seized me by the neck, a strong knee pressed against my loins, and at the same time some one gave me a violent blow on the shoulder. This blow was followed by a sharp sensation of cold.
My boarding-axe was on the deck at my side; I seized it, and, in making a desperate effort to raise myself, I struck behind me, and by chance a furious blow, without doubt, reached my adversary, for my axe was stopped by a hard body, and the hand which held me slackened its hold at once. I was then able to straighten myself.
Scarcely was I on my feet when the man with the black cowl, who had attacked me when I lowered Henry into the saloon, threw himself upon me.
I was without arms. Having let my boarding-axe fall, we laid hold hand to hand, and an exciting struggle began.
His mantle, with the cowl turned up, enveloped him almost entirely, and concealed his face. He twisted one of his legs strongly around mine, in order to throw me; then squeezing me in order to choke me, he attempted to lift me from the deck and throw me over the side of the schooner.
If he was strong, I was no less so.
The ardent desire to avenge Falmouth, the anger, and, shall I so call it? this puerility, the disgust of feeling the breath of this brigand on my cheek, gave me new strength.
Disengaging one of my hands from both his powerful ones, I could fortunately take the pirate by the throat. There I felt the cord of a scapular. I twisted it around my hand and quickly gave it two or three turns.
I probably was beginning to strangle my enemy, for I noticed that his embrace weakened, when, by a lucky chance, a motion of the boat made us both stumble.
Already exhausted, the pirate fell, his back arched on the gunwale, — a last effort, and I was about to succeed, I was about to throw myself upon him with my whole weight, when he madly bit me in the face.
Although at this instant several shots flashed a bright light, and the cowl of the pirate was a little loosened, I could not distinguish his features, for his face was covered with blood.
Only in throwing me backward I saw that his teeth were singularly white, sharp, and separated.
Hurling myself again upon him, I succeeded in lifting him from the deck, placing him lengthwise on the gunwale, and at last in throwing him over the railing of the yacht.
But when he saw himself thus suspended above the sea, the pirate made a last effort, held with one hand to my neck, the other to my hair, and held me seized in this way, he outside the boat, and I within.
I was seeking to disengage myself when I received a violent blow on the head.
The hands of the man with the cowl relaxed, and I swooned.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE DOCTOR.
VERY IRKSOME IS the task which I have imposed upon myself.
Here again is one of the phases of my life which I wish to be able to utterly efface from my memory, — one of those moments of terrible vertigo, during which —
But the hour of this fatal revelation will arrive, alas, too soon!
Stunned by the blow which I had received, I swooned at the moment when the captain of the pirates fell into the sea.
When I revived I was in bed in my chamber, my head and shoulder enveloped in bandages.
Falmouth’s physician, of whom I have forgotten to speak, a grave and very learned man, was near me.
My first thought was for Henry.
“How is Lord Falmouth?” I asked the doctor.
“My lord is doing very well, sir; fortunately his wound is not dangerous.”
“Has he not a broken hip?”
“A very great
contusion, more painful, perhaps, than a fracture, but less serious.”
“And the pirates?”
“They have escaped, and again set sail, after having lost five of their crew in this attack, but, doubtless, they have a great number of wounded.”
“And have we lost many?”
“Three sailors and a boatswain have been killed, besides which, nine of our sailors are wounded more or less seriously.”
“It seems to me to be day; what time is it, doctor?”
“Eleven o’clock, sir.”
“Indeed, I believe I am dreaming, — all this has passed, then?”
“This night.”
“And where are my wounds?”
“A wound on the head, and a blow from a poignard on the left shoulder. Ah, sir, an inch lower, and this last would have been mortal. But how do you feel this morning?”
“Oh, I feel a little smarting in my left shoulder; that is all; but Falmouth, Falmouth?”
“My lord will not be able to walk for several days. In spite of his wound, he has desired to help me in caring for you and in watching this night, but since one o’clock his strength has left him, and I have ordered him to his room. He is sleeping now. As soon as he awakens he will wish to be near you again, for he is in great haste to express his thanks to you, sir.”
“Do not speak of that, doctor.”
“Why not speak of that, sir?” exclaimed the doctor. “Have you not, in the midst of this mad combat, forgotten your own safety, to drag my lord from great peril? Have you not been wounded in accomplishing this act of friendship? Ah, sir, will my lord ever forget that it is to you that he owes his life? And we, ourselves, shall we ever forget that it is to you that we owe his preservation?”
“The attack, then, was very vigorous, doctor?”
“On all sides, it was terrible; but our sailors, however inferior in number, have intrepidly repulsed it. In a word, their bravery rivalled yours, sir; for your coolness, your struggle hand to hand with the captain of those pirates, have been the admiration of all of our crew.”
“And you assure me that Falmouth’s wound is not dangerous?”
“No, sir; but if you will permit me, I will go and see if he needs me.”
“Go, go, doctor, and return and tell me when I may see him.”
I remained alone.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
FRIENDSHIP.
HENRY OWED HIS life to me!
I cannot tell with what pride I continually repeated these words:
“I have saved Henry’s life.”
How I blessed the fortunate chance that permitted me to prove to Falmouth that my friendship was warm and true.
Until then, though I was entirely absorbed in my affection for him, I felt that there was wanting some great sacrifice, which would be a solemn consecration of my devotedness.
If my act had any value in my own eyes, it was because I should stand higher in his. It showed me that I was capable of a generous resolution, and reassured me on the firmness of my attachment to Falmouth.
Now, with a nature like mine, to believe in myself was to believe in him; to think of myself as a true, warm, and devoted friend, was to believe myself capable of inspiring true, ardent, and devoted friendship.
I felt that intrepid confidence of the soldier who, being perfectly sure of his conduct under fire, waits impatiently and securely for another occasion to show his courage. The reaction of this self-reliance was so great that it influenced even my former sentiments.
Proud of my conduct towards Falmouth, I understood that Hélène and Marguerite had loved me for qualities they saw in me, and which I had never discovered until now. For the first time I knew real happiness. I at last was able to understand all the devotion these two noble beings had bestowed on me.
An hour after the doctor left me, the door of my chamber opened, and I saw Falmouth, who was carried in by two of his servants., His armchair was scarcely at my bedside, before Henry threw himself in my arms.
In this mute embrace, his head was leaning on my shoulder, and I could feel his tears and his trembling hands; he was only able to say these words: “Arthur, — Arthur, — my friend, my friend!”
Although this was so long ago, and black care has dimmed the radiance of that happy day, nothing has ever wiped out the remembrance of it, which is still vivid enough to quicken my hearts pulses and thrill me with delight.
It would be impossible to tell with what delicacy and effusion Falmouth expressed his gratitude. Words can never describe his accent, his look, nor his voice.
The head winds lasted for several days longer, and prevented our reaching Malta as soon as we had hoped.
Lord Falmouth’s wound was healing rapidly, but mine was making very slow progress towards improvement.
Henry, in the meantime, tended me with the most affectionate solicitude.
With what sad anxiety would he watch the doctor’s face, when my wound was dressed every morning! How many eager questions he would ask as to the probable time of my recovery! How much impatience he showed when the doctor would shorten or prolong the date.
Shall I speak of the many trifling, but charming ways in which he revealed his affectionate thoughtfulness for my comfort, all of which I appreciated and enjoyed?
Falmouth told me the whole story of his life, and I hid nothing from him in relation to mine.
He was twelve years older than I; he spoke eloquently and convincingly. He had seen much of the world, and his words began to have great weight with me, as he spoke with singular authority.
Nothing could be more elevated or liberal than his moral or political convictions.
I was overwhelmed with astonishment and admiration, in thus discovering, every day, some new jewel of exquisite feeling, lofty reason, or deep learning, under the cold and sarcastic exterior that Falmouth usually affected.
What a surprise it was to find, under the sceptic and mocking mask of a Byronic Don Juan, the warm and valiant heart of Schiller’s Posa, with its ardent and holy love of humanity, its sincere faith in the good. He had the same generous faith in men, the same splendid plans for the good of humanity.
If Falmouth now appeared to me in this new light, it was because, during our long voyage, we had touched on all these subjects.
Until this period of my life, I had been totally indifferent to all political questions. I now began to feel the vibration of a new chord in my being, as, transported with indignation, Henry told me of the long arguments he, a peer of England, had sustained in Parliament, against the Tory party, which he considered the disgrace of his country.
It was impossible to remain unmoved before such eloquent emotion, such keen regret as Falmouth’s. He deplored the futility of his efforts, but most of all his culpable weakness in having abandoned the contest before his party had given up all hope of obtaining a victory.
I enter into all these details because they lead to one of the most painful episodes in my life.
For two days Falmouth appeared to be lost in thought. Several times I besought him to confide the subject of his preoccupation to me. He always answered with a smile, that I was not to worry, as he was working for both of us, and that I should very soon know the result of his ponderings.
In fact, one morning Henry entered my room with a solemn air, gave me a sealed letter, and said, with emotion: “Read this, my friend, — it concerns your future, our future.”
Then he pressed my hand and went out.
Here is his letter.
Here are the few simple pages, where Falmouth’s noble soul revealed itself in all its greatness.
What was my answer?
Alas! it is the most abominable of my souvenirs.
VOLUME II.
CHAPTER I.
THE LETTER.
Lord Falmouth to Arthur.
“ON BOARD THE YACHT Gazelle,
13 June, 18 — .
“I MIGHT have told you all that I now mean to write, dear friend, but that I desire you to keep
this letter.
“If the projects that I now propose are ever realised, we will read this with pleasure some future day and remember that it was the starting-point of the glorious career that I have imagined for both of us.
“If, on the contrary, fate should separate us, these pages will remain as the true story of the circumstances that inspired the sincere attachment I have for you.
“The first time I met you was at a breakfast given by M. de Cernay. Your agreeable conversation pleased me at first; then, from a peculiar habit of thought I noticed in you, I saw that, with all your charm and cordiality, you would remain for ever separated from your fellow men by an unsurmountable barrier.
“Prom that moment I began to take a lively interest in you.
“I knew from experience that eccentric characters such as yours suffer cruelly from the isolation to which they condemn themselves; for these proud, sensitive, and easily offended natures can not readily assimilate themselves with the rest of mankind, — they are constantly being wounded or taking offence, and they instinctively create for themselves a solitude in the midst of society.
“I left for England under the domination of such thoughts as these.
“In London I met several of your friends, who spoke in such a way as to confirm the opinion I had formed of you.
“I found you some months after in the house of Madame de Pënâfiel, in whom you seemed much interested.
“As at that time I shared the ill-feeling that was manifested in society towards her, and you had not yet told me of her real worth, I was astonished to see you, of all men, seeking happiness in a liaison with a woman who was recognised as a flirt, for I thought that your great susceptibility must of necessity be continually wounded in such a relation with Madame de Pënâfiel.
“Men like you, my friend, are endowed with such extraordinary tact, finesse, and clear-sightedness, that they are very seldom mistaken in the women on whom they choose to bestow their affections. Is not this true? Were not Hélène and Marguerite both worthy of your love? Therefore, let me advise you in this much, always trust blindly in your first impressions.
