Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  The buccaneer looked curiously at Croustillac, leaning on his gun, a kind especially used by buccaneers; these guns were made at Dieppe and St. Malo. The figure of the hunter was rough and common; he wore a cap of boar’s skin; his beard was long and bristling; his look ferocious.

  Croustillac said resolutely, “Ah, comrade, would you refuse a morsel of this roast to a gentleman who is famished?”

  “The roast is not mine,” said the buccaneer.

  “How? to whom, then, does it belong?”

  “To Master Rend-your-Soul, who has his depot of skins and buccaneer supplies at Caiman’s Point.”

  “This roast belongs to Master Rend-your-Soul,” cried the chevalier, surprised at the chance which had brought him in contact with one of the happy lovers of Blue Beard, if these slanderous stories were true. “This roast belongs to Rend-your-Soul,” repeated Croustillac.

  “It belongs to him,” said the man with the long gun, laconically.

  At this moment was heard a shot which echoed through the forest. “That is the master,” said the man.

  The dogs recognized, doubtless, the approach of the hunter; for they began to bark joyfully, and dashed off through the undergrowth in order to reach the buccaneer.

  Warned of the return of the master, the man, whom we will call Peter, took out one of his largest knives, approached the wild boar, and in order the better to moisten the venison, stabbed the flesh several times, without injuring the skin, for the plentiful mixture of lemon juice, spice and fat which filled the belly of the boar was running out. Each of these incisions caused such appetizing odors to rise that the chevalier, inhaling this exquisite odor, almost forgot the approach of Rend-your-Soul. However, the latter appeared, followed by his dogs, jumping and pressing about him.

  Master Rend-your-Soul was large and robust. His skin, naturally white, was browned by the sun and by the wild life which he led; his thick black beard fell on his breast; his features were regular, but severe and hard. Although not so poor as that of his servant, his clothing was of much the same fashion. Like him, he wore at his waist a case filled with a number of knives; his legs, however, in place of being half naked, were incased, as far as the knee, by bands of boar-skins tied with sinews, and he wore large shoes of untanned leather. His large Spanish hat was ornamented with two or three red feathers; and the mountings of his buccaneer gun were of silver. Such was the difference between the costume and arms of Master Rend-your-Soul and that of his servant.

  When he entered the clearing, he held his gun under his arm and plucked carelessly a wood-pigeon which he had killed; three others were hung at his belt by a snare; he threw them to Peter, who immediately began to pluck and clean them with wonderful dexterity. These wood-pigeons, of the size of a partridge, were plump, fine and round as quails. As fast as Peter had one ready, he cut off its head and feet and put it to cook in the thick and abundant sauce which filled the boar’s belly. When Master Rend-your-Soul had finished plucking his, he threw it in also.

  Peter said, “Master, shall I close the roast?”

  “Close it,” replied the master.

  Then Peter cut the strings which held the boar; the cavity of the belly almost closed and the pigeons began to boil in this novel fashion.

  During all these culinary preparations the buccaneer had not appeared to perceive the chevalier, who, with foot advanced, nose in the air, and hand on the hilt of his sword, was prepared to answer proudly any interrogatories which might be made, and even to question in return Master Rend-your-Soul. The latter, having cut off the head and feet of the pigeon which he was plucking, wiped his knife quietly and replaced it in his case.

  To explain the indifference of the buccaneer, we must say to the reader that nothing was more common than that people should visit the buccaneers out of curiosity. The buccaneers were, in their customs, very like the Caribbeans. Like them they were proud to accord hospitality; like them they allowed any one to come who was hungry and thirsty and partake of their repasts; but, like the Caribbeans also, they regarded an invitation as a superfluous formality. The feast ready, let eat it who would.

  After disembarrassing himself of his belt and gun, Rend-your-Soul extended himself on the ground, drew a gourd hidden under the fresh leaves, and drank some brandy as a preparation for dinner.

  Croustillac was still in the same attitude, nose in the air, foot advanced, hand on his sword; the color rose to his forehead; nothing could have insulted him more than the absolute indifference of Rend-your-Soul to his presence.

  Had Blue Beard, by the intermediation of the filibustering captain, instructed the buccaneer to act in this manner if he should encounter the chevalier? Was this hunter’s carelessness genuine or feigned? This is what we cannot yet tell the reader. The situation of Croustillac was none the less delicate and difficult; in spite of his audacity he did not know how to begin the conversation. Finally recovering himself, he said to the buccaneer, advancing toward him, “Are you blind, comrade?”

  “Answer, Peter, some one speaks to you,” said Rend-your-Soul, carelessly.

  “No, it is to you I speak,” said the Gascon impatiently.

  “No,” said the buccaneer.

  “How so?” replied the chevalier.

  “You said ‘comrade;’ I am not your comrade; my servant is, perhaps.”

  “Zounds!”

  “I am a master buccaneer; you are not; it is only my brother-hunters who are my comrades,” said Rend-your-Soul, interrupting Croustillac.

  “And how is one to address you in order to have the honor of a reply?” said the chevalier, angrily.

  “If you come to purchase skins or buccaneer supplies, address me as you will; if you come to see the station, look about you; if you are hungry, when the boar is cooked, eat.”

  “They are regular brutes, true savages,” thought the chevalier; “it would be folly in me to resent their stupidities; I am dying with hunger, I am lost; the animal can give me a dinner, and if I carry myself wisely will point out to me the road to Devil’s Cliff. Let us eat.” Then, looking at the man, half barbarian that he was, with his garments stained with blood, Croustillac said to himself, shrugging his shoulders, “And it is to such a boor that they give the beautiful, the adorable Blue Beard. Zounds! she must be like him herself.”

  Peter, finding the boar cooked to a turn, busied himself in removing the cover; he placed on the earth, under the trees, a number of large leaves, fresh and green, to serve as a tablecloth. He then picked a large leaf, made four holes at its edge, and passed a creeper through them, and thus formed a species of cup in which he squeezed the juice of a number of lemons which he had picked, and with which he mixed salt and spices crushed between two stones. The sauce was called pimentade, was extremely strong, and was used generally by buccaneers and filibusters. Opposite this sauce and in another leaf, he put yams cooked in the ashes; their skins, a little burned, had split open and showed a pulp yellow as amber.

  The chevalier was disturbed as to how he was to drink, for he had a burning thirst, but he quickly saw the servant returning with a large gourd filled with a pink and limpid liquor. It was the sugar of the maple tree, which flowed in abundance from the tree when it was pierced deeply. This was a fresh and healthy beverage and tasted like Bordeaux wine mixed with sugar and water.

  Finally, after placing this gourd on the leaves which served as a tablecloth, the servant broke off a large branch of apricots, covered with flowers and fruit, and stuck it into the earth in the midst of the leaves. These natives are not so stupid as they appear, thought the chevalier. Here is a repast which Dame Nature pays for and which would satisfy, I am sure, the greatest gourmand. Croustillac waited impatiently for the moment to begin. Finally the servant, having examined the boar with a critical eye, said to the buccaneer, “Master, it is cooked.”

  “Let us eat,” said the master.

  By means of a fork cut out of oak, the servant took one of the pigeons, put it on a fresh leaf, and offered it to the buccaneer
; then, helping himself in turn, he left the fork in the venison. The chevalier, seeing that no one occupied himself with him, took a pigeon, a yam, seated himself near the master and servant buccaneers, and, like them, began to eat with the best of appetites.

  The pigeon was cooked so deliciously, the yams were perfect, and like the most delicious potatoes. The pigeons disposed of, Peter cut long and thick slices of the venison for his master. The chevalier followed his example and found the flesh exquisite, fat and succulent, of fine flavor enhanced the more by the pimentade.

  Croustillac frequently quenched his thirst, as did his companions, from the gourd of maple sugar, and he finished his repast by eating half a dozen apricots of wonderful fragrance and very superior to the European species.

  Peter brought, then, a gourd of brandy; the master drank and then passed it to his servant, who did likewise, then closed it carefully, to the great disappointment of the chevalier who had extended his hand for it. This was not stupidity on the part of the buccaneers; there is among the Caribbeans a great distinction between the natural gifts which cost nothing, belonging, so to speak, to everyone, and the articles purchased with money, which belong exclusively to those who possess them — brandy, powder, bullets, arms, skins, venison prepared after the fashion of the buccaneers for sale, being of this number; fruits, game, fish, were held, on the contrary, in common.

  Nevertheless, the chevalier frowned, rather from pride than gluttony. He was on the point of complaining of this lack of respect to the servant, but reflecting that, after all, he owed his excellent repast to Rend-your-Soul, and that the latter could alone put him on the road to Devil’s Cliff, he restrained his ill humor, and said to the buccaneer with a jovial air, “Faith! sir, do you know you give great and good cheer?”

  “One eats what he finds; boars and bulls are not wanting in this island, and the sale of their skins is good,” said the buccaneer, filling his pipe.

  CHAPTER XI.

  MASTER REND-YOUR-SOUL.

  THE MORE CLOSELY the chevalier studied Master Rend-your-Soul, the less he was able to believe that this half barbarian was in the good graces of Blue Beard. The buccaneer, having lighted his pipe, lay down on his back, put his two hands under his head, and smoked, with his eyes fixed on the hut, with an appearance of profound beatitude, and said to the chevalier, “You have come here in a litter, with your pink stockings?”

  “No, my good friend, I have come on foot, and I would have come on my head in order to see the most famous buccaneer in all the Antilles, whose fame has even reached Europe.”

  “If you are in need of skins,” said the buccaneer in answer, “I have a dozen bulls’ skins so fine and beautiful that you would suppose them to be buffalo. I have also a string of boar’s hams such as are not cured in any station.”

  “No, no, my brave friend, I tell you admiration, nothing but admiration has guided me. I arrived from France five days since in the Unicorn, and my first visit is to you, whose merit I am well aware of.”

  “Truly?”

  “As true as I call myself the Chevalier de Croustillac, for you will not be displeased, perhaps, to know with whom you talk. My name is Croustillac.”

  “All names are a matter of indifference to me, except that of purchaser.”

  “And admirer, my brave friend, admirer, is that nothing? I, who have come from Europe expressly to see you?”

  “You knew, then, that you would find me here?”

  “Not exactly; but Providence has arranged it; and, thanks to Providence, I have met the famous Rend-your-Soul.”

  “Decidedly he is stupid,” thought the chevalier. “I have nothing to contend with in such a rival; if the others are no more dangerous, it will be very easy for me to make Blue Beard adore me; but I must find the road to Devil’s Cliff. It will be truly racy to be conducted thither by this bear.” He spoke: “But, my brave hunter, alas! all glory is bought; I wished to see you, I have seen you.”

  “Very well, go your way, then,” said the buccaneer, expelling a cloud of tobacco smoke.

  “I like your brusque frankness, worthy Nimrod; but in order to go, I must learn a road thence, and I know none.”

  “From whence came you?”

  “From Macouba, where I lodged at the house of the Reverend Father Griffen.”

  “You are only two leagues from Macouba; my servant will guide you there.”

  “How! only two leagues!” cried the chevalier. “It is impossible! I have walked since daybreak yesterday, until night, and since early morn until noon, and have I gone but two leagues?”

  “One sometimes sees boars and above all young bulls deceived thus, and make many steps almost without changing the inclosure,” said the buccaneer.

  “Your comparison smacks of the art of hunting, and, noble following as it is, cannot shock a gentleman; then, admit that I have dodged about, even like a young bull, as you say; it does not follow that I wish to return to Macouba; and I depend upon you to show me the road I should follow.”

  “Where do you wish to go?”

  For a moment the chevalier hesitated, and knew not what reply to make. Should he avow frankly his intention of going to Devil’s Cliff? Croustillac sought refuge in a subterfuge— “I wish to go by the road to Devil’s Cliff.”

  “The road to Devil’s Cliff only leads to Devil’s Cliff, and — —”

  The buccaneer did not finish his sentence, but his face became menacing.

  “And — where does the road to Devil’s Cliff lead?”

  “It leads sinners to hell, and saints to paradise.”

  “So, a stranger, a traveler, who has a whim to visit Devil’s Cliff — —”

  “Would never return from thence.”

  “At least, in that case, one does not risk getting lost on the return,” said the chevalier coolly. “’Tis well, my good friend, then show me the way.”

  “We have eaten under the same roof, we have drunk from the same cup; I would not willingly cause your death.”

  “So, in conducting me to Devil’s Cliff, you kill me?”

  “It will come to the same thing.”

  “Although your dinner was perfect, and your company very agreeable, my brave Nimrod, you almost make me regret it, as this prevents you from satisfying my wish. But what danger threatens me, then?”

  “All the dangers of death that a man can brave.”

  “All these dangers — make but one, seeing that one can but die once,” said the Gascon carelessly.

  The buccaneer scanned the chevalier closely, and appeared impressed by his courage as much as by the air of frankness and good humor which showed through all his extravagance.

  The chevalier continued: “The Chevalier de Croustillac never knows fear while he has his sister at his side.”

  “What sister?”

  “This, which, by heavens, is not virgin,” cried the Gascon, drawing his sword and brandishing it. “The kisses she gives are sharp, and the bravest have regretted making her acquaintance.”

  “Miaow! miaow!” said the servant, who was a witness of this scene. This cry made the Gascon start, and recalled to him the exploits of the preceding night. He colored with rage, advanced upon the servant with the sword’s point, in order to chastise him with the flat of his steel; but Peter withdrew dexterously and got out of reach, while the buccaneer burst into laughter.

  This hilarity exasperated the chevalier, who said to Rend-your-Soul, “Zounds! if you dare attack a man as you would a bull, beware.”

  “Look at your sword; the steel is stained with blood and covered with the hair of wildcats; it is that which made Peter cry out ‘Miaow!’”

  “Defend yourself,” repeated the chevalier furiously.

  “When I have four feet, claws and a tail, I will fight with you,” said the buccaneer quietly.

  “I will mark your face, then,” said the chevalier, advancing toward Rend-your-Soul.

  “Softly, velvet claws, pussy velvet claws,” said the buccaneer, laughing, and parryi
ng with the muzzle of his gun the furious thrusts which the exasperated chevalier bestowed upon him.

  The servant would have come to the rescue of his master, but the latter forbade.

  “Do not stir; I will answer for this redoubtable fellow. ‘The burned cat dreads cold water,’ as they say. I am going to give him a good lesson.”

  These sarcasms increased the chevalier’s rage; he forgot his adversary was defending himself with a gun, and he showered some desperate blows upon him, while the buccaneer, showing a marvelous address and a rare vigor, used his heavy gun like a stick.

  During this unequal combat, the buccaneer added to his insolence by imitating the cry which cats make when they are angry, when they disagree. This last outrage capped the climax; but against his attack he found, in the buccaneer, a gladiator of the greatest strength in fencing; and he had shortly the chagrin of seeing himself disarmed; his sword was struck off some ten paces. The buccaneer threw himself upon the Gascon; raised his gun like a club; he seized the chevalier by the collar and cried, “Your life is mine; I am going to break your head like an eggshell.”

  Croustillac, looking at him without flinching, said, coldly, “And you are trebly right, for I am a triple traitor.” The buccaneer recoiled a step. “I was hungry — you gave me food; I was thirsty and you gave me drink; you were unarmed and I attacked you. Break my head — Zounds! break it, you are right. Croustillac is dishonored.”

  This was not the language of an assassin or a spy; then, holding out his hand to the chevalier, the buccaneer said, with a rough voice, “Come, clasp hands; we have been seated under the same roof, we have fought together — we are brothers.”

  The chevalier was about to put his hand in that of the buccaneer, but he paused and said gravely, “Frankness for frankness; before giving you my hand I must tell you one thing.”