Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Yes, he shall answer for our duke!”

  “We will throw him into the sea if he does not give our James back to us!”

  “We will tear out his nails to make him speak!”

  “To play thus with what is most sacred!”

  “How could De Chemerant have fallen into a trap so gross!”

  “This miserable wretch has deceived me most outrageously, gentlemen!” cried De Chemerant, striving in vain to make himself heard.

  “Come, then; explain yourself, sir.”

  “He shall pay dearly for his audacity, gentlemen.”

  “First, chain up this traitor.”

  “He abused my confidence by the most execrable lies. Gentlemen, any one would have been deceived as much as I was.”

  “One cannot mock thus the faith of brave gentlemen who sacrifice themselves to the good cause.”

  “De Chemerant, you are as culpable as this miserable scoundrel.”

  “But, my lords, the English envoy was deceived as well as I.”

  “It is impossible; you are his accomplice.”

  “My lords, you insult me!”

  “A man of your experience, sir, does not allow himself to be made ridiculous in this way.”

  “We must avenge ourselves!”

  “Yes, vengeance! vengeance!”

  These accusations, these reproaches bandied about so rapidly, caused such a tumult that it was impossible for De Chemerant to make himself heard among so many furious cries. The attitude of the English gentlemen became so threatening toward him, their recriminations so violent, that he placed himself alongside the officers of the frigate, and all carried their hands to their swords.

  Croustillac, alone between the two groups, was a butt for the invectives, the attacks, and the maledictions of both parties. Intrepid, audacious, his arms crossed, his head high, his eye unblenching, the adventurer heard the muttering and bursting forth of this formidable storm with impassible phlegm, saying to himself: “This ruins all; they may throw me overboard — that is to say, into the open sea; the leap is perilous, though I can swim like a Triton, but I can do no more; this was sure to happen sooner or later; and beside, as I said this morning, one does not sacrifice oneself for people in order to be crowned with flowers and caressed by woodland nymphs.”

  Although at its height, the tumult was dominated by the voice of Mortimer who cried: “Monsieur De Chemerant, have this wretch hanged first; you owe us this satisfaction.”

  “Yes, yes, hang him to the yardarm,” said the English gentlemen; “we will have our explanations afterward.”

  “You will oblige me much by explaining yourselves beforehand!” cried Croustillac.

  “He speaks! he dares to speak!” cried one.

  “Eh! who, then, will speak in my favor, if not myself?” replied the Gascon. “Would it be you, by chance, my gentleman?”

  “Gentlemen,” cried De Chemerant, “Lord Mortimer is right in proposing that justice be done to this abominable impostor.”

  “He is wrong; I maintain that he is wrong, a hundred thousand times wrong!” cried Croustillac; “it is an obsolete, tame, vulgar means — —”

  “Be silent, unhappy wretch!” cried the athletic Mortimer, seizing the hands of the Gascon.

  “Do not lay your hands on a gentleman, or, Sdeath! you shall pay dear for this outrage!” cried Croustillac angrily.

  “Your sword, scoundrel!” said De Chemerant, while twenty raised arms threatened the adventurer.

  “In fact, the lion can do nothing against an hundred wolves,” said the Gascon majestically, giving up his rapier.

  “Now, gentlemen,” resumed De Chemerant, “I continue. Yes, the honorable Lord Mortimer is right in wishing to have this rascal hanged.”

  “He is wrong! as long as I can raise my voice I will protest that he is wrong! it is a preposterous, an unheard-of idea; it is the reasoning of a horse. A fine argument is the gallows!” cried Croustillac, struggling between two gentlemen who held him by the collar.

  “But before administering justice, it is necessary to oblige him to reveal to us the abominable plot which he has concocted. It is necessary that he should unveil to us the mysterious circumstances by the aid of which he has shamelessly betrayed my good faith.”

  “To what good? ‘Dead the beast, dead the venom,’” cried Mortimer roughly.

  “I tell you that you reason as ingeniously as a bulldog which leaps at the throat of a bull,” cried Croustillac.

  “Patience, patience; it is a cravat of good hemp which will stop your preaching very soon,” responded Mortimer.

  “Believe me, my lords,” replied De Chemerant, “a council will be formed; they will interrogate this rascal; if he does not answer, we shall have plenty of means to force him to it; there is more than one kind of torture.”

  “Ah, so far I am of your mind,” said Mortimer; “I consent that he shall not be hanged before being put to the rack; this will be to do two things instead of one.”

  “You are generous, my lord,” said the Gascon.

  In thinking of the fury which must have possessed the soul of De Chemerant, who saw the enterprise which he thought he had so skillfully conducted a complete failure, one understands, without excusing it, the cruelty of his resolution in regard to Croustillac.

  Their minds were so excited, the disappointment had been so irritating, so distressing even, for the greater part of the adherents of Monmouth, that these gentlemen, humane enough otherwise, allowed themselves on this occasion to be carried away by blind anger, and but little more was needed to bring it about that the unfortunate Croustillac should not even be cited before a species of council of war, whose meeting might at least give an appearance of legality to the violence of which he was the victim.

  Five noblemen and five officers assembled immediately under the presidency of the captain of the frigate.

  De Chemerant placed himself on the right, the chevalier stood on the left. The session commenced.

  De Chemerant said briefly, and with a voice still trembling with anger: “I accuse the man here present with having falsely and wickedly taken the names and titles of his grace the Duke of Monmouth, and with having thus, by his odious imposture, ruined the designs of the king, my master, and under such circumstances the crime of this man should be considered as an attack upon the safety of the state. In consequence, I demand that the accused here present be declared guilty of high treason, and be condemned to death.”

  “‘Sdeath, sir, you draw your conclusions quickly and well; here is something clear and brief,” said Croustillac, whose natural courage rose to the occasion.

  “Yes, yes, this impostor merits death; but before that, it is necessary that he should speak, and that he should at once be put to the question,” said the English lords.

  The captain of the frigate, who presided over the council, was not, like De Chemerant, under the influence of personal resentment; he said to the Englishmen: “My lords, we have not yet voted a punishment; it is necessary before interrogating him to listen to his defense, if he can defend himself; after which we will consult as to the punishment which should be inflicted upon him. Let us not forget that we are judges and that he has not yet been declared guilty.”

  These cool, wise words pleased the five lords less than the angry excitement of De Chemerant; nevertheless, not being able to raise any objection, they were silent.

  “Accused,” said the captain to the chevalier, “what are your names?”

  “Polyphème, Chevalier de Croustillac.”

  “A Gascon!” said De Chemerant, between his teeth; “I might have known it from his impudence. To have been the sport of such a miserable scoundrel!”

  “Your profession?” continued the captain.

  “For the moment, that of an accused person before a tribunal over which you worthily preside, captain; for you do not choose, and with reason, that men should be hanged without a hearing.”

  “You are accused of having knowingly and wickedly d
eceived Monsieur de Chemerant, who is charged with a mission of state for the king, our master.”

  “It is De Chemerant who deceived himself; he called me ‘your highness,’ and I innocently answered to the name.”

  “Innocently!” cried De Chemerant furiously; “how, scoundrel! have you not abused my confidence by the most atrocious lies? have you not surprised from me the most important secrets of state by your impudent treachery?”

  “You have spoken, I have listened. I may even declare, for my justification, that you have appeared to me singularly dull. If it is a crime to have listened to you, you have rendered this crime enormous — —”

  The captain made a sign to De Chemerant to restrain his indignation; he said to the Gascon: “Will you reveal what you know relative to James, Duke of Monmouth? Will you tell us through what chain of events you came to take his names and titles?”

  Croustillac saw that his position was becoming very dangerous; he had a mind to reveal all; he could address himself to the devoted partisans of the prince, assure himself of their support in announcing to them that the duke had been saved, thanks to him. But an honorable scruple withheld him; this secret was not his own; it did not belong to him to betray the mysteries which had concealed and protected the existence of the duke, and might still protect him.

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  THE CHASE.

  WHEN THE CAPTAIN intimated anew to Croustillac the order to reveal all he knew about the duke, the adventurer responded, this time with a firmness full of dignity:

  “I have nothing to say on this subject, captain; this secret is not mine.”

  “Thunder and blood!” cried Mortimer, “the torture shall make you speak. Light two bunches of tow dipped in sulphur. I will myself place them under his chin; that will loosen his tongue — and we shall know where our James is. Ah! I had indeed a presentiment that I should never see him again.”

  “I ought to say to you,” said the captain to the Gascon, “that if you obstinately maintain a culpable silence, you will thus compromite in the gravest manner the interests of the king and of the state, and we shall be forced to have recourse to the harshest means in order to make you speak.”

  These quiet words, calmly pronounced by a man with a venerable countenance, who since the beginning of the scene had endeavored to moderate the violence of the adversaries of Croustillac, made on the latter a lively impression; he shivered slightly, but his resolution was not shaken; he answered with a steady voice: “Excuse me, captain, I have nothing to say, I will say nothing.”

  “Captain,” cried De Chemerant, “in the name of the king, by whom I am empowered, I formally declare that the silence of this criminal may be the occasion of grave prejudice to the interests of his majesty and the state. I found this man in the very domain of my lord the Duke of Monmouth, provided even with precious objects belonging to that nobleman, such as the sword of Charles II., a box with a portrait, etc. All concurs, in fine, to prove that he has the most precise information concerning the existence of his grace the Duke of Monmouth. Now this information is of the highest importance relative to the mission with which the king has charged me. I demand therefore that the accused should immediately be constrained to speak by all the means possible.”

  “Yes! yes! the torture,” cried the noblemen.

  “Reflect well, accused,” said the captain, again. “Do not expose yourself to terrible suffering; you may hope everything from our indulgence if you tell the truth. If not, take care!”

  “I have nothing to say,” replied Croustillac; “this secret is not mine.”

  “This means a cruel torture,” said the captain. “Do not force us to these extremities.”

  The Gascon made a gesture of resignation and repeated: “I have nothing to say.”

  The captain could not conceal his chagrin at being obliged to employ such measures.

  He rang a bell.

  An orderly appeared.

  “Order the provost to come here, four men to remain on the gun-deck near the forward signal light, and tell the cannoneer to prepare bunches of tow dipped in sulphur.”

  The orderly went out.

  The orders were frightfully positive. In spite of his courage, Croustillac felt his determination waver; the punishment with which they threatened him was fearful. Monmouth was then undoubtedly in safety; the adventurer thought that he had already done much for the duke and for the duchess. He was about to yield to the fear of torture, when his courage returned to him at this reflection, grotesque, without doubt, but which, under the circumstances in which it presented itself to his mind, became almost heroic, “One does not sacrifice oneself for others with the sole aim of being crowned with flowers.”

  The provost entered the council room.

  Croustillac shuddered, but his looks betrayed no emotion.

  Suddenly, three reports of a gun, in succession resounded long over the solitude of the ocean.

  The members of the improvised council started from their seats.

  The captain ran to the portholes of the great cabin, declaring the session suspended. Partisans and officers, forgetting the accused, ascended in haste to the deck.

  Croustillac, no less curious than his judges, followed them.

  The frigate had received the order to lay to until the issue of the council which was to decide the fate of the chevalier.

  We have said that the Unicorn had obstinately followed the Thunderer since the evening before; we have also said that the officer of the watch had discovered on the horizon a ship, at first almost imperceptible, but which very soon approached the frigate with a rapidity almost marvelous.

  When the Thunderer lay to, this ship, a light brigantine, was at the most only half a league from her; in proportion as she approached, they distinguished her extraordinarily high masts, her very large sails, her black hull, narrow and slender, which scarcely rose out of the water; in one word, they recognized in this small ship all the appearance of a pirate.

  At the apparition of the brigantine the Unicorn at once proceeded to place herself in her wake, at a signal which she made to her.

  It was in time of war; the preparations for combat began in a moment on board the frigate. The captain, observing the singular maneuver of the two ships, did not wish to expose himself to a hostile surprise.

  The brigantine approached, her sails half reefed, having at her prow a flag of truce.

  “Monsieur de Sainval,” said the captain to one of his officers, “order the gunners to stand by their guns with lighted matches. If this flag of truce conceals a ruse, this ship will be sunk.”

  De Chemerant and Croustillac felt the same astonishment in recognizing the Chameleon on board of which the mulatto and Blue Beard had embarked.

  Croustillac’s heart beat as if it would burst; his friends had not abandoned him, they were coming to succor him — but by what means?

  Very soon the Chameleon was within speaking distance of the frigate and crossed her stern. A man of tall stature, magnificently dressed, was standing in the stern of the brigantine.

  “James! — our duke! there he is!” cried enthusiastically the three peers, who, leaning over the taffrail of the frigate, at once recognized the duke.

  The brigantine then lay to; the two ships remained immovable.

  Lord Mortimer, Lord Dudley and Lord Rothsay gave vent to cries of the wildest joy at the sight of the Duke of Monmouth.

  “James! our brave duke! — to see you — to see you again at last!”

  “Is it possible? you are the Duke of Monmouth, my lord?” cried De Chemerant.

  “Yes, I am James of Monmouth,” said the duke, “as is proved by the joyful acclamations of my friends.”

  “Yes, there is our James!”

  “It is he indeed, this time!”

  “It is indeed our duke, our veritable duke!” cried the noblemen.

  “Your highness, I have been most unworthily deceived since day before yesterday, by a miserable wretch who has taken your name.�
��

  “Yes, and we are going to hang him in honor of you!” cried Dudley.

  “Be careful how you do that,” said Monmouth; “the one whom you call a miserable wretch has saved me with the most generous devotion, and I come, De Chemerant, to take his place on board your ship, if he is in any danger for having taken mine.”

  “Surely, your highness,” said De Chemerant, seizing this occasion of assuring himself of the person of the prince, “it is necessary that you should come on board; it is the only means by which you can save this vile impostor.”

  “That is, if this ‘vile impostor’ does not save himself, however,” said Croustillac, springing upon the taffrail and leaping into the sea.

  The movement was so sudden that no one could oppose it. The Gascon plunged under the waves, and reappeared at a short distance from the brigantine, toward which he directed his course.

  There was but a short distance between the two vessels; the Chameleon was almost level with the sea; the chevalier, aided by the Duke of Monmouth and some of the sailors, found himself on the deck of the little ship before the passengers on the frigate had recovered from their surprise.

  “Here is my savior, the most generous of men!” said Monmouth, embracing Croustillac.

  Then James said a few words in the ear of Croustillac, who disappeared with Captain Ralph.

  The duke, advancing to the edge of the stern of the brigantine, addressed himself to De Chemerant: “I know, sir, the projects of the king, my uncle, James Stuart, and those of the king, your master; I know that these brave gentlemen come to offer me their arms to aid me in driving William of Orange from the throne of England.”

  “Yes, yes, when you shall be at our head we will drive away these Dutch rats,” cried Mortimer.

  “Come, come, our duke, with you we will go to the end of the world,” said Dudley.

  “My lord, you may count on the support of the king, my master. Once on board, I will communicate to you my full powers,” cried De Chemerant, ravished to see that his mission, which he had believed desperate, revived with every chance of success.

  “Your highness, do you wish the long boat sent for you, or will you come in one of your own boats?” added De Chemerant; “and since your highness is interested in this miserable rascal, his pardon is assured.”