by Eugène Sue
“Make haste, noble duke — —”
“Come as you wish, James — our James — but come at once!”
“Yes, come,” said Mortimer, “or we will do as this rascal in green cassock and pink stockings; we will leap into the water like a band of wild ducks, to be the sooner with you.”
“No imprudence, no imprudence, my old friends,” said Monmouth, who sought to gain time since the Gascon disappeared.
At last Captain Ralph came to say a word in the ear of the prince; the latter gave a new order in a low voice and with a radiant air.
“Your highness, they are about launching the long boat,” said De Chemerant, who was burning with impatience to see the duke on board.
“It is useless, sir,” said the duke. Then, addressing himself formally to the noblemen with an accent of profound emotion: “My old friends, my faithful companions, farewell, and forever farewell, I have sworn by the memory of the most admirable martyr to friendship, never to take part in civil troubles which might deluge England with blood; I will not break my oath. Farewell, brave Mortimer, farewell good Dudley, farewell valiant Rothsay; it breaks my heart not to embrace you for a last time. Forget this my appearance. Henceforth let James of Monmouth — be dead to you as he has been to all the world for five years! Again farewell, and forever farewell!”
Then turning toward his captain, the duke cried quickly in a sonorous voice:
“Set all sails, Ralph!”
At these words Ralph seized the helm; the sails of the brigantine, already prepared, were hoisted and trimmed with marvelous rapidity. Thanks to the breeze and her galley oars, the Chameleon was under way before the passengers of the frigate had recovered from their surprise. The brigantine, in moving off, kept in the direction of the stern of the frigate in order not to be exposed to her guns.
It is impossible to paint the rage of De Chemerant, the despair of the noblemen, in seeing the light vessel rapidly increasing the distance between them.
“Captain,” cried De Chemerant, “set all sail; we will overhaul this brigantine; there is no better sailer than the Thunderer.”
“Yes, yes,” cried the peers, “board her!”
“Let us capture our duke!”
“When we have him we will force him to place himself at our head!”
“He will not refuse his old companions!”
“My boys, two hundred louis to drink the health of James of Monmouth if we overtake this waterfly,” cried Mortimer, addressing the sailors, and pointing to the little vessel.
The Chameleon soon found herself beyond reach of the guns of the frigate. She quitted the direction she had first taken, and in place of keeping close to the wind, altered her course.
This maneuver exposed the Unicorn, which during the conference of the duke and De Chemerant had remained behind in the wake of the Chameleon and absolutely in a line with her.
It is on board the latter ship that we shall conduct the reader; he can thus assist at the chase which the frigate is about to give to the brigantine.
Polyphème de Croustillac was on the deck of the Unicorn in company with his old host, Captain Daniel, and Father Griffen, who embarked the evening before on this vessel.
The reader recalls the plunge that Croustillac made in leaping from the taffrail of the frigate into the sea in order to rejoin Monmouth. While the Gascon shook himself, rubbed his eyes, and allowed himself to be cordially embraced by the duke, the latter had said to him: “Go quickly and await me on board the Unicorn; Ralph will conduct you there.”
Croustillac, still dizzy from his leap, enraptured at having escaped from De Chemerant, followed Captain Ralph. The latter made him embark in a little yawl rowed by a single sailor.
It was thus that the adventurer boarded the Unicorn. In order not to lose time, Ralph had ordered the sailor to follow the chevalier and abandon the yawl; the transfer of the Gascon was then executed very rapidly.
The duke had not given the order to hoist the sails of the frigate until he knew Croustillac to be in safety, for he foresaw that De Chemerant would inevitably abandon the shadow for the substance, the false Monmouth for the true, the Unicorn for the Chameleon.
Master Daniel, at sight of the Gascon, cried out: “It is written that I never shall see you come aboard my ship but by strange means! In leaving France you fell from the clouds; in quitting the Antilles, you come to me from out of the sea like a marine god; like Neptune in person.”
Very much surprised at this encounter, and especially at seeing Father Griffen, who, standing on the poop, attentively observed the maneuvers of the two ships, the chevalier said to the captain: “But how the devil do you find yourself here at a given point to receive me, coming out of that nutshell down there, floating away at hazard?”
“Faith, to tell the truth, I know almost nothing about it.”
“How is that, captain?”
“Yesterday morning my shipowner at Rochelle asked me if my cargo was complete. I told him it was; he then ordered me to go to Fort Royal, where a frigate was just leaving, and earnestly demand her escort; if she refused it, I was to make myself escorted all the same, always keeping in sight of the said frigate, whatever she might do to prevent me. Finally, I was to conduct myself toward her almost as a mongrel cur toward a passer-by to whom he attaches himself. The man in vain drives the dog away; the dog always keeps just beyond reach of foot or stone; runs when he runs, walks when he walks, gets out of the way when he pursues him, stops when he stops, and finishes by keeping at his heels in spite of him. That is how I have maneuvered with the frigate. That is not all; my correspondent also said to me: ‘You will follow the frigate until you are joined by a brigantine; then you will remain just behind her; it may be that this brigantine will send you a passenger (this passenger I now see was yourself); then you will take him and set sail at once for France without troubling yourself about either the brigantine or the frigate; if not, the brigantine will send you other orders, and you will execute them.’ I know only the will of my shipowners; I have followed the frigate from Fort Royal. This morning the brigantine joined me, just now I fished you out of the water; now I set sail for France.”
“The duke will not come on board, then?” asked Croustillac.
“The duke? what duke? I know no other duke than my shipowner or his correspondent, which is all the same as — ah! look there! there goes the frigate, giving tremendous chase to the little ship.”
“Will you abandon the Chameleon thus?” cried Croustillac. “If the frigate overhauls her will you not go to her aid?”
“Not I, by the Lord, although I have a dozen little guns which can say their word as well as others, and the twenty-four good fellows who form my crew are a match for the marines of the king — but that is not the point. I know only the orders of my shipowners. Ah, now the brigantine cuts out some work for the frigate,” said Daniel.
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE RETURN.
THE THUNDERER PURSUED the Chameleon furiously. Whether from calculation, or from an enforced slackening in her course, several times the brigantine seemed on the point of being overtaken by the frigate; but then, taking a turn better suited to her construction, she regained the advantage she had lost.
Suddenly, by a brisk evolution, the brigantine tacked about, came straight toward the Unicorn, and in a few minutes came within reach of the voice.
One may judge of the joy of the adventurer when on the deck of the Chameleon, which passed astern of the three-master, he saw Blue Beard leaning on the arm of Monmouth, and heard the young woman cry to him in a voice full of emotion: “Adieu, our savior — adieu — may Heaven protect you! We will never forget you!”
“Adieu, our best friend,” said Monmouth. “Adieu, brave and worthy chevalier!”
And the Chameleon moved off, while Angela with her handkerchief, and Monmouth with a gesture of the hand, made a last sign of farewell to the adventurer.
Alas! this apparition was as short as it was ravishing. The brigantine,
after having for a moment grazed the stern of the Unicorn, turned back on her way and made straight toward the frigate, with incredible boldness, keeping almost within range of her guns.
The Thunderer in her turn tacked about; without doubt the captain, furious at this useless chase, wished to end it at any price. A sudden flash, a dull and prolonged report was heard a long distance, and the frigate left behind her a cloud of bluish smoke.
At this significant demonstration, no longer amusing herself with doubling before the frigate, the Chameleon came close up to the wind — a movement particularly favorable to her — and then took flight seriously. The Thunderer pursued her, both ships directing themselves to the south.
The Unicorn had the cape on the northeast. She sailed splendidly. One thus comprehends that she would leave very soon and very far behind the two ships which sank more and more below the horizon.
Croustillac remained with his eyes riveted on the ship which bore Blue Beard away. He followed it with yearning and desolate eyes until the brigantine had entirely disappeared in space. Then two great tears rolled down the cheeks of the adventurer.
He let his head fall into his two hands with which he covered his face.
Captain Daniel came to suddenly interrupt the sad reverie of the chevalier; he slapped him joyously on the shoulder and cried out: “Ah, ha, our guest, the Unicorn, is well on her way; suppose we go below and drink a madeira sangaree while waiting for supper? I hope you are going to show me again some of your funny tricks which made me laugh so much, you know? when you held forks straight on the end of your nose. Come, let us drink a glass.”
“I am not thirsty, Master Daniel,” said the Gascon, sadly.
“So much the better; you will only drink with the more pleasure; to drink without thirst — that is what distinguishes the man from the brute, as they say.”
“Thanks, Master Daniel, but I cannot.”
“Ah! the devil! what is the matter with you then? You have a very queer air; is it because you have not been lucky, you who boasted you were going to marry Blue Beard before a month had passed? Say then, do you remember? You must have lost your bet completely; you have not dared only to go to Devil’s Cliff, I am sure.”
“You are right, Master Daniel, I have lost my bet.”
“As you bet nothing at all it will not ruin you to pay it, fortunately. Ah! say then, I have had several questions on my tongue for a quarter of an hour: how did you come to be on board the frigate? how did the captain of the brigantine pick you up? did you know him? and then, this woman and this lord who said adieu to you just now — what does all this mean? Oh, as to that, if it bothers you, do not answer me; I ask you that, only to know it. If it is a secret, motus, let us speak no more of it.”
“I can tell you nothing on that subject, Master Daniel.’’
“Let it be understood, then, that I have asked no questions about it, and long live joy! Come, laugh then, laugh then! what makes you sad? Is it because here you are still with your old green coat and the very pink hose so prettily stained with seawater, be it said without offending you? I will lend you a change, although it is as hot as a furnace, because it is not healthy to let one’s clothes dry on one’s body. Come, come, quit that gloomy air! See, are you not my guest, since you are here by order of my shipowner? And, whatever comes, have I not told you that you can stay on board the Unicorn as much as you please? for, by the Lord, I adore your conversation, your stories, and especially your tricks. Ah! say, I have a species of tow made with a thread of the bark of the palm tree, that will burn like priming; that will be famous, you will swallow that, and you will spit flame and fire like a real demon; is it not true?”
“The chevalier appears not disposed to amuse you very much, Master Daniel,” said a grave voice.
Croustillac and the captain turned; it was Father Griffen who, from the poop, had watched the pursuit of the brigantine, and who now was descending to the deck.
“It is true, Father, I feel somewhat sad,” said Croustillac.
“Bah! bah! if my guest is not in the mood, he will be, very soon, for he is not naturally a melancholy man. I will go to prepare the sangaree,” said Daniel. And he quitted the deck.
After some moments of silence, the priest said to Croustillac:
“Here you are, again, the guest of Captain Daniel; here you are, as poor as you were ten days ago.”
“Why should I be richer to-day than I was ten days ago, Father,” asked the Gascon.
It must be said to the praise of Croustillac, that his bitter regrets were pure from all covetous thoughts; although poor, he was happy to think that, apart from the little medallion Blue Beard had given him, his devotion had been entirely disinterested.
“I believe,” said Father Griffen, “that the Duke of Monmouth will be annoyed at not being able to requite your devotion as he ought. But it is not altogether his fault; events have so pressed upon one another — —”
“You do not speak seriously, Father. Why should the duke have wished to humiliate a man who has done what he could to serve him?”
“You have done for the duke what a brother might have done; and why, knowing you to be poor, should he not, as a brother, come to your aid?”
“For a thousand reasons, I should be disturbed beyond measure, Father. I even count on the events of the life, more adventurous than ever, that I am about to lead, to distract my mind, and I hope — —”
The Gascon did not finish his sentence, and again concealed his face in his hands. The priest respected his silence and left him.
. . . . . . . . .
Thanks to trade winds and a fine passage, the Unicorn was in sight of the coast of France about forty days after her departure from Martinique.
Little by little the gloomy sadness of the chevalier softened. With an instinct of great delicacy — an instinct as new to him as the sentiment which, without doubt, had developed it — the chevalier reserved for solitude the tender and melancholy thoughts awakened in him by the remembrance of Blue Beard, for he did not wish to expose these precious memories to the rude pleasantries of Captain Daniel, or to the interpretations of Father Griffen.
At the end of eight days the chevalier had again become in the eyes of the passengers of the Unicorn what he had been during the first voyage. Knowing that he was to pay his passage by his good companionship, he put that kind of probity which was natural to him into his efforts to amuse Captain Daniel; he showed himself so good a companion that the worthy captain saw with despair the end of the voyage approach.
Croustillac had formally declared that he was going to take service in Moscow where the Czar Peter then received soldiers of fortune gladly.
The sun was on the point of setting when the Unicorn found herself in sight of the shores of France. Captain Daniel, from motives of prudence, preferred waiting for the morning before proceeding to the anchorage.
Shortly before the moment of sitting down to the table, Father Griffen prayed the Gascon to come with him to his room. The grave, almost solemn, air of the priest appeared strange to Croustillac.
The door closed, Father Griffen, his eyes filled with tears, extended his arms to the Gascon, and said: “Come, come, excellent and noble creature; come, my good and dear son.”
The chevalier, at once moved and astonished, cordially pressed the priest in his arms and said to him: “What is it, then, my father?”
“What is it? what is it? How, you, a poor adventurer, you, whose past life should have rendered less scrupulous than others, you save the life of the son of a king, you devote yourself to his interests with as much abnegation as intelligence; and then, that done and your friends in safety, you return to your obscure and miserable life, not knowing even at this hour, on the eve of reentering France, where you will lay your head to-morrow! and that without one word, one single word of complaint, of the ingratitude, or at least, of the forgetfulness of those who owe you so much!”
“But, my Father — —”
“Oh, I have
observed you well during this voyage! Never a bitter word, never even the shadow of a reproach; as in the past, you have become gay and thoughtless again. And yet — no — no — I have well seen that your gayety was assumed; you have lost in this voyage your one possession, your only resource — the careless gayety which has aided you to bear misfortune.”
“My Father, I assure you, no.”
“Oh, I do not deceive myself, I tell you. At night I have surprised you alone, apart, on the deck, sadly dreaming. Of old, did you ever dream thus?”
“Have I not, on the contrary, during the voyage, diverted Captain Daniel by my pleasantries, good Father?”
“Oh, I have observed you well; if you have consented to amuse Master Daniel, it was in order to recompense him as you could for the hospitality he has given you. Listen, my son — I am old — I can say all to you without offending you; well, conduct such as yours would be very worthy, very fine on the part of a man whose antecedents, whose principles rendered him naturally delicate; but on your part, whom an idle, perhaps culpable youth, should seem to have robbed of all elevation of thought, it is doubly noble and beautiful; it is at once the expiation of the past and the glorification of the present. Thus, such sentiments cannot remain without their recompense — the trial has endured too long. Yes, I almost blame myself for having imposed it on you.”
“What trial, my Father?”
“Yet, no; this trial has permitted you to show a delicacy as noble as touching — —”
A knock at the door of Father Griffen’s room.
“What is it?”
“Supper, Father.”
“Come, let us go, my son,” said Father Griffen, regarding Croustillac with a peculiar air; “I do not know why it seems to me that the journey will terminate fortunately for you.”
The chevalier, very much surprised that the Reverend Father should have brought him to his room in order to hold the discourse we have reported, followed Father Griffen on deck.
