Robert Tournay: A Romance of the French Revolution

by William Sage

  CHAPTER IX

  PRISON BOAT NUMBER FOUR

  Paul Durand was confined in the prison at Tours. The prison was socrowded that he had to be placed in a small room at the top of thebuilding adjoining the quarters occupied by the jailer and his family.

  Paul was paler than usual, the result of fatigue from the long, rapidride from La Haye, but he showed no signs of fear and held up his headbravely as the jailer entered the room. The latter carried a bundleunder his arm.

  "You are to take these clothes," he said, "go into the adjoining room,and put them on in place of the garments you have on."

  Paul took the bundle and went into the next room. For fifteen minutesthe jailer sat upon the one chair the room contained, humming andjingling his bunch of keys. Then the door into the outer corridor wasthrown open and a large man entered. The jailer sprang to his feet withalacrity.

  "Where's the prisoner, Potin?" demanded the newcomer in a harsh voice.

  "In the next room, Citizen Leboeuf," replied Potin.

  Leboeuf strode toward the door and laid his hand upon the latch.

  "I beg your pardon, Citizen Leboeuf, but the prisoner may not be readyto receive you."

  "Well, there's no particular reason to be squeamish, is there?" askedLeboeuf, screwing his fat face into a leer.

  "If you will wait another minute I think the prisoner will come out,"suggested Potin deferentially, jingling his keys.

  "Bah, you show your lodgers too much consideration, citizen jailer; youspoil them." Nevertheless Leboeuf allowed his hand to drop from thelatch and took a few impatient strides across the floor.

  The door opened and, turning, Leboeuf saw Mademoiselle de Rochefortstanding on the threshold. She was thinner than when she left LaThierry: but her eyes had lost none of their fire, and she lookedCitizen Leboeuf in the face without flinching. His dull eyes kindledwhile he looked at her some moments without speaking.

  "Do you know who I am?" he inquired in his thick, husky voice.

  "Yes, I overheard the jailer call you Citizen Leboeuf."

  "Right. I am Citizen Leboeuf; and do you know why you have beenbrought here?"

  "A paper was read to me last night which pretended to give someexplanation," was her quiet rejoinder.

  "In order to save time and expense your trial will take place at Tours,rather than at Paris. I am one of the judges of this district."

  Mademoiselle Edme looked at him with an expression of indifference.

  "You do not appear to be afraid."

  "I am not afraid," was the quiet reply.

  Leboeuf eyed her with evident admiration.

  "Why did you put on boy's clothes?" he asked abruptly.

  "In order to avoid detection," she answered frankly, coming forward andseating herself in the chair which Potin had vacated upon her entrance.Leboeuf was standing before her, hat in hand, an act of politeness hehad not shown to any one for years.

  "And you did it well," he said. "You threw them off the trackcompletely. Had it not been for me, your hiding-place would never havebeen discovered. It was a splendid trick you played upon those bunglersfrom Paris." And he slapped his thigh in keen appreciation of it, andlaughed hoarsely.

  "I will take your boy's clothes with me," he continued as he prepared toleave the room, "lest you should be tempted to put them on again fromforce of habit. We don't want you turning into a boy any more. No, youmake too pretty a woman." Then going up to the jailer he said somethingto him in a low voice which Edme could not hear. Potin seemed to beremonstrating feebly. Leboeuf scowled, and from his manner appeared toinsist upon the point at issue.

  "Are you sure you are not afraid?" he said again abruptly to Edme as hewent to the door and stood with one hand on the latch looking back intothe room.

  "No!"

  He looked at her admiringly.

  "Remember you are a woman now and have a perfect right to be afraid;also to kick and scream when anything is the matter."

  Edme made no reply.

  "In case you should ever feel afraid," he said significantly, "just sendfor Leboeuf, that's all," and with this he left the room.

  Edme remained in Potin's charge for two days. The jailer treated herwith great consideration, and she congratulated herself upon havingfallen into such kindly hands. She momentarily expected to be summonedbefore the Tribunal. She did not know what the result would be; but shelooked forward to her trial with impatience. In any event it would endthe suspense in which she was living.

  On the afternoon of the second day Potin entered her room, accompaniedby one of his deputies.

  "You must prepare to go with this man, citizeness," said the littlejailer.

  "Has the Tribunal sent for me? she inquired.

  "Not yet. But you are to be transferred to another prison."

  "I prefer to stay here," she said. "Cannot you ask them to allow me toremain?"

  "You have no choice in the matter, nor have I; I have only my orders."

  "From whom did the order come? From that man Leboeuf who came here theother day?" she demanded quickly.

  "I am not at liberty to say," replied Potin, shifting his feet uneasily.

  "Are you forbidden to tell me where I am to be taken?" was her nextquestion.

  "To prison boat Number Four. The city prisons are so full," hecontinued, in answer to her look of surprised inquiry, "that greatnumbers have to be lodged in the boats anchored in the river. NumberFour is one of the largest," he added as if by way of consolation.

  In company of the deputy Edme was conducted to the floating prison onthe Loire. As they stepped over the side they were met by a littleround-shouldered man with splay feet. His face was wrinkled and brownalmost to blackness; his dress showed that he had a fondness for brightcolors, as he wore a purple shirt with a crimson sash, a bright yellowneckcloth, and a red cap. The deputy turned over his charge to him,received his quittance, and went away.

  Edme was conducted to a room in the stern of the vessel. It was a smallroom and to her surprise she found it furnished comfortably, almostluxuriously. On a table in the centre stood a carafe of wine and abasket of sweet biscuit. Two or three chairs and a couch completed theequipment of the room. At the extreme end, the porthole had beenenlarged into a window which looked out over the river. This window wasclosed by wooden bars. Otherwise the place looked more like thecomfortable quarters of some ship's officer than a jail.

  "Is this where I am to remain?" she asked of her new jailer.

  The man nodded and withdrew, locking the door after him.

  Edme threw herself into a chair. It was intended that she should atleast be comfortable while in prison, and this thought helped to keep upher spirits. She rose, took a glass of wine and some of the biscuit, andthen after finishing this refreshment, feeling fatigued, she lay downupon the couch and fell asleep.

  It was nearly dark when she awoke. Lying on the couch she could see thedying light of the short December day shining feebly in at the window,reflected by the metal of a swinging lamp over the table. As she laythere she became aware of a noise that had evidently awakened her. Itwas the sound of wailing and lamentation, accompanied by the creaking oftimber and the swash of water.

  Rising from the bed she went to the window and looked out over theriver.

  Going down the stream were two other prison boats. They were scarcelyfifty yards away and proceeded slowly with the current, the waterlapping against their black sides. They were old vessels, and creakedand groaned as if they were about to fall apart from very rottenness.From between their decks came the sound of human voices raised in criesof fear, despair, and lamentation; all mingled in a strange, horriblemedley, which, borne over the water by the sighing night wind, struck achill into Edme's heart.

  The vessels, stealing down the river with their sailless masts againstthe evening sky, looked like phantom ships conveying cargoes ofunrestful, tortured spirits into darkness. The sight so fascinated Edmethat she stood watching them until they drifted out of sight and thecries of those o
n board grew fainter and fainter in the distance. Soabsorbed had she been as not to hear the lock click in the door and aman enter the room. She only became aware of his presence on hearing aheavy sigh just behind her, and turning her head she saw Leboeuf'sheavy face at her shoulder. She gave a startled cry and stepped nearerthe window.

  "It is a sad sight, is it not," he remarked, with a look of sympathyill-suited to the leer in his eyes, "and one that might easily frightenthe strongest of us."

  "It is your sudden appearance, when I thought I was entirely alone, thatstartled me," replied Edme, regaining her composure with an effort. "Iwas so intent upon looking at those boats that I did not hear you comein."

  "I see you didn't. I may be bulky, but I'm active and can move quietly,"and he gave a chuckle.

  Edme thought him even more repulsive than at the time of his visit tothe prison. His face seemed coarser and more inflamed, and his eyes, sodull and heavy before, shone as if animated by drink.

  "Where are they taking those poor people?" she asked; "for I presumethose are prison boats."

  "They are," was the reply in a thick utterance. "Just like this. Are yousure that you want to know where they are being taken?"

  "Would I have asked you otherwise?"

  "Are you sure you won't faint?"

  Edme gave a shrug of contempt. She saw that he was trying to work uponher fears, and felt her spirit rise in antagonism.

  The look of admiration that he gave her was more offensive than hispretended sympathy. Leaning forward he whispered, "They are going downthe river for about two miles. There they will get rid of theirtroublesome freight and return empty."

  "What do you mean?" asked Edme. "Where do they land the prisoners?"

  "They don't land them, they water them," and he gave a low, inwardlaugh. "They drown every prisoner on board. Tie them together incouples, man and woman, and tumble them overboard by the score."

  Edme gave a cry of horror. "It is too horrible to be true. I don'tbelieve it!"

  "Why not?" asked Leboeuf; "drowning is an easy death, and every one ofthem has been fairly and honestly condemned. This boat is to follow inits turn. Every prisoner here has looked upon the sun for the last time,though not one of them knows just when he is to die."

  The idea of such wholesale murder seemed so utterly impossible to herthat in her mind she set down Leboeuf's whole account as a fiction ofhis drink-besotted brain, called up to frighten her. Yet at the momentwhen she turned from him in disgust to look out of the window, she sawthat their own vessel had begun to move slowly through the water.

  "We have started," said Leboeuf, as if he were mentioning a matter ofthe smallest consequence.

  "You say that every one upon this boat is a condemned person," said Edmequietly, repressing her terror with an effort.

  Leboeuf nodded.

  "But I am not. I have not even had a hearing."

  "No?" exclaimed Leboeuf in a tone of surprise. "Then those jailershave made another mistake."

  Edme advanced toward him one step, and in a tone which made the huge mandraw back, said:--

  "I was brought here by your order!"

  "Oh, no, I knew nothing of the change. It was that villain Potin."

  "I was brought here by your order," she repeated. "I demand that I betaken where I can have a trial."

  "Potin has made another mistake," was all Leboeuf would vouchsafe inreply.

  "If there has been any mistake, it is yours. I demand that you set itright."

  "It is too late!"

  "There must be some one aboard this vessel who has the power to do it,if you have not. I will go and appeal for aid," and she took a steptoward the door.

  Leboeuf interposed his bulky body between her and the means of exit;closed and locked the door on the inside.

  "I will cry aloud. Some one will hear me," she said in desperation.

  "Who will hear you above all that noise?" he inquired tersely.

  The prisoners on the boat, now fully aware that their time of executionhad come, were crying out against their fate,--some praying for mercy,some calling down the maledictions of heaven upon their butchers, whileothers wept silently.

  "Merciful Virgin, protect me. I have lost all hope," cried Edme, turningfrom Leboeuf and sinking despairingly upon her knees.

  "Ah, now you are frightened!" exclaimed Leboeuf, "admit that you arefrightened!"

  "If it is any satisfaction to have succeeded in terrifying a womanunable to defend herself, I will not rob you of the pleasure, but knowthat it is not death, but the manner of it, that I fear."

  "But you are afraid; you have confessed to it at last, and now Leboeufwill see that they do not harm you." He gave a grim chuckle as if heenjoyed having won his point. Rapidly pushing the table to one side,turning back the rug that covered the floor, he stooped; and to Edme'sastonished gaze lifted up a trap door in the floor of the cabin. Edmedrew back from the black hole at her feet.

  "It is large enough to afford you air for several hours," Leboeufsaid. "By that time I will get you out again. Quick, descend the steps."

  Edme, fearing further treachery, drew back in alarm. "I prefer to meetmy fate here."

  Leboeuf struck a light and by the rays of the lamp a ladder wasrevealed.

  "I tell you it is certain death to remain here fifteen minutes longer.Even I could not save you then. The more they throw into the water themore frenzied they become for other victims. They will ransack theentire boat; but they won't find you down there. Leboeuf alone knowsthis place. Quick! If you would live to see the sun rise to-morrow, godown the steps of that ladder."

  He took her by the shoulder to assist in the descent. His touch was sodistasteful to her that she threw off his hand and went down the ladderunaided. "Make not the slightest sound, whatever you may hear going onup here above you, and wait patiently until I come to release you."

  With these words the door was shut down and Leboeuf went out and up tothe deck alone.

  The vessel had reached a point in the river just outside the city. Herethe stream narrowed and ran swiftly between the banks.

  The sky was windy; and between the rifts of the high-banked clouds themoon shone fitfully. To the east lay the city of Tours, its spiresstanding out in sharp silhouette against the sky. On the river bank thewind swept over the dead, dry grass with a mournful, swaying sound andrattled the rotting halyards of the old hulk, which with one small sailset in the bow to keep it steady, made slowly down the river with thecurrent, hugging the left bank as if fearful of trusting itself to theswifter depths beyond.

  A rusty chain rasped through the hawse-hole, and the vessel swung atanchor.

  In a small and close compartment in the ship's depths, totally withoutlight, and with her nerves wrought upon by Leboeuf's appalling story,Edme could only guess at what was happening above her head.

  She knew that something terrible was taking place. She could hear aconfusion of cries and trampling of feet; of hoarse shouts and commands;and she pictured in her imagination scenes quite as horrible as wereactually taking place above her. In every wave that splashed against thevessel's side she could see the white face of a struggling, drowningcreature, and every sound upon the vessel was the despairing death-noteof a fresh victim. Through it all she could see the large face ofLeboeuf leering at her with his bleary eyes. To have exchanged onefate for a worse one was to have gained nothing, and in her mental agonyshe almost envied those who a short time ago had been strugglinghelplessly in the hands of their executioners, and whose bodies now werequietly sleeping in the waters of the flowing river.

  A quiet fell upon the vessel. The last cry had been uttered, the lastcommand given, and no sound reached Edme's ears but the soft plash ofthe water as it struck under the stern of the boat.

  Then the remembrance of Leboeuf's face and look became still morevivid. She feared him in spite of all her courage; in spite of her pridethat was greater than her courage, she feared him. The knowledge that hewas aware of his power and took delight in it made
the thought that shewould soon have to face him there alone more terrible than her dread ofthe worst of deaths.

  A footfall sounded on the floor above her head. That it was notLeboeuf's heavy tread, Edme was certain. Rather than fall into hishands again she would trust herself to the mercies of the worst ruffianamong the executioners, and she struck with her clenched hand asuccession of quick knocks upon the trap.

  The footsteps ceased, and in the stillness that followed Edme called outto the man above her and told him where to find the opening. In anotherinstant the door was lifted up and she came up into the cabin.

  "Kill me," she cried out; "throw me into the river if it be yourpleasure, but I implore you, do not let"--

  The man's hand closed over her mouth, and lifting her in his arms hecarried her across the cabin. The room was dark; either Leboeuf hadput out the light when he left, or the newcomer had extinguished it, butEdme saw that he bore her toward the window from which the lattice hadbeen removed. She closed her eyes to meet the end. She felt herselfswiftly lifted through the window, and then instead of water her feetstruck a firm substance.

  "Steady for one moment," said a voice in her ear as she opened her eyesin bewilderment to find herself standing on the seat of a small skiff, aman supporting her by the arm. Her face was on a level with the window,and looking back into the cabin she saw a light at the further end, asthe bulky form of Leboeuf appeared at the door, lantern in hand, hisheavy countenance made more ugly by an expression of surprise and rage.

  Voices were heard in hot dispute, then came two pistol shots so closetogether as to seem almost one. A figure leaped through the smoke thatpoured from the window, and Edme from her seat in the skiff's bow whereshe had been swung with little ceremony, saw a man cut the line, whilethe other bent over his oars and made the small craft fly away from thevessel, straight for the opposite shore. The man who had leaped from thewindow took his place silently in the stern. Placing one hand on thetiller, he turned and looked intently over his shoulder at the darkoutline of the prison ship, which was rapidly receding into the gloom.

  His hat had fallen off, and in the uncertain light Edme saw for thefirst time that it was Robert Tournay.

  Before a word could be uttered by any of them, a tongue of flame shotout from the vessel behind them, followed by a loud and sharp report.The dash of spray that swept over the boat told that the shot had struckthe water close by them.

  The man at the oars shook the water from his eyes and redoubled hisefforts. "Head her down the river a little," he said.

  "But the carriage is at least two miles above here," replied Tournay.

  "No matter," answered Gaillard. "The shore here is too steep. We mustland a little further down."

  Tournay altered their course and steered the boat slantingly across thecurrent.

  They were now nearing the right-hand shore, which rose abruptly from theriver to a height of some twenty feet. The current here was swifter, andthe greatest caution had to be exercised. A second flash flamed out fromthe prison ship, a sound of crashing wood, and the little skiff seemedto leap into the air and then slide from under their feet, while the icywater of the Loire rushed in Edme's ears,--strangling her and draggingher down, until it seemed as if the water's weight would crush her. Thenshe began to come upward with increasing velocity until at last, whenshe thought never to reach the surface, she felt her head rise above thewater and saw the cloudy, threatening sky, which seemed to reel aboveher as she gasped for breath.

  Another head shot to the surface by her side, and she felt herselfsustained, to sink no more. The words: "Place your right hand upon myshoulder and keep your face turned down the stream away from thecurrent," came to her ears as if in a dream. Instinctively she obeyed.With a few rapid strokes Tournay reached the shore. The bank overhungthe river and under it the water ran rapidly.

  With only one arm free he could not draw himself and Edme up the steepincline. Twice he succeeded in catching a tuft of grass or projectingroot, and each time the force of the current broke his hold upon it, andtwirling them round like straws carried them on down the stream.

  Gaillard, who had been struck by a splinter on the forehead, was atfirst stunned by the blow, and without struggling was swept fifty yardsdown the river. The cold water brought him back to consciousness, and hestruck out for the shore. He noticed, some hundred yards below, a placewhere the river swept to the south and where the bank was considerablylower. Allowing himself to be borne along by the current, he took anoccasional stroke to carry him in toward the shore, and made the pointeasily.

  Drawing himself from the water by some overhanging bushes, he shookhimself like a wet dog, and sitting on the river's edge proceeded tobind up his injured eye, while with the other he looked anxiously alongthe river-side. Suddenly he bent down and caught at an object in thewater.

  "Let me take the girl," he said quickly. "Now your hand on thisbush--there!" And with a swift motion he drew Edme up, and Tournay,relieved of her weight, swung himself to their side.

  For a short time they lay panting on the bank. Gaillard was the first toget upon his feet.

  "We shall perish of cold here," he exclaimed, springing up and down towarm his benumbed blood, while the wet ends of his yellow neckerchiefflapped about his forehead.

  "Can you walk, Mademoiselle de Rochefort?"

  Edme placed her hand upon her side to still the sharp shooting pain, andanswered "Yes."

  "Good; the road is only a few rods from here, but we must follow it atleast two miles to the west."

  "I shall be able to do it!"

  As she uttered these words the pain in her side increased. She felt herstrength leave her, and but for the support of Tournay's arm she wouldhave fallen to the ground.

  "She has fainted," cried Tournay in consternation.

  "No," she remonstrated feebly, struggling with the numbness that wasoverpowering her. "It is the cold. Let me rest for a moment; I shall bebetter soon."

  "Mademoiselle, you must walk, else you will die of cold," exclaimedTournay. "Take her by the arm, Gaillard."

  Instead of complying with the request, Gaillard stood with head bentforward peering up the road into the night gloom.

  "Gaillard! man, do you not hear me?"

  "The carriage! I hear the rattle of its wheels," cried Gaillardjoyfully. "Agatha can always be depended upon to do the right thing atthe right moment!"

  "Hurry to meet her," cried Tournay; "tell her we are here!"

  Gaillard sprang rapidly forward, shouting as he ran.

  "Courage but a little moment longer," whispered Tournay, and taking Edmein his arms he followed Gaillard as fast as his burden permitted.

  She had not entirely lost consciousness, but cold and fatigue hadcombined to enervate and render her powerless of motion.

  In a half swoon she felt herself carried she knew not whither. She feltTournay's strong arms about her, and a sense of security came over heras she faintly realized that each step took her further away from thedreaded Leboeuf.

  Tournay hastened toward the carriage. The wind swept freshly over themarshes, and he held Edme close as if to shield her from the cold. Herhair blew back into his face, covering his eyes and touching his lips.As he felt her soft tresses against his cheek his heart throbbed so thathe forgot cold, fatigue, and danger.... Where they blinded him he gentlyput the locks aside with one hand in a caressing manner and lookedtenderly down into the white face pressed against his wet coat.

  The sound of wheels upon the frozen road came nearer. Lights flashedaround a turn in the road, and Tournay staggered to the carriage door asthe vehicle drew up suddenly.

  "Hurrah!" cried Gaillard from the box, where he had taken the reins fromthe driver. "We have won!"