“Ay was she,” replied Merlani. “Her mother died half an hour after giving her birth; and my mother—who was at that time nursing my sister Bianca, now dead, woe is me!—was summoned in all haste to the chateau to take the place of a mother to the new-born infant. I was at that time a youngster of seven years old, and as my mother became a permanent inmate of the chateau for the first four years of your mother’s life, I saw a great deal of the dear child, and have played for hours with her and my sweet Bianca on the sunny terrace in front of the chateau, ay, and have dragged them in a little chariot, made by my father, many a weary mile up and down the rough steep road leading to Amalfi.”
“So, then, you and my mother were friends?” I remarked, in the hope of leading him on to talk further upon the subject. “Friends!” ejaculated Merlani; “well, yes, we were; but that expression is hardly the right one. She was the guardian angel; I the poor, weak, erring mortal over whom she watched. Always listening to her advice and admonitions with the profoundest and most respectful attention, and always anxious to do right, whilst I was in her presence, I had no sooner withdrawn myself and mingled once more with my usual associates, than my natural weakness prevailed, and I found myself involved in some scrape or other, from the consequences of which your mother, with a patience more than mortal, rescued me as often as she could. Had I but heeded her counsels I should never have been what I now am.”
“I can readily believe that,” said I, “little as I know of my mother. But do you intend me to accept that remark as literally true, or—”
“It is literally true,” answered Merlani. “You must know, señor, that at the time to which I refer, like many more young men of my own age, I became greatly interested in politics; so much so that after a time I united myself to a secret society, the object of which was to compass the freedom of our beloved Italy. I was on sufficiently intimate terms with your mother to confide freely to her all my hopes and aspirations, this among the rest; but, whilst she thoroughly sympathised with me in the particular matter to which I have referred, she had penetration enough to be fully sensible of the danger to which I was exposing myself; and she earnestly sought to dissuade me from having anything to do with active politics. But I was proud of being looked upon as a patriot, and blind to the fact that my country was not then ripe for the freedom which I, among others, burned to give her; I, therefore, as usual, went my own headstrong way, and eventually got into very serious trouble. I was obliged to fly; and learning that your mother—by this time married—was in Rome, I resolved to seek her in the first instance, and beg of her that pecuniary assistance which my other friends were incapable of affording me. I did so, found her, and, after considerable difficulty, succeeded in obtaining a private interview with her. I represented to her the danger of the position in which—”
“One moment,” I interrupted. “What, may I ask, was your object in making the interview private?”
“It was on your father’s account,” answered Merlani. “I know not what he may be now, if he still lives, but he was then an exceedingly proud, haughty, and overbearing man, very impatient and hasty of temper, as I had had many opportunities of noticing; and he had, moreover, no sympathy with the movement with which I had associated myself. I happened to know, also, that though he was unaware of the relationship—if I may so term it—which existed between your mother and myself, I had been unfortunate enough to attract his unfavourable attention whilst he was prosecuting his love suit with your mother. I was therefore anxious, above all things, to avoid compromising the wife in the eyes of her husband by letting him know that she possessed so disreputable an acquaintance; and finally, I felt convinced that if he became acquainted with the facts of my case he would consider it his duty to deliver me into the hands of the authorities. Hence my desire for secrecy.
“Well, as I have said, I found your mother, represented to her the peril of my position, pointed out to her the imperative necessity for absolute secrecy, and besought her, by all she held dearest, to help me once more and for the last time. She was deeply distressed when I told her in how serious a scrape I had involved myself, the more so as she could see no way of helping me without appealing to her husband for the necessary funds, which I bound her not to do, assuring her that such a step would inevitably bring about my ruin. At length she promised to think the matter over and do what she could for me, promising to meet me again the next evening.
“It so happened, however, that the pursuit after me was so hot that I was compelled to be closely hidden for nearly a fortnight, during which I have reason to believe that your mother suffered the keenest anxiety on my account. When at length I dared venture out again I found your mother’s distress more keen than ever because she had been unable to obtain even the modest sum of money I had named as necessary to secure my safety. She bade me meet her again. I did so, only to find her still in the same pitiable state of helplessness and distress. I met her again, and yet again—seven times in all; and at our last meeting your mother pressed into my hand a small package of money—the proceeds of the sale of her own private jewels, as a hastily-written tear-blotted note inside informed me. The assistance, however, came just too late. I was arrested that very night and cast into prison, where, without even the pretence of a trial, I was confined for seven long years among the vilest of the vile. I should probably have been there still had I not succeeded in effecting my escape. But those seven years of misery unutterable had done their work upon me; I entered the prison a harmless enough young fellow, save that I was the victim of a mistaken enthusiasm; I emerged from it a fiend, my heart full to overflowing of hatred for the entire human race, with which I have warred, in one way or another, from that day to this.
“Such, Señor Lascelles, is my story; my only excuse for telling you which is the tender memories of your sainted mother, evoked by your extraordinary personal resemblance to her. You have listened to me with a patient kindness which you must surely have inherited from her, and I thank you; the thought of her has made me once more human; I feel the better for having been permitted to take her honoured name once more upon my lips; but now, señor, with your permission I will rest a little; I am weary, and oh, so very weak.”
I withdrew, and making my way to Albuquerque’s berth, begged permission of the owner to occupy it for an hour or two; which permission being obtained, I sat down then and there, and, whilst Merlani’s story was still fresh in my memory, put the whole of it in black and white.
This done, I thought it high time to look in upon Don Luis, who would, perhaps, otherwise think I was slighting him. I accordingly made my way to his private cabin and knocked softly. The door was opened by Inez, who no sooner saw me than she flung herself into my arms—full in view of her father, who was reclining upon a couch—kissed me rapturously, and exclaimed:
“Oh, Leo, my dearest, how glad I am to see you once more, and unhurt, after all the dreadful occurrences of today; come in, mio, and sit down; papa and I have both been longing to see you, have we not, you dear, proud, good-natured darling of a father?”
“Yes,” said Don Luis smiling, much to my astonishment, for I quite expected that his displeasure would have been kindled by his daughter’s demonstrative reception of me—“yes, we have; but not from precisely the same motives, I fancy. However, let that pass. Come in, Leo, my boy, come in; why, you look as frightened as if it were you, and not that wilful headstrong daughter of mine, that I ought to be angry with. Sit down, and let Inez pour you out a glass of wine whilst you tell me how affairs have been progressing since I saw you last. But first,” he continued, offering me his left hand—his injured limb being tightly swathed in bandages, and therefore unavailable—“let me express to you my heartfelt gratitude for the prompt and effective response you made to my appeal for help and deliverance at the moment that we were about to fall irretrievably into the hands of those piratical desperados. You and your gallant followers have saved us all from death—and, in my daughter’s case, from a fate so much
worse than death that I shall never be able to think of it without a shudder. You will find that I am not ungrateful—but I will speak of that anon. Now tell me, how have you managed with that miserable poltroon, Don Felix, and his officers and crew! Tell me in detail all that happened from the moment you were obliged to leave me.”
Seating myself by his side, with Inez close to us both, I gave my friends a full and detailed account of everything that had transpired, omitting, of course, the particulars of my interview with Merlani; and I wound up by saying:
“Of course, Don Luis, I cannot say how the admiral may deal with the matter of my seizure of the ship, or how he will dispose of her officers and crew; but in any case I think that, as you and Dona Inez are civilians, he will not attempt to detain you; and even should he think of doing so, I do not believe I am overrating my influence with him when I say that I think he would, at my intercession, restore you your freedom.”
“Thank you, Leo,” said Don Luis heartily; “this is good news. I have been feeling a little anxious on that point since I have found time to think about it; for detention, at the present crisis in my affairs, might affect me most seriously. But if I can only succeed in making my way back to La Guayra, I have no doubt that, in a fortnight at most, I can collect evidence enough to completely frustrate the machinations of my enemies and set myself perfectly right again with the authorities in Spain.
“Now, with respect to yourself and this foolish—well, no, I will withdraw the word ‘foolish’—this love affair between you and Inez. There is no doubt but you and your brave fellows have been the means of preserving us both from a very terrible fate; and, as I have said, you shall not find me ungrateful. I am not going to give my unconditional consent to Inez’s marriage with you—not yet at least, that would be rather too absurd. You are both—and you, especially, Leo—far too young to seriously contemplate marriage for some years to come; moreover, you are at present merely a midshipman; you still have your way to make in the noble profession you have chosen to follow. I have not the slightest doubt that you will make it in due time; you have already established something more than a merely local reputation as a most gallant officer and seaman; you have distinguished yourself in a most remarkable manner for so young a man, and your superiors would be worse than ungrateful were they to fail to duly acknowledge and reward such distinguished merit. I have no doubt they will reward it, and I fully expect that when once you have ‘served your time’—I believe that is the correct expression, is it not?—your rise in your profession will be rapid, and that it will not be very many years before you gain your post rank. When that day arrives, if your present regard for Inez remains unchanged, come to me, and you shall find me perfectly willing to incline a favourable ear to your proposals. In the meantime I completely withdraw my veto as to your intercourse with her; you may have as much of each other’s society as you wish during the short time you are likely to be together, and you may afterwards correspond as voluminously as you please; but—understand me clearly—I will not accede to or in any way countenance anything approaching to a betrothal, or, as you English term it, an engagement! And now, my dear children, I hope you are both satisfied.”
My story is ended. Is there any need that I should say more? Well, perhaps some of my readers may object to so abrupt a termination to this veracious history; and, to please them, it may be as well, perhaps, to briefly state a few additional facts.
I will add, then, that we succeeded in carrying the Santa Catalina safely into Port Royal, after a fine but somewhat slow passage, though I suppose I need scarcely say that to Inez and myself the days sped only too fast. I duly reported myself to the admiral, and was by him received most favourably, notwithstanding the deplorable contre-temps of the loss of the Dolphin. The Santa Catalina was duly declared a lawful prize; and though objections to this proceeding were raised by the Spanish government, and her surrender was formally demanded of us, she was never given up; and after even more than the usual delays, all concerned in her capture duly touched the prize-money due on her account—a very considerable sum, as in addition to a valuable cargo she had on board a large quantity of bullion. I do not know what became of her officers and crew, as I was almost immediately appointed to a dashing frigate fresh out from England; but no objection was raised to the departure from the island of Don Luis and his daughter, who managed, after some delay and difficulty, to secure a passage to La Guayra in a neutral vessel; and once there, he soon found means to set himself right with his government. Contrary to all expectation, Merlani survived long enough to be able to tell my father all he had told me, and more; thus completely and for ever setting at rest those harassing doubts and suspicions as to the sincerity of my mother’s affection which had gone so far towards making a wreck of my father’s life. My father’s remorse and regret for his cruel treatment of my mother were keen in the extreme, and most painful to witness; but he faithfully strove to make what compensation he could by lavishing upon me all the love of his really warm and affectionate nature.
I remained on the West Indian station long enough to complete my time as a midshipman; and my old friend, the admiral, lived long enough to bestow upon me my post rank, which he did with almost indecent haste—at least, so said some of those who chose to feel jealous at my rapid advancement, which, however, the admiral stoutly maintained I had faithfully earned.
I presume it is scarcely necessary to add that, this coveted rank once gained, I lost no time in pressing my suit for Dona Inez’s hand, which was then yielded to me with a very good grace—and with it a handsome fortune—by Don Luis, who only stipulated that we should live with him, he shortly afterwards resigning his post and removing to England to enable us to do so.
THE MADMAN AND THE PIRATE, by R.M. Ballantyne
CHAPTER ONE
A beautiful island lying like a gem on the breast of the great Pacific—a coral reef surrounding, and a calm lagoon within, on the glass-like surface of which rests a most piratical-looking schooner.
Such is the scene to which we invite our reader’s attention for a little while.
At the time of which we write it was an eminently peaceful scene. So still was the atmosphere, so unruffled the water, that the island and the piratical-looking schooner seemed to float in the centre of a duplex world, where every cloudlet in the blue above had its exact counterpart in the blue below. No sounds were heard save the dull roar of the breaker that fell, at long regular intervals, on the seaward side of the reef, and no motion was visible except the back-fin of a shark as it cut a line occasionally on the sea, or the stately sweep of an albatross, as it passed above the schooner’s masts and cast a look of solemn inquiry upon her deck.
But that schooner was not a pirate. She was an honest trader—at least so it was said—though what she traded in we have no more notion than the albatross which gazed at her with such inquisitive sagacity. Her decks were not particularly clean, her sails by no means snow-white. She had, indeed, four goodly-sized carronades, but these were not an extraordinary part of a peaceful trader’s armament in those regions, where man was, and still is, unusually savage. The familiar Union Jack hung at her peak, and some of her men were sedate-looking Englishmen, though others were Lascars and Malays, of the cut-throat type, of whom any wickedness might be expected when occasion served.
The crew seemed to have been overcome by the same somnolent influence that had subdued Nature, for they all lay about the deck sleeping or dozing in various sprawling attitudes, with the exception of the captain and the mate.
The former was a huge, rugged man of forbidding aspect, and obviously savage temper. The latter—well, it is not easy to say what were his chief characteristics, so firmly did he control the features of a fine countenance in which the tiger-like blue eyes alone seemed untamable. He was not much above the middle height; but his compact frame was wiry and full of youthful force.
“Lower away the dinghy,” said the captain, gruffly, to the mate, “and let one of these lazy lub
bers get into her with a box of figs. Get into her yourself? I may want you.”
The mate replied with a stern “Ay, ay, sir,” and rose from the gun-carriage on which he had been seated, while the captain went below.
In a few minutes the latter reappeared, and soon the little boat with its three occupants was skimming over the lagoon towards the land.
On that land a strange and interesting work was going on at the time. It was no less than the erection of a church by men who had never before placed one stone upon another—at least with a view to house-building.
The tribe to which these builders belonged had at first received their missionary with yells of execration, had torn the garments from his back, had kicked him into the sea and would infallibly have drowned him if the boat from which he landed had not returned in haste and rescued him. Fortunately, that missionary was well accustomed to a state of nudity, being himself a South Sea islander. He was also used to a pretty rough life, besides being young and strong. He therefore soon recovered from the treatment he had received, and, not many weeks afterwards, determined to make another attempt to land on the island of Ratinga—as our coral-gem on the ocean’s breast was named.
For Waroonga’s heart had been opened by the Holy Spirit to receive Jesus Christ, and the consequent flame of love to the souls of his countrymen burned too brightly to be quenched by a first failure. The desire to possess the little box of clothes and trifles with which he had landed on Ratinga had been the cause, he thought, of the savages attacking him; so he resolved to divest himself totally of this world’s goods and go to his brethren with nothing but the Word of God in his hand. He did so. The mission-boat once again conveyed him from headquarters to the scene of his former discomfiture, and, when close to the beach, where the natives awaited the landing of the party with warlike demonstrations, he slipped out of his clothes into the water and swam ashore—the Bible, in the native tongue, being tied carefully on the top of his head to keep it dry.
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 172
