by G. A. Henty
“An excellent plan, Francisco, though I am so impatient that the night will seem endless to me; but certainly your plan is the best. Even if the house is watched, and you were seen to enter, if all remains perfectly quiet they will naturally suppose that the news you brought was not considered of sufficient importance to lead to any action. You will, of course, remain here till morning?”
“I cannot do that, sir, though I will return the first thing. There is, lying on my table, a paper with the particulars and names of the persons I saw meet in this hut, and a request to my father that, if I do not return in the morning, he will at once lay this before the council. I place it there every day when I go out, in order that, if I should be seized and carried off by Mocenigo’s people, I should have some means of forcing them to let me go.
“Although I know absolutely nothing of the nature of the conspiracy, they will not know how much I am aware of, or what particulars I may have given in the document; and as I could name to them those present, and among them is the envoy of the King of Hungary, now in the city, they would hardly dare harm me, when they knew that if they did so this affair would be brought before the council.”
“It was an excellent precaution, Francisco. Why, you are as prudent and thoughtful as you are courageous!”
“It was not likely to be of much use, sir,” Francis said modestly. “I was very much more likely to get a stab in the back than to be carried off. Still, it was just possible that Mocenigo might himself like to see his vengeance carried out, and it was therefore worth my while guarding against it. But, as you see, it will be necessary for me to be back sometime before morning.”
“At any rate, Francisco, you had better wait here until morning breaks. Your room is not likely to be entered for some hours after that; so while I am preparing for our expedition, you can go out and make your way to the Grand Canal, hail an early gondola, and be put down at your own steps, when, as you have told me, you can enter the house without disturbing anyone. Then you can remove that paper, and return here in the gondola. We will start at seven. There will be plenty of boats about by that time, and the lagoon will be dotted by the fishermen’s craft, so that our gondolas will attract no attention.”
“Perhaps that will be the best plan, signor; and, indeed, I should not be sorry for a few hours’ sleep, for Giuseppi and I have been in our boat since a very early hour in the morning, and were pretty well tired out before this last adventure began.”
CHAPTER 6
The Hut On San Nicolo
At seven o’clock all was in readiness for a start. Signor Polani set out alone in his gondola, and picked up Francis, and four men, at a secluded spot some distance from the house. A messenger had been sent, two hours before, to the captain of one of the merchant ships lying in the port. He at once put ten men into a large boat, and rowed down to within half a mile of the island. Here a grapnel was thrown overboard, most of the men lay down in the bottom, and the captain, according to his instructions, kept a sharp lookout to see that no boat left San Nicolo—his instructions being to overhaul any boat coming out, and to see that no one was concealed on board it.
There he remained until Polani’s gondola rowed past him. After it had gone a few hundred yards, the grapnel was got up, the men took to their oars and followed the gondola, keeping so far behind that it would not seem there was any connection between them.
Francis made for the narrow channel which separated San Nicolo from the next island, and then directed the gondola to be run ashore, where a low sand hill, close by, hid them from the sight of anyone on the lookout. A few minutes later the ship’s boat arrived.
Francis now led the way direct for the hut, accompanied by Polani and six men, while four sailors advanced, at a distance of a hundred yards on either flank, to cut off anyone making for the water.
“We may as well go fast,” he said, “for we can scarcely get there without being seen by a lookout, should there be one on the sand hills, and the distance is so short that there will be no possibility of their carrying your daughters off, before we get there.”
“The faster the better,” the merchant said. “This suspense is terrible.”
Accordingly, the party started at a brisk run. Francis kept his eyes on the spot where he believed the hut lay.
“I see no one anywhere near there,” he said, as they came over one of the sand ridges. “Had there been anyone on the watch I think we should see him now.”
On they ran, until, passing over one of the sand hills, Francis came to a standstill. The hut lay in the hollow below them.
“There is the house, signor. Now we shall soon know.”
They dashed down the short slope, and gathered round the door.
“Within there, open!” the merchant shouted, hammering with the hilt of his sword on the door.
All was silent within.
“Break it down!” he said; and two of the sailors, who had brought axes with them, began to hew away at the door.
A few blows, and it suddenly opened, and two men dressed as fishermen appeared in the doorway.
“What means this attack upon the house of quiet people?” they demanded.
“Bind them securely,” Polani said, as he rushed in, followed closely by Francis, while those who followed seized the men.
Polani paused as he crossed the threshold, with a cry of disappointment—the hut was empty. Francis was almost equally disappointed.
“If they are not here, they are near by,” Francis said to Polani. “Do not give up hope. I am convinced they are not far off; and if we search we may find a clue. Better keep your men outside. We can search more thoroughly by ourselves.”
The merchant told his men, who had seized and were binding the two occupants of the hut, to remain outside. The inside of the hut differed in no way from the ordinary dwelling of fishermen, except that a large table stood in the middle of it, and there were some benches against the walls. Some oars stood in one corner, and some nets were piled close to them. A fire burned in the open hearth, and a pot hung over it, and two others stood on the hearth.
“Let us see what they have got here,” Francis said, while the merchant leaned against the table with an air of profound depression, paying no attention to what he was doing.
“A soup,” Francis said, lifting the lid from the pot over the fire, “and, by the smell, a good one.”
Then he lifted the other pots simmering among the burning brands.
“A ragout of kid and a boiled fish. Signor Polani, this is no fisherman’s meal. Either these men expect visitors of a much higher degree than themselves, or your daughters are somewhere close.
“Oh! there is a door.”
“It can lead nowhere,” Polani said. “The sand is piled up to the roof on that side of the house.”
“It is,” Francis agreed; “but there may be a lower room there, completely covered with the sand. At any rate, we will see.”
He pushed against the door, but it did not give in the slightest.
“It may be the sand,” he said. “It may be bolts.”
He went to the outside door, and called in the sailors with the hatchets.
“Break open that door,” he said.
“There is a space behind,” he exclaimed, as the first blow was given. “It is hollow, I swear. It would be a different sound altogether if sand was piled up against it.”
A dozen blows and the fastenings gave, and, sword in hand, the merchant and Francis rushed through.
Both gave a shout of delight. They were in a room built out at the back of the hut. It was richly furnished, and hangings of Eastern stuffs covered the walls. A burning lamp hung from the ceiling. Two men stood irresolute with drawn swords, having apparently turned round just as the door gave way; for as it did so, two figures struggled to their feet from a couch behind them, for some shawls had been wrapped round their heads, and with a cry of delight rushed forward to meet their rescuers. Seated at the end of the couch, with bowed down head, was another
female figure.
“Maria—Giulia!” the merchant exclaimed, as, dropping his sword, he clasped his daughters in his arms.
Francis, followed by the two sailors with hatchets, advanced towards the men.
“Drop your swords and surrender,” he said. “Resistance is useless. There are a dozen men outside.”
The men threw their swords down on the ground.
“Lead them outside, and bind them securely,” Francis said.
For the next minute or two, few words were spoken. The girls sobbed with delight on their father’s breast, while he himself was too moved to do more than murmur words of love and thankfulness. Francis went quietly out and spoke to the captain, who went in to the inner room, touched the sitting figure on the shoulder, and, taking her by the arm, led her outside.
“Come in, Francis,” Polani called a minute later.
“My dears, it is not me you must thank for your rescue. It is your English friend here who has again restored you to me. It is to him we owe our happiness, and that you, my child, are saved from the dreadful fate of being forced to be the wife of that villain Mocenigo.
“Embrace him, my dears, as a brother, for he has done more than a brother for you. And now tell me all that has happened since I last saw you.”
“You know, father, the message that was brought us, that you had been hurt and wanted us home?”
“Yes, my dears, that I learned soon afterwards. I went at five o’clock to fetch you home, and found that you had gone, and why.”
“Well, father, directly we had taken our seats in the cabin of the gondola, our gouvernante closed the doors, and soon afterwards she slid to the two shutters before the windows. We cried out in surprise at finding ourselves in the dark, but she bade us be quiet, in a tone quite different to any in which she had ever spoken to us before. We were both frightened, and tried to push back the shutters and open the door, but they were fastened firmly. I suppose there was some spring which held them. Then we screamed; but I could feel that the inside was all thickly padded. I suppose our voices could not be heard outside. I thought so, because once I thought I heard the gondoliers singing, but it was so faint that I could not be sure. Then the air seemed stiflingly close, and I fainted; and when I came to myself one of the windows was open, and Giulia said she had promised we would not scream, but I think we were beyond the canals then, for I could see nothing but the sky as we passed along. When I was better the windows were almost shut again, so that we could not see out, though a little air could get in; then the gondola went on for a long time.
“At last it stopped, and she said we must be blindfolded. We said we would not submit to it, and she told us unless we let her do it, the men would do it. So we submitted, and she wrapped shawls closely over our heads. Then we were helped ashore, and walked some distance. At last the shawls were taken off our heads, and we found ourselves here, and here we have been ever since.”
“You have not been ill treated in any way, my children?” the merchant asked anxiously.
“Not at all, father. Until today, nobody has been into this room besides ourselves and that woman. The door was generally left a little open for air, for you see there are no windows here. She used to go into the next room and come back with our food. We could see men moving about in there, but they were very quiet, and all spoke in low tones.
“You may think how we upbraided our gouvernante for her treachery, and threatened her with your anger. She told us we should never be found, and that I might as well make up my mind to marry Ruggiero Mocenigo, for if I did not consent quietly, means would be found to compel me to do so. I said I would die first, but she used to laugh a cruel laugh, and say he would soon be here with the priest, and that it mattered not whether I said yes or no. The ceremony would be performed, and then Ruggiero would sail away with me to the East, and I should be glad enough then to make peace between him and you. But he never came. I think she became anxious, for she went away twice for three or four hours, and locked us in here when she went.
“That, father, is all we know about it. Where are we?”
“You are at San Nicolo.”
“On the island!” Maria exclaimed in surprise. “She told us we were on the mainland. And now, how did you find us?”
“I will tell you as we go home, Maria.”
“Yes, that will be better, father. Giulia and I long for a breath of fresh air, and the sight of the blue sky.”
“Giulia has not had so much to frighten her as you have,” her father said.
“Yes, I have, father; for she said I was to go across the seas with Maria, and that Ruggiero would soon find a husband for me among his friends. I told her she was a wicked woman, over and over again, and we told her that we were sure you would forgive, and even reward her, if she would take us back again to you. When she was away, we thought we would try to make our escape behind, and we made a little hole in the boards; but the sand came pouring in, and we found we were underground, though how we got there we didn’t know, for we had not come down any steps. So we had to give up the idea of escape.”
“You are partly underground,” her father said, “for, as you will see when you get out, the sand has drifted up at the back of the hut to the roof, and has altogether hidden this part of the hut; so that we did not know that there was more than one room, and I should never have thought of breaking into that door, had it not been for Francisco. And now come along, my dears. Let us wait here no longer.”
The sailors and servitors broke into a cheer as the girls came out of the hut.
“Shall we put a torch to this place?” Francis asked Polani.
“No, Francisco. It must be searched thoroughly first.
“Captain Lontano, do you order four of your men to remain here, until some of the officials of the state arrive. If anyone comes before that, they must seize them and detain them as prisoners. The state will investigate the matter to the bottom.”
Now that they were in the open air, the merchant could see that the close confinement and anxiety had told greatly upon his daughters. Both were pale and hollow eyed, and looked as if they had suffered a long illness. Seeing how shaken they were, he ordered one of the retainers to go to the gondola, and tell the men to row it round to the nearest point to the hut. The party then walked along down to the shore.
In a few minutes the gondola arrived. Polani, his two daughters, and Francis took their places in it. The four men, bound hand and foot, were laid in the bottom of the ship’s boat; the gouvernante was made to take her place there also, and the sailors were told to follow closely behind the gondola, which was rowed at a very slow pace.
On the way, Polani told his daughters of the manner in which Francis had discovered the place of concealment.
“Had it not been for him, my dears, we should certainly not have found you, and that villain would have carried out his plans, sooner or later. He would either have given his guards the slip, or, when no evidence was forthcoming against him, they would have been removed. He would then have gone outside the jurisdiction of the republic, obtained a ship with a crew of desperadoes, sailed round to the seaward side of San Nicolo, and carried you off. Nothing could have saved you, and your resistance would, as that woman told you, have been futile.”
“We shall be grateful to you all our lives, Francisco,” Maria said. “We shall pray for you always, night and morning.
“Shall we not, Giulia?”
“Yes, indeed,” the young girl said simply. “We shall love him all our lives.”
“Answer for yourself, Giulia,” Maria said with a laugh, her spirits returning in the bright sunshine and fresh air. “When Francisco asks for my love, it will be quite soon enough to say what I think about it.”
“I should never have courage enough to do that, signora. I know what you would say too well.”
“What should I say?” Maria asked.
“You would say I was an impudent boy.”
Maria laughed.
“I c
annot think of you as a boy any longer, Francisco,” she said more gravely. “I have, perhaps, regarded you as a boy till now, though you did save us so bravely before; but you see you are only my own age, and a girl always looks upon a boy of her own age as ever so much younger than she is herself. Besides, too, you have none of the airs of being a man, which some of my cousins have; and never pay compliments or say pretty things, but seem altogether like a younger brother. But I shall think you a boy no more. I know you better now.”
“But I am a boy,” Francis said, “and I don’t want to be thought anything else. In England we keep young longer than they do here, and a boy of my age would not think of speaking to his elders, unless he was first addressed.
“What are you going to do with your prisoners, signor?”
“I shall take them direct to my house, and then go and report the recovery of my daughters, and their capture. Officials will at once be sent, with a gondola, to take them off to the prison. There can be no question now as to the part Mocenigo has played in this business, and no doubt he will be brought here a prisoner at once. Even his nearest connections will not dare to defend conduct so outrageous, especially when public indignation has been so excited.
“You do not know, girls, what a stir has been caused in the city on your account. If it had not been for the citizen guard, I believe the Mocenigo Palace would have been burned down; and Ruggiero’s connections have scarcely dared to show their faces in the streets, since you have been missing. You see, every father of a family felt personally grieved, for if the nobles were permitted, with impunity, to carry off the daughters of citizens, who could feel safe?
“When this is all over I shall take you, for a time, back to our home in Corfu. It is not good for girls to be the subject of public talk and attention.”
“I shall be very glad, father,” Giulia said. “I love our home at Corfu, with its gardens and flowers, far better than the palazzo here. The air is always soft and balmy, while here it is so hot sometimes by day, and so damp and foggy in the evening. I shall be glad to go back again.”
