Once enlightened on the subject of the birth of Erebus, Pog, in his diabolical joy, thanked the devil for having delivered the child into his hands.
All the feelings of aversion which Erebus had inspired in him were now explained; all his impulses of tenderness for the unfortunate youth could now be easily understood.
Erebus was the son of his mortal enemy; but he was also the son of the woman whom he had adored.
Without the secret instinct of hatred and of vengeance which dominated his being unconsciously, he could never have taken such pleasure in corrupting and perverting a young and innocent soul.
The most hardened hearts find a solace in the thought that their crimes are justifiable.
From this moment, Pog saw into his hatred clearly, if it may be said; his only indecision now was how to satiate his revenge.
He saw the necessity for prudence, that his vengeance might be sure and complete.
The death of Erebus could not satisfy him; that death, however slow, however cruel it might be, would be only one day of torment,—that no longer sufficed him.
The violence of his rage could not dissociate the innocent result of the crime from the crime itself, or from those who committed it, but Pog had long ceased to think or act with regard to justice.
In his opinion, Erebus was justly devoted to his wrath. He felt, too, a sinister joy in learning that Pierre des Anbiez was the seducer of his wife. Now he knew where to direct his blows.
Everything seemed to favour his plans. He believed he had killed Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, in the attack on La Ciotat. Reine, abducted by Erebus, was the niece of the commander. Thus destiny assisted him in his hatred and pursuit of this family. Such were the bitter and triumphant feelings which filled his heart when the two galleys and the chebec reached their place of anchorage off the isles of Ste. Marguerite.
They had scarcely anchored when Hadji came on board the Red Galleon, and found Pog absorbed in his reflections.
In a few words he informed him of the designs of Erebus, and of his vain attempts to seduce the crew of the chebec and fly to the Orient.
Pog turned pale with fright. Erebus might have escaped him but for the fidelity of Hadji and his sailors! His vengeance baffled!
He manifested toward the Bohemian such overwhelming gratitude for his behaviour under the circumstances, that the latter stood gazing at him in bewilderment, so strangely did these grateful expressions contrast with the usual habit and bearing of Pog.
“Reassure yourself, Captain Pog,” said Hadji, “you need not carry on your conscience such a weight of gratitude; the sailors and I remained faithful to you because our interest demands it That obligation is superior to all others; but if you will believe me, Captain Pog, you will seize the first opportunity to put that young man ashore. He is getting spoiled,—he is getting weak; a little while ago he was weeping at the feet of those two women. So I advise you to abandon him at the first opportunity. He can only be in our way now.”
“Abandon Erebus!” cried Pog, with such passionate energy that Hadji looked at him in amazement “Abandon Erebus! but you do not know—what am I saying,—how can you know? This instant,—this instant bring the boy to me. You answer to me for him with your life—with your life, do you understand? Or indeed—but no—I will go myself on board his chebec; that will be more sure.”
At the same moment the pilot of the Red Galleon entered with an excited air. “Captain,” said he, to Pog, “in examining the horizon with my telescope, I have just discovered a galley and a polacre. These two vessels may pass without discovering us. Eblis grant it, for the black galley is fatal to those she attacks.”
“The black galley?” asked Pog.
“Who does not know the black galley of the Commander des Anbiez?” said the pilot.
“Eh, no doubt!” cried the Bohemian. “They expected the commander every day at Maison-Forte, the castle of Raimond V. Pierre des Anbiez must have arrived after us, he must have seen the citizens’ houses in flames, and known that his niece was carried off and his brother killed, and he is seeking us to avenge them.”
“That galley is the galley of the commander Pierre des Anbiez?” said Pog, stuttering, so profound was his astonishment “Pierre des Anbiez—the commander—here—he!”
It is impossible to picture the burst of savage joy with which Pog uttered these words.
After a short silence, during which he passed his hand over his brow, as if to assure himself that what happened around him was real, he suddenly fell on his knees, clasped his hands, and said, with an air of the deepest piety:
“My God, my God! Forgive me. Long have I doubted thy justice; to-day it reveals itself to me in all its glorious majesty! Lord—Lord—forgive me. Grief has distracted me; now thine almighty power is manifest in my sight. The same day thou dost place father and son at the mercy of my vengeance, after twenty years of torture. My God! after twenty years. Lord—Lord, upon my knees I thank thee; my entire life will not suffice to pray to thee, and to bless thee! The father and son in my power! My God, thou art sovereignly great! Thou art sovereignly just!”
The violent transports of fury to which Pog was subject had never terrified Hadji, but this prayer, delivered in a low, trembling, solemn voice, filled him with a vague disquietude.
This miserable creature, who hesitated before no evil, now trembled with fright.
In fact, something formidable was required thus to bow Pog in the dust, and wrest from him this cry of gratitude and submission.
After having uttered this prayer, Pog rose and walked a long time in great agitation without saying a word. He forgot the presence of Hadji and the pilot A half-hour passed thus, the Bohemian staring at Pog all the while with an eager, sinister curiosity.
He was waiting to see what strange and fatal result would follow this chaos of ideas.
Pog, as was ordinarily the case when he yielded to such violence of emotion, felt quite weak; he became as pale as a ghost, he sank down, and, but for the timely aid of Hadji and the pilot, would have fallen backwards.
The Bohemian bore him to his bed, drew a smelling-bottle from his girdle, held it to his nostrils, and soon Pog-Reis recovered from his swoon.
“I remember all now,” said he, looking around him anxiously. “I remember all. You see I am weak,—but, Hadji, what do you wish? the time of miracles has returned. Oh, this mark of the almighty power of the Most High imposes obligations on me; now I am strong; now I will not compromise the ends of Heaven’s justice by anticipating it No, no, I await its voice. It shall be obeyed, and a terrible example shall be given to the world. You must send Erebus to me, Hadji.”
These words, and the calmness of Pog’s countenance and accent, were additional cause for the astonishment of Hadji.
“It shall be done as you wish, captain. I am going to send the young man to you, or, for greater surety, conduct him to you myself.”
“That is not all, Hadji. You love pillage as much as Trimalcyon-Reis, but you also love combat for the sake of combat, and danger for danger’s sake.”
“And I did not have my part either in the pillage or the danger last night, captain! I held the hook, but the fish was not for me.”
“Listen, Hadji, you can have presently your part in a brilliant combat, or remain spectator. You must go out with the chebec to join the black galley of the Commander des Anbiez. The speed of your vessel is superior to that of all the galleys. You will hoist the black flag and allure the commander into this road.”
“I understand, captain.”
“You understand me, Hadji! The culverin of Mai-son-Forte has done such damage to our water-line and other parts of the ship that it will be several days before she is repaired sufficiently to put to sea, but we could in a few hours put her in a state to sustain a battle at anchor, and few such battles have been as you will see, Hadji, if you lead the black galley into this bay! If you wish to preserve the chebec which belongs to me, do not enter the bay, Hadji, for as soon as the black galley once sees the Red Galleon, she will hardly think of pursuing you. Then you can set sail to the south. I give you the chebec and slaves, Hadji.”
“It is not for the sake of possessing the chebec that I will do as you wish me to do,” replied Hadji, with sullen pride. “Who could have prevented my profiting from the offers of Erebus? Who now could prevent my saying I consent to what you wish, and then setting sail to the south, instead of going out to sea after the black galley? I will lead the commander’s ship here to you, and I will take part in the battle, because it pleases me, because, notwithstanding your calm appearance, a terrible tempest has gathered in your soul, which I wish to see burst forth. I am of an inquisitive turn of mind, captain.”
“Ah, by the wrath of Heaven, whose instrument I am, you will see a beautiful storm let loose, if you return!”
“And I shall return, captain.”
“Above all, say nothing to Trimalcyon of my plan; that fat brute, once under fire, will do his duty in spite of himself.”
“Make yourself easy, captain, before an hour the black galley will be in pursuit of me around this point.”
“And then—and then,” said Pog, talking to himself with a solemn, inspired air,—“then this bay, now so peaceful, will behold one of the greatest tragedies,—a tragedy whose very memory will terrify humanity for generations.”
“I am going, and I shall return with Erebus, captain,” said Hadji.
He disappeared.
Pog knelt down and prayed.
While the Bohemian was on board the Red Galleon Erebus, now virtually considered a prisoner, shared the cabin of the chebec with Reine and Stephanette.
Notwithstanding her anger, notwithstanding her fright, notwithstanding her keen anxiety concerning the fate of her father, Mlle. des Anbiez could not remain insensible to the despair of Erebus.
He reproached himself so bitterly for her abduction, and had done so much to obtain from the Bohemian both her liberty and that of Stephanette, that she could not stifle every emotion of pity that rose in her heart.
Besides, in the frightful position in which she was placed, she felt that in him, at least, she had a defender.
A feeble ray of the sun lighted the little apartment where these three persons were associated.
Stephanette, exhausted by fatigue, was sleeping, half-recumbent on a mat.
Reine, seated, hid her face in her two hands.
Erebus stood with his arms crossed and head bowed, while great tears rolled down his pale cheeks.
“Nothing—nothing, I see no help,” said he, in a low voice; then, lifting a supplicating glance to Reine, he said: “What can be done, my God, to snatch you from the hands of these wretches?”
“My father, my father!” said Reine, in a hollow voice. Then turning to Erebus, she exclaimed: “Ah, be accursed, you have caused all my sorrows! But for you I should be with my father. Perhaps he is suffering—perhaps he is wounded! And then at least he would have my care. Ah, be accursed!”
“Yes, always accursed!” repeated Erebus, with bitterness. “My mother doubtless cursed me at my birth! Cursed by the man who reared me! Cursed by you!” added he, in a heartrending voice.
“Have you not taken a daughter from her father? Have you not often been the accomplice of the brigands who ravaged that unfortunate city!” cried Reine, with indignation.
“Oh, for pity’s sake do not crush me! Yes, I have been their accomplice. But, my God! have compassion on me. I was brought up to evil, as you have been brought up to good. You had a mother. You have a father. You have had always before your eyes noble examples to imitate. I,—thrown by chance among these wretches at the age of four or five years, I believe, without parents, without relations, a victim of Pog-Reis, who for his pastime—he told me yesterday—trained me to evil as one would train a young wolf to slaughter, accustomed to hear nothing but the language of bad passions, to know no restraint,—yet, at least, I repent of the evils I have caused. I weep—I weep with despair, because I cannot save you. These tears, which the most cruel suffering would not have wrung from me,—these tears are the expression of the remorse I feel for having wronged you. This wrong I have tried to repair by wishing to conduct you back to your father. Unfortunately, I could not succeed. Ah, if I only had not met you that day in the rocks of Provence, if only I had not seen your beauty—”
“Not a word more,” said Reine, with dignity. “It was that day my sorrows began. Oh, it was indeed a fatal day!”
“Yes, fatal, for if I had not seen you I should never have felt an aspiration toward good. My life would always have been a life of crime. I should never have been tormented by the remorse which now consumes me,” said Erebus, with a gloomy air.
“Unhappy man!” cried Reine, carried away in spite of herself by her secret preference. “Do not speak thus. Notwithstanding all the evil you have done me and mine, I shall despise our fatal meeting less, if you owe to it the only feelings which some day may result in the saving of your soul.”
Reine des Anbiez uttered these words with such earnestness, and with such an accent of interest, that Erebus clasped his hands, looking at her with gratitude and astonishment.
“Save my soul! I do not understand your words. Pog-Reis has always taught me there was no soul, but at last I see that you have a little pity for me. Those are the only kind words I have ever heard during my existence. Severity and cruelty repel me. Goodness would surely conquer me, would render me better, but, alas! who cares whether I am better or not? No one! I see only hatred, contempt, or indifference around me.”
He put his hand over his eyes, and remained silent.
Reine could not repress an emotion of pity for the unfortunate youth, nor a feeling of horror at the thought of his cruel education.
Moved with compassion, she could but hope that his natural instincts toward good had prevented his utter corruption. Since she had been in the power of the pirates, the conduct of Erebus had never transgressed the limits of the most profound respect. If he had abducted her from her father’s castle, with a most criminal audacity, he had, at least, shown in his bearing toward her a delicacy and forbearance which seemed almost like timidity.
This decided contrast proved to her the struggle of a noble, generous nature against a perverse education, and her imagination fondly pictured what he might have been, but for the cruel fate which imposed such a life upon him.
But these sentiments soon gave way to the anxious fears which agitated her mind concerning her father, and she cried with tears, “Oh, my father, my father! when shall I see him again? Oh, how dreadful!” Erebus, thinking that she addressed him, replied, sadly, “Do you think I would not attempt everything in the world to take you from this vessel? But what can be done? Ah, without you, without the vague hope that I have been useful to you—” Erebus could not finish, but his countenance was so sad that Reine, frightened, cried, “What do you mean?”
“I mean that when one cannot endure life the best thing is to get rid of it; when you are rescued and in safety, Erebus will give a last thought to you, and then kill himself.”
“Another crime! he will end a life already so guilty by another misdeed!” cried Reine. “But you do not know that your life belongs to God only!”
Erebus smiled bitterly, and replied: “My life belongs to me, since I can free myself from it when it becomes a burden. When I shall have left you, I can live no longer. I do not kill myself at your feet, because I still hope to be useful to you. What good is my life henceforth? You have made me understand how criminal has been the life I have been leading. But the future! The future for me is you, and I am unworthy of you, and you do not love me—and you will never love me. Ah, cursed be the Bohemian who has deceived me, who told me that you had not forgotten him who saved your father’s life!”
“I have never forgotten that you were my father’s saviour,” said Reine, with dignity, “nor can I forget the outrage practised upon me, yet I ought to take kindly what you have done to repair that wrong. Repentance for the greatest crimes finds pardon before the Lord! If I am permitted to see my father and my home again, I will forgive you. But before I leave, I will say to you: ‘Never despair of the infinite goodness of God! Instead of yielding to an insane despair, abandon for ever those who made you their accomplice, seek instruction in our holy religion, learn to know and love and bless the Lord, become a good man; prove by an exemplary life that you have forsaken the criminal career which wicked men forced upon you; then can we pity your past misfortunes, then we can forget your outrages, then we can believe, indeed, that you wish to expiate the guilty actions of the past, by good.’”
“And if I follow your counsel,” cried Erebus, transported by the pious and lofty language of Reine, “if I become a good man, may I some day present myself at Maison-Forte?”
Reine looked downwards.
The door of the cabin suddenly opened, and the Bohemian entered, and perhaps saved the young girl from an embarrassing reply.
Stephanette started out of sleep, and said, artlessly:
“Ah, my God, mademoiselle, I dreamed that I was married to my poor Luquin, who had rescued us, and that he was having that wicked vagabond hanged.”
“All I wish, my pretty girl,” said the Bohemian, with an insolent smile, “is that the very opposite of your dream may happen, which is usually the case. You can believe that such are my intentions concerning Captain Luquin.”
“What do you want?” asked Erebus, impatiently, interrupting Hadji.
“I have come for you. Pog-Reis wants you. He is waiting for you on board the Red Galleon.”
“Tell Pog-Reis that I will not leave this chebec except to conduct Mlle, des Anbiez ashore. She has no other protector, and I will not abandon her.”
The Bohemian, knowing the determined spirit of Erebus, preferred to have recourse to a lie to employing force to take him away from the young girls, and said to him:
“Pog-Reis asks for you because he wishes to get rid of you. He knows that you tried to make his crew act contrary to his orders. As to these two women, he prefers a ransom. You are to go and demand this ransom from Raimond V. As soon as the money is here, you can conduct the two doves to Maison-Forte.”
“That is a decoy to separate me from them,” cried Erebus. “You are lying.”
“And if I only wished to take you away, my young captain, what would hinder my calling our men to my aid, and making them carry you off?”
“I have a kangiar in my belt,” said Erebus.
“And when you have stabbed one, or two, or three of these honest pirates, will you not be obliged to yield to numbers sooner or later? So believe me; go on board the Red Galleon. Pog-Reis will give you his orders and a little boat. You will go to Raimond V., and to-morrow you can be here with a large sum of gold that the old baron will be only too glad to give for his daughter. To-morrow, I tell you, you can take away these two girls.”
“My God, what is to be done?” cried Reine. “That man perhaps is speaking the truth. And my father would not hesitate to give any sum, whatever it might be. Yet, if the man is lying, we will only lose our only protector,” added she, turning to Erebus.
Erebus was equally perplexed. He realised that he must succumb to numbers at last, and that, in refusing Pog-Reis, he would only aggravate the situation of Mlle, des Anbiez.
After some moments of reflection Reine said to Erebus, in a voice full of courage:
“Go to my father, and give me that weapon,” and she pointed to the dagger which Erebus wore at his side.
“I am left without a defender, but at least death will be able to save from dishonour.”
Impressed with these simple and dignified words, Erebus knelt respectfully before Reine, and gave her his kangiar without uttering a word, as if he feared to profane the solemnity of the scene.
He left the cabin, followed by the Bohemian, embarked in a small boat, and presented himself to Pog, on board the Red Galleon.
Hadji left Erebus on board this vessel, and returned to the chebec to carry out the orders of Pog.
The Bohemian set sail and was out of the bay before Reine and Stephanette knew that he had returned.
After a few tacks, he distinguished perfectly the commander’s black galley and Captain Trinquetaille’s polacre to his windward. The two vessels were coming from La Ciotat. A few words will explain their presence in sight of the bay, and how they had been able to follow the track of the pirates.
Pierre des Anbiez arrived at Cape l’Aigle at the break of day. Scarcely had the black galley anchored in the port of La Ciotat, when the commander and his brother descended to the shore.
Everywhere they saw marks of the pirate’s barbarity.
The weeping inhabitants then knew all the extent of their losses. Each family had learned which one of its members had perished or had been taken captive.
During the battle, they thought only of defending themselves and repulsing the enemy; then, too, night had veiled the disasters which day revealed in all their horror. On one side, walls blackened by the conflagration barely supported the tottering carpentry.
Farther on was the town hall, of which only the walls remained. Its windows were broken, its balcony demolished, its doors burned to ashes, its foundations charred, and showers of balls everywhere proved that the citizens had defended themselves with vigorous earnestness.
The large square of La Ciotat, the theatre of the most murderous conflict of that fatal night, was covered with dead bodies.
Nothing could be more heartrending than to see the afflicted inhabitants seeking a father, a brother, a son, or a friend among these dead.
When they recognised one whom they sought, the others, petrified with grief, would look on in silence; again, some would utter impotent cries for vengeance; and some in their wild lamentation would rush to the port, as if they would there find the galleys of the lawless brigands.
The commander and Father Elzear walked through this scene of desolation, speaking words of consolation to the unfortunate sufferers, and asking information of Raimond V.
They learned that he had made a most valuable and courageous defence, by attacking the pirates at the head of the company from Maison-Forte, but no one could tell them if the baron was wounded or not.
The two brothers, in their anxiety, hastened to Maison-Forte, followed by a few subordinate officers of the galley, and by Luquin Trinquetaille, who had also anchored his polacre in the port.
They arrived at the Castle des Anbiez. The bridge was lowered, and the great court deserted, although it was the hour for work.
They mounted the stairs in haste, and reached the immense hall in which the pious Christmas ceremonies had taken place the evening before.
All the inmates of Maison-Forte, men, women, old people, and children, were kneeling in this vast hall, where reigned the most profound silence.
So absorbed was this crowd in its devotions, and so anxiously did they watch the half-open door of the baron’s chamber, that not one perceived the entrance of the commander and Father Elzear.
At the bottom of the hall, under the dais, was the cradle, the masterpiece of Dame Dulceline and the good chaplain. A few candles still burned in the copper chandeliers. The colossal Christmas log was smoking in the depth of the vast chimney, still ornamented with green branches and fruits and flowers and ribbons.
Nothing seemed more startling than this scene lighted by the first pale rays of a winter day; nothing more painful than the contrast between the feast of the night and the sorrow of the morning.
After having contemplated this quiet and imposing scene, the commander gently called aside some of the baron’s vassals to open a way to the door of the baron’s chamber.
“Monseigneur, the commander, and good Father Elzear!” were the words which circulated among the anxious crowd, as they waited for news of the baron’s condition, whether or not his wounds permitted them to indulge a hope for his recovery.
Pierre des Anbiez and his brother, with a soft and cautious tread, entered the chamber of Raimond V.
The old gentleman, still dressed in his holiday attire, even to his long boots, was lying on his bed. His venerable face was livid, and his flowing white locks were stained with blood.
Abbé Mascarolus was dressing the wounds in his head, assisted in this pious duty by Honorât de Berrol. Dame Dulceline, whose tears never ceased to flow, was cutting cloth bands, while the majordomo Laramée, standing at the foot of the bed, apparently unconscious of all around him, was sobbing aloud.
So absorbed were the actors in this sad scene, that Father Elzear and Pierre des Anbiez entered unperceived.
“My brother!” cried the commander and the priest at the same time, falling on their knees at the bedside of the baron, and kissing his cold hands affectionately.
“Are the wounds serious, abbé?” said the commander, while Father Elzear remained on his knees.
“Alas! is it you, M. Commander?” said the chaplain, clasping his hands in surprise; “if only you had arrived yesterday all these misfortunes would not have happened, and monseigneur would not be in danger of death.”
“Great God!” cried Pierre des Anbiez, “we must send at once for Brother Anselm, the surgeon on board my galley. He will assist you; he understands wounds made by weapons of war.”
Seeing Luquin Trinquetaille at the door, the commander said to him: “Go immediately for Brother Anselm, and bring him here.”
Luquin disappeared to execute the commander’s orders. The abbé was anxiously listening to the laboured breathing of the baron. Finally, the wounded man made a light movement, turned his head from the chaplain without opening his eyes, and uttered a long sigh. The commander and the priest gazed inquiringly into the chaplain’s face, who made a sign of approval, and took advantage of the baron’s position to dress another part of the wounds.
Father Elzear, disappointed at not seeing Reine at her father’s bedside at such a time, said, in a low voice to Honorât: “And where is Reine? The poor child no doubt cannot endure this painful sight!”
“Great God!” cried Honorât, in astonishment, “and do you not know, Father Elzear, all the misfortunes which have befallen this house? Reine has been carried off by the pirates!”
Father Elzear and the commander looked at each other, bewildered.
“My God! my God! spare his old age this last blow!” said the priest, clasping his hands in supplication, and looking up to heaven. “Grant us the power to take this unfortunate child from their hands!”
“And does no one know to what point these pirates have fled?” said the commander, his wrath beyond all bounds. “Inquire of the boats that arrive; the night was clear, and they must be able to give us some information.” “Alas!” said Honorât, “I have just arrived at Maison-Forte, which I and the baron’s guests left that night in peace. I was ignorant of all these disasters. When the baron was brought home unconscious, the good abbé sent for me in haste, and I came, finding him in this desperate state, and his vassals informed me of the abduction of Mlle, des Anbiez.”
Raimond V. still lay unconscious. From time to time he uttered a feeble sigh, and then relapsed into a lethargic torpor.
The commander anxiously awaited the coming of the surgeon from his galley, as he thought his medical attainments superior to those of the chaplain.
Finally he arrived, followed by Luquin Trinquetaille, who, notwithstanding the profound silence guarded by the watchers around the wounded man, cried out to the commander, as he entered the door: “Monseigneur, the pirates must be anchored on the coast, twenty-five or thirty leagues from here at the most.”
Pierre des Anbiez, making a sign to the worthy captain to be silent, walked up to him rapidly, and conducted him into the gallery, which the vassals had just left at the chaplain’s request.
“What do you say?” said he to Trinquetaille. “Who told you that?”
“Monseigneur, the coxswain Nicard told me. That night he passed very near to two galleys and a chebec, which hugged the shore, and he easily recognised the Red Galleon. These vessels were moving very, very slowly, as if they had been so badly damaged as to be compelled to halt every few minutes in some deserted harbour on the coast.”
“That must be so,” said the commander, thoughtfully, “they must have been seriously crippled to stay near the shore, instead of flying south with their captives and their booty.”
“There is no doubt, monseigneur, that the culverin of Maison-Forte did them great damage, for Pierron, the fisherman, told me that he saw them fire that artillery the whole time the galleys of those demons were doubling the point of the island Verte, and that pass is a fine aim for the culverin; Master Laramée has told me so a thousand times.”
“The vengeance of the Lord will overtake these robbers, glutted with blood and pillage,” said the commander, in a hollow voice. “Perhaps I shall be able to snatch my brother’s unfortunate daughter from their hands.”
“And also her attendant, Stephanette, if you please, monseigneur,” said Luquin. “These brigands, no doubt, have carried her off with the aid of a cursed Bohemian, that the good God will send some day, perhaps, within reach of my arm.”
“There is not a moment to lose,” said the commander, after a few moments’ reflection. Then addressing Luquin, he said: “Run to the port, and issue my order to the king of the chevaliers to prepare my galley for immediate departure. Do you follow with your polacre. Where did the coxswain Nicard meet the Red Galleon?”
“Near the island of St. Fereol, monseigneur.”
“Then we only need to watch the coast this side of the island of St. Fereol As soon as you put to sea, set all your sails so as to examine every point on the coast which may serve as a retreat for the pirates. If you see anything suspicious, give me warning. I will keep in sight of your vessel.”
“May Heaven bless your undertaking, monseigneur, and grant that I may be able to aid you.”
Luquin Trinquetaille, inspired by the hope of recovering Stephanette, and eager to wreak his vengeance upon the Bohemian, ran to the port in all possible haste.
Pierre des Anbiez returned to the baron’s chamber. The surgeon from the galley already saw signs of hope in the improved respiration and more quiet sleep of the wounded man. The commander gazed sadly and thoughtfully at his brother. Presentiments he could not conquer told him that this day would prove a fatal one to him. It grieved him much to leave the baron without being recognised by him, but time pressed, and he approached the bed, leaned over the patient, and, kissing his cold cheeks, said, in a low and broken voice: “Farewell, my poor brother, farewell.”
When he rose, his hard and austere countenance betrayed his emotion, and a tear flowed down his cheek.
“Embrace me, my brother,” said he to Elzear, “I am going into battle, and into a bloody battle, for the Red Galleon is intrepid. I hope to meet these pirates in some harbour on the coast.”
“M. Commander, I shall follow you,” cried Honorât de Berrol, “although it pains me to leave Raimond V. at such a time. I ask you to accept me as a volunteer.”
Pierre des Anbiez seemed agitated by an inward struggle. He recognised the courage of Honorât, but he also realised the danger of the enterprise he was about to undertake, and foresaw that it would result in one of the most desperate encounters in which they had ever taken part.
“I understand your interest,” said he to Honorât. “We will meet the pirates, and succeed, perhaps, in rescuing Reine des Anbiez, but if I do not return, and if his daughter should not return, who will console him?” and he pointed to the baron. “Does he not love you as a second son?”
“And if you do not return, and if his daughter does not return,” eried Honorât, “who will console me for not having followed you, and for not having shared your dangers?”
“Come, then,” said the commander, “I cannot combat your noble resolution any longer. Let us go. Farewell, again, my brother, pray for us,” added the soldier, tenderly embracing his brother Elzear.
“Alas! may the Lord bless your undertaking. God grant you may bring our dear child back to us, and our brother, waking from the painful sleep, may find his daughter kneeling at his bedside!”
“May Heaven hear you, brother!” said the commander. For the last time he pressed the cold hand of Raimond V., and hurried out of the chamber toward the port There he found his galley ready to depart, and set sail at once, followed by the polacre of the brave Trinquetaille.
Thus it was that the black galley found itself in sight of the Bay of Lérins, where the two galleys of the pirates were anchored, when Hadji came out of the road with his chebec to execute the orders of Pog, and lead in pursuit of him the galley of religion.
The wind was favourable for the black galley and the polacre, and after having passed the island of Lerol the two vessels slackened their speed.
Luquin Trinquetaille touched at the different harbours along the coast, without meeting the pirate ships, which he was to announce to the commander by a shot from his swivel-gun.
Toward evening, just as the sun was sinking below the horizon, the black galley and the polacre arrived in sight of the isles of Ste. Marguerite, at the moment, as we have just said, when the chebec of Hadji issued from the road, in quest of the Christian galleys, in obedience to the commands of Pog.
Captain Trinquetaille signalled the chebec, and set every sail to join it. The Bohemian slackened his speed and waited for him. The betrothed of Stephanette, by the aid of his telescope, recognised Hadji, who was commanding the little craft. The worthy captain of the Holy Terror to the Moors boiled with rage at this encounter, and had need of all his self-control not to attack the author of Stephanette’s abduction, but, faithful to the orders of the commander, he doubled the point of Lerol, and soon perceived the Red Galleon and the galley of Trimalcyon anchored in the bay, very near each other.
Thus having obtained an exact knowledge of the position of the pirates, he stood toward the black galley in order to announce this discovery to Pierre des Anbiez, while the chebec of Hadji was entering the bay under full sail.
When he arrived near the stem of the black galley and gave this information to the pilot, the latter, in obedience to the commander, ordered him to set back the sails of the polacre, and come on board.
Luquin obeyed, but was in despair to see that the chebec of Hadji, whom he was burning to fight, had escaped him.
The chevaliers had assembled on the deck of the galley, and, according to the methods of warfare of that time, had cleared the deck for action.
The rambades, which formed a sort of forecastle at the prow, where the five pieces of artillery belonging to the galley were in battery, were already covered with coarse oakum cloth, several inches in thickness. This heavy covering was designed to deaden the effect of the enemy’s projectiles.
In case the galley was boarded by the enemy, an entrenchment called a bastion had been erected, which extended the entire length of the ship’s balcony, and reached to the height of the fourth bench of the prow.
This entrenchment was constructed of beams and crosspieces of timber, the spaces between being filled with old cordage and dilapidated sails. This construction, six feet high on the side of the stem, was only five feet high at the prow, toward which it sloped to the level of the rambades, and was designed to prevent the raking fire of the enemy’s artillery, sweeping the length of the galley.
The subordinate officers and soldiers were armed with steel helmets, buff-skin, and neck-pieces of iron. Matches ready for lighting lay near the cannon and swivel-guns; the masts had been hauled down and placed in the waist of the vessel, as galleys never fight with sails up, but are sustained by their oars.
The slaves who composed the crew looked on these preparations for battle with mute terror or sullen indifference. These poor creatures, chained to their benches, were accounted only a locomotive power. The discipline of force, to which they had been subjected on board the galley, had, through its severity, given them the calmness necessary for confronting danger.
Their position was one of peculiar trial. The gagged and passive spectators of a desperate battle,—since during a conflict the crews were generally gagged by means of a piece of wood inserted in the mouth,—they were not able to deaden their perception of danger, or satisfy that instinct of ferocity which self-preservation always awakens in men at the sight of carnage, that enthusiasm or courage which demands blow for blow, and kills in order not to be killed.
Nor had these slaves any hope of the ordinary results which follow a victory. If their vessel was the conqueror they continued to row on board of her; if she was conquered, they rowed on board of the conqueror.
Placed during the action between the balls of the enemy and the pistols of their keepers, who killed them on their first refusal to row, the men of the crew only escaped certain death by exposing themselves to a death less certain, inasmuch as there was a possibility of missing the enemy’s balls, while the keepers fired their pistols into the breasts of their helpless victims. Under such an alternative the galley-slaves resigned themselves to their fate and continued to row.
In all cases, they were indifferent to victory, and not unfrequently were interested in defeat, since the conquerors, Turks or Arabs, often delivered their own nationality. As to the renegades, all crews were alike to them. Hence, the convict-crew of the black galley knew only that they were about to do battle with the Red Galleon, and were utterly indifferent to the result of the engagement.
Preparations for the fight went on in the most profound silence. The calm, austere countenances of the soldiers of the cross showed that they found nothing unusual in these preliminary details. The chevaliers carefully inspected the different services with which they were charged; so seriously was every duty performed, that one might have thought the actors were preparing for some religious rite.
At the stern, the assembled chevaliers made a rigid examination of the position of the two galleys commanded by the pirates.
When Luquin Trinquetaille arrived on deck, the overseer ordered him to attend the commander, who was expected there. Pierre des Anbiez, kneeling in his chamber, was fervently praying. Since his departure from Maison-Forte, the gloomiest presentiments had assailed his mind. In the poignancy of his remorse, he had seen a providential coincidence in his return and the frightful disasters which had just overwhelmed his family. He accused himself of having, by his own crime, called down the vengeance of Heaven upon the house of Anbiez.
His imagination, unnaturally excited by the violent emotions which had shaken his whole being, evoked the strangest phantoms.
As he cast a serious yet fearful glance upon the portrait of Pog,—the Count de Montreuil,—which was hanging in his chamber, it seemed to him that the eyes of this portrait glowed with a supernatural brilliancy.
Twice he approached the frame to assure himself that he was not the sport of an illusion; twice he recoiled terrified, feeling his brow bathed in a cold sweat, and his hair standing up on his head.
Then he was struck with dizziness,—his reason forsook him,—he saw nothing more. Objects unnamable passed before his eyes with frightful rapidity; it seemed to him that he was being transported on the wings of a whirlwind.
By degrees he came to himself,—the aberration was past, and he found himself in his chamber on the galley, face to face with the portrait of Pog.
For the first time in his life he felt a dark and painful presentiment at the thought of going into battle. Instead of burning with that wild enthusiasm which characterised him, instead of thinking with a sort of ferocious joy upon the tumult of the fray, which had so often stifled the remorse which cried aloud in his soul, his thoughts turned involuntarily to death and disaster.
He started, as he asked himself if his soul was ready to appear before the Lord,—if the austerities which he had imposed upon himself for so many years sufficed for the expiation of his crime.
Terrified, he fell upon his knees, and began to pray with fervour, beseeching God to give him the courage and the strength to accomplish his last mission,—once more to uplift the cross triumphantly, and to rescue Reine des Anbiez from the hands of her ravishers.
He had scarcely finished his prayer when some one knocked at his door. He rose to his feet. The artilleryman, Captain Hugues, appeared.
“What do you want?”
“A man in a boat, sent by these miscreants, wishes to make some terms with you. M. Commander, must I welcome him with a shot from my swivel-gun, or send him on deck?”
“Send him on deck.”
“Where shall I conduct him?”
“Here.”
Pierre des Anbiez thought he understood the nature of the desired interview. The pirates, holding Reine des Anbiez as a hostage, wished, no doubt, to make terms for her ransom.
The artillery officer returned with the Bohemian.
“What do you want?” said the commander to him.
“Order this man to retire, monseigneur; your ears alone should hear what my lips will say.”
“You are very impudent,” replied Pierre de Anbiez, looking at Hadji, sharply.
Then he added, addressing Captain Hugues: “Leave us—go away.”
“Alone with this robber, M. Commander?”
“We are three,” said Pierre des Anbiez, pointing to his arms hanging on the wall.
“Do you take me, then, for an assassin?” said Hadji, with scorn.
The artillery officer shrugged his shoulders, and went out with evident regret, although the tall stature and robust figure of the commander, compared to the slender proportions of the Bohemian, ought to have reassured him.
“Speak, as I do not wish to have you crucified yet at the prow of my galley,” said Pierre des Anbiez to the Bohemian.
The latter, with his accustomed insolence, replied: “When my hour comes it shall find me. Pog-Reis, captain of the Red Galleon, sends me to you, monseigneur. It was he who attacked La Ciotat that night; it is he certainly who has Reine des Anbiez in his power.”
“Enough, enough, wretch, do not boast longer of your crimes, or I will have your tongue torn out! What have you come to demand? I am eager to chastise your accomplices and make a terrible example of them. If you come to speak of favour and ransom, hear well what fate awaits you and yours; let them try to defend themselves or not, they shall all be carried in chains to La Ciotat, and burned in the middle of the town hall square. Do you understand clearly?”
“I understand clearly,” said the Bohemian, with imperturbable coolness. “Pog-Reis will not object to your burning his crew.”
“What do you mean? That he will deliver his accomplices to me, if I grant him his life? It is natural that barbarity like his should hide an ignoble cowardice. If that is his opinion, I am of another mind. The two captains of the galleys and you, all three shall be quartered before being burned, even if you deliver to me your accomplices bound hand and foot, to receive the punishment they deserve. So, go at once, and tell that to your confederates. Go! my blood boils when I think of that unfortunate city and my brother! Go! I do not wish to soil my hands with the blood of a bandit, and I wish you to warn your associates of the fate which awaits them!”
“I had nothing to do with the massacre in the city, monseigneur.”
“Will you finish?”
“Ah, well, monseigneur, Pog-Reis and the other captain propose a single combat to you and one of your chevaliers, two against two, with the Spanish sword and dagger. If he is killed, you will attack his galleys afterward, and easily capture them, as there will then be two bodies without a head. If you are killed, your lieutenant will attack the galleys of Pog-Reis. The desire to avenge your death will give new zeal to your soldiers, and no doubt they will offer Pog-Reis and his crew as a holocaust to your ghost. That need not change your plans in the least; only the captain of the Red Galleon will find himself face to face with the captain of the black galley. The tiger and the lion can thus defy each other.”
The commander listened to this proposition, as insolent as it was unheard of, in silence and astonishment.
When the Bohemian ceased talking, Pierre des Anbiez, in his wrath, could not resist seizing him by the throat, and crying: “What! you wretch, is that the message with which you are charged? You dare propose to me to cross swords with an assassin like Pog-Reis and one of his brigands! By the holy cross!” added the commander, pushing back the Bohemian so violently that he stumbled to the other end of the chamber, “to punish you for your impudence, I shall have you given twenty lashes on the chase-gun before handing you over to execution.”
The Bohemian darted the glance of a tiger at Pierre des Anbiez and gnashed his teeth together in rage, but seeing that he would be at a disadvantage in a contest, he restrained himself and replied: “Pog-Reis, monseigneur, counted on your refusal at first, and, to decide you, he instructed me to inform you that your brother’s daughter was in his power. If you refuse his proposition, if you attack his galleys at once, Reine des Anbiez and all the captives we have taken shall be instantly put to death.”
“Wretch!”
“If, on the contrary, you accept the combat and send your gauntlet as a pledge, Reine des Anbiez will be brought on board your vessel without ransom, as well as the other prisoners that Pog-Reis has taken at La Ciotat.” “I will never make terms with such murderers. Go!” “Think of it, consider it, monseigneur. Pog-Reis, if you attack him, will defend himself vigorously. If he is defeated, he will blow up his ship. You will have neither him nor Reine des Anbiez nor the other captives, while by accepting this single combat you can return the young girl to her father, and the captives to their city.”
“Be silent!” said the commander, who could not help reflecting that this proposition had its advantage, notwithstanding its audacious insolence.
“Finally,” said Hadji, as if he had guarded this last consideration as the most decisive, “a mysterious spirit wishes the combat that Pog-Reis proposes to you. Yes, this morning, after the attack on La Ciotat, Pog-Reis, exhausted by fatigue, fell asleep and had a dream. A voice said to him that a single combat between him and a soldier of the cross to-day would expiate a great crime.”
These last words of the Bohemian struck the commander, and he started. Already he believed, in the intensity of his remorse, that his crime had brought upon his family the frightful evils which had befallen it. When he heard Hadji speak of the expiation of a great crime, he believed âiat the will of Heaven had been declared in these words, uttered by chance.
“What dream? what dream? speak,” said he to the Bohemian, in a hollow voice, as he was seized by a secret terror.
“What matters the dream to you, monseigneur?”
“Speak, I tell you, speak!”
“Pog-Reis was transported into the region of visions,” replied Hadji, with an Oriental emphasis. “He heard the voice of the spirit. It said to him, ‘Look!’ and he saw a woman in a coffin, and that woman had been pierced to the heart and her wound was bleeding. And near the dead woman Pog-Reis beheld the vision of a soldier of Christ,—that vision was you!”
“I! I!” cried the commander, petrified with astonishment.
“You!” said Hadji, restraining his joy, for he saw that this story, prepared by Pog-Reis, accomplished the desire of the pirate.
Pog,—the Count de Montreuil,—judging of the religious character of the commander by the letters which the Bohemian had stolen from the watchman’s cabin, did not doubt that Pierre des Anbiez would be impressed by this dream, and thus be induced to decide in favour of the combat. The commander was all the more impressed by this account of the dream, inasmuch as he believed his crime had never been discovered.
“Ah, God wishes it, God wishes it,” murmured he, in a low voice.
The Bohemian continued without appearing to hear him: “The spirit said to Pog, ‘Tomorrow you will fight this soldier of Christ, one to one, and a great crime will be expiated.’ Pog-Reis has committed great crimes, monseigneur, he has never felt remorse, the revelation of the spirit has touched him, and he wishes to obey it. He offers you combat. Take care not to refuse it. Christian, the God of all sends his dreams to all indiscriminately. It is by dreams that he declares his will. Perhaps, he chooses you, holy man, as an instrument of a great vengeance; you ought to obey. Perhaps in asking combat of you, Pog-Reis asks for death at your hands.”
The astonishment, the terror, of the commander can be comprehended. In these words, he saw a divine revelation; he thought he heard the voice of the Lord commanding this expiation, and, contrary to the prediction of the Bohemian, believed that the anger of Heaven had decreed himself to be the victim which should fall under the blows of Pog.
Finally, in accepting the combat, he assured the rescue of Reine des Anbiez; he would return a daughter to her father, and prisoners to their weeping families,—a last proof that divine justice desired to strike him alone, since it offered him the means of repairing the evils his crime had called down upon his own.
When we reflect that the constant remorse of Pierre des Anbiez, while it did not impair his reason, had predisposed him to a sort of religious fatalism by no means orthodox, but calculated to make a deep impression upon his earnest and gloomy nature, we may comprehend the crushing effect produced on him by the language of Hadji.
After a moment’s silence, he said to the Bohemian,
“Go up on deck, I will give you my orders.”
Then he sent for the overseer, and commanded him to conduct Hadji on deck, to watch over him, and to take him under his protection.