WE HOLD A COUNCIL OF WAR
The last object I remember seeing was the white face of the Capuchin
monk peering at me over the rail, and my earliest thought as I arose to
the surface, was that as the water had probably cleansed my skin it
would be wise to keep well out of sight from the deck. Fortunately the
boat floated close at hand. Laying hasty grasp upon it, but remaining
well immersed in the river, I bade the thoroughly frightened black
paddle with diligence out of that neighborhood. This was a task he was
not slow in accomplishing, fear lending strength to trained muscles,
and we soon had the good fortune to discover a safe landing-place
beneath the lee of a long molasses shed, where our plight was
unobserved by any one.
Remaining hidden here myself, feeling reasonably secure from prying
eyes, I despatched Alphonse after dry clothing, meanwhile tramping back
and forth across the packed earthen floor to keep chilled blood in
circulation, seeking eagerly to evolve out of the confused events of
the afternoon some programme for future guidance. This task was no
light one. The closer I faced the desperate work remaining
unaccomplished the less I enjoyed the outlook, the more improbable
appeared success. Getting aboard the "Santa Maria" was now, to my
mind, the simplest part of the adventure, but beyond the accomplishment
of that feat I could perceive little to encourage me. What must
necessarily follow my safe gaining of that guarded deck, during the
dark hours of the night, depended so largely upon the occurrence of
helpful circumstances, any definite plan of action arranged beforehand
became simply an impossibility. Still, striving to make allowances for
the unexpected, I managed to put together a chain of details, trusting,
with the blind faith of a fatalist, that these would somehow fall into
line when the hour came. If they failed, as was likely, I determined
to shift them about in any way possible as each fresh emergency arose.
I realized how small a part any preliminary survey holds in such an
enterprise as now fronted me, an enterprise to be worked out amid
darkness and grave personal peril, where any bungling act or false move
might overturn everything in an instant; yet it is always well--or at
least so I have found it--to trace some outline of procedure, rather
than trust wholly to the intuitions of the moment. God's aid seems
usually granted to those doing most for themselves.
I felt little confidence by the time Alphonse returned, yet my firm
determination to make the effort had in no way abated. Indeed, had
failure been an absolute certainty I should have gone forward exactly
the same, for I was bound to it by my pledge to Eloise de Noyan. I
have reason to suppose dogged determination a part of my nature, but
then something far more compelling than this inherited tendency drove
me irresistibly forward to my fate. This is no story of the rescue of
a prisoner of war, but rather of how love impelled an ordinary man to
the accomplishment of deeds which seemed impossible.
It was evening, already quite dark, it fortunately proving a night of
cloud and threatened storm, when I ventured to steal into the little
cottage on the Rue Dumaine, and found there, even as I had left them,
Madame de Noyan and the _père_ awaiting me. How anxious a day she had
been compelled to pass since the hour of my departure was plainly
imprinted upon her beautiful face, gently touched by the softened light
from a shaded candle near which she rested; nor was the naturally pale,
emaciated countenance of her spiritual adviser entirely free from
outward marks of care impressed upon it by his patient vigil.
I recall still, a pang tugging at my old heart, with what unspeakable
gentleness Eloise came forward, holding forth both white hands in
greeting, while unrestrained tears glistened upon the long lashes
partly veiling the eager glow of soft eyes searching my face. She
uttered never a word of questioning relative to the result of my
mission; merely stood there silent, her warm hands in mine, her gaze
fastened upon me, as if within my eyes she sought to read everything
unasked. Perhaps she did, yet to me it seemed the perfect abandon of
trust, and often since have I thought upon it as illustrative of her
unswerving confidence in my honor.
"I do so thank you, Geoffrey Benteen," she said in all simplicity, "for
thus coming to us once more."
"I returned the earliest moment possible, Madame," I replied quietly,
although all my heart must have leaped responsive into my eyes,
contradicting such coolness of speech. Be that as it may, my sweet
mistress never glanced aside, nor drew back her hands from mine. It
was the gravely observant priest, standing behind within the shadows,
whose natural impatience caused him to interrupt our greeting, although
he spoke not unkindly.
"My son," he said, deep anxiety evident in the tone of his soft speech,
"we have remained in solemn prayer ever since the hour of thy
departure, and, while we doubt not our petitions have found favor of
both Mother and Child, yet the flesh sorroweth, and we yearn greatly to
know all from thine own lips as to the fortunes of this day. Tell us,
I beg thee, hast thou discovered aught of comfort or help for the
condemned?"
His words brought me back to earth with sudden rush. Releasing the
soft hands I had been clasping so tightly in momentary forgetfulness, I
led the lady to a seat, even finding another myself before venturing
upon reply.
"I thank you heartily for your prayers, Sir Priest. Often have I heard
my father say the prayer of the righteous availeth much, and although I
be not of Holy Church--for those to whom I looked in earlier years for
guidance were of the dissenting breed--yet I yield respect to all true
religion; and even in the woods, where men grow rough, giving small
thought to the voice of their souls, I have discovered much to tell me
of God, and to make me thankful for His mercies. But you ask a
difficult question. The day has not been ill spent nor wasted. This
much, at least, I may say--I have discovered one weak spot in the
Spanish guard-line, and intend to make the best possible use of it.
Yet the venture is bound to prove a desperate one, and nothing except
the overruling care of Him who guides us all can secure the desired
outcome."
He piously crossed himself, his thin lips moving silently above the
silver crucifix resting in his white fingers, but Eloise only leaned
more eagerly forward, her dark eyes anxiously scanning my face.
"Have you seen my--the Chevalier de Noyan?" she questioned tremblingly.
"No, Madame, yet I have been aboard the 'Santa Maria,'--though in truth
'twas not altogether an enjoyable experience,--and now know precisely
where the prisoners are confined, even to the room of the Chevalier.
If you will listen patiently I will briefly relate the story; then we
can outline together our further plans for the night. Are we alone?"
Both nodded, far too eager to waste time in words, and as rapidly as
possible I described those incidents already narrated. At the close
Eloise simply thanked me in silence with an appreciative glance, but
the priest proved more demonstrative.
"Thou hast, indeed, accomplished much, my son," he exclaimed
impulsively, clasping and unclasping the slender fingers of his white
hands nervously. "Surely but for our fervent prayers the good Lord
would never have led you amid such imminent and deadly peril. Yet to
me the venture appeareth even more hopeless than before. You made
mention of plans; shall we not discuss such at once, for the rapidly
speeding time must greatly press us. The great Apostle once said, in
connection with the work of the Spirit, 'Brethren, the time is short';
it seemeth a fit text for us even now."
"It is too early for action," I replied thoughtfully. "I require food,
and it will be best to delay until a late hour before moving in such a
scheme as mine. As to plans--faith, the word was ill-chosen if I used
it, for excepting the mode already outlined for attaining the deck, I
have none. Yet there are certain matters I require to have arranged
before I depart. Madame de Noyan, can you furnish me with a strong
boat and two stout oarsmen? They must be men to trust, who will care
little where they go."
"It shall be done," she answered promptly, her eyes brightening.
"Alphonse will gladly go, and he can select another from among the
slaves."
"The Chevalier, can he swim if occasion arise?"
"He is perfectly at home in the water."
"Good; then we need run no extra risk by keeping a boat beside the
frigate. Let it await our coming beneath the darkest shadows of the
cotton sheds near the North Gate. Have them place within it my rifle
and ammunition, together with whatever weapons of war your husband may
be accustomed to use; see that the boat be well provisioned for a long
voyage, as it will require much travel before we get beyond Spanish
reach, and we go not into a region of settlements. Bid the men exhibit
no light, nor converse above whispers. My word to them will be
'Virginia'; they are to pay heed to no other. You understand all this?"
"It is engraven upon my heart," she responded gravely. "You need have
no fear."
"That I think will be all you can do to aid success--nay, wait!
instruct them also, if we have not arrived before the dawn to bide no
longer; it will be useless."
"Oh, say not so, Geoffrey Benteen," she cried, a sudden sob evidencing
the strain upon her. "Surely the good God will aid us now."
"It is upon Him I rely," I responded, not knowing how best to minister
to her deep distress. "We will do all we can, Madame, to win His
favor; beyond that nothing remains but to submit to His will."
She hid her face in her arms upon the table, the light of the candle
streaming almost golden in the heavy masses of her hair. Instinctively
I rested my hand caressingly upon it.
"Nay, Madame, this is time for strength, not weakness. Afterwards we
may have opportunity to weep; to-night there is call for action."
She glanced up with a quick, impulsive gesture, and I saw her eyes were
dry of tears.
"You think me unduly nervous and unstrung," she said quietly, and I
could detect a touch of indignation in the tone. "It is merely my
nature, for the impatient blood of the South has place in my veins, yet
whatsoever a lady of France may do, you can trust me to accomplish,
Monsieur."
Faith! but she had a way with her which ever left me helpless, and no
doubt my face exhibited how abashed I felt at the regal manner in which
she fronted me. At least I spoke no word, yet the proud look faded
from her eyes, and I felt her hand touch mine.
"Forgive me, Geoffrey," she whispered softly. "We do not doubt each
other, yet I was over hasty of speech with one who has proven so loyal
a friend."
"Nor have I aught to forgive, Madame, or more to say, except that my
words meant no injustice," I responded. Then to avoid longer facing
her I turned to where the watchful Capuchin stood.
"And now, Sir Priest, I propose being perfectly frank with you, as I
do not believe this a time for mincing of words. I am of Protestant
blood; those of my line have ridden at Cromwell's back, and one of my
name stood unrepentant at the stake when Laud turned Scotland into a
slaughter-house. So 't is safe to say I admire neither your robe nor
your Order. Yet the events of this day have gone far toward convincing
me that at heart you are a man in spite of the woman's garb you wear.
So now, what say you--will you be comrade with me this night?"
At the brutal bluntness of my speech and question--for I fear I took
out upon him those feelings I ventured not to exploit with Madame,
recalling how this same difference of faith had come between us two
with its dread shadow--a red flush sprang into the priest's thin,
wasted cheeks, and I could see how tightly his hands clinched about the
crucifix at his girdle.
"As to my Order, it hath little to fear from thy dislike, young man, as
that is born from early prejudice, and lack of proper learning," he
returned gravely, meeting I my eyes fairly with his own. "Yet,
speaking as frankly as yourself, I doubt if I would prove of much
assistance upon a ship's deck; such effort as you propose for this
night would be wholly foreign to my habit of life."
"Spoken truly; nor would I make choice of one with muscles so inert
from disuse were this to be an onset, where men give and take hard
blows. I ask you not upon the ship's deck at all, my friend, nor shall
I require your company one step farther than the roof of the great
sugar warehouse of Bomanceaux et fils. Still, it will require steady
nerve to do even what little I require, and, if you doubt your courage,
say so now, and I will seek among the slaves for stouter heart and
readier hand."
That my words touched his pride I could read instantly in his uplifted
face.
"Nay, thou needest seek no further," he announced briefly, his thin
lips tightly pressed together. "I will go, Monsieur." I knew
instantly by the bold ring of the words that henceforward I might trust
him to the death.
"I thought you would. Now a question more, and then I must have food.
Can you prepare for my use one of your robes?"
"Easily, Monsieur; Father Cassati left one behind at the chapter-house
when he went aboard ship, and you do not greatly differ in point of
size. But is it possible thou proposest to turn priest, and of our
Order?"
"In outward vesture merely, and that not for long. It would afford me
greater liberty of movement on the 'Santa Maria' than my own garb, and
may spare me some unpleasant questioning. Yet, perchance, there may be
danger of my overdoing the priestly character, as well as of
overestimating the privileges granted the clergy on board."
He shrugged his shoulders, nettled somewhat by my words and manner.
"I have indeed reason for gravely distrusting your naturalness in the
wearing of a robe dedicated to religion," he made answer. "But as for
the other matter, there can be little danger of your overstepping the
mark. Father Cassati is of a somewhat roistering disposition,
over-fond of the bottle, in truth,--although it giveth me pain to speak
thus of one of my own Order,--and I have been informed, moveth at his
own will about the ship. He is of the sort to be 'hail fellow, well
met' with those roistering Spaniards, who care little for God or man,
as he possesseth few scruples of his own."
"Bear I sufficient resemblance to pass in his stead?"
"You are not unlike as to height and build; as to face, you are far the
better featured. With the cowl up it might be reasonably safe in a dim
light."
"My beauty has always been my undoing," I ventured, in awakened good
humor. "Nevertheless I shall be compelled to venture it this time;
moreover, I am pleased to learn that things aboard are as you describe,
for such a state of affairs may greatly serve our purpose."
I turned away from him to recross the room and murmur a few words of
brighter hope into the ear of Eloise, where she sat in white-faced
silence amid the deeper shadows of the portiere.