THE SPY.
Next day, the garrison at Needham's Point; the white-tented camp upon
the flat green shore; the stately fleet in the bay; and all the
harbour of Bridgetown, the mole and the carenage, presented a scene
of unwonted bustle, while a thousand boats were dashing to and fro,
with their broad-bladed oars flashing in the sunshine; many had the
scarlet ensign flaunting at the stern. Amid them were launches and
piraguas manned by negro slaves, conveying stores, ammunition,
orders, provisions, and all the requisite material for the arduous
service on which we were so soon to depart.
Various duties detained me at head-quarters until the heat of noon
was past, when I hastened to pay a visit to Eulalie--a visit which I
felt painfully conscious would be my last, as the Fusiliers would be
one of the first corps probably to embark.
The conviction that in France, or in its colonies, I could not have
had such free meetings with Eulalie, lent our friendship an
additional charm.
"Courtship and marriage in France," says a recent writer, truly, "are
surrounded by so many forms, that it may be doubted whether the
original legislators did not consider them a sort of _crime_, and it
may also be doubted whether the difficulties with which they are
surrounded have not had their expressive social consequences."
My acquaintance with Eulalie savoured of the romantic, and I dearly
loved all that had the air of adventure, such being more valuable to
me then, than all the gold of Australia--"Ormuz and Inde" are out of
fashion now. The piquancy of her foreign manner, the luxuriance of
the country, the softness of the climate, and the novelty of our
situations, predisposed us to regard each other with a tender
interest, which was strengthened by her horror of her deceiver,
Rouvigny.
I had such an undefined dread of the priest who accosted me,
yesterday, that on hastening down the tall "cabbage walk" towards the
villa, when I saw its white walls and green blinds, its verandah
covered by lemon-water flowers, and Provence roses, all in their
usual state of repose, and no sign of alarm or dismay about the
place, I experienced a relief at heart, and gaily knocked at the
door. A few minutes after found me by the side of my charming French
friend, who was as gay and smiling,--as full of alternate
sentimentalism and _espiéglerie_ as ever, until I crushed her
vivacity by announcing our speedy departure.
"For Martinique?" she exclaimed.
"Yes; and for St. Lucia, Guadaloupe, and all the Leeward Isles in
succession."
"Alas! what dangers are before you,--war and fever by sea and land;
we shall never meet more, M. Oliver! Our term or little time of joy
is past!" she exclaimed, with clasped hands.
I then inquired about the priest,--the bearer of tidings from St.
Pierre. She seemed astonished, and declared that no such person had
been at Boscobelle.
"Strange," said I, and then related the two occasions on which I had
seen him; first, in the mangrove creek, and secondly on the highway
where we had conversed near the fallen palm-tree.
"_Grand Dieu!_ this is most singular," exclaimed Eulalie, her large
dark eyes dilating with wonder; "do me the favour to describe his
appearance."
In as few words as possible I did so; and while she listened she grew
very pale; her eyes filled with an expression of terror, and she
exclaimed, with a piercing accent,--
"'Tis Thibaud de Rouvigny you have met!"
"Rouvigny--impossible!"
"Nothing wicked or adventurous is impossible to this man," she
answered mournfully.
"He here----"
"And disguised, too."
"What can his mission be?"
"To spy upon your forces,--perhaps to compass my life."
"Eulalie, dear Eulalie! he _did_ ask many questions concerning you."
"Oh, Heavens! then I am lost! Oliver, do not leave me at this
crisis."
"He dare not approach you, while under the protection of the British
flag."
"There it is--_mon Dieu!_ that is my crime. Envious, malignant,
subtle, and vindictive, Heaven and his own heart can only tell his
present object; but be assured he has not lost sight of me. Alas!
you know him not, as I so fatally know him; and thus, you cannot
conceive the deep-laid plans and carefully-developed cruelty of which
he is capable. Rouvigny here--even here! Then again I am a prey to
terror, to mistrust, and to misery. But _you_, Oliver--you will not,
_must_ not leave me," she added, clinging to me in undisguised fear
and desperate hope.
I gazed upon her beautiful face, her upturned and soft beseeching
eyes, and the orders of the general seemed to be written in letters
of fire before me. I could only press her to my breast and remain
silent.
"You mentioned a negro being in the boat with him?" said she.
"A negro, whom he named Benoit."
"Benoit le Noir?"
"Yes, Eulalie."
"My father's old slave, who tended me in prison and assisted me to
escape from St. Pierre, and who afterwards became the property of
Rouvigny. A fresh corroboration that this pretended priest is my
tormentor."
"Had I but known this yesterday, the rope of the provost marshal's
guard would have made short work with the spy."
"Ah! _Mère de Dieu_! Do not talk so; for this man's life is
indissolubly connected with mine."
"Some friendly ball, at present lying quietly in an ammunition-cask,
may break the spell, Eulalie."
She covered her face with her tremulous white hands, and sobbed
heavily.
I shall not occupy time in relating how unavailing, by the pressure
of necessity, were the tears and entreaties of Eulalie, that I should
remain for her protection, or how graceful were the prayers she put
up for my safety, when she found that I must leave her; and how
charming were the whispered promises, that whatever fate had in store
for her, she would write to me often--oh, very often, and remember me
for ever; that she would keep a little journal of all her lonely
thoughts, and on each anniversary of her patroness, St. Ursule, she
would say a novena, or nine-days prayer, for me and my prosperity.
Poor Eulalie!
Her earnest words, her musical accents, her tender expression, and
the chaste features of her pale, sad face, sank deeply into my
memory, as I kissed her on the lips and eyes; and we parted, both in
tears, for I was still but a boy.
Years have passed since then, and many more may pass, but I never
shall forget the hours of delight that I spent with the unfortunate
Eulalie.
I hurried from the villa, and almost ran towards the town; but as the
distance increased between us, my steps became slower, and, from
every little eminence, I gazed regretfully back to the lofty
cabbage-palms and the orange-groves of Boscobelle, all darkening now,
and deepening in the rapid twilight of a tropical evening in March.
The white walls of the villa had disappeared amid the sombre foliage;
but I knew that _she_ was there, where I might never be again.
At last I reached the fallen palm by the way-side, where, yesterday,
the priest, or the disguised Rouvigny, had met me, and there again I
turned to take a farewell glance.
Boscobelle and its groves were alike lost in darkness now; but soon
my heart throbbed with a new anxiety, on beholding the glow of a
conflagration, tinting all the calm sky with red and orange-coloured
flame, and throwing forward in black and strong outlines several
intervening objects, and this alarming light seemed to rise from
Boscobelle! I gazed on it, wavering, irresolute, and almost
trembling with anxiety. My limbs faltered, and I nearly made a
retrograde movement, when the deep boom of a heavy gun, whether from
the garrison or the fleet I know not, pealed through the echoing sky,
and died in distance far away, recalling me to a sense of duty; and I
hastened to Needham's Point, where we spent our last night in
Barbadoes, as an express order had come for the troops to embark on
the morrow.