Another week passed, and with the change of the moon, as the old sailors
on board had prophesied, came also a change in the weather. The wind
rose steadily, and before long the staunch craft was creaking and
groaning as she climbed the ocean billows or slid swiftly down their
steep sides. By the evening of the 24th the wind had increased to a
gale. All the upper sails had been hauled down, and the lower ones
doubly reefed; but still an occasional wave fell with a mighty crash on
the deck, swirled along the sides, and gurgled through the lee scuppers.
At midnight Claude, true to his promise, went on deck. He had, of
course, no expectation of seeing Marguerite, but he had not failed to
keep his word, and be at the appointed spot each night.
The storm was raging when he reached the deck. There was no rain, but
the sky was covered with flying clouds, through which the waning moon
burst fitfully, only to be immediately swallowed up again. The hungry
waves rolled high above the little vessel, and seemed as if they would
overwhelm her; but she gallantly ploughed along, feeling her way like a
thing of life across the trackless waste of waters.
A sailor passed Claude with a cheery "Good-night, Monsieur. A stormy
night!"
As Claude returned his salute he recognised the young Picard, Blaise
Perron, whom he knew well, and who had often performed slight services
for him during his stay at De Roberval's castle. So great was the
loneliness in which his life was plunged just now that he was grateful
for the sound of a friendly voice, and returned the greeting with much
heartiness, adding a kindly word or two as he passed.
He made his way with difficulty across the slippery deck. The cordage
sang a wild song about him, the spray leaped stinging against his face,
and the vessel groaned in every plank and spar.
In the shelter of the forecastle there was comparative quiet and safety.
A figure wrapped in a cloak was standing in the deepest shadow, and
moved towards him as he came up. He could hardly believe his senses. It
was Marguerite!
"My love!" he exclaimed, folding her tenderly in his arms, and drawing
her farther back into the shelter. "That you should be here, and in such
a storm!"
As he spoke, a wave struck the vessel amidships, sent the spray in a
shower over them, and fell with a great thud at their feet.
"That was a narrow escape," Claude went on. "Had we been a foot nearer
the stern we should have been dashed against the bulwarks, and the whole
ship would have known of our meeting here. But what has brought you out,
my darling? Is anything wrong? I shudder when I think of the risks you
must have run in getting here in this wind."
"The storm is glorious, Claude, and a little salt water will not hurt
me. I could not stay below. You will think me foolish, but I had a dream
about you--such a dreadful dream that I felt as if I must come to see
that you were safe. I thought I saw you in the toils of a monstrous
serpent. It had wound itself about you, and seemed to be crushing you in
its folds. I tried to tear it off, but it seized you the closer; and as
I stood back and gazed at it in horror it seemed to take the form and
features of that wretched creature in green who follows my uncle about
all day like a whipped cur."
"Sweetheart," said her lover, "it was a blessed dream, since it brought
you to me. It gives me new life to see you. But I do not wonder that the
sight of that fellow should give you nightmare. The first time I saw him
I could not help christening him the sea-serpent. His baleful eye seems
to be always upon me. If I should meet him to-night I should be tempted
to send him back to the ocean depths from whence he looks as if he had
but lately come."
"Dear, do not joke about him. I am not superstitious, but I fear that
man, and would have you be on your guard against him. It was to warn you
about him that I risked coming to you to-night."
She was much agitated, and Claude soothed and comforted her, wrapping
her cloak about her to shield her from the storm, and reassuring her
with promises and tender words.
While this scene was taking place on deck, a very different one was
going on below, in Roberval's cabin. Gaillon, who must have been so
constituted that he could do without sleep, had seen Marguerite leave
her cabin and ascend the gangway. He knew that Claude had gone on deck,
and there was no doubt that the lovers were together. Now was his
chance. He stole to De Roberval's cabin, opened the door by some means
best known to himself, and, entering, touched the sleeping nobleman on
the shoulder.
Roberval was on his feet in an instant, and a dagger flashed at
Gaillon's throat. The man was prepared, however, and backed quickly
towards the door, where the light from the passage shone full upon his
face. Roberval uttered an oath when he saw who it was.
"Dog of an assassin!" exclaimed he, "what brings you here?"
"If your most noble highness will let me speak," said Gaillon, cringing
obsequiously, "I have important tidings which will not keep till
morning. Your niece is not in her room."
"Villain!" roared De Roberval, "be careful what you say, or, by Heaven,
I will run you through!"
"Your niece, most noble Sieur, has left her cabin, and is now on deck
with her lover. They are in the habit of meeting thus at night. I would
have warned you before, but dreaded to call down your anger on my own
head. Even now I would have kept silence, but the honour of your house
hangs in the balance."
Roberval appeared scarcely to hear the latter part of this speech. He
had turned his back on Gaillon, and was rapidly donning some clothes.
In two minutes he was fully dressed, and, turning hastily round,
exclaimed: "Who is the lookout to-night?"
"Blaise Perron, the Picard, Sieur. He has seen them together beyond a
doubt, and is now keeping watch for them against intruders."
This was a lie, but Gaillon did not stick at trifles.
"Get rid of him for me," said Roberval shortly. "I care not how."
Gaillon chuckled to himself as he followed his master up the gangway.
His schemes were turning out successful beyond his wildest hopes.
"Let us steal along to windward, Sieur," he whispered. "They are on the
lee side of the forecastle, and doubtless we shall come upon them in one
another's arms."
The noise of the wind and waves drowned their footsteps, and they were
able to approach unnoticed till they were within a few feet of the
lovers. Claude had just succeeded in persuading Marguerite to go below
and try to sleep. He had taken her in his arms at parting, and she clung
to him with an earnestness born of her forebodings. It was thus that
Roberval surprised them.
The first intimation they had of his presence was an oath which sounded
suddenly out of the darkness. Claude leaped back and drew his rapier. De
Roberval stood before him with drawn sword. Unable to stand by and
witness a combat between her uncle and her lover, Marguerite threw
herself between them.
"Consider, I beg of you, Monsieur," said Claude, hurriedly; "your
niece's honour is at stake. If we attract the attention of the watch
the fair name of a De Roberval will be for ever sullied."
Roberval lowered his weapon.
"You say truly," he remarked grimly, "though the suggestion comes a
trifle late, methinks. I should dishonour my sword to draw it on a liar
and a coward. Handcuffs and the hold will be a more fitting fate for
such as you."
At these words even Claude's endurance gave way, and disregarding
Marguerite's entreaties, he threw himself upon De Roberval. The scuffle
attracted the watch, and several of the sailors came running up. In the
darkness and confusion it was impossible to distinguish anything
clearly, but Claude was soon overpowered, and De Roberval's voice made
itself heard above the roar of the elements, calling for manacles.
Gaillon appeared with them as if by magic; and before the crew had time
to realise anything but the fact that their commander had been
assaulted, Claude's wrists were chained together, and he was powerless.
As Gaillon finished adjusting the handcuffs, the young Picard before
mentioned, who was the only other person to grasp the situation, threw
himself upon the spy, and clutched his throat. Almost as his fingers
closed they relaxed their grip again, and he fell headlong on the deck.
A few moments he writhed in agony, and when he was raised it was found
that he was quite dead, though no mark of violence could be found upon
him.
"It is a judgment of Heaven," said Gaillon, devoutly crossing himself.
"A judgment of Hell, rather, from whence you came," muttered De
Roberval. "But you have done your work well. Heave the carrion
overboard," added he, giving the young sailor's body a contemptuous
kick. "And now to the hold with that villain. And you," turning, to his
niece, "to your cabin with you. I shall have more to say to you
to-morrow."
The whole scene had passed so quickly that before the bewildered girl
had time to realise what had happened, she saw her lover being marched
below in chains. She would have rushed after him, but her uncle's strong
hand restrained her, and she was forced to watch him disappear without
being able even to bid him farewell.
After this the days and weeks passed by, and Claude remained in his
prison, with no companions save the rats which swarmed about him. His
feet were fortunately free, or he might have been devoured. Already his
body held the marks of their sharp and hungry teeth, where they had
attacked him while he slept. He grew thin and pale from the close
confinement and the wretched food which was brought to him three times a
day by the hands of the villain Gaillon. His heart was bitter within
him, and he had almost abandoned hope. But for the knowledge that the
voyage must come to an end, and that some change must then take place in
his circumstances, he would have given way to despair.
He was missed from the deck by those of the rough colonists who knew him
by sight; but a rumour had gone about among the crew that he had
insulted De Roberval's niece, and no one ventured to express pity for
his fate. The few men of gentle blood on board knew, or suspected, the
true version of the story, but regard for Marguerite's good name
compelled them to keep silence.
While Claude was pining in his prison Marguerite's heart was growing
hard within her. She could no longer bring herself to respect her uncle.
She shed no tears, nor would she listen to words of sympathy from her
friend Marie, or the old _bonne_; but her face grew pale and set, and a
resolute expression formed itself about her mouth.
The sailors revered her as a saint; and when she appeared on deck the
roughest man took off his cap as she passed, and hushed the profanity on
his lips. Suspicions of the true state of the case were abroad, but no
one dared to show sympathy with the prisoner. The men stood in great awe
of De Roberval, and still more of the terrible Gaillon, who was daily
advancing in favour with his master, whose devoted attendant he had now
become.
Matters were still in this state, and De Roberval showed no signs of
relenting, when, early in the month of June, the rugged shores of
Newfoundland loomed up before the grateful eyes of the crew. It was not
their destination, but at least it was land; and although there were
still dangers to be passed, in those days it was the broad stretch of
the ocean which tried the seamen's nerves. They hailed with joy the
first glimpse of the New World after the terrible tedium of the voyage.
The three vessels soon swept through the narrow entrance, and the
sailors were delighted to see before them seventeen fishing-boats riding
safely in the harbour. De Roberval cast anchor, intending to stock his
vessels with fish, and procure fresh water. But he had scarcely
finished his preparations when a report ran through the ships that three
other vessels were entering the harbour. He knew that the Spaniards had
eyed with jealousy the expedition when it was being fitted out, and
believed that the attack of Pamphilo de Narvaez upon him and his party
had been intended to put an end to the venture. Thinking, therefore,
that it might be an enemy who was approaching, he was about to order his
men to their guns, when the leading vessel unfurled the broad white flag
strewn with the _fleur-de-lis_ of France. His men, at the welcome sight,
sent up a wild shout of joy which sounded through the harbour, and was
re-echoed from the fleet of fishermen. Whose could the ships be? Had
King Francis repented of his generosity, and sent a fleet to recall him?
That could hardly be. One vessel would have been sufficient for that
purpose. While he debated in his mind the probable destination of the
fleet, the leading vessel swung round, her sails dropped, and as the
anchor rattled down into the dark waters De Roberval recognised _La
Grande Hermine_. Cartier deserting his post? What could be the meaning
of this?
While the attention of every one on board the vessel was thus diverted,
and not a soul was left below to observe her actions, Marguerite
resolved to put into execution a plan she had long ago formed. She had
discovered a loose board in the flooring of her cabin, and with the aid
of Bastienne and Marie she now succeeded in removing it. Their united
efforts disclosed a hole large enough for her to pass through. A huge
rat rushed out as the plank was removed, causing the other two women to
shriek aloud. Marguerite shuddered as she looked into the black depths
below, and thought of the horrors Claude must have endured all these
weeks. Unhesitatingly she lowered herself down on the rough barrels,
boxes, and bags, and began feeling her way in the darkness, calling
softly on her lover's name. For some time there was no response, but as
she reached a cleared space, the light from an opening in the deck above
revealed Claude pacing restlessly to and fro in his narrow prison, his
ears strained to catch the meaning of the sounds from above. She was by
his side in an instant.
"Marguerite!"
He uttered but the one word, and stood gazing at her, but without
touching her. Coming suddenly upon him out of the darkness he took her
for a vision. But her arms were about his neck, and the warm pressure of
her cheek against his convinced him of the reality of her presence. He
could not take her in his manacled arms; but she kissed the fettered
wrists, and wept to see the terrible difference the six weeks had
wrought in his once stalwart form. The strong young soldier himself, to
whom the sudden shock of joy had come so unexpectedly after his long and
dreary solitude, could not keep back the tears. Their words were few and
broken. Marguerite told him how she had found a way to reach him, and
how the other two women were keeping guard above till her return; and he
showed her the narrow space where he had walked up and down in the
twilight all these weary days, and the hard pallet where he had slept.
Her tears flowed afresh at the sight. But the increasing noise on the
deck above, the sounds of heavy feet and of men shouting, recalled them
to the present.
"Where are we, dearest?" said Claude. "We cannot have reached
Charlesbourg Royal?"
"No, would to Heaven that we had! It is Newfoundland, and my uncle has
anchored to procure fresh water. O Claude, I shudder to think what will
become of us. My uncle is surely mad. His temper has become so
ungovernable that scarce a man on board dares to address him. I have
thought sometimes that that wretch Gaillon, who is constantly in
attendance upon him, must be keeping him under the influence of some
drug or charm which is surely sapping his intelligence. I tremble when
he approaches, for I know not what fresh insult he may heap upon me."
Claude ground his teeth.
"If I were but free, and had the use of my hands for five minutes!" he
muttered. "Why did I submit to him for so long? But hark! there is
surely something of unusual importance going on overhead."
By this time a boat had put off from _La Grande Hermine_, and Cartier
was seen to enter it. Roberval stood on the poop, watching his approach
in silence. Just at this moment some one touched his arm. It was
Gaillon.
"Pardon, Sieur," he murmured in the nobleman's ear, "but some one has
obtained access to the prisoner in the hold. I fear lest he may be
planning an escape."
Roberval swore a fearful oath.
"Here, Bruneau, Gachet!" he exclaimed to two of the roughest and most
villainous-looking of the crew, "down into the hold with you, and fetch
me hither the prisoner and whoever it is who is with him. They will look
well from yonder yard-arm."
He followed the men down the gangway, and stood waiting between decks
while they descended into Claude's prison. Before the lovers could
separate, one of the ruffians had rudely seized Marguerite by the
shoulder. Claude raised his manacled arms and dealt him a blow which
sent him staggering, but was himself instantly overpowered and pinioned
by the other man, Gachet. Bruneau, recovering himself, and stinging from
the blow he had received, turned upon Marguerite, and grasping her arm
roughly, shouted: "Up with you to the deck, you hussy!"
Roberval heard the words, and it dawned upon him for the first time that
it was his niece who was below. He sprang forward in time to see her,
white as death, shake the man off, and ascend the ladder alone. Beside
himself with rage as he was, he could not forget that she was a woman,
and a De Roberval. Giving orders that Claude should be kept in his
prison, with frigid politeness he took her hand and conducted her to her
cabin, where Marie and the old nurse, half frantic with fear at the
sounds which reached them, were still watching beside the open space in
the floor.
"So, Madame," said Roberval between his set teeth, and with a steely
glitter in his eyes, "so this is the ingenious means by which you
contrived to visit your paramour. We shall find a way to make both of
you dearly repent your stolen interviews."
He was gone before either of the women could utter a word, and they
heard his stern and imperious voice addressing the man who had so rudely
assaulted his niece.
"You, Pierre Bruneau, villain and cut-throat dog, shall learn what it is
to insult a De Roberval. To the yard-arm with him!" exclaimed he to the
men who had gathered about the gangway. "Cartier shall see what sort of
discipline we keep."
No one dared to disobey. Bruneau was hurried on deck, the noose was cast
about his neck, and as Cartier drew near the vessel his astonished eyes
were greeted by the sight of the struggling form of the burly villain as
he swung aloft.
As Cartier came on board his first words were:
"The Sieur De Roberval gives me a ghastly welcome."
"Such a welcome," returned De Roberval, "as awaits all who disobey my
orders or insult my name. Why have you left Charlesbourg Royal?"
"Before I answer that question, Monsieur, I must know whether your last
remark has reference to my having left my post without your orders?"
"What you will," said De Roberval, haughtily.
"Then, Sieur, I reserve the right to refuse an answer. I am my own
master on the high seas; and Jacques Cartier will brook insult from no
man."
His hand sought his sword as he spoke, and De Roberval's weapon flashed
from its sheath.
A quarrel was imminent; but Roberval's rage seemed to subside as
suddenly as it had arisen.
"Put up your sword," he said sternly. "We are the leaders, and the
death of one or both of us would mean ruin to the enterprise."
"So far as I am concerned, Sieur, it is ended already. I serve under no
man, least of all under one who uses such terms as you have just applied
to me. I am not hasty to quarrel, but, being in, I will come out
honourably, or die."
"Admirably said," replied De Roberval, "and Canada needs just such a man
as yourself. I was hasty in my speech; but I had no thought that you had
disobeyed orders. I merely supposed you to have left Canada because my
long delay had forced you to conclude that I had given up the
enterprise. You were too quick to misinterpret me. But why have you left
Charlesbourg?" enquired he, as Cartier somewhat reluctantly sheathed his
sword.
"Because, Sieur, we could do no more there. The natives were unfriendly,
and our ammunition was well-nigh exhausted. Our men were openly
mutinous; and I could do naught with the cut-throats from the prisons,
half of whom deserted, and have been adopted by wandering bands of
Indians."
Whatever De Roberval may have felt on hearing this news, he gave no
sign.
"Be not disheartened," he said. "I have arms in plenty, and ammunition
enough to conquer all the savages on the continent. Return to your
vessels, and get ready to sail back with us on the morrow. All will yet
be well."
But Cartier had formed a quick resolve. He would not go back. He saw the
wretched crew of criminals who lined the deck about him, and he knew
that Roberval's enterprise must end in failure. He determined to gain
time.
"Be it so, Sieur," he replied. "To-morrow we will be ready for the
return voyage. But where is our old friend, De Pontbriand? Have you not
brought him with you?"
"He is on board," replied De Roberval, in an unmoved voice, "but he has
been ill, and in a high fever. Perfect quiet is ordered for him. I
should be disobeying the physician's orders did I allow you to see him."
Something in the metallic ring of his voice gave Cartier a cold shiver
of dread, a menace of impending evil. It would have been useless to
enquire further, however, and he returned to his ship to consult with La
Pommeraye, his second in command, and with his other officers.