'They had na sailed upon the sea
A day but barely three,
When the lift grew dark and the wind blew cauld
And gurly grew the sea.
'Oh where will I find a little wee boy
Will tak my helm in hand,
Till I gae up to my top mast
And see for some dry land.'
SIR PATRICK SPENS.
It was bad enough on the deck of the unfortunate Genoese tartane, but far
worse below, where eight persons were shut into the stifling atmosphere
of the cabin, deprived of the knowledge of what was going on above,
except from the terrific sounds they heard. Estelle, on being shut into
the cabin, announced that the Phoenician ship was taken by the vessels of
Sesostris, but this did not afford any one else the same satisfaction as
she appeared to derive from it. Babette and Rosette were echoing every
scream of the crew, and quite certain that all would be massacred, and
little Ulysse, wakened by the hubbub, rolled round in his berth and began
to cry.
Madame de Bourke, very white, but quite calm, insisted on silence and
then said, 'I do not think the danger is very great to ourselves if you
will keep silence and not attract attention. But our hope is in Heaven.
My brother, will you lead our prayers? Recite our office.' Obediently
the Abbe fell on his knees, and his example was followed by the others.
His voice went monotonously on throughout with the Latin. The lady, no
doubt, followed in her heart, and she made the responses as did the
others, fitfully; but her hands and eyes were busy, looking to the
priming of two small pistols, which she took out of her jewel case, and
the sight of which provoked fresh shrieks from the maids. Mademoiselle
Julienne meantime was dressing Ulysse, and standing guard over him,
Estelle watching all with eager bright eyes, scarcely frightened, but
burning to ask questions, from which her uncle's prayers debarred her.
At the volley of shot, Rosette was reduced to quiet by a swoon, but
Victorine, screaming that the wretches would have killed Laurent, would
have rushed on deck, had not her mistress forcibly withheld her. There
ensued a prodigious yelling and howling, trampling and scuffling, then
the sounds of strange languages in vituperation or command, steps coming
down the ladder, sounds of altercation, retreat, splashes in the sea, the
feeling that the ship was put about--and ever the trampling, the wild
cries of exultation, which over and over again made the prisoners feel
choked with the horror of some frightful crisis close at hand. And all
the time they were in ignorance, their little window in the stern showed
them nothing but sea; and even if Madame de Bourke's determination had
not hindered Victorine from peeping out of the cabin, whether prison or
fortress, the Moorish sentries outside kept the door closed.
How long this continued was scarcely to be guessed. It was hours by
their own feelings; Ulysse began to cry from hunger, and his mother gave
him and Estelle some cakes that were within reach. Mademoiselle Julienne
begged her lady to share the repast, reminding her that she would need
all her strength. The Abbe, too, was hungry enough, and some wine and
preserved fruits coming to light all the prisoners made a meal which
heartened most of them considerably; although the heat was becoming
terrible, as the sun rose higher in the sky, and very little air could be
obtained through the window, so that poor Julienne could not eat, and
Rosette fell into a heavy sleep in the midst of her sighs. Even Estelle,
who had got out her Telemaque, like a sort of oracle in the course of
being verified, was asleep over it, when fresh noises and grating sounds
were board, new steps on deck, and there were steps and voices. The
Genoese captain was heard exclaiming, 'Open, Madame! you can do so
safely. This is the Algerine captain, who is bound to protect you.'
The maids huddled together behind their lady, who stood forward as the
door opened to admit a stout, squarely-built man in the typical dress of
a Turk,--white turban, purple coat, broad sash crammed with weapons, and
ample trousers,--a truculent-looking figure which made the maids shudder
and embrace one another with suppressed shrieks, but which somehow, even
in the midst of his Eastern salaam, gave the Countess a sense that he was
acting a comedy, and carried her involuntarily back to the Moors whom she
had seen in the _Cid_ on the stage. And looking again, she perceived
that though brown and weather-beaten, there was a certain Northern
ruddiness inherent in his complexion; that his eyes were gray, so far as
they were visible between the surrounding puckers; and his eyebrows,
moustache, and beard not nearly so dark as the hair of the Genoese who
stood cringing beside him as interpreter. She formed her own conclusions
and adhered to them, though he spoke in bad Arabic to the skipper, who
proceeded to explain that El Reis Hamed would offer no injury to Madame
la Comtesse, her suite or property, being bound by treaty between the Dey
and the King of France, but that he required to see her passport. There
was a little blundering in the Italian's French rendering, and Madame de
Bourke was quick to detect the perception of it in the countenance of the
Reis, stolid though it was. She felt no doubt that he was a renegade of
European birth, and watched, with much anxiety as well as curiosity, his
manner of dealing with her passports, which she would not let out of her
own hand. She saw in a moment that though he let the Genoese begin to
interpret them, his eyes were following intelligently; and she hazarded
the observation, 'You understand, sir. You are Frank.'
He turned one startled glance towards the door to see if there were any
listeners, and answered, 'Hollander, Madame.'
The Countess had travelled with diplomatists all her life, and knew a
little of the vernacular of most languages, and it was in Dutch--broken
indeed, but still Dutch--that she declared that she was sure that she
might rely on his protection--a security which in truth she was far from
feeling; for while some of these unfortunate men, renegades only from
weakness, yearned after their compatriots and their lost home and faith,
others out-heroded the Moors themselves in ferocity, especially towards
the Christian captives; nor was a Dutchman likely to have any special
tenderness in his composition, above all towards the French. However,
there was a certain smile on the lips of Reis Hamed, and he answered with
a very hearty, 'Ja! ja! Madame. Upon my soul I will let no harm come to
you or the pretty little ones, nor the young vrouwkins either, if they
will keep close. You are safe by treaty. A Reis would have to pay a
heavy reckoning with Mehemed Dey if a French ambassador had to complain
of him, and you will bear me witness, Madame, that I have not touched a
hair of any of your heads!'
'I am sure you wish me well, sir,' said Madame de Bourke in a dignified
way, 'but I require to be certified of the safety of the rest of my
suite, my steward, my lackey, and my husband's secretary, a young
gentleman of noble birth.'
'They are safe, Madame. This Italian slave can bear me witness that no
creature has been harmed since my crew boarded this vessel.'
'I desire then that they may be released, as being named in my passport.'
To this the Dutchman consented.
Whereupon the skipper began to wring his hands, and piteously to beseech
Madame to intercede for him, but the Dutchman cut him short before she
could speak. 'Dog of an Italian, the lady knows better! You and your
fellows are our prize--poor enough after all the trouble you have given
us in chasing you.'
Madame de Bourke spoke kindly to the poor man, telling him that though
she could do nothing for him now, it was possible that she might when she
should have rejoined her husband, and she then requested the Reis to land
her and her suite in his long-boat on the Spanish coast, which could be
seen in the distance, promising him ample reward if he could do so.
To this he replied: 'Madame, you ask what would be death to me.'
He went on to explain that if he landed her on Christian ground, without
first presenting her and her passport to the Dey and the French Consul,
his men might represent him as acting in the interests of the Christians,
and as a traitor to the Algerine power, by taking a bribe from a person
belonging to a hostile state, in which case the bowstring would be the
utmost mercy he could expect; and the reigning Dey, Mehemed, having been
only recently chosen, it was impossible to guess how he might deal with
such cases. Once at Algiers, he assured Madame de Bourke that she would
have nothing to fear, as she would be under the protection of the French
Consul; and she had no choice but to submit, though much concerned for
the continued anxiety to her husband, as well as the long delay and
uncertainty of finding him.
Still, when she perceived that it was inevitable, she complained no more,
and the Dutchman went on with a certain bluff kindness--as one touched by
her courtesy--to offer her the choice of remaining in the tartane or
coming on board his larger vessel. The latter he did not recommend, as
he had a crew of full two hundred Turks and Moors, and it would be
necessary to keep herself and all her women as closely as possible
secluded in the cabins; and even then, he added, that if once seen he
could hardly answer for some of those corsairs not endeavouring to secure
a fair young Frank girl for his harem; and as his eye fell on Rosette,
she bridled and hid herself behind Mademoiselle Julienne.
He must, he said, remove all the Genoese, but he would send on board the
tartane only seven men on whom he could perfectly depend for respectful
behaviour, so that the captives would be able to take the air on deck as
freely as before. There was no doubt that he was in earnest, and the
lady accepted his offer with thanks, all the stronger since she and all
around her were panting and sick for want of fresh air.
It was a great relief when he took her on deck with him that she might
identify the three men whom she claimed as belonging to her suite.
Arthur, Lanty, and Hebert, who, in their vague knowledge of the
circumstances, had been dreading the oar for the rest of their lives,
could hardly believe their good fortune when she called them up to her,
and the Abbe gripped Lanty's arm as if he would never let him go again.
The poor Italians seemed to feel their fate all the harder for the
deliverance of those three, and sobbed, howled, and wept so piteously
that Arthur wondered how strong men could so give way, while Lanty's
tears sprang forth in sympathy, and he uttered assurances and made signs
that he would never cease to pray for their rescue.
'Though,' as he observed, 'they were poor creatures that hadn't the heart
of a midge, when there was such a chance of a fight while the haythen
spalpeens were coming on board.'
Here Lanty was called on to assist Hebert in identifying his lady's bales
of goods, when all those of the unfortunate Genoese were put on board the
corsair's vessel. A sail-cloth partition was extended across the deck by
the care of the Dutchman, 'who'--as Lanty said--'for a haythen apostate
was a very dacent man.' He evidently had a strong compassion and fellow-
feeling for the Christian lady, and assured her that she might safely
take the air and sit on deck as much as she pleased behind its shelter;
and he likewise carefully selected the seven of his crew whom he sent on
board to work the ship, the chief being a heavy-looking old Turk, with a
chocolate-coloured visage between a huge white beard and eyebrows, and
the others mere lads, except one, who, from an indefinable European air
about him, was evidently a renegade, and could speak a sort of French, so
as to hold communication with the captives, especially Lanty, who was
much quicker than any of the rest in picking up languages, perhaps from
having from his infancy talked French and English (or rather Irish), and
likewise learnt Latin with his foster-brother. This man was the only one
permitted to go astern of the partition, in case of need, to attend to
the helm; but the vessel was taken in tow by the corsair, and needed
little management. The old Turk seemed to regard the Frankish women like
so many basilisks, and avoided turning a glance in their direction,
roaring at his crew if he only saw them approaching the sail-cloth, and
keeping a close watch upon the lithe black-eyed youths, whose brown limbs
carried them up the mast with the agility of monkeys. There was one in
especial--a slight, well-made fellow about twenty, with a white turban
cleaner than the rest--who contrived to cast wonderful glances from the
masthead over the barrier at Rosette, who actually smiled in return at
_ce pauvre garcon_, and smiled the more for Mademoiselle Julienne's
indignation. Suddenly, however, a shrill shout made him descend hastily,
and the old Turk's voice might be heard in its highest key, no doubt
shrieking out maledictions on all the ancestry of the son of a dog who
durst defile his eyes with gazing at the shameless daughters of the
Frank. Little Ulysse was, however, allowed to disport himself wherever
he pleased; and after once, under Arthur's protection, going forward, he
found himself made very welcome, and offered various curiosities, such as
shells, corals, and a curious dried little hippocampus or seahorse.
This he brought back in triumph, to the extreme delight of his sister's
classical mind. 'Oh mamma, mamma,' she cried, 'Ulysse really has got the
skeleton of a Triton. It is exactly like the stone creatures in the
Champs Elysees.'
There was no denying the resemblance, and it so increased the confusion
in Estelle's mind between the actual and the mythological, that Arthur
told her that she was looking out for the car of Amphitrite to arise from
the waters. Anxiety and trouble had made him much better acquainted with
Madame de Bourke, who was grateful to him for his kindness to her
children, and not without concern as to whether she should be able to
procure his release as well as her own at Algiers. For Laurence
Callaghan she had no fears, since he was born at Paris, and a naturalised
French subject like her husband and his brother; but Arthur was
undoubtedly a Briton, and unless she could pass him off as one of her
suite, it would depend on the temper of the English Consul whether he
should be viewed as a subject or as a rebel, or simply left to captivity
until his Scottish relations should have the choice of ransoming him.
She took a good deal of pains to explain the circumstances to him as well
as to all who could understand them; for though she hoped to keep all
together, and to be able to act for them herself, no one could guess how
they might be separated, and she could not shake off that foreboding of
misfortune which had haunted her from the first.
The kingdom of Algiers was, she told them, tributary to the Turkish
Sultan, who kept a guard of Janissaries there, from among whom they
themselves elected the Dey. He was supposed to govern by the consent of
a divan, but was practically as despotic as any Eastern sovereign; and
the Aga of the Janissaries was next in authority to him. Piracy on the
Mediterranean was, as all knew, the chief occupation of the Turks and
Moors of any spirit or enterprise, a Turk being in authority in each
vessel to secure that the Sultan had his share, and that the capture was
so conducted as not to involve Turkey in dangerous wars with European
powers. Capture by the Moors had for several centuries been one of the
ordinary contingencies of a voyage, and the misfortune that had happened
to the party was not at all an unusual one.
In 1687, however, the nuisance had grown to such a height that Admiral Du
Quesne bombarded the town of Algiers, and destroyed all the
fortifications, peace being only granted on condition that a French
Consul should reside at Algiers, and that French ships and subjects
should be exempt from this violence of the corsairs.
The like treaties existed with the English, but had been very little
heeded by the Algerines till recently, when the possession of Gibraltar
and Minorca had provided harbours for British ships, which exercised a
salutary supervision over these Southern sea-kings. The last Dey, Baba
Hali, had been a wise and prudent man, anxious to repress outrage, and to
be on good terms with the two great European powers; but he had died in
the spring of the current year, 1718, and the temper of his successor,
Mehemed, had not yet been proved.
Madame de Bourke had some trust in the Dutch Reis, renegade though he
was. She had given him her beautiful watch, set with brilliants, and he
had taken it with a certain gruff reluctance, declaring that he did not
want it,--he was ready enough to serve her without such a toy.
Nevertheless the lady thought it well to impress on each and all, in case
of any separation or further disaster, that their appeal must be to the
French Consul, explaining minutely the forms in which it should be made.
'I cannot tell you,' she said to Arthur, 'how great a comfort it is to me
to have with me a gentleman, one of intelligence and education to whom I
can confide my poor children. I know you will do your utmost to protect
them and restore them to their father.'
'With my very heart's blood, Madame.'
'I hope that may not be asked of you, Monsieur,' she returned with a
faint smile,--'though I fear there may be much of perplexity and
difficulty in the way before again rejoining him. You see where I have
placed our passports? My daughter knows it likewise; but in case of
their being taken from you, or any other accident happening to you, I
have written these two letters, which you had better bear about your
person. One is, as you see, to our Consul at Algiers, and may serve as
credentials; the other is to my husband, to whom I have already written
respecting you.'
'A thousand thanks, Madame,' returned Arthur. 'But I hope and trust we
may all reach M. le Comte in safety together. You yourself said that you
expected only a brief detention before he could be communicated with, and
this captain, renegade though he be, evidently has a respect for you.'
'That is quite true,' she returned, 'and it may only be my foolish heart
that forebodes evil; nevertheless, I cannot but recollect that _c'est
l'imprevu qui arrive_.'
'Then, Madame, that is the very reason there should be no misfortune,'
returned Arthur.
It was on the second day after the capture of the tartane that the sun
set in a purple angry-looking bank of cloud, and the sea began to heave
in a manner which renewed the earlier distresses of the voyage to such as
were bad sailors. The sails both of the corsair and of the tartane were
taken in, and it was plain that a rough night was to be expected. The
children were lashed into their berths, and all prepared themselves to
endure. The last time Arthur saw Madame de Bourke's face, by the light
of the lamp swinging furiously from the cabin roof, as he assisted in
putting in the dead lights, it bore the same fixed expression of
fortitude and resignation as when she was preparing to be boarded by the
pirates.
He remained on deck, but it was very perilous, for the vessel was so low
in the water that the waves dashed over it so wildly that he could hardly
help being swept away. It was pitch dark, too, and the lantern of the
other vessel could only just be seen, now high above their heads, now
sinking in the trouble of the sea, while the little tartane was lifted up
as though on a mountain; and in a kind of giddy dream, he thought of
falling headlong upon her deck. Finally he found himself falling. Was
he washed overboard? No; a sharp blow showed him that he had only fallen
down the hatchway, and after lying still a moment, he heard the voices of
Lanty and Hebert, and presently they were all tossed together by another
lurch of the ship.
It was a night of miseries that seemed endless, and when a certain amount
of light appeared, and Arthur and Lanty crawled upon deck, the tempest
was unabated. They found themselves still dashed, as if their vessel
were a mere cork, on the huge waves; rushes of water coming over them,
whether from sea or sky there was no knowing, for all seemed blended
together in one mass of dark lurid gray; and where was the Algerine
ship--so lately their great enemy, now watched for as their guide and
guardian?
It was no place nor time for questions, even could they have been heard
or understood. It was scarcely possible even to be heard by one another,
and it was some time before they convinced themselves that the large
vessel had disappeared. The cable must have parted in the night, and
they were running with bare poles before the gale; the seamanship of the
man at the helm being confined to avoiding the more direct blows of the
waves, on the huge crests of which the little tartane rode--gallantly
perhaps in mariners' eyes, but very wretchedly to the feelings of the
unhappy landsmen within her.
Arthur thought of St. Paul, and remembered with dismay that it was many
days before sun or moon appeared. He managed to communicate his
recollection to Lanty, who exclaimed, 'And he was a holy man, and he was
a prisoner too. He will feel for us if any man can in this sore strait!
_Sancte Paule_, _ora pro nobis_. An' haven't I got the blessed scapulary
about me neck that will bring me through worse than this?'
The three managed to get down to tell the unfortunate inmates of the
cabin what was the state of things, and to carry them some food, though
at the expense of many falls and severe blows; and almost all of them
were too faint or nauseated to be able to swallow such food as could
survive the transport under such circumstances. Yet high-spirited little
Estelle entreated to be carried on deck, to see what a storm was like.
She had read of them so often, and wanted to see as well as to feel. She
was almost ready to cry when Arthur assured her it was quite impossible,
and her mother added a grave order not to trouble him.
Madame de Bourke looked so exhausted by the continual buffeting and the
closeness of the cabin, and her voice was so weak, that Arthur grieved
over the impossibility of giving her any air. Julienne tried to make her
swallow some _eau de vie_; but the effort of steadying her hand seemed
too much for her, and after a terrible lurch of the ship, which lodged
the poor _bonne_ in the opposite corner of the cabin, the lady shook her
head and gave up the attempt. Indeed, she seemed so worn out that
Arthur--little used to the sight of fainting--began to fear that her
forebodings of dying before she could rejoin her husband were on the
point of being realised.
However, the gale abated towards evening, and the youth himself was so
much worn out that the first respite was spent in sleep. When he awoke,
the sea was much calmer, and the eastern sun was rising in glory over it;
the Turks, with their prayer carpets in a line, were simultaneously
kneeling and bowing in prayer, with their faces turned towards it. Lanty
uttered an only too emphatic curse upon the misbelievers, and Arthur
vainly tried to make him believe that their 'Allah il Allah' was neither
addressed to Mohammed nor the sun.
'Sure and if not, why did they make their obeisance to it all one as the
Persians in the big history-book Master Phelim had at school?'
'It's to the east they turn Lanty, not to the sun.'
'And what right have the haythen spalpeens to turn to the east like good
Christians?'
''Tis to their Prophet's tomb they look, at Mecca.'
'There, an' I tould you they were no better than haythens,' returned
Lanty, 'to be praying and knocking their heads on the bare boards--that
have as much sense as they have--to a dead man's tomb.'
Arthur's Scotch mind thought the Moors might have had the best of it in
argument when he recollected Lanty's trust in his scapulary.
They tried to hold a conversation with the Reis, between _lingua Franca_
and the Provencal of the renegade; and they came to the conclusion that
no one had the least idea where they were, or where they were going; the
ship's compass had been broken in the boarding, and there was no chart
more available than the little map in the beginning of Estelle's precious
copy of Telemaque. The Turkish Reis did not trouble himself about it,
but squatted himself down with his chibouque, abandoning all guidance of
the ship, and letting her drift at the will of wind and wave, or, as he
said, the will of Allah. When asked where he thought she was going, he
replied with solemn indifference, 'Kismet;' and all the survivors of the
crew--for one had been washed overboard--seemed to share his resignation.
The only thing he did seem to care for was that if the infidel woman
chose to persist in coming on deck, the canvas screen--which had been
washed overboard--should be restored. This was done, and Madame de
Bourke was assisted to a couch that had been prepared for her with
cloaks, where the air revived her a little; but she listened with a faint
smile to the assurances of Arthur, backed by Hebert, that this
abandonment to fate gave the best chance. They might either be picked up
by a Christian vessel or go ashore on a Christian coast; but Madame de
Bourke did not build much on these hopes. She knew too well what were
the habits of wreckers of all nations, to think that it would make much
difference whether they were driven on the coast of Sicily or of
Africa--'barring,' as Lanty said, 'that they should get Christian burial
in the former case.'
'We are in the hands of a good God. That at least we know,' said the
Countess. 'And He can hear us through, whether for life in Paradise, or
trial a little longer here below.'
'Like Blandina,' observed Estelle.
'Ah! my child, who knows whether trials like even that blessed saint's
may not be in reserve even for your tender age. When I think of these
miserable men, who have renounced their faith, I see what fearful ordeals
there may be for those who fall into the hands of those unbelievers.
Strong men have yielded. How may it not be with my poor children?'
'God made Blandina brave, mamma. I will pray that He may make me so.'
Land was in sight at last. Purple mountains rose to the south in wild
forms, looking strangely thunderous and red in the light of the sinking
sun. A bay, with rocks jutting out far into the sea, seemed to embrace
them with its arms. Soundings were made, and presently the Reis decided
on anchoring. It was a rocky coast, with cliffs descending into the sea,
covered with verdure, and the water beneath was clear as glass.
'Have we escaped the Syrtes to fall upon AEneas' cave?' murmured Arthur
to himself.
'And if we could meet Queen Dido, or maybe Venus herself, 'twould be no
bad thing!' observed Lanty, who remembered his Virgil on occasion. 'For
there's not a drop of wather left barring _eau de vie_, and if these
Moors get at that, 'tis raving madmen they would be.'
'Do they know where we are?' asked Arthur.
'Sorrah a bit!' returned Lanty, 'tho' 'tis a pretty place enough. If my
old mother was here, 'tis her heart would warm to the mountains.'
'Is it Calypso's Island?' whispered Ulysse to his sister.
'See, what are they doing?' cried Estelle. 'There are people--don't you
see, white specks crowding down to the water.'
There was just then a splash, and two bronzed figures were seen setting
forth from the tartane to swim to shore. The Turkish Reis had despatched
them, to ascertain whether the vessel had drifted, and who the
inhabitants might be.
A good while elapsed before one of these scouts returned. There was a
great deal of talk and gesticulating round him, and Lanty, mingling with
it, brought back word that the place was the Bay of Golo, not far from
Djigheli, and just beyond the Algerine frontier. The people were
Cabeleyzes, a wild race of savage dogs, which means dogs according the
Moors, living in the mountains, and independent of the Dey. A
considerable number rushed to the coast, armed, and in great numbers,
perceiving the tartane to be an Italian vessel, and expecting a raid by
Sicilian robbers on their cattle; but the Moors had informed them that it
was no such thing, but a prize taken in the name of the Dey of Algiers,
in which an illustrious French Bey's harem was being conveyed to Algiers.
From that city the tartane was now about a day's sail, having been driven
to the eastward of it during the storm. 'The Turkish commander evidently
does not like the neighbourhood,' said Arthur, 'judging by his gestures.'
'Dogs and sons of dogs are the best names he has for them,' rejoined
Lanty.
'See! They have cut the cable! Are we not to wait for the other man who
swam ashore?'
So it was. A favourable wind was blowing, and the Reis, being by no
means certain of the disposition of the Cabeleyzes, chose to leave them
behind him as soon as possible, and make his way to Algiers, which began
to appear to his unfortunate passengers like a haven of safety.
They were not, however, out of the bay when the wind suddenly veered, and
before the great lateen sail could be reefed, it had almost caused the
vessel to be blown over. There was a pitching and tossing almost as
violent as in the storm, and then wind and current began carrying the
tartane towards the rocky shore. The Reis called the men to the oars,
but their numbers were too few to be availing, and in a very few minutes
more the vessel was driven hopelessly towards a mass of rocks.
Arthur, the Abbe, Hebert, and Lanty were all standing together at the
head of the vessel. The poor Abbe seemed dazed, and kept dreamily
fingering his rosary, and murmuring to himself. The other three
consulted in a low voice.
'Were it not better to have the women here on deck?' asked Arthur.
'_Eh_, _non_!' sobbed Master Hebert. 'Let not my poor mistress see what
is coming on her and her little ones!'
'Ah! and 'tis better if the innocent creatures must be drowned, that it
should be without being insensed of it till they wake in our Lady's
blessed arms,' added Lanty. 'Hark! and they are at their prayers.'
But just then Victorine rushed up from below, and throwing her arms round
Lanty, cried, 'Oh! Laurent, Laurent. It is not true that it is all over
with us, is it? Oh! save me! save me!'
'And if I cannot save you, mine own heart's core, we'll die together,'
returned the poor fellow, holding her fast. 'It won't last long,
Victorine, and the saints have a hold of my scapulary.'
He had scarcely spoken when, lifted upon a wave, the tartane dashed upon
the rocks, and there was at once a horrible shivering and crashing
throughout her--a frightful mingling of shrieks and yells of despair with
the wild roar of the waves that poured over her. The party at the head
of the vessel were conscious of clinging to something, and when the first
burly-burly ceased a little they found themselves all together against
the bulwark, the vessel almost on her beam ends, wedged into the rocks,
their portion high and dry, but the stern, where the cabin was, entirely
under water.
Victorine screamed aloud, 'My lady! my poor lady.'
'I see--I see something,' cried Arthur, who had already thrown off his
coat, and in another moment he had brought up Estelle in his arms, alive,
sobbing and panting. Giving her over to the steward, he made another
dive, but then was lost sight of, and returned no more, nor was anything
to be seen of the rest. Shut up in the cabin, Madame de Bourke, Ulysse,
and the three maids must have been instantly drowned, and none of the
crew were to be seen. Maitre Hebert hold the little girl in his arms,
glad that, though living, she was only half-conscious. Victorine,
sobbing, hung heavily on Lanty, and before he could free his hands he
perceived to his dismay that the Abbe, unassisted, was climbing down from
the wreck upon the rock, scarcely perhaps aware of his danger.
Lanty tried to put Victorine aside, and called out, 'Your reverence,
wait--Masther Phelim, wait till I come and help you.' But the girl,
frantic with terror, grappled him fast, screaming to him not to let her
go--and at the same moment a wave broke over the Abbe. Lanty, almost
wild, was ready to leap into it after him, thinking he must be sucked
back with it, but behold! he still remained clinging to the rock.
Instinct seemed to serve him, for he had stuck his knife into the rock
and was holding on by it. There seemed no foothold, and while Lanty was
deliberating how to go to his assistance, another wave washed him off and
bore him to the next rock, which was only separated from the mainland by
a channel of smoother water. He tried to catch at a floating plank, but
in vain; however, an oar next drifted towards him, and by it he gained
the land, but only to be instantly surrounded by a mob of Cabeleyzes, who
seemed to be stripping off his garments. By this time many were swimming
towards the wreck; and Estelle, who had recovered breath and senses,
looked over Hebert's shoulder at them. 'The savages! the infidels!' she
said. 'Will they kill me? or will they try to make me renounce my faith?
They shall kill me rather than make me yield.'
'Ah! yes, my dear _demoiselle_, that is right. That is the only way. It
is my resolution likewise,' returned Hebert. 'God give us grace to
persist.'
'My mamma said so,' repeated the child. 'Is she drowned, Maitre Hebert?'
'She is happier than we are, my dear young lady.'
'And my little brother too! Ah! then I shall remember that they are only
sending me to them in Paradise.'
By this time the natives were near the wreck, and Estelle, shuddering,
clung closer to Hebert; but he had made up his mind what to do. 'I must
commit you to these men, Mademoiselle,' he said; 'the water is rising--we
shall perish if we remain here.'
'Ah! but it would not hurt so much to be drowned,' said Estelle, who had
made up her mind to Blandina's chair.
'I must endeavour to save you for your father, Mademoiselle, and your
poor grandmother! There! be a good child! Do not struggle.'
He had attracted the attention of some of the swimmers, and he now flung
her to them. One caught her by an arm, another by a leg, and she was
safely taken to the shore, where at once a shoe and a stocking were taken
from her, in token of her becoming a captive; but otherwise her garments
were not meddled with; in which she was happier than her uncle, whom she
found crouched up on a rock, stripped almost to the skin, so that he
shrank from her, when she sprang to his side amid the Babel of wild men
and women, who were shouting in exultation and wonder over his big
flapped hat, his _soutane_ and bands, pointing at his white limbs and
yellow hair--or, what amazed them even more, Estelle's light, flaxen
locks, which hung soaked around her. She felt a hand pulling them to see
whether anything so strange actually grew on her head, and she turned
round to confront them with a little gesture of defiant dignity that
evidently awed them, for they kept their hands off her, and did not
interfere as she stood sentry over her poor shivering uncle.
Lanty was by this time trying to drag Victorine over the rocks and
through the water. The poor Parisienne was very helpless, falling,
hurting herself, and screaming continually; and trebly, when a couple of
natives seized upon her, and dragged her ashore, where they immediately
snatched away her mantle and cap, pulled off her gold chain and cross,
and tore out her earrings with howls of delight.
Lanty, struggling on, was likewise pounced upon, and bereft of his fine
green and gold livery coat and waistcoat, which, though by no means his
best, and stained with the sea water, were grasped with ecstasy,
quarrelled over, and displayed in triumph. The steward had secured a
rope by which he likewise reached the shore, only to become the prey of
the savages, who instantly made prize of his watch and purse, as well as
of almost all his garments. The five unfortunate survivors would fain
have remained huddled together, but the natives pointing to some huts on
the hillside, urged them thither by the language of shouts and blows.
'Faith and I'm not an ox,' exclaimed Lanty, as if the fellow could have
understood him, 'and is it to the shambles you're driving me?'
'Best not resist! There's nothing for it but to obey them,' said the
steward, 'and at least there will be shelter for the child.'
No objection was made to his lifting her in his arms, and he carried her,
as the party, half-drowned, nearly starved and exhausted, stumbled on
along the rocky paths which cut their feet cruelly, since their shoes had
all been taken from them. Lanty gave what help he could to the Abbe and
Victorine, who were both in a miserable plight, but ere long he was
obliged to take his turn in carrying Estelle, whose weight had become too
much for the worn out Hebert. He was alarmed to find, on transferring
her, that her head sank on his shoulder as if in a sleep of exhaustion,
which, however, shielded her from much terror. For, as they arrived at a
cluster of five or six tents, built of clay and the branches of trees,
out rushed a host of women, children, and large fierce dogs, all making
as much noise as they were capable of. The dogs flew at the strange
white forms, no doubt utterly new to them. Victorine was severely
bitten, and Lanty, trying to rescue her, had his leg torn.
These two were driven into one hut; Estelle, who was evidently considered
as the greatest prize, was taken into another and rather better one,
together with the steward and the Abbe. The Moors, who had swum ashore,
had probably told them that she was the Frankish Bey's daughter; for
this, miserable place though it was, appeared to be the best hut in the
hamlet, nor was she deprived of her clothes. A sort of bournouse or
haik, of coarse texture and very dirty, was given to each of the others,
and some rye cakes baked in the ashes. Poor little Estelle turned away
her head at first, but Hebert, alarmed at her shivering in her wet
clothes, contrived to make her swallow a little, and then took off the
soaked dress, and wrapped her in the bournouse. She was by this time
almost unconscious from weariness, and made no resistance to the
unaccustomed hands, or the disgusting coarseness and uncleanness of her
wrapper, but dropped asleep the moment he laid her down, and he applied
himself to trying to dry her clothes at a little fire of sticks that had
been lighted outside the open space, round which the huts stood.
The Abbe too had fallen asleep, as Hebert managed to assure poor Lanty,
who rushed out of the other tent, nearly naked, and bloodstained in many
places, but more concerned at his separation from his foster-brother than
at anything else that had befallen him. Men, women, children, and dogs
were all after him, supposing him to be trying to escape, and he was
seized upon and dragged back by main force, but not before the steward
had called out--
'M. l'Abbe sleeps--sleeps sound--he is not hurt! For Heaven's sake,
Laurent, be quiet--do not enrage them! It is the only hope for him, as
for Mademoiselle and the rest of us.'
Lanty, on hearing of the Abbe's safety, allowed himself to be taken back,
making himself, however, a passive dead weight on his captor's hands.
'Arrah,' he muttered to himself, 'if ye will have me, ye shall have the
trouble of me, bad luck to you. 'Tis little like ye are to the barbarous
people St. Paul was thrown with; but then what right have I to expect the
treatment of a holy man, the like of him? If so be, I can save that poor
orphan that's left, and bring off Master Phelim safe, and save poor
Victorine from being taken for some dirty spalpeen's wife, when he has
half a dozen more to the fore--'tis little it matters what becomes of
Lanty Callaghan; they might give him to their big brutes of dogs, and
mighty lean meat they would find him!'
So came down the first night upon the captives.