The answer came with equal promptness and in a powerful brogue.
"My Lord, 'tis a foine wit the fellow has. But, be jabers, Oi, for one,
will not be believing the truth. If the French fleet--bad cess to
'em--meant to sail from Cadiz, wouldn't they have kept it quiet; and
would they have let this information fall into our hands, except for the
purpose of misleading us as to their rale intentions?"
No one spoke audibly for a moment, but a low murmur went round, and it
soon became evident that the old sailor's opinion had several
supporters. One or two, indeed growled audibly:--
"Well spoken, Temeraire."
The Admiral raised his empty sleeve and flapped it to and fro, then
spoke:
"Fergusson, you have had the best opportunity of judging how far this
gentleman is to be believed. What is your opinion?"
Like most jailers, who are not naturally cruel, Fergusson had a
protective sentiment towards his late prisoner; so he replied:
"I have had no means of testing his truthfulness, my Lord. On the other
hand, I have no cause to doubt it."
"Oi should trice the rascal to the yardarm, Sir," interposed the Irish
officer who had previously spoken.
"What say you, Hardy?"
"I say, do nothing till after the battle. It would be murder."
The Admiral smiled pleasantly. His flag-captain's opinion coincided
entirely with his own.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I believe these despatches to be genuine; that
they were not meant to fall into our hands. At any rate, I intend to act
upon the information they contain. I am confident that to-morrow's dawn
will witness the defeat of another Armada; that, once more, the brave
hearts of English sailors will win a glorious victory for our country."
Further speech on the Admiral's part was prevented by the entrance of a
midshipman. The youngster saluted Nelson and then laid before him on
the table a pencilled note:
"The enemy's fleet is sighted.
"Collingwood."
The words were read out, and then followed a burst of cheering.
The Admiral reached his hat and moved from his seat. To the midshipman
who had just entered he said, "Remove this gentleman to Midshipman P's
cabin" (that to which Nelson was afterwards carried when he had received
his death wound, and in which he died). Then he addressed St. Just, "If
I win to-morrow's battle, Sir, I pledge my word of honor to land you in
England, in return for this day's service. If I fail and find that I
have been led into a trap by your despatches--Well--" And he threw him
a warning look.
Stupefied and with a sinking heart and without a word, St. Just bowed to
the Admiral and retired. Then the midshipman took charge of him and
conducted him to the cabin indicated, a gloomy hole lighted only by a
small window giving on to the alley way. Here he sat for hours in
solitude.
Later, towards night, the occupant of the cabin came in, and the
prisoner ventured to ask him whether he knew what in the despatches was
the information that had been considered so important.
"You don't know?" was the reply. "Well, the report is that an English
correspondent of the French Government gave information to Boney of the
strength and destination of our fleet; and that the French Admiral
undertook to send us to the bottom and then come to the assistance of
the invasion army at Boulogne. The despatch you handed to our
Government, it is said, acknowledges the receipt of the agent's
intelligence and asks for later news, at the same time disclosing the
intended movements of the French fleet."
"Phew!" breathed the Frenchman, and began to perspire profusely.
He had little dreamed of the momentous issues involved in the
miscarriage of the despatch, and he trembled at the magnitude of the
disaster he foresaw.
"I'm for sleep," resumed the midshipman; "perhaps the last I shall enjoy
in this life. There will be bloody work to-morrow, and for many of us,
both French and English, the coming dawn will be the last."
With that, he turned into his bunk, and was almost immediately asleep.
But St. Just sat on in gloomy silence. There was no sleep for him that
night.
And the next day was that memorable 21st of October, 1805, when the most
glorious of England's many naval victories was won.
St. Just took no share in it, so that its recital forms no part of his
history. Cooped up, as he was, all day in the narrow, ill-lighted
cabin, except for the deafening booming of the cannon, and the
concussion when the shots from the Frenchmen struck the ship, he knew
nothing of the progress of the battle; or which side was gaining in the
encounter. But in his enforced idleness, expecting every minute to be
sent to the bottom of the sea, his misery and suspense were such, that
even death itself would almost have been welcome.
But his solitude was broken in upon in a way he had little dreamed of.
He heard the sound of shuttling feet outside; then the door was thrown
open and some sailors entered, bearing in their arms the dying Admiral.
His eyes fell upon St. Just, and, for all his agony, he was not
forgetful of his promise. He turned to one of the officers and pointed
to the Frenchman. "I have given my word that that gentleman shall be
landed in England safe and sound. See to it that I do not die
forsworn."
And, so soon as might be, the promise was performed.
*CHAPTER III.*
Nearly four years had passed since St. Just was present, as an auditor
rather than as a spectator, at the battle of Trafalgar; and it was now
towards the end of June, 1809. He had landed in England after that
battle, in December of the same year, and had thenceforth made it his
home, at such times as he was not upon his travels--and they had been
fairly numerous.
About midnight on a certain day in this same month of June, a
post-chaise was being driven rapidly along the road that led from Paris
to St. Cloud.
Seated in it were two persons. One was a venerable looking old man with
a white beard; the other a man not much past thirty, but looking almost
middle-aged, and with the stamp of care and melancholy on his features.
The first was the old man Abdallah, who had accompanied Halima in her
journey from the desert to the shores of France, and had since
established himself in Paris as a jeweler. His companion was St. Just,
but so changed in looks that his former friends would not have known
him. It was not hard work--though he had been no sluggard in the
interval--that had wrought this transformation, but the preyings of an
uneasy mind; disappointment, shame, remorse, self-contempt, and, later,
jealousy, had kept him without a moment's peace and added two decades to
his looks. Major St. Just, the aide-de-camp of Buonaparte, had been a
well-set, muscular young fellow, with a bright brown eye and the glow of
health upon his cheek; full of life and ardor, with a springy step, and
having the soul of honor. Captain Henri, the English spy, was gray and
shriveled, his face all scored with lines, his eyes dull and shifting,
shrinking from the glance of his fellow men, his visage shrouded with a
veil of gloom and sadness; and he walked with the slow, uncertain gait
of a man who seeks to shuffle by without attracting notice. Still, for
one on the weather side of fifty, he would have been deemed by those who
had not known him in his better days, a handsome man, for his features
were well-molded and refined.
During the four years, or nearly so, that had elapsed since he had left
Paris, a Buonapartist agent on the mission, which had culminated in his
presence, as a prisoner, at the battle of Trafalgar, his life had been a
chequered one, and, more than once, he had been in the direst peril.
Halima had sent him here and there and everywhere, according to her
whim, and he had not dared refuse. In fact he had been little more than
her messenger. The usual relations between wife and husband had in
their case been reversed. It had been her part to issue orders, his to
execute them. He had seen but little of her, for he had been almost
always journeying, and might almost as well have had no wife. Once or
twice he had feebly attempted to rebel, but she had quickly cowed him
into submission by the threat of breaking off all relations with him.
She had become more masterful than ever, more restless and excitable and
more active and determined in her plots against Napoleon; she was,
indeed, the moving spirit amongst the conspirators. For all that, in
her husband's absence, she found time for her amours, and indulged in
them with all the passion and abandon of her nature.
She had despatched her husband--the news of his presence at the battle
of Trafalgar had leaked out, and it was confidently reported to the
French Government that he had met his death there--on many secret
expeditions; for instance, he had gone as the accredited agent of the
English Government to Spain and Austria; he had had interviews with
persons trusted by the "Man of Destiny," but who had revealed to him
secrets of the highest political importance; he had even gone so far
afield as the United States.
Many a strange tale could Fouche's agents have narrated of a certain
Jules Durand--one of St. Just's pseudonyms--who had had long interviews
with their Chief, and had made numerous journeys between France and
England, his real character and personality being unsuspected.
And Halima, though her headquarters were in England, had made several
flying visits to the Continent, in the prosecution of her schemes. On
one occasion, at the very time that the Emperor Alexander was being
entertained by Napoleon with imperial magnificence, she, in the person
of a certain Mademoiselle de Deauville, interviewed the Russian Emperor,
when the subject of his attitude towards England was discussed, and
negotiations, that resulted in the subsequent alliance of the two
Powers, were begun. Plot after plot was foiled, but still she was not
daunted, every failure seeming only to strengthen her resolve and the
bitterness of her animosity towards the Emperor of the French.
But to return to the occupants of the post-chaise, which was speeding
through the darkness as fast as horses could lay hoof to ground.
On the seat opposite to them was a small box. The older man was
endeavoring to dissuade the other from some course on which he seemed
strongly bent.
"Be advised by me, Monsieur," he said, laying his hand persuasively on
the other's arm; "do not move further in this matter. Let me order the
postilions to turn their horses' heads again towards Paris. It is for
your own sake I ask it."
"Pish! Abdallah," replied St. Just impatiently, "you waste your words;
it is useless to attempt to turn me from ray purpose; I have taken my
decision and will go through with it. Besides, do you suppose that,
when I show to Josephine the proofs of her husband's design to divorce
her and marry this Austrian Archduchess, she will flinch? No, rest
assured that we shall gain our ends--at least I shall. For what other
purpose, indeed, can she have appointed this meeting with me to-night?"
The Empress Josephine had given him many tokens that she was not
indifferent to him, and, complimented by her notice, he had conceived
for her a sort of passion; not such a passion as he had for Halima--for,
had Halima remained true to him, he would not have given a thought to
Josephine; and even now, his wife, had she so willed it, could have
brought him to her feet again, with never a thought for any other
woman--but an intimate relationship that, when leavened by compliments
and risky phrases, and amorous sighs and suggestive glances, he chose to
dignify by the name of love. He thought himself a very fine fellow, in
that he dared to make advances to an Empress.
Abdallah saw that his protest might as well have been uttered to the
winds, so he contented himself with a grunt and a shake of the head;
meaning that it was a bad business and that he washed his hands of it.
No more was said between them, each remaining seated in moody silence,
the while the carriage bowled along.
Presently it rattled across the bridge that spans the Seine; then they
turned sharply to the left down an avenue leading to the palace gate.
Here the carriage halted, and the occupants got out.
Instead of proceeding up the avenue, the main entrance to the palace,
whose gloomy facade indistinctly loomed ahead of them, St. Just and his
companion took a further detour to the left, bringing up, after a short
walk, before a narrow gate. Abdallah took a key from his pocket and
unlocked it; and both passed through.
They had but just re-closed it when a voice called out, "Hola! Who goes
there?" and a tall sentry, topped with a huge bearskin that made him
look gigantic in the gloom, seemed to spring out of the ground before
them. He held his musket at the ready, and they could see the
glimmering of the steel bayonet at its muzzle.
Before those challenged by the sentinel could make reply, another figure
appeared upon the scene. He carried a lantern and, when he spoke, there
was an air of authority about his tone that showed he was an officer.
"What's all this?" the words were shot out sharply.
"Not so last, Colonel Tremeau, I beseech you," said a peculiarly sweet
voice behind the officer, and a woman in a superb evening toilette, but
her head and shoulders enveloped in a shawl, emerged from a clump of
trees and advanced to them. The lamplight was not strong enough to show
her features, standing, as she was, in the shadow of the trees, but St.
Just noticed that her figure was magnificent.
"I will answer for these gentlemen," she continued, "and, if that do not
suffice you, here is an authority you will not dispute."
She handed the officer a ring of gold set with a superb single emerald.
He glanced at it, and then, in a tone of some surprise he murmured, "The
Empress' ring! Pass on, gentlemen," he went on aloud; "your authority
is good enough. I did not know you were expected. Yet, stay; your
names! It is my duty to obtain them. The names of all callers have to
be sent in to the Palace Marshall for transmission to the Emperor."
"The Court jeweler and his assistant, with jewelry for Her Majesty,"
replied Abdallah sharply, and he held up the small box that had been on
the carriage seat.