"How fares it with the good ship, Dick?" asked Edward, fearing for one
moment to withdraw his eyes from off his arduous task of steering the
boat amid the raging seas.
The answer came not from the British seaman, but from one of the
passengers taken from the ship:--
"Mother of Heaven! they are lost--all lost!"
The words, uttered by the young lady who had been the first received
into the boat, were followed by a heart-rending shriek as she sank
fainting into the arms of her father. Many of those who had been saved
had relatives, all had friends and acquaintances, on board the ship.
Some others cried out and expressed their horror or regret, but the
greater number looked on with stolid indifference, satisfied that they
had themselves escaped immediate destruction, or absorbed in the selfish
contemplation of their own pending fate. It seemed even now scarcely
possible that the boat, heavily laden as she was, could escape being
swamped. Humanly speaking, her safety depended on the bone and muscle
and perseverance of her crew. None but true British seamen could have
held out as they did. Many hours had elapsed since the ship was first
seen; night was approaching, and the sea still ran so high that it would
be next to madness to attempt re-entering the little harbour--a task far
more difficult than getting out of it, as the slightest deviation to the
right or left would have caused the instant destruction of the boat and
of all on board her. There was nothing, therefore, but to continue at
sea. There was no other harbour for many miles either to the north or
south which they could hope to reach within many days.
"An' we had but provender aboard, Master Raymond, we might give the
Portugals the slip, and never let them see our handsome faces again,"
observed Dick, after keeping silence for a considerable time.
"True, Dick," answered Edward, and hope rose in his heart at the bare
mention of escaping; but with a sigh he added, "First, though, we have
no provender, and had we, in duty we are bound to land these poor people
as soon as we can with safety venture so to do. Already they are almost
worn out, and a few hours more of exposure may destroy their lives,
which we have undergone this peril to preserve. Then, again, the
Portugals allowed us to take the boat on the faith that we were to
return. Duty is duty, Dick; the temptations to neglect it do not alter
its nature, whatever the old tempter Satan may say to the contrary. Let
us stick to duty and never mind the consequences."
"That's all true, no doubt, Master Raymond, what you say," replied
Lizard. "But it would be hard, if there was a chance of getting away,
to go back to prison. Liberty is sweet, especially to seamen."
"Duty is duty, Dick," repeated Raymond. "What is right is the right
thing to do ever since the world began. Maybe the gale will go down,
and by dawn we may land these poor people without danger. It will be a
happy thing to us to have saved them; and, to my mind, even our prison
will be less dreary from having done it."
All hands were soon brought round to their officer's opinion. The sun
was now setting, and darkness in that latitude comes on immediately
afterwards. Their prospect was therefore dreary and trying in the
extreme. It was difficult to keep the boat free from water in the day;
still more difficult would it be while night shrouded the ocean with her
sombre mantle. Hunger, too, was assailing the insides of the crew; but,
still undaunted, they prepared to combat with all their difficulties.
Rest they must not expect; their safety depended on their pulling away
without ceasing at the oars. Pull they did right manfully. Now one
broke into a song; now another cheered the hearts of his companions with
a stave, which he trolled forth at the top of his voice. The example
was infectious, and in spite of hunger and fatigue, jokes and laughter
and songs succeeded each other in rapid succession. The jokes were none
of the most refined, nor were the songs replete with wisdom; but the
laughter, at all events, was loud and hearty; above all things, it had
the effect of raising the drooping spirits of the poor beings who had
been confided to them by Providence.
As they sang, and joked, and rowed, the sea began to go down, and thus,
as their strength decreased, the necessity of exerting it became less;
still they were compelled to pull on to keep the boat off the land and
her head to the sea. At length the singers' voices grew lower and
lower, and the jokers ceased their jokes, and the heads of some as they
rowed dropped on their bosoms for an instant, but were speedily raised
again with a jerk and a shake as they strove to arouse their faculties.
Edward had need of all his energies to keep himself to his task, and he
told Dick to warn him should he show any signs of drowsiness.
The hours as the morning approached appeared doubly long. The dawn came
at last, and then the sun in a blaze of glory shot upward through the
sky and cast his burning rays across the waters upon the boat, with her
living but almost exhausted freight yet struggling bravely. The wind
had fallen. There was a perfect calm, but yet the billows rolled on,
moved, it seemed, by some mysterious power unseen to human eye--not, as
before, broken and foaming, but in long, smooth, glassy rollers. Smooth
as they were, they would have proved fatally treacherous to the boat had
Raymond ventured to land. As they approached the beach they gained
strength and height, and then broke with tremendous fury on the smooth
sand or rugged rocks, as if indignant at being stayed in their course.
Again and again Edward and his companions gazed wistfully at the coast.
That formidable line of breakers still prohibited approach. He and his
companions had before been suffering from hunger. As the sun rose
higher and became hotter and hotter, thirst assailed them--thirst more
terrible and more fatal than hunger. The poor passengers suffered most;
it seemed as if they had escaped a speedy death on the previous day, to
suffer one more painful and lingering. Raymond had been unable till now
to pay them much attention personally, leaving them to assist each other
as best they could. He was now attracted by the affectionate manner in
which the young lady who had been at first saved tended her aged father,
and at length, when he could with safety leave the helm, on stooping
down to aid her, he recognised in her features, careworn as they were,
those of Donna Isabel d'Almeida. He addressed her by name.
"What! then our gallant deliverer is the Englishman Don Edoardo, the
friend of Don Antonio!" she exclaimed. "Father, father, we are safe
among friends; they will surely take us to the shore when they can. I
perceived the likeness from the first, but, overcome with terror and
confusion, I could not assure myself of the fact. You will forgive me,
Don Edoardo."
"Indeed, fair lady, I have nothing to forgive," said Edward. "I rejoice
to have been the means of thus far preserving one for whom I have so
high an esteem from a dreadful fate. I cannot but believe that
Providence, which has saved us thus far, will enable us yet to reach the
shore in safety."
"Heaven and all the saints grant that we may! and under your guidance I
have no fear," answered Donna Isabel. "But, Don Edoardo--"
The young lady stopped and hesitated, and then continued in a faint
voice--
"There was another brave officer of your ship I would ask after--Don
Antonio. I could never pronounce his family name. How is it that he is
not with you?"
This question very naturally led Edward to describe the battle, and how
he had been taken prisoner and brought to Goa, and thence transferred to
the safe keeping of Don Lobo, and how he and his companions had been
treated, and how they had been enabled to come off to the assistance of
the ship in consequence of the cowardice of her countrymen, who were
glad to get others to do the work which they were afraid to attempt.
This account was listened to with interest by the rest of the
passengers, who all exclaimed against the cruelty and injustice of Don
Lobo, and promised, should they be preserved, to use their influence in
obtaining the liberty of the brave Englishmen.
"See, Dick, did I not say right when I told thee that we should do our
duty, and leave the consequences to Providence?" Raymond could not help
remarking to Lizard. "We shall now have many friends about us on shore,
and some of them will get us set free, depend on that."
"I hope you are right, Master Raymond; but to my mind the Portugal chaps
haven't much gratitude in their nature, and out of sight with them is
out of mind," was Dick's reply.
As the day drew on, the anxiety of all in the boat to reach the land
increased; indeed, it was very evident that without water several would
be unable to exist through another night. Accordingly, about four hours
after noon, as was guessed by the height of the sun, Raymond announced
his intention of making the attempt to run into the harbour. He had
carefully noted the bearings of the marks at the entrance on coming out,
so that he was able to steer a direct course for the spot. The long
swells still rolled in, and broke along the coast in sheets of foam, and
all he hoped to find were a few yards of green water through which he
might steer his boat. The belief that their toils were to come to an
end roused up even the most exhausted of the crew. On glided the boat.
Now those on board looked down on the shore full in view before them--
now a smooth green wall of water rose up and shut it from their sight.
Even the bravest held their breath as they approached the rocks, and the
loud roar of the breakers sounded in their ears. Edward and Lizard
stood up, grasping the tiller between them. There was no going back
now. Had they allowed the boat to come broadside to one of those watery
heights she would instantly have been rolled over and over, and cast
helpless on the rocks. Many a silent prayer was offered up that such a
fate might be averted. Nearer and nearer the boat approached the rocks.
"Back water--back water, lads!" cried Raymond, and a huge roller lifted
the boat high above the shore, but failed to carry her forward. It
broke with a thundering roar into sheets of foam, and then opened before
them a smooth channel. "Pull--pull for your lives, lads!" cried Edward.
The seamen obeyed with a will. The boat shot on, and, amid showers of
spray on either hand ere a breath could be completely drawn, she was
gliding forward, all dangers passed, towards the beach, where hundreds
of persons, Portugals and natives, stood ready to receive them. The
boat was hauled up on the beach, and, this task accomplished, even
Edward and Lizard sank down, unable to support themselves. They and
their companions were carried up to the castle, and, although somewhat
better chambers were provided for them, they found themselves still
prisoners, and strictly guarded.
"I told you so, Master Raymond--I told you so!" exclaimed Dick.
"There's no gratitude in these Portugals."
However, after the lapse of a few days their condition was altered very
much for the better, and provisions and luxuries of various sorts were
sent in as presents from those who had heard of their brave exploit.
Raymond also received visits from Don Joao d'Almeida, as also from
various other persons of influence. He was himself allowed rather more
liberty than before, and was even permitted to ride out in a morning
with an escort, in company with some of the officers of the fort, and to
enter into such society as the place afforded. He thus constantly met
the young Donna Isabel, whom he could not help regarding with interest.
At the same time, whatever might have been his private opinion regarding
the attractions of that fair lady, even had they been far greater than
he esteemed them, he would not have allowed himself to be influenced by
them; first because there was one in his far-off home to whom his troth
was plighted, and secondly because he fancied that her affections were
fixed on Waymouth, and though he devoutly hoped that his friend would
never marry her, yet he considered that as a messmate and a friend he
was not the person to stand between them. These were the very reasons
which suggested themselves to his mind as an excuse, as it were, for not
following the rules of all romances, and falling desperately in love
with the young lady whom he had been the means of preserving from a
dreadful death.
It is possible that even had Edward not been influenced by these two
reasons for not falling in love, as the phrase goes, with Donna Isabel,
he might have found others--indeed, that she was a Romanist and of a
different nation would have had great power with him alone--but it is
not necessary to enter into them; the fact remains, he did not in the
slightest degree set his affections on her. He, however, believing
firmly that she was in love with Waymouth, and having a true and honest
heart himself, placing full confidence in the constancy of woman,
undoubtedly paid her great attention--such courteous attention as a
brother would pay a sister, or an honest man his friend's wife,
certainly thinking no evil, or that evil could arise therefrom.
Now it happened that Don Lobo, the governor of the Castle of San Pedro
and its dependencies, was a bachelor, and, although a surly, cruel, and
morose fellow, had a heart susceptible of the tender passion, or rather
of what he fancied was the tender passion, for it would be difficult to
suppose any thing tender connected with him. It had been very long
since he had seen anybody so young and so beautiful as Donna Isabel, and
no sooner did he set eyes on her after she had recovered from the
effects of her voyage and exposure in the open boat than he began to be
unusually agitated, nor could he rest night or day for thinking of her.
His siestas in his hammock at noon, with slaves fanning his face,
brought him no rest, nor was it afforded by his couch at night. He
resolved to make Donna Isabel his wife. He did all he could to exhibit
his feelings towards her; but, powerful as they might have been, and
although she might have discovered what they were, she certainly did not
return them.
Notwithstanding this, matters went on smoothly enough for some time.
Don Lobo was not a despairing lover, and he knew enough of the female
sex to be aware that their feelings are not altogether immutable, even
if they change only by slow degrees. Donna Isabel's sentiments might
alter, and he might reach a high point in her favour. Time, however,
passed on as it has done ever since the world began, and no such change
as the governor anticipated took place; on the contrary, as the young
lady's eyes were more and more opened to the true state of the case, so
did her dislike to the don the more and more increase. Indeed, whenever
she looked at him, or thought about him, or heard him spoken of, it was
with a feeling rather akin to disgust than to devotion. She did not,
nevertheless, exhibit these uncomplimentary sentiments as forcibly as
under other circumstances she might have done. She and her father were,
in the first place, guests of Don Lobo, and dependent on him. Poor Don
Joao had also lost all his property in the ship, and, it having been
supposed that he was lost, another person had been appointed to his
proposed government, and he had to wait till he could receive a fresh
appointment from home. Don Lobo was also rich, and had pressed money on
Don Joao, which he had accepted, and had thus become still more indebted
to him. All these circumstances would have made it very impolitic in
Donna Isabel to exhibit her real sentiments, which she was thus in part
compelled to disguise, though she could not do so altogether; nor did
she afford the slightest encouragement to her unattractive admirer. At
first the surly don was very indifferent to this state of things.
"She'll yield--she'll yield before long to my powerful persuasions and
personal attractions," he observed to his confidant and factotum, Pedro
Pacheco, a worthy always ready to do his master's behests, whatever they
might be. "I'll put on my new doublet and hose, and my jewel-hilted
sword, and I'll attack her again this day manfully."
"Certainly, most certainly, Senhor Don Lobo. A man of your excellency's
superlative qualities, no female heart, however hard, can possibly long
withstand," observed Pedro.
"I knew that would be your opinion, my faithful Pedro," said the
governor--the fact being that the faithful Pedro always did agree with
his patron, not troubling himself to decide whether he thought him right
or wrong. In this instance both were wrong.
The governor, to the surprise of the garrison, who had been always
accustomed to see him wearing a greasy old doublet and a rusty-hilted
sword, made his appearance in a richly ornamented suit, which, though
somewhat fusty from having been long shut up, had the advantage of being
costly.
He was received, however, as usual by Donna Isabel, who, though she
could not help remarking that he wore a handsomer dress than usual, said
nothing whatever which might lead him to suppose that she saw in him the
least improvement. He tried to talk, but in vain; not a word of sense
could he produce. Then he tried to look unutterable things, but he only
grinned and squinted horribly, till he frightened the young lady out of
her senses, and made her suppose that he was thoroughly bent on going
into a fit. Although he did not suspect the cause, he had the wit to
discover that he had not made a favourable impression, and returned to
his quarters disappointed and not a little angry with his ill success.
Pedro Pacheco could only advise him to try again. He might have acted a
more friendly part if he had said "Give it up." Don Lobo did try again,
and with the like ill success.
"Persevere," said Pedro.
The governor did persevere day after day, and at length, in spite of the
entire absence of all encouragement, declared his passion. Donna Isabel
frankly told him that she did not love him, and did not believe that she
ever should. She might have said she did not think she ever could. He
said nothing, but made his bow and exit. He told Pedro Pacheco of his
ill fortune.
"Then she loves another!" observed Pedro.
"Who can he be?" exclaimed the governor in a fierce voice.
"Where have your excellency's eyes been of late?" asked the confidant
quietly.
"What!" cried Don Lobo, giving a furious pull at his beard, "that
Englishman?"
"The same," said Pedro Pacheco, nodding his head.
"Then I will take good care he no longer interferes with me," said the
don in a savage tone.
"Of course it would be unwise not to exert your authority when you have
him in your power," said Pedro. "Better put him out of the way
altogether."
"He has friends--I must have an excuse," said the governor.
"He has been plotting or will be plotting to make his escape," observed
Pedro. "To effect this he would not scruple to murder all in the
castle. He and his companions have shown what daring rogues they are by
going out to the rescue of Donna Isabel and the rest when none of our
heroic countrymen would attempt the exploit. Ah, those English are
terrible fellows!"
"Proof must be brought to me of their abominable intentions, and then we
shall have this officer and his men in our poorer," observed the
governor savagely.
"Proof, your excellency! there will be no want of that, considering that
our garrison consists of the very scum of the streets of Lisbon,"
answered the confidant. "Why, we have men here who for a peco have
sworn away the lives of their most intimate acquaintances. Of course,
in so admirable a cause they would have no scruple in swearing whatever
we may dictate, even should it not be absolutely correct."
"What you may dictate, honest Pacheco, not we, understand," said the
governor. "They may bungle when brought into court as witnesses, and
though under ordinary circumstances that would not matter, some of these
shipwrecked persons are likely to be favourable to them, and might
report unfavourably of me if matters did not go smoothly. As to the
means I am indifferent when so important a result is to be attained."
"Ah, most noble governor, I understand all about your wishes in the
matter, and will take care that the affair is carried out in a
satisfactory way," answered the honest Pedro, making his master an
obsequious bow as he left the room.
Don Lobo clinched his fist, and, grinding his teeth, struck out as if he
had got his prisoner's face directly in front of him. The performance
of this act seemed to afford him infinite satisfaction, for he walked up
and down the room with a grin which might in courtesy have been called a
smile on his countenance for some time till his legs grew weary of the
exercise.
Not long after this, Edward was one evening pacing the terrace facing
the sea, casting many a longing glance over the glass-like water of the
ocean, on which the rays of the setting sun had spread a sheet of golden
hue, and he was considering by what means he could possibly with his
companions make his escape, when rough hands were laid on his shoulders
and he found his arms suddenly pinioned from behind. His first impulse
was to endeavour to shake them off, and having by a violent effort done
so, his next was to double his fists and to strike at them right and
left, knocking two of them down at the instant in a true British
fashion. At that instant, Dick Lizard, coming on the terrace and seeing
his officer assailed, rushed forward to his assistance, and quickly sent
two more Portugals tumbling head over heels right and left of him.
"To the rescue! to the rescue!" he shouted out, and his voice quickly
collected all the English prisoners who were within hearing. Of course
more Portugals hurried up to the spot, who at once joined in the fray.
Swords and daggers were drawn, which the Englishmen quickly wrenched
from the hands of their assailants, though not till several of the
prisoners had been wounded; and now the clash of steel was heard and
fire-arms were discharged, and the skirmish became general. In the
midst of it Pedro Pacheco rushed out of his quarters, crying out--
"Treason! treason! the English are rising and murdering every one of
us," and at the same moment he levelled a pistol at Raymond's head. The
bullet would probably have, ended the life of the gallant adventurer had
not Dick Lizard struck up the Portugal's arm, for he had no time in the
first instance to do more, but a second blow from his fist sent Senhor
Pedro sprawling on the ground among several others of his party who had
been placed in the same horizontal position by the sturdy Englishmen.
In spite of the superior numbers of the Portugals, the fate of so many
of their party made the rest unwilling to close with the prisoners, who,
not knowing what was intended, stood boldly at bay, resolved to sell
their lives dearly, Dick Lizard singing out--
"Come on--come on, ye varlets! we don't fear ye. One Spaniard lick two
Portugee, one Englishman lick all three!"
This state of things could not, however, last long. Trumpets were
sounding, drums were beating, and soldiers from all quarters were
collecting, who now with Don Lobo at their head surrounded the
Englishmen. At the command of the governor they were levelling their
matchlocks (fortunately the matter of discharging them was not a speedy
operation), when Don Joao d'Almeida and his daughter Donna Isabel made
their appearance on the scene with most of those who had been preserved
from the wreck.
"Hold, hold, countrymen!" cried Don Joao. "What! are you about to
slaughter those who so gallantly risked their lives to save ours? Hold,
I say; I am sure that you, Don Edoardo, have done nothing intentionally
to deserve this treatment."
Donna Isabel joined her entreaties with those of her father.
"Certainly I have no wish to break the peace," answered Raymond. "The
arms we hold were taken from those who assailed us, and we are ready to
lay them down instantly at the command of the governor, in whose lawful
custody we consider ourselves."
Thus appealed to, Don Lobo could not, without outraging all law, order
the destruction of his prisoners. Those who had possessed themselves of
weapons put them down, when they were immediately seized each by not
less than six Portugals, and marched off to the cells in which they had
at first been confined.
"I must inquire into the cause of this outbreak, when punishment will be
awarded to the guilty," said Don Lobo, as he stalked back to his
quarters.
The unpleasant look which the governor cast on him made Edward feel that
evil was intended. His suspicions were speedily confirmed, for instead
of being taken to the chamber he had lately occupied, he was marched off
to the prison in which he and his companions had at first been confined,
and was thrust alone into a dark, close, foul dungeon, at a distance, he
feared, from Lizard and his other men. He knew nothing of the jealous
feelings which had sprung up in the bosom of Don Lobo, or his
apprehensions would naturally have been greatly increased. The air of
the dungeon was noxious and oppressive, and he had not been in it many
hours before he began to feel its ill effects.
"A week or two in such a hole as this will bring my days to a close," he
said to himself as he surveyed, as far as the obscurity would allow, the
narrow confines of his prison-house. "Alas! alas! my adventure has
turned out ill indeed. My own Beatrice, for thy sake I left my native
land, and thou wilt have, ere long, to mourn me dead. For thy sake,
sweet girl, I pray that I may escape."
In this strain he soliloquised for some time, as people in his
circumstances are apt to do, and then he set to work to consider how, by
his own exertions, he might be able to get free. He was fain to
confess, that, unaided, he had not the slightest chance of escape. Of
one thing, however, he was certain--that Dick Lizard would not rest day
or night till he had made an attempt to help him. And he knew that
Dick, with all a sailor's bluntness and thoughtlessness, had a
considerable amount of ready wit, and of caution too, where it was
necessary for the accomplishment of an important object. Edward hoped
also that his friends would prove true, and exert themselves in his
favour.
All this time Don Lobo had resolved on his destruction, and only waited
the best opportunity of accomplishing it. Knowing the character of the
dungeon in which his prisoner was confined, he believed that he should
have very little trouble about the matter. Edward's constitution was,
however, very sound, and though he certainly suffered in health, he did
not break down altogether, as the governor expected would be the case.
Don Lobo, therefore, announced publicly that he intended to bring the
prisoners engaged in the late outbreak to a trial. This every one knew
well would result in their being shot. Day after day passed by. Edward
found his imprisonment more and more irksome, while he had not yet
succeeded in communicating with Lizard, nor could he ascertain even
where the honest fellow was shut up. His jailers were only conversable
when they had any disagreeable news to communicate, and it is
extraordinary how loquacious they became when the day of his trial was
fixed, and the opinion as to his fate was formed. They seemed to take
especial delight in taunting him and in annoying him in every way.
"Ah, senhor, many an honest man has been hung before now, and many a
rogue, and neither seems to think it a pleasant operation," remarked one
of the fellows, imitating the contortions of countenance of a strangled
person.
"To which class does the noble senhor belong, I wonder?" said another.
"Maybe to the last, if he will pardon me saying so," observed a third
with a grin.
"But, ah me! rogue or honest, there will be some fair ladies mourning
for him in more ports than one," cried another, who was considered the
wit of the gang. "Permit me, senhor, to convey your last dying message
to some or all of them. Maybe in your own land there is some fair young
dame from whom you would not willingly be parted, eh? I thought that I
should hit the right nail on the head."
"Peace--peace, men!" exclaimed Edward. "For your own sakes, lest you
should ever be in a like condition, allow me to be alone."
His appeal, made with dignity and calmness, had more effect than he
expected, and the men shrank back, for a time, at least, abashed. Their
last remarks did not, however, affect his feelings as might have been
supposed, the fact being that his Beatrice was never out of his
thoughts, and night and day his prayers had been for blessings on her
head.
The day of the Englishmen's trial approached. Of the result there could
not be a shadow of doubt. Numerous witnesses were able to prove that
they had been found in open insurrection with arms in their hands, while
there was no one to speak in their favour. Any thing, also, like
justice was unknown in the land. Still, Don Lobo, having resolved to
get rid of his supposed rival, wished to give as great an air of
formality and legality to his proceedings as he possibly could.
Edward, from all he could ascertain, felt convinced that he had not many
days to live. The night before his trial arrived he had thrown himself
on the heap of straw which served as his bed by night and his only seat
by day, that he might obtain some repose, the better to go through his
ordeal on the morrow, when he heard his prison-door open gently, without
the usual creaking noise which announced the appearance of his jailers,
and a bright light streamed on his closed eyes. He fancied that he must
be dreaming, till he unclosed them and discovered that the light was
held by a being habited in a white robe, beautiful in appearance,
whether celestial or human he could not at first decide. If the latter,
she was young and of the fair sex. He looked again. Yes--Donna Isabel
d'Almeida stood before him. She put her finger to her lips to impose
silence, and kneeling down by his side whispered for some time into his
ears. She then produced a couple of files and other instruments for
forcing off shackles, which she and the prisoner plied so assiduously
that scarcely half an hour had passed before he stood up free from his
chains.
"Take off your shoes and put on these woollen slippers, and follow me,
senhor," whispered Donna Isabel. "The guards are asleep, and if no
noise is made we need not fear being stopped."
Edward could scarcely believe his senses, and fancied that he must be
asleep, but still he wisely did as he was bid. He, however, felt
scarcely able to walk after being shut up for so long in that
pestiferous dungeon. Donna Isabel, shrouding part of the lantern,
glided towards the door, which opening noiselessly she passed out, he
following. She led the way up a narrow, dark, winding staircase. It
had not many steps, and Edward, to his surprise, found himself pacing a
long passage, the end of which he could not distinguish. He had never
before been in that part of the fort. Not a sound was heard, nor did
his own nor his guide's footfall make the slightest noise. He
conjectured that the guard had just before made the rounds, and that the
warders had settled themselves into their nooks and corners and gone to
sleep. Donna Isabel seemed to have perfect confidence that all was
right, though he could not help expecting every instant to come on one
of these nooks, and to find a warder prepared to dispute their onward
progress.
He had been aware that his dungeon was at a considerable depth, but,
judging from the number of steps he had to ascend, he found that it was
even deeper down than he had supposed. The gallery was low and arched--
hewn out of the rock it appeared, or built of rough stones, though, as
may be supposed, he made no very exact observations as he hurried on.
Suddenly Donna Isabel stopped, and taking his arm led him round a corner
into another corridor or gallery. It was a side passage, or, probably,
rather a passage which had been commenced but not finished. Covering up
her lantern, they were in total darkness. Edward had, however, time to
ascertain that they were behind a buttress or projecting part of the
wall, which would conceal them partially from any one passing along the
main gallery they had quitted. Donna Isabel had not sought the place of
concealment a moment too soon, for scarcely was the light shrouded than
footsteps were heard and a glare of light appeared. The light proceeded
from a couple of torches held by two men, and directly behind them
stalked no less a person than the governor himself, followed closely by
Pedro Pacheco. The glare penetrated to the recess in which the
fugitives stood, and Edward expected every moment to be discovered by
Don Lobo. The don was, however, near-sighted, or so occupied in earnest
conversation, that he did not turn his eyes in that direction. Edward
could hear his companion's heart beat. Discovery would have been
destruction to both of them probably--to him certainly. The governor,
also--as was his habit--walked along with his eyes on the ground, but
those of the worthy Pedro had the custom of continually casting furtive
glances here and there, as if he expected some one to jump suddenly upon
him and give him a stab in the ribs or a kick in a less noble part, or
as if he thought a person was about to creep behind him to listen to
what he was saying. Edward had remarked this peculiarity in the
governor's confidant, and had very natural apprehensions that it would
lead to their detection. The eyes went up and down, here and there, as
usual--now, by a turn of the head, looking over one shoulder, now over
the other, now into the governor's face to ascertain what effect his
remarks were producing. Donna Isabel crouched down, really now
trembling with fear, for, as far as her gentle nature would allow, she
loathed Senhor Pedro even more than his master. Edward stood bolt
upright, with his arms by his side and his eyes fixed, to occupy as
little space as possible. Round and round went Pedro's lynx-like orbs.
By what possibility could they escape falling on the spot where Edward
was endeavouring to hide?
A small matter often produces an important result. A little stone,
which hundreds of feet had passed by without touching, lay on the
ground. The governor struck his toe against it, on which toe a painful
callosity existed. Uttering an oath at the pain he was caused, he
stumbled forward, and would have proved the hardness of the rock with
the tip of his nose had not Pedro caught him as he fell. So assiduous
were the attentions of the confidant, that, though Don Lobo limped on
slowly, they had both passed beyond the spot from which they could see
the fugitives before Pedro's eyes turned again towards the quarter where
they stood. It might be possible that other persons were following, but
no one else appeared.
It occurred to Edward that the governor might be on his way to see him
in his cell, and if so their flight would speedily be discovered. At
all events, not a moment was to be lost. Donna Isabel must have thought
the same, for, taking his hand, she again led him along the chief
gallery in the direction in which they were before going.
"The stumble of the governor might be fortunate for more reasons than
one," thought Edward. "If he is going towards my cell, it may delay him
and give us a little longer start."
Distances appear much greater to persons walking in the dark and in an
unknown path, and thus Edward believed that they must be close on some
outlet long before one was reached. More steps were ascended and others
descended, and long passages traversed, when Donna Isabel led the way
through a narrow one which turned off at right angles to a main gallery,
and hurrying along it for some way, they suddenly came to a door. The
cool night air came through an iron grating, showing that it was an
outlet, if not to the fort itself, to that portion where the prison was
placed. Iron bars secured it, and a strong lock, apparently. The lady
beckoned to Edward to undertake the task which her weaker arms were
unable to perform, throwing the light of the lantern for the purpose on
the door. The bolts having been without much difficulty withdrawn, she
produced a key, which she handed to Edward. In vain he attempted to fit
it in the lock. It was clearly the wrong key, or they had come to the
wrong door. There was a latch, but though he pulled at it and shook it,
the door would not open.
"Alas! I trust the error is not fatal. We should have turned to the
right instead of to the left," whispered Donna Isabel. "It was the only
point about which I had any doubt."
Leaving the door with the bolts withdrawn, they retraced their steps for
some distance.
"Here! here!" whispered Donna Isabel. "This is the right way."
Going on, they stood before a door similar to the one they had before
attempted. The bolts were withdrawn with ease; they had evidently
lately been oiled. Passing through the gateway, Edward and the lady
found themselves in the open air. Edward expected to be outside the
fort, but he soon discovered that they were still within the outer
works. The heavy footsteps of a sentry as he paced the ramparts could
be distinctly heard, the bark of a dog in the distance, and the steady
lash of the restless sea on the beach. A wide open space had to be
crossed. The attempt must be made, and yet they might be seen by the
sentry. Fortunately the night was dark. Donna Isabel held Edward back
till the man had turned, and then whispering, "Quick, quick!" led the
way, running rapidly across the open space. So quickly she ran, that
Edward could scarcely keep up with her. Breathless she reached the
parapet of the outer works. At the spot where they stood an angle
sheltered them from the sight of the sentry above. Edward looked over,
and found that it was directly above the shore, and, as far as he could
judge in the darkness, the ditch seemed to have been almost filled with
sand. Donna Isabel, stooping down, produced a strong rope from under a
gun-carriage, to which the end was secured.
"I doubt not its strength," she whispered; "but I will lead the way."
And before Edward could prevent her grasping the rope, she had flung
herself off the wall, and was descending rapidly. Believing that she
had reached the bottom, he imitated her example. The rope stretched and
cracked as his weight was thrown on it. Every moment he expected it to
break, and he was unable to tell the height he might have to fall, or
the nature of the ground which he should reach. It was with
inexpressible satisfaction that his feet touched some hard, rugged
rocks.
"We have yet farther to go," said Donna Isabel. "Then, Don Edoardo, I
must leave you with those better able than a weak girl to render you
assistance."
Along the rough sea-beat rocks Donna Isabel, with unfaltering steps,
held her way. The softer sand was gained, and now faster even than
before she fled along, urging Edward to still greater speed.
"Go before me, brave Englishman," she exclaimed. "Even now we may be
pursued, and my failing strength will not bear me on as fast as you can
run. On, on; care not for me; I will follow."
This, however, Edward could not bring himself to do. It was contrary to
all his manly feelings, his ideas of chivalry. Half lifting and half
supporting the young lady, he bore her on towards the harbour. As they
went, the idea occurred to him, "What could be Donna Isabel's
intentions? Did she propose flying with him?" The question was
perplexing. "I'll tell her at once the truth, and return to prison
rather than place her in a wrong position."
While thus hurrying on, however, he found it impossible to express his
sentiments.
The beach which formed the inner side of the little harbour was at
length reached, but no boat could Edward discern.
"It is farther out, concealed under the rocks," said Donna Isabel. "We
must endeavour to reach it by walking along them."
The undertaking appeared very hazardous to Edward, who remembered that
there were numerous crevices, and smooth, slippery places, down which it
would be difficult to avoid falling. Donna Isabel, however, assured him
that she was acquainted with a secure path which had been cut in the
rocks.
After searching for a short time the path was found, and cautiously she
led the way along it. It was necessary in the dark to feel every step
in advance, lest a false one might precipitate her into the water. The
delay was very trying. Neither of them had once looked behind; there
would have been no use in so doing. Even if pursued, they could not
have fled faster than they had done. Suddenly Donna Isabel stopped.
"I cannot find the path," she exclaimed, after searching round for some
time.
In vain Edward tried to discover it.
While stopping in consequence of this, their eyes were directed for the
first time towards the castle. In front of it appeared several bright
lights; they were those of torches and lanterns. After flitting about
for some time, the lights began to move towards the harbour. They were
pursued. If the boat could not be found, they would inevitably be
captured.
"I will go first and search for the boat, at all hazards," exclaimed
Edward.
He walked on. Donna Isabel in her alarm had fancied that they were out
of the path, though it was but some roughness of the rock that had
misled her. They were soon again in it. With renewed spirits Edward
pushed on. He fancied that he saw the boat close under a projecting
part of the rock. He hailed.
"All right, huzza!" answered a voice. He recognised it as that of Dick
Lizard. "We are here, most of us. The Portugals have got three still,
but they'll be out soon and come on here."
Dick, being low down, had not seen the lights near the castle. Edward
told him of the circumstance.
"Then the poor fellows will be caught," cried Dick. "If we had a chance
we'd go back and help them; but we've none. It's the chance of war. If
the scoundrel Portugals kill them, we'll avenge them some day. But step
in, sir, and we'll shove off. We are sadly short-handed, that's the
worst of it, if we are chased. However, it can't be helped."
Edward had not spoken to Donna Isabel for some seconds, or it might be a
minute or two; certainly not since he had heard Lizard's voice. Now
came the perplexing point, what would she do? Don Joao was not in the
boat, nor any of her countrymen. Would she desire to accompany him? He
turned to address her, to express his deep gratitude for her noble
exertions, and the arrangements she had made thus far so successfully to
enable him to escape. Great and painful was his astonishment, however,
when, on turning, Donna Isabel was nowhere to be seen. Lizard had not
perceived her.
"When I first caught sight of you, Master Raymond, you were alone; that
I'll swear, sir," he replied.
Edward sprang back horrified.
"Donna Isabel! Donna Isabel!" he shouted. He felt as grieved and
alarmed as he would have done had she been a beloved sister. The
dreadful idea seized him that she must have slipped off the rock and
been drowned; for calm as was the sea, the swell sent a constant current
into the harbour, which would instantly have drawn her away from the
spot where she had fallen.
"Donna Isabel! Donna Isabel!" he again shouted.
No answer was given. To delay longer would have been useless. Dick and
the other men had joined in the fruitless search. They now literally
forced him into the boat, and, shoving off, began to pull down the
harbour. As they did so, one of the men declared he saw an object
floating by--an uplifted hand. On they pulled; it was ahead. Again it
was seen. At that moment lights appeared on the beach, and advancing
along the rocks. The fugitives were, however, on the element they
loved. They were free. A few strokes more and they would be out of the
harbour, when, alas! the stem of the boat struck against a chain drawn
tightly across the mouth, and the loud cries and derisive shouts of the
Portugals told them that their hopes of escape were vain.