“I thought not,” said he. “You'll never come again for that reason,
anyhow.”
Some three days after my arrival we untied the ropes by which the ship
was tethered and we set off upon our journey. I was never a good sailor,
and I may confess that we were far out of sight of any land before I was
able to venture upon deck. At last, however, upon the fifth day I drank
the soup which the good Kerouan brought me, and I was able to crawl from
my bunk and up the stair. The fresh air revived me, and from that time
onward I accommodated myself to the motion of the vessel. My beard had
begun to grow also, and I have no doubt that I should have made as fine
a sailor as I have a soldier had I chanced to be born to that branch of
the service. I learned to pull the ropes which hoisted the sails, and
also to haul round the long sticks to which they are attached. For the
most part, however, my duties were to play ecarte with Captain Fourneau,
and to act as his companion. It was not strange that he should need one,
for neither of his mates could read or write, though each of them was an
excellent seaman.
If our captain had died suddenly I cannot imagine how we should have
found our way in that waste of waters, for it was only he who had the
knowledge which enabled him to mark our place upon the chart. He had
this fixed upon the cabin wall, and every day he put our course upon it
so that we could see at a glance how far we were from our destination.
It was wonderful how well he could calculate it, for one morning he said
that we should see the Cape Verd light that very night, and there it
was, sure enough, upon our left front the moment that darkness came.
Next day, however, the land was out of sight, and Burns, the mate,
explained to me that we should see no more until we came to our port in
the Gulf of Biafra. Every day we flew south with a favouring wind, and
always at noon the pin upon the chart was moved nearer and nearer to the
African coast. I may explain that palm oil was the cargo which we were
in search of, and that our own lading consisted of coloured cloths, old
muskets, and such other trifles as the English sell to the savages.
At last the wind which had followed us so long died away, and for
several days we drifted about on a calm and oily sea, under a sun which
brought the pitch bubbling out between the planks upon the deck. We
turned and turned our sails to catch every wandering puff, until at
last we came out of this belt of calm and ran south again with a brisk
breeze, the sea all round us being alive with flying fishes. For some
days Burns appeared to be uneasy, and I observed him continually shading
his eyes with his hand and staring at the horizon as if he were looking
for land. Twice I caught him with his red head against the chart in the
cabin, gazing at that pin, which was always approaching and yet never
reaching the African coast. At last one evening, as Captain Fourneau and
I were playing ecarte in the cabin, the mate entered with an angry look
upon his sunburned face.
“I beg your pardon, Captain Fourneau,” said he.
“But do you know what course the man at the wheel is steering?”
“Due south,” the captain answered, with his eyes fixed upon his cards.
“And he should be steering due east.”
“How do you make that out?”
The mate gave an angry growl.
“I may not have much education,” said he, “but let me tell you this,
Captain Fourneau, I've sailed these waters since I was a little nipper
of ten, and I know the line when I'm on it, and I know the doldrums, and
I know how to find my way to the oil rivers. We are south of the line
now, and we should be steering due east instead of due south if your
port is the port that the owners sent you to.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Gerard. Just remember that it is my lead,” said the
captain, laying down his cards.
“Come to the map here, Mr. Burns, and I will give you a lesson in
practical navigation. Here is the trade wind from the southwest and here
is the line, and here is the port that we want to make, and here is
a man who will have his own way aboard his own ship.” As he spoke he
seized the unfortunate mate by the throat and squeezed him until he was
nearly senseless. Kerouan, the steward, had rushed in with a rope, and
between them they gagged and trussed the man, so that he was utterly
helpless.
“There is one of our Frenchmen at the wheel. We had best put the mate
overboard,” said the steward.
“That is safest,” said Captain Fourneau.
But that was more than I could stand. Nothing would persuade me to agree
to the death of a helpless man.
With a bad grace Captain Fourneau consented to spare him, and we carried
him to the after-hold, which lay under the cabin. There he was laid
among the bales of Manchester cloth.
“It is not worth while to put down the hatch,” said Captain Fourneau.
“Gustav, go to Mr. Turner and tell him that I would like to have a word
with him.”
The unsuspecting second mate entered the cabin, and was instantly gagged
and secured as Burns had been.
He was carried down and laid beside his comrade. The hatch was then
replaced.
“Our hands have been forced by that red-headed dolt,” said the captain,
“and I have had to explode my mine before I wished. However, there is no
great harm done, and it will not seriously disarrange my plans.
“Kerouan, you will take a keg of rum forward to the crew and tell them
that the captain gives it to them to drink his health on the occasion of
crossing the line.
“They will know no better. As to our own fellows, bring them down to
your pantry so that we may be sure that they are ready for business.
Now, Colonel Gerard, with your permission we will resume our game of
ecarte.”
It is one of those occasions which one does not forget.
This captain, who was a man of iron, shuffled and cut, dealt and
played as if he were in his cafe. From below we heard the inarticulate
murmurings of the two mates, half smothered by the handkerchiefs which
gagged them. Outside the timbers creaked and the sails hummed under the
brisk breeze which was sweeping us upon our way. Amid the splash of the
waves and the whistle of the wind we heard the wild cheers and shoutings
of the English sailors as they broached the keg of rum. We played
half-a-dozen games and then the captain rose. “I think they are ready
for us now,” said he. He took a brace of pistols from a locker, and he
handed one of them to me.
But we had no need to fear resistance, for there was no one to resist.
The Englishman of those days, whether soldier or sailor, was an
incorrigible drunkard.
Without drink he was a brave and good man. But if drink were laid before
him it was a perfect madness--nothing could induce him to take it with
moderation.
In the dim light of the den which they inhabited, five senseless figures
and two shouting, swearing, singing madmen represented the crew of the
Black Swan. Coils of rope were brought forward by the steward, and with
the help of two French seamen (the third was at the wheel) we secured
the drunkards and tied them up, so that it was impossible for them to
speak or move. They were placed under the fore-hatch, as their officers
had been under the after one, and Kerouan was directed twice a day to
give them food and drink. So at last we found that the Black Swan was
entirely our own.
Had there been bad weather I do not know what we should have done, but
we still went gaily upon our way with a wind which was strong enough to
drive us swiftly south, but not strong enough to cause us alarm. On the
evening of the third day I found Captain Fourneau gazing eagerly out
from the platform in the front of the vessel. “Look, Gerard, look!” he
cried, and pointed over the pole which stuck out in front.
A light blue sky rose from a dark blue sea, and far away, at the point
where they met, was a shadowy something like a cloud, but more definite
in shape.
“What is it?” I cried.
“It is land.”
“And what land?”
I strained my ears for the answer, and yet I knew already what the
answer would be.
“It is St. Helena.”
Here, then, was the island of my dreams! Here was the cage where our
great Eagle of France was confined!
All those thousands of leagues of water had not sufficed to keep Gerard
from the master whom he loved.
There he was, there on that cloud-bank yonder over the dark blue sea.
How my eyes devoured it! How my soul flew in front of the vessel--flew
on and on to tell him that he was not forgotten, that after many days
one faithful servant was coming to his side. Every instant the dark blur
upon the water grew harder and clearer.
Soon I could see plainly enough that it was indeed a mountainous island.
The night fell, but still I knelt upon the deck, with my eyes fixed upon
the darkness which covered the spot where I knew that the great Emperor
was. An hour passed and another one, and then suddenly a little golden
twinkling light shone out exactly ahead of us. It was the light of the
window of some house--perhaps of his house. It could not be more than
a mile or two away. Oh, how I held out my hands to it!--they were the
hands of Etienne Gerard, but it was for all France that they were held
out.
Every light had been extinguished aboard our ship, and presently, at
the direction of Captain Fourneau, we all pulled upon one of the ropes,
which had the effect of swinging round one of the sticks above us, and
so stopping the vessel. Then he asked me to step down to the cabin.
“You understand everything now, Colonel Gerard,” said he, “and you will
forgive me if I did not take you into my complete confidence before.
In a matter of such importance I make no man my confidant. I have long
planned the rescue of the Emperor, and my remaining in England and
joining their merchant service was entirely with that design. All has
worked out exactly as I expected. I have made several successful voyages
to the West Coast of Africa, so that there was no difficulty in my
obtaining the command of this one. One by one I got these old French
man-of-war's-men among the hands. As to you, I was anxious to have one
tried fighting man in case of resistance, and I also desired to have a
fitting companion for the Emperor during his long homeward voyage. My
cabin is already fitted up for his use. I trust that before to-morrow
morning he will be inside it, and we out of sight of this accursed
island.”
You can think of my emotion, my friends, as I listened to these words.
I embraced the brave Fourneau, and implored him to tell me how I could
assist him.
“I must leave it all in your hands,” said he. “Would that I could have
been the first to pay him homage, but it would not be wise for me to
go. The glass is falling, there is a storm brewing, and we have the land
under our lee. Besides, there are three English cruisers near the island
which may be upon us at any moment. It is for me, therefore, to guard
the ship and for you to bring off the Emperor.”