Stephanette left the watchman with a light heart She was just about to
quit the esplanade, when she saw, on the last steps of the stairway, the
tall figure of Captain Luquin Trinquetaille. With an imperative sign the
young girl ordered him to return by the way he had come.
The sailor showed an exemplary submission; he stopped, made a
right-about, with the quickness and precision of a German grenadier, and
gravely descended the steps he had just mounted.
Had the meeting been arranged by the lovers? We do not know, but certain
it was that Stephanette, preceded by her obedient adorer, descended
the narrow, winding flight of steps which conducted to the watchman’s
cabin, with the lightness of a gazelle.
Many times Luquin turned his head, to catch a sight of the neat
ankle and little foot, which cleared the rough rocks so nimbly, but
Stephanette, with a threatening gesture, and queen-like dignity,
arrested the curiosity of the ex-artilleryman, who was compelled to
accelerate his gait in obedience to the oft-repeated words:
“Go on, Luquin, go on!”
While the lovers are descending the escarpment of the cape of l’Aigle,
we will say a few words about Luquin Trinquetaille. He was a robust
fellow of thirty years, brown and sunburnt. He had a manly figure, a
frank, ingenuous manner, somewhat vain; he wore a costume which marked
both the soldier and the sailor,--a military coat, and Provencal
breeches, fastened around his waist by the belt which held his
broadsword.
The air was cold, and over his coat he wore a mantle, the seams of which
were braided in red and blue wool; the hood half covered his forehead,
and under it could be seen a forest of black curls.
When they had reached the foot of the mountain, Stephanette, in spite,
of her agility, felt the need of rest.
Luquin, delighted with an opportunity for conversation, carefully sought
a spot where she could be comfortably seated.
When he had found it, he gallantly took off his mantle and spread it out
on the rock, so that Stephanette could have a seat with a back; then,
crossing his hands on the head of his cane, and leaning his chin on his
hands, he contemplated Stephanette with a calm and happy adoration.
When she had recovered from the effects of her precipitous descent,
Stephanette turned to Luquin, and said, with the air of a spoiled child,
and a woman sure of her despotic domination:
“Why, Luquin, did you come to the watchman’s cabin for me, when I
told you to wait for me at the foot of the mountain?”
Luquin, preoccupied with admiration for Stephanette’s fine colour,
which the walk had imparted, did not reply.
“Did ever anybody see the like?” cried she, with an impatient stamp
of her little foot. “Do you hear what I say to you, Luquin?”
“No,” said the captain, coming out of his reflective mood; “all
that I know is that from Nice to Bayonne, from Bayonne to Calais, from
Calais to Hambourg, from Hambourg to--”
“Have you finished your European trip, Luquin?”
“Indeed, from one pole to the other there is not a prettier girl than
you, Stephanette.”
“What! Did you make such an extensive voyage to arrive at that
discovery, captain? I pity the privateers of the _Holy Terror to the
Moors, by the Grace of God_, if the voyages of this poor old polacre
have no better results!”
“Do not speak ill of my polacre, Stephanette; you will be glad to see
its blue and white pavilion when I return from Nice, and how you will
watch for my coming from the turret of Maison-Forte!”
Luquin’s conceitedness disgusted Stephanette; she replied, with an
ironical air:
“Well, well! I see that a watchman on the cape of L’Aigle is
altogether unnecessary. All the young girls who wait impatiently for the
return of Captain Trinque-taille, and all the jealous ones who watch
his departure with their eyes fixed on the sea, will be sufficient to
discover the pirates. There is nothing more to fear from corsairs.”
Luquin took on an air of modest triumph, and said:
“By St. Stephen, my patron, I am too sure of your love, and too happy
in it, Stephanette, to care if I am expected or regretted by other
girls; and although Rose, the daughter of the haberdasher in La
Ciotat,--who resembles the flower whose name she bears,--often tells
me--”
“My faith! Thank you for your confidences, Luquin,” said
Stephanette, with a jealous impatience she could not dissimulate. “If
I told you all that the patron Bernard or Master Terzarol said to me, it
would take till evening.”
Captain Luquin frowned when he heard the names of his rivals, and
exclaimed:
“Thunder of heaven! If I knew that those two rascals dared even to
look at your shoes as you pass, I would make a figurehead for my polacre
of one, and a weather-cock for my mast of the other! But no! They know
that Luquin Trinquetaille is your betrothed, and his name rhymes too
well with battle for them to want an issue with me.”
“Well, well, my fine bully!” replied Stephanette, recalling
the watchman’s advice, and fearing to excite the jealousy of the
inflammable captain; “if Bernard and Terzarol talk to me ever so long,
I shall reply that every one knows I am too much in love with the most
wicked devil in La Ciotat But wait,--see here what Master Peyrou gave me
for you. Read that, and do everything he orders. It is late; the sun
is setting, and it is getting cold. Let us go back to Maison-Forte;
mademoiselle will be anxious.”
The two lovers hastened on their way, and, as they walked, Trinquetaille
read the following instructions given by the watchman:
“Every morning at sunrise the captain will change the charge of his
cannon, and will put on the ball one of the red flies affixed to this
paper.
“After that, make a double cross on the ball with the thumb of the
left hand. From sunrise to sunset, cabin-boys must relieve each other on
the watch at the top of the mast; they will always look at the east and
the south, and every five minutes repeat ‘St Magnus.’
“Set the swords in order on the stem, three by three, point downward.
“Set the muskets on the right of the deck, three by three.
“On the day of departure, at the rising of the moon, carry on deck a
vase filled with oil; throw in it seven grains of salt, saying with each
grain ‘St Elmo and St Peter.’
“Leave the vase on deck until the moon goes down. At that moment
cover it over with a black veil, on which write in vermilion the word
‘Syrakoe.’ Every morning at sunrise, rub the arms and the locks of
the muskets with this oil.”
At this point, Captain Trinquetaille stopped and said to Stephanette:
“By St. Elmo, Master Peyrou is a sorcerer. Three months ago, if I had
had these flies of magic paper, my swivel-guns, instead of resting mute
on their pivots when I applied the match, would have replied sharply to
that Tunis chebec which surprised our convoy, and we did not see until
it was almost on us--”
“But, Luquin, do not your sentinels see at a distance?”
“No; and if, while they were watching, they had said ‘St. Magnus’
every five minutes, as Master Peyrou says in his sorcery, it is certain
the virtue of St. Magnus would have prevented the pirates’ approach
without being seen.”
“And would you have made use of this magic oil for the muskets,
Luquin?”
“Without doubt, the day that my guns would not go off, I would have
given all the oil which burns in the eternal lamp of the Chapel of Notre
Dame de la Garde, for one drop of this oil with the seven grains of
salt, and that formidable word ‘Syrakoe’ written on the cover.”
“Why so, Luquin?”
“My artillery was useless, and I wished to board the chebec with a
grand reinforcement of musket-shot, but as wicked fate would have it,
the arms were below, and the locks of the muskets were rusty; you see,
then, Stephanette, if we had arranged the arms on deck, three by three,
and had rubbed the musket locks with this magic oil of Syrakoe, we would
have been able to resist, and perhaps capture this pirate chebec instead
of flying before it, like a cloud of sparrows from a hawk!”
It is easy to see that, under these mysterious and cabalistic formulæ,
the watchman on the cape of L’Aigle gave the best practical advice,
and endeavoured to restore such nautical precautions and practices as
had, through negligence or want of care, fallen into disuse.
The red flies, placed every morning on the balls with a sign of the
cross, had no doubt a very negative virtue, but to perform this magical
operation, it was necessary to change the charge of the artillery, often
damaged by the water of the sea, which swept the deck, and thus the
powder was kept dry and the guns ready for use.
The counsel of the watchman, followed exactly, prevented serious
disaster, whether it pertained to the oil of Syrakoe, or the cries of
“St Magnus,” or the arms arranged three by three on the deck.
In looking steadily toward the east and the south, points of crossing
by the pirates, the sentinels of course could give warning of their
approach.
In invoking St. Magnus every five minutes, they would not run the risk
of sleeping at their posts.
In short, it was important to have always on deck arms in good condition
and readiness. The watchman accomplished this by ordering them to be
arranged in stacks of three, and carefully rubbed with oil, which would
preserve them from the inclemency of the weather.
In formulating his recommendations in cabalistic phrase, he assured the
execution of them.
After renewed praises of the watchman’s wisdom, Luquin and Stephanette
arrived at Maison-Forte. Notwithstanding her air of gaiety, the young
girl’s heart was deeply pained at the thought of her lover’s
departure the next morning. Tears flowed down her cheeks; she extended
her hand to Trinquetaille, and said, with a trembling voice:
“Good-bye, Luquin, every morning and evening I will pray God to keep
you from meeting these wicked pirates. Oh, why do you not abandon this
perilous calling, which gives me continual anxiety?”
“I will, when I have gained enough, so that Mlle.
Trinquetaille”--only the nobility had the title of madame--“need
not envy the richest citizen of La Ciotat.” “How can you talk so,
Luquin?” said the young girl, reproachfully, as she wiped the tears
from her eyes. “What matters finery and a little more comfort to me,
when you are risking your life every day?”
“Do not be distressed, Stephanette, the watchman’s advice shall not be
lost: with the help of St. Magnus, and the magic oil of Syrakoe, I
can defy all the pirates of the regency. But, good-bye, Stephanette,
good-bye, and think of Luquin.”
With these words, the worthy captain pressed Ste-phanette’s white
hands, and hurried away, lest he should betray the emotion which filled
his heart, as if it were a thing unworthy of him.
The young girl’s eyes followed her lover as long as possible, and at
nightfall she entered Maison-Forte, the home of Raimond V., Baron des
Anbiez.