After the session, during which, in his function of syndic of the
overseers of the port, he had declared the condemnation of Raimond V.,
the watchman of Cape l’Aigle returned to his sentry-box, temporarily
entrusted to the care of the brave Luquin Trinquetaille.
Peyrou was sad; the last words of the Baron des Anbiez on the subject of
the commander had awakened the most painful memories.
But as he ascended the steep fortifications of the promontory, his
heart expanded. Too much accustomed to solitude to find enjoyment in the
society of men, the watchman was happy only when he was on the summit of
his rock, where he listened in sweet meditation to the distant roaring
of the sea and the terrible bursts of the tempest.
Nothing is more absolute, nothing is more imperious, than the habit of
isolation, especially among those who find inexhaustible resources in
their own power of observation or in the varied extravagance of their
own imagination.
It was with a profound feeling of satisfaction that the watchman set
foot upon the esplanade of Cape l’Aigle.
He approached his sentry-box, and there found the worthy Luquin fast
asleep.
Peyrou’s first act was to scan the horizon with an anxious look, then
to examine it with the aid of his telescope. Happily, he saw nothing
suspicious, and his countenance took on rather a cheerful than a severe
expression, when, roughly shaking the captain of _The Holy Terror to the
Moors_, he called to him, in a loud voice:
“Wake up, wake up! the pirates!”
Luquin made a bound and stood on his feet, rubbing his eyes.
“Ah, well, my boy,” said the watchman, “so your great activity
has fallen asleep. To hear you talk, one would think a doree or a mullet
could not have made a leap in the sea without you knowing it. Ah,
young man, young man, the old Provençal proverb, _Proun paillou, prou
gran_,--Much straw, little grain.”
Luquin looked at the watchman with a bewildered expression, and was
hardly able to collect his faculties; finally, reeling like a drunken
man, he said, stretching his arms: “It is true, Master Peyrou, I slept
like a cabin-boy on the watch, but I did keep my eyes open with all my
strength.”
“That is the reason, my boy, sleep got into them so easily. But I am
here now, and you can go down into the city. There will be more than
one bottle of wine emptied without your help at the tavern of the Golden
Anchor.”,
Luquin had not entirely come to himself, and he stood staring at the
watchman with a stupid air.
Peyrou, no doubt, trying to wake the captain entirely from his condition
of torpor, added: “Come, come now, Stephanette, your betrothed,
will be engaged to dance with Terzarol, the pilot, or with the patron
Bernard, and you will not have her hand once the whole day long.”
These words produced a magic effect on the captain; he straightened
himself on his long legs, shook himself, tried to keep his equilibrium,
and, finally stamping on the ground several times, said to the watchman:
“Listen, Master Peyrou, if I were not sure of having swallowed only
one glass of sauve-chrétien with that devil of a Bohemian, to make
peace with him, because Stephanette wanted me to do it,--a base weakness
for which I cannot forgive myself,--I should certainly think I was
drunk,” said the captain.
“That is strange, you drank only one glass of sauve-chrétien with the
Bohemian, and you are overcome by it?”
“Only one glass, and that only half full, because what you drink with
a miscreant like him tastes very bitter.” “Is this Bohemian always
at Maison-Forte, pray?” asked Peyrou, with a thoughtful and serious
air.
“Always, Master Peyrou, for everybody there dotes on him, from
monseigneur to Abbé Mascarolus. He is in high favour with the women,
from Mlle. Reine to old Dulceline, without speaking of Stephanette, who
gave him a flame-coloured ribbon--flame-coloured ribbons, indeed!”
exclaimed Luquin, with indignation. “It is a ribbon woven by the
rope-maker that this wretch needs! But what can you do? All the women
have their heads turned. And why? Because this vagabond strums, good and
bad together, in some sort of fashion, an old guitar, so hoarse that it
sounds like the pulleys of my tartan, when they hoist the big sail.”
“Did not the Bohemian arrive at Maison-Forte the day Raimond V. had
the recorder chased by a bull?” “Yes, Master Peyrou, it was on that
fatal day that this stray dog set foot in Maison-Forte.”
“That is strange!” said the watchman, talking to himself. “Then I
was mistaken.”
“Ah, Master Peyrou, I am often seized with a desire to conduct this
vagabond out to the cove beach, and exchange pistol-shots with him until
either he or I come to our death.”
“Come, come, Luquin, you are foolish, jealousy makes you wild, and you
are wrong. Stephanette is a good and honest girl, I can tell you. As to
this vagabond--”
Then interrupting himself, as if he wished to keep what he was about
to say secret from Luquin, he added: “Come, come, my boy, do not lose
your time with a poor old man, while your young and pretty betrothed is
waiting for you. Do not neglect her; be with her often, and marry her as
soon as possible. There is another Provençal proverb: _A boueno taire
bouen labourraire_,--A good labourer for good soil.”
“Wait, Master Peyrou, you put balm in my blood,” said the captain.
“You are almost as good as a sorcerer. Everybody respects you and
loves you; you take Stephanette’s part, so she must deserve it.”
“By Our Lady, she deserves it without a doubt. Did she not come before
your departure for Nice, and ask me if you could undertake the voyage
with safety?”
“That is true, Master Peyrou, and thanks to you and your cabalistic
papers that I put on my bullets, and to your oil of Syrakoe, not less
magical, with which I rubbed my muskets and cannon, I gave a hot chase
to a corsair that came near, indiscreetly near, the Terror to the Moors
and the vessels she was escorting. Ah, you are a great man, Master
Peyrou.”
“And those who heed my counsels are wise and sensible,” replied the
watchman, smiling. “Now the wise never allow their betrothed to grow
weary of waiting.”
After having thanked the watchman again, Luquin Trinquetaille decided to
profit by the advice given with regard to Stephanette, and went in all
haste to Maison-Forte.
Finding himself alone, Peyrou breathed a sigh of content, as if he felt
again that he was master of his little kingdom.
Although he received those who came to consult him with kindly courtesy,
he saw them depart with a secret pleasure.
He entered his little cell and sighed deeply after having contemplated
for some time the costly piece of ebony furniture which always seemed to
awaken painful memories in his mind; then, as night came on, he wrapped
himself in his thick hood and coat.
Thus well protected from the north wind which was blowing, Peyrou lit
his pipe, and surveyed with sadness the immense horizon which was spread
out before him.
As we have said, the house of Maison-Forte could be distinctly seen from
the western side of the summit of Cape l’Aigle.
It was about three o’clock, and the watchman thought he saw a ship in
the distance. He took up his telescope, and for a long time followed the
uncertain point with his eyes, until it became more and more distinct.
He soon recognised a heavy merchant vessel whose aspect presented
nothing of menace.
Following the manoeuvres and progress of this vessel with the aid of
his telescope, he unconsciously turned it upon the imposing mass of
Maison-Forte, the home of Raimond V., and on one part of the beach which
was absolutely bare, at the point where it touched the rocks upon which
the castle stood. He soon distinguished Reine des Anbiez mounted on
her nag and followed by Master Laramée. The young girl was going,
doubtless, in advance of the baron into the road.
Several huge rocks intervened, cutting off the view from the beach, and
Peyrou lost sight of Mlle. Anbiez.
Just at this moment the watchman was startled by a loud noise; he felt
the air above him in commotion, and suddenly his eagle fell at his feet.
She had come, no doubt, to demand her accustomed food, as her hoarse and
impatient cries testified.
The watchman sat caressing the bird abstractedly, when a new incident
awakened his interest.
His sight was so penetrating that, in watching the spot on the coast
where Mlle, des Anbiez would be likely to appear, he distinguished a man
who seemed to be cautiously hiding himself in the hollow of the rock.
Turning his telescope at once on this man, he recognised the Bohemian.
To his great astonishment, he saw him draw from a bag a white pigeon,
and attach to its neck a small sack, into which he slipped a letter.
Evidently the Bohemian thought himself protected from all observation,
as, owing to the form and elevation of the rock where he was squatting,
it was impossible for him to be seen either from the coast or from
Maison-Forte.
Only from the prodigious height of Cape l’Aigle, which commanded
the entire shore of the bay, could Master Peyrou have discovered the
Bohemian.
After having looked anxiously from one side to the other, as if he
feared he might be seen in spite of his precautions, the vagabond again
secured the little sack around the neck of the pigeon, and then let it
fly.
Evidently the intelligent bird knew the direction it was to take.
Once set at liberty, it did not hesitate, but rose almost
perpendicularly above the Bohemian, then flew rapidly toward the
east. As quick as thought, Peyrou took his eagle and tried to make her
perceive the pigeon, which already appeared no larger than a white speck
in space.
For a few seconds the eagle did not seem to see the bird; then, suddenly
uttering a hoarse cry, she violently spread her broad wings, and started
in pursuit of the Bohemian’s emissary.
Either the unfortunate pigeon was warned by the instinct of danger which
threatened it, or it heard the discordant cries of its enemy, for it
redoubled its swiftness, and flew with the rapidity of an arrow.
Once it endeavoured to rise above the eagle, hoping perhaps to escape
its pursuer by disappearing in the low, dark clouds which veiled the
horizon; but the eagle, with one swoop of her powerful wings, mounted
to such a height, that the pigeon, unable to cope with its adversary,
rapidly fell within a few feet of the surface of the sea, grazing the
top of the highest waves.
Brilliant still followed her victim in this new manoeuvre.
The watchman was divided between the desire to see the end of the
struggle between the eagle and the pigeon, and the curiosity to watch
the countenance of the Bohemian.
Thanks to his telescope, he saw the Bohemian in a state of extraordinary
excitement as he followed with intense anxiety the diverse chances of
destruction or safety left to his messenger.
Finally, the pigeon attempted one last effort; realising, no doubt, that
its destination was too far to be reached, it tried to return and come
back to the coast, and thus escape its terrible enemy.
Unfortunately, its strength failed; its flight became heavy, and,
approaching too near the waves, it was swept by foam and water.
The eagle availed herself of the moment when the pigeon was painfully
resuming its embarrassed flight to fall upon it with the rapidity of a
thunderbolt. She seized the pigeon in her strong claws, rose swiftly in
the direction of the promontory, and came with her prey to take refuge
in her eyrie, on a rock not far from the watchman’s sentry-box.
Peyrou rose quickly to take the pigeon from her; he could not succeed.
The natural ferocity of Brilliant was in the ascendency; she bristled
her feathers, uttered sharp and fierce cries, and showed herself
disposed to defend her prey with her life.
Peyrou feared to offend her, lest she might fly away and hide in some
inaccessible rock; he allowed her to devour the pigeon in peace, having
observed that the little sack tied around the neck of the bird consisted
of two silver plates fastened by a small chain of the same material.
He did not, after that discovery, fear the destruction of the letter
which he knew was enclosed therein.
While the eagle was devouring the Bohemian’s messenger in peace,
Peyrou returned to the door of his cell, took up his telescope, and
vainly examined the rocks on the coast, in order to discover the
Bohemian; he had disappeared.
While he was occupied with this new investigation, the watchman saw on
the shore the carriage of Raimond V. The baron had mounted Laramée’s
horse, and was riding by the side of Reine, and doubtless accompanied
her to Maison-Forte.
Thinking the eagle had finished her feast, the watchman directed his
steps to her eyrie.
Brilliant was no longer there, but among the bones and feathers of the
pigeon he saw the little sack, opened it, and found there a letter of a
few lines written in Arabic.
Unfortunately, Peyrou was not acquainted with that language. Only, in
his frequent campaigns against the Barbary pirates, he had noticed
in the letters of marque of the corsairs the word Reis, which means
captain, and which always followed the name of the commander of the
vessels.
In the letter which he had just captured, he found the word Reis three
times.
He thought the Bohemian was possibly the secret emissary of some Barbary
pirate, whose ship, ambuscaded in one of the deserted bays along the
coast, was waiting for some signal to land her soldiers. The Bohemian
probably had left this ship in order to come to Maison-Forte, bringing
his pigeons with him, and it is well known with what intelligence these
birds return to the places they are accustomed to inhabit.
As he raised his head to obtain another view of the horizon, the
watchman saw in the distance, on the azure line which separated the sky
from the sea, certain triangular sails of unusual height, which seemed
to him suspicious. He turned his telescope on them; a second examination
confirmed him in the idea that the chebec in sight belonged to some
pirate.
For some time he followed the manoeuvres of the vessel.
Instead of advancing to the coast, the chebec seemed to run along
broadside, and to beat about, in spite of the increasing violence of the
wind, as if it were waiting for a guide or signal.
The watchman was trying to connect in his thought the sending of the
pigeon with the appearance of this vessel of bad omen, when a light
noise made him raise his head.
The Bohemian stood before him.