Elzear des Anbiez, brother of the sacred order, royal and military,
of Our Lady of Mercy, for the redemption of captives, had in fact just
appeared on the deck of the galley.
The slaves welcomed his presence with a murmur of hope and satisfaction,
for he always had some word of pity for these unhappy men.
The recognised discipline of the galley was so severe, so inflexible,
and of such relentless justice, that Father Elzear, notwithstanding the
tender attachment which bound him to his brother, the commander, would
not have dared ask the pardon of an offender. But he never spared
encouragement and consolation to those who were to undergo punishment.
Father Elzear advanced with a slow step into the middle of the narrow
passage which separated the two rows of benches on the galley.
He wore the habit of his order: a long white cassock, with a mantle of
the same material caught up on the shoulders. A rope girded his loins,
and notwithstanding the cold, his bare feet had no other protection than
leather sandals. In the middle of his breast showed the coat of arms
belonging to his order, an escutcheon diapered with gold and gules,
surmounted with a silver cross.
Father Elzear resembled Raimond V. His features were noble and majestic,
but the fatigues and austerities of his holy, self-abnegating profession
had stamped upon them an expression of constant suffering.
The top of his head was shaven, and a crown of white hair encircled his
venerable brow.
His pale, emaciated face, his hollow cheeks, made his soft, serene black
eyes appear larger still, and a sweet, sad smile gave an expression of
adorable benevolence to his countenance.
He stooped a little in walking, as if he had contracted this habit by
bending over the chained captives. His weak wrists were marked with deep
and ineffaceable scars. Captured in one of the numerous voyages he made
from France to Barbary for the ransom of slaves, he had been put in
chains, and so cruelly treated that he bore all his life the marks of
the barbarity practised by pirates.
Having been ransomed by his own family, he voluntarily went into
slavery again in order to take the place in an Algerian prison of a poor
inhabitant of La Ciotat, who could not pay his ransom, and whom a dying
mother called to France.
In forty years he had ransomed more than three thousand slaves,
either with the money of his own patrimony, or with the fruit of his
collections from other Christians.
With the exception of a few months passed, every two or three years,
in the house of his brother Raimond V., Father Elzear, noble, rich,
learned, with an independent fortune, which he had devoted to the ransom
of slaves, had been travelling continually, either on land for the
purpose of collecting alms, or on sea, on his way to deliver captives.
Sacredly vowed to this hard and pious mission, he had always refused
the positions and rank that his birth, his virtues, his courage, and his
angelic piety would have conferred upon him in his order.
His self-abnegation, his simplicity, which possessed an antique
grandeur, struck all minds with respect and admiration.
Endowed naturally with a noble and lofty spirit, he had directed all the
powers of his soul toward one single aim, that of giving consolation,
by imparting to his language that irresistible charm which won and
comforted the afflicted.
And what a triumph it was for him, when his tender, sympathising words
gave a little hope and courage to the poor slaves chained to their oars,
when he saw their eyes, hard and dry from despair, turn to him moist
with the sweet tears of gratitude.
We are overwhelmed with admiration when we reflect upon those lives
so unostentatiously devoted to one of the most exalted and most sacred
missions of humanity. We are lost in wonder when we think of the sublime
fortitude of these men, voluntarily placed under the very cutlasses of
cruel pirates. We are speechless with amazement when we think of the
men who risked their lives every day in order to exhort the slaves, whom
barbarians oppressed with labours and tormented with blows, to patience
and resignation. What unbounded self-sacrifice and long suffering were
demanded of those Brothers of Mercy who went and ransomed, in the midst
of the greatest perils, people whom in all probability they were never
to see again.
The priest and the missionary enjoy, for a time at least, the good
which they have accomplished, the gratitude of those whom they have
instructed, relieved, or saved; but the men who devoted themselves to
the redemption of slaves held by pirates, were hardly acquainted with
the captives whom they delivered, inasmuch as they left them for ever,
after having given them the most precious of all boons, liberty!
Nevertheless, it was a joyous day for the Brothers of Mercy when those
whom they had ransomed embarked for Marseilles, and there in the church
offered solemn thanks to Heaven for their deliverance.
Little children clothed in white, holding green palms in their hands,
accompanied them, and their tender hands removed the chains from the
captives, a touching symbol of the mission of the Brothers of Mercy.
When Father Elzear appeared on the deck of the galley, all the chained
slaves turned to him with a simultaneous movement.
At every step he took, the captives, Moor, Turk, or Christian, leaning
beyond their benches, tried to seize his hands and carry them to their
lips.
Although Father Elzear was accustomed to receive these evidences of
respect and affection, he was never able to prevent tears coming to his
eyes.
Never, perhaps, had his pity been more excited than to-day.
The weather was cold and gloomy, the horizon charged with tempest, the
environage wild and solitary, and these poor creatures, the greater
number of them accustomed to the hot sun of the Orient, were there
half naked, shivering with cold, and chained perhaps for life to their
benches.
Although the compassion of Father Elzear was equally divided among all,
he could not help bestowing most pity upon those whose lots seemed to
him the most desperate.
Since his departure from Malta, where he had joined his brother with
ten captives that he had carried back to La Ciotat, he had observed
a Moorish slave about forty years old, whose countenance betrayed an
incurable sorrow.
No man of the crew fulfilled his painful task with more courage or more
resignation. But as soon as the hour of rest arrived, the Moor crossed
his vigorous arms, bowed his head on his breast, and thus passed the
hours in which his comrades tried to forget their captivity, in gloomy
silence.
The captain of the mast on the galley, knowing the interest that this
gentle and peaceable captive inspired in Father Elzear, approached the
priest, and told him the Moor was about to suffer the usual punishment
for insubordination.
That morning, this Moor, plunged in his profound and habitual reverie,
had not responded to the commands of the overseer.
The officer reprimanded him sharply, and still the Moor sat in gloomy
silence.
Incensed by this indifference, which he construed into an insult or a
refusal to submit to service, the overseer struck him over the shoulders
with the cowhide.
The Moor jumped up, uttered a savage roar, and threw himself on the
overseer to the full length of his chain, throwing him down in the
violence of his rage, and, but for several sailors and soldiers, would
have strangled him.
The captive who raised his hand against one of the officers of the
galley was subjected to terrible punishment.
He was to be stretched half naked on one of the largest cannon in the
rambade, called the chase-gun, and two men, armed with sharp thongs,
were to lash him until he lost consciousness.
This sentence had been pronounced that morning on the Moor by the
commander. Knowing the inflexible character of his brother, Elzear did
not think of asking mercy for the offender; he only desired to soften
the cruelty of the sentence by informing the captive himself.
The Moor had but recently embarked, and was utterly ignorant of the fate
which awaited him. Father Elzear feared that, by informing him suddenly
or sternly of the punishment he was about to undergo, the poor captive
might give way to another outburst of fury, and thus incur additional
suffering. Approaching him, he found him in that condition of torpor
and melancholy into which he always sank when not in the exercise of his
painful tasks. He wore, like the other galley-slaves, a mantle of gray
stuff with a hood, and linen drawers; an iron band encircled one of his
naked legs, and the chain by which he was fastened reached the length of
an iron bar from the side of the bench. His hood, drawn over the fez or
red wool cap which he wore, threw a transparent shade over his sunburnt
face; he held his arms crossed over his breast; his fixed and open eyes
seemed to look without seeing; his features were delicate and regular,
and his whole exterior announced nothing except a man habituated to
fatigue and hard labour.
Father Elzear, as did the greater number of the Brothers of Mercy, spoke
Arabic fluently. He approached the captive gently, and, touching him
lightly on the arm, woke him from his reverie.
As he recognised Father Elzear, who had always had for him a consoling
word, the Moor smiled sadly, took the hand of the priest, and pressed it
to his lips.
“My brother is always absorbed in his sorrows?” said Father Elzear,
seating himself on the extremity of the bench, and taking the two hands
of the slave in his own trembling, venerable hands.
“My wife and my child are far away,” replied the Moor, sadly;
“they do not know that I am a captive; they are waiting for me.”
“My dear son must not lose all hope, all courage. God protects those
who suffer with resignation. He loves those who love their own; my
brother will see his wife and child again.”
The Moor shook his head, then, with a sadly expressive manner, he lifted
his right hand and pointed to the sky.
Father Elzear comprehended the mute gesture, and said:
“No, it is not up there that my brother will see again those whom he
longs for. It will be here,--on the earth.”
“I shall die too soon, father, so far from my wife and child; I shall
not live to see them again.”
“We ought never to despair of the divine mercy, my brother. Many poor
slaves have said, like you, ‘I shall never see my loved ones again,’
yet at this moment they are with their own, peaceful and happy. Often
the galleys of religion exchange their captives; why, my brother, should
you not be included some day in these exchanges?”
“Some day! Perhaps! That is my only hope,” said the Moor,
despondently.
“Poor, unhappy man! then why will you say ‘never’?”
“My father is right. Never,--never--oh, that would be too horrible!
Yes,--perhaps,--some day!”
And a pathetic smile played upon the lips of the Moor.
Father Elzear hesitated to make the fatal confidence. Yet the hour was
approaching and he resolved to speak.
“My brother has won the confidence of all by his gentleness and
courage; why, then, this morning did he--”
Father Elzear could not continue.
The Moor looked at him, astonished.
“Why, this morning, instead of obeying the overseer’s orders, did my
brother strike him?”
“I struck him, father, because he struck me without cause.”
“Alas! no doubt you were, as a little while ago, absorbed in your sad
reflections; they prevented your hearing the overseer’s orders.”
“Did he give me orders?” asked the Moor, with a startled air.
“Twice, my brother; he even reprimanded you for not performing them.
Taking your silence for an insult, he then struck you.”
“It must be as you say, father. I repent having struck the overseer.
I did not hear him. In dreaming of the past, I forgot the present. I saw
again my little home in Gigeri; my little Acoub came to meet me. I was
listening to his voice, and, raising my eyes, I saw his mother opening
the blinds of our balcony.”
Then, with these words, returning to his former position, the Moor bowed
his head in heaviness and despondency, and two tears flowed down his
bronzed cheeks, as he said, with a heartrending expression: “And then,
nothing more,--nothing more.”
At the aspect of this man, already so unhappy, the good brother
shuddered at the thought of what he must tell him; he was on the point
of giving up the painful mission, but he took courage, and said;
“I am very sorry that my brother was so absorbed this morning, because
I know he did not mean to strike the overseer. But, alas, discipline
demands that he must be punished for it.”
“Pardon me, father, that I was not able to repress my first movement.
Since my captivity, it was the first happy dream I have had. The blows
of the whip tore me away from this cherished dream. I was furious, not
with pain, but with sorrow. Besides, what matters it? I am a slave here;
I will endure the punishment.”
“But this punishment is cruel, my poor, unfortunate brother,--it is
so cruel that I will not leave you during its execution; it is so cruel
that I will be near you, and I will pray for you, and my loving hands at
least shall clasp your hands contracted in agony.”
The Moor looked at Father Elzear intently, then said, with an accent of
resignation, almost of indifference:
“Shall I have, then, to suffer so much?”
The priest, without replying to him, pressed his hands more strongly in
his own, and fixed his tearful eyes on his face.
“Yet I did my duty as a slave, the best that I could possibly do.
But what matters it!” said the Moor, sighing; “God will bless you,
father, for not forsaking me. And when am I to suffer?”
“To-day--presently--”
“What must I do, good old father? Bear it, and bless God that he has
sent you to me in this fatal moment.”
“Poor creature!” cried Father Elzear, profoundly moved by this
resignation, “you do not know, alas, what you will have to suffer!”
And, with a trembling voice, the priest explained to him in a few words
the nature of the suffering he was to endure.
The Moor shuddered a little, and said: “At least, my wife and child
will know nothing of it.”
At this moment the captain of the mast and four soldiers, wearing
cassocks of black felt with white crosses, approached the bench to which
the Moor was chained.
“Hugues,” said Father Elzear to the captain, “suspend the
execution, I pray you, until I have spoken with my brother.”
The discipline established on the galley was so severe, so absolute,
that the gunner looked at the priest with an undecided air, but, thanks
to the respect that Father Elzear inspired, he did not dare refuse his
request.
The father hastened to the chamber of the commander, in order to
intercede with him for the unhappy Moor.
After having crossed the narrow passage which conducted to his
brother’s apartment, he saw the key of the door enveloped in crape.
This sign, always respected, announced that the commander forbade
absolutely and to all the entrance to his chamber.
Nevertheless, the Moor inspired such interest that Father Elzear,
although well-nigh convinced of the futility of his effort, desired to
make one last trial.
He entered the commander’s chamber.