He wore the simple sailor costume which greatly enhanced his grace and
beauty.
“Here comes our bashful lover, our modest wooer,” said Trimalcyon,
seeing him.
As a reply, the young sailor, appreciative of this pleasantry, threw
off his mantle, embroidered in jet-black silk, gave a kiss to Swan-skin,
caressed Orangine’s chin, and, taking up a silver goblet from the
table, extended it to Trimalcyon as he exclaimed:
“To the health of Reine des Anbiez, the future favourite of my
harem!”
Pog threw a piercing glance on Erebus, and said, in a measured, hollow
voice:
“These words come from his lips, his heart will give the lie to his
language.”
“You are mistaken, Captain Pog; only land your demons on the beach of
La Ciotat, and you will see if the brightness of the flames which will
broil the French in their hole will prevent my following Hadji to the
castle of that old Provençal.”
“And once in that castle, what will you do, my boy?” said
Trimalcyon, with a mocking air. “Will you ask if the beautiful girl
has not a skein of silk to wind, or if she will permit you to hold her
mirror while she combs her hair?”
“Be quiet, Full-Bottle, I will employ my time well. I will sing for
her the song of the emir, a song worthy of Beni-Amer, which that fox,
Hadji, made her listen to so well.”
“And if the old Provençal finds your voice disagreeable, he will give
you a leather strap, as if you were a badly taught child, my boy,”
said Trimalcyon.
“I will reply to the old gentleman by seizing his daughter in my arms,
and singing to him those verses of Hadji:
“‘Till sixteen years old, the daughter belongs to her father.
“At sixteen years old, the daughter belongs to the lover.’”
“And if the good man insists, you will give him, for your last word,
your kangiar to end the conversation?” “That comes of course,
Empty-Cup. Who carries off the daughter, kills the father,” added
Erebus, with an ironical smile.
Trimalcyon wagged his head, and said to Pog, who seemed more and more
absorbed in his gloomy thoughts: “The young peacock is laughing at
us, he is jesting, he will do some shepherd-swain nonsense with that
girl.” “Has the French spy returned from the islands?” asked Pog
of Erebus.
“Not yet, Captain Pog,” replied the young sailor; “he departed
with his stick and his wallet, disguised as a beggar. He will be here,
without doubt, in an hour. I waited for him in vain. Seeing that he did
not arrive, I came in my long-boat; the barge which landed him on
the shore will bring him back here. But shall we attack La Ciotat or
Marseilles, Captain Pog?”
“Marseilles, unless the report of the spy makes me change my
opinion,” said Pog.
“And on our return, shall we not stop a moment at La Ciotat?” asked
Erebus. “Hadji is expecting us.”
“And your beautiful maiden also, my boy. Ah! ah! you are more
impatient to see her beautiful eyes than the gaping mouths of the
cannon of the castle,” said Trimalcyon, “and you are right, I do not
reproach you for it.”
“By the cross of Malta, which I abhor!” cried Erebus, with
impatience, “I would rather never see that lovely girl in the cabin
of my chebec than not to sound my war-cry at the attack of Marseilles.
Captain Pog knows that in all our combats with the French or with
the galleys of religion, my arm, although young, has dealt some heavy
blows.”
“Be quiet! whether we attack Marseilles or not, you will be able to
approach La Ciotat with your chebec and carry off your maiden. I will
not allow you to lose this new chance of damning your soul, my dear
child,” said Pog, with a sinister laugh.
“My soul? You have always told me, Captain Pog, that I had no soul,”
replied the unhappy Erebus, with a bantering indifference.
“You do not see, my boy, that Captain Pog is jesting,” said
Trimalcyon, “as far as the soul is concerned; but as for your beauty,
by Sardanapalus! we will carry her off; the pains of Hadji and your
mysterious gallantries shall not be lost, although, in my opinion, you
were wrong to make yourself as romantic as an ancient Moor of Grenada,
just to please this Omphale. A few more abductions, my dear child,
and you will realise that it is far better to break a wild filly with
violence than to tame her by dint of sweetness and petting. But your
young palate requires milk and honey yet awhile. Later you will come to
the spices.”
“You flatter me, Trimalcyon, by comparing me to a Moor of Grenada,”
said Erebus, with bitterness. “They were noble and chivalrous, and not
real robbers like us.” “Robbers? Do you hear him, Captain Pog? He
is yet not more than half out of his shell, and he comes talking of
robbers! And who in the devil told you we were robbers? That is the way
they impose upon youth, the way they deceive it and corrupt it. Why,
speak to him, I pray you, Captain Pog! Robbers! Give me something to
drink, Swan-skin, to help me swallow that word! Zounds! Robbers!”
Erebus seemed very little impressed by the grotesque anger of
Trimalcyon.
Captain Pog raised his head slowly and said to the young man, with
bitter irony:
“Well, well, my dear child, you are right to blush for our profession.
Upon my return to Tripoli, I will buy you a shop near the port,--it is
the best mercantile quarter. There you can sell in peace and quietness
white morocco-leather, Smyrna carpets and tapestry, Persian silks and
ostrich feathers. That is an easy and honest calling, my dear child.
You will be able to amass some money and afterward go to Malta, and
establish yourself in the Jewish quarter. There you can lend your money
at fifty per cent, to the chevaliers who are in debt. Thus you can
avenge yourself on those who cut your father’s and mother’s throats,
by pocketing their money. It is more lucrative and less dangerous than
taking your revenge in blood.”
“Captain!” cried Erebus, his cheeks flaming with indignation.
“Captain Pog is right,” said Trimalcyon, “the vampire that sucks
the blood of his sleeping prey with impunity is better than the bold
falcon that attacks him in the sun.”
“Trimalcyon, take care!” cried the young man, in anger.
“And who knows,” continued Pog, “if chance may not cause the
chevalier who massacred your poor mother and noble father to fall under
your usurious hand?”
“And see the avenging hand of Providence!” cried Trimalcyon. “The
orphan becomes the creditor of the assassin! Blood and murder! Death
and agony! This son, the avenger, at last gluts his rage by making the
murderer of his family put on the yellow robe of insolvent debtors!”
At this last sarcasm, the anger of Erebus exceeded all bounds, and he
seized Trimalcyon by the throat and drew on him a knife that he had
taken from the table. But for the iron grasp of Pog, which held the
youth’s hand like a vice, the fat pirate would have been dangerously
wounded, if not killed.
“By Eblis and his black wings! Captain, take care! If you are provoked
at the blow I was about to give that hog, then I will address myself to
you!” cried Erebus, trying to free himself from Pog’s hands.
Swan-skin and Orangine escaped, shrieking with terror.
“See what it is to spoil children,” said Pog, with a disdainful
smile, as he released the hand of Erebus.
“And to allow them to play with knives,” replied Trimalcyon, picking
up the knife that Erebus had let fall in the struggle.
A look from Pog warned him that he must not push the young man too far.
“Do you wish to kill the one who has brought you up, dear child?”
said Pog, sarcastically. “Come, you have your dagger in your belt,
strike.”
Erebus looked at him with a surly air, and said, with an angry sneer:
“It is in the name of gratitude, then, that you ask me to spare your
life? Then why have you preached to me the forgetfulness of benefits and
the remembrance of injuries?”
Notwithstanding his impudence, Trimalcyon looked at Pog in amazement,
not knowing how his companion would reply to that question.
Pog gave Erebus a look of withering contempt, as he said to him:
“I wished to test you, when I spoke of gratitude. Yes, the truly brave
man forgets all benefits, and only remembers injuries. I offered you the
most outrageous insult, I told you that you did not have the courage
to avenge the death of your parents. You ought to have struck me at
once,--but you are a coward.”
[Illustration: Pog, calm and unmoved, opened his breast]
Erebus quickly drew his dagger and raised it over the pirate before
Trimalcyon could take a step.
Pog, calm and unmoved, opened his breast without a sign of emotion.
Twice Erebus raised his arm, twice he let it fall again. He could not
make up his mind to strike a defenceless man. He bowed his head with a
sorrowful air.
Pog sat down again and said to Erebus, in a severe and imperious voice:
“Child, do not quote maxims whose meaning perhaps you may comprehend,
but which your weak heart will not let you put in practice. Listen to
me, once for all. I received you without pity. I feel as much hatred
and contempt for you as I do for all other men. I have trained you to
pillage and murder, as I would have amused myself in training a young
wolf for slaughter, that some day I might be able to hurl you against my
enemies. I have killed all the chevaliers of Malta who have fallen into
my hands, because I have a terrible vengeance to wreak on that order. I
have taught you that your family was massacred by them, in the hope of
exciting your rage, and turning it against those whom I execrate. You
have already served my purpose; you have killed two caravanists with
your own hand, in one combat. I know you had no pleasure in it, you
thought you were avenging your father and mother. I deal with you as a
man deals with his war-horse; as long as he serves him, he spurs him and
urges him to the fray; when he becomes feeble, he sells him. Do not feel
bound in any respect to me; kill me if you can. If you dare not strike
before my face, act as a traitor,--you will succeed, perhaps.”
As Erebus heard these frightful words, he seemed to be in a dream.
If he had never been deceived as to the tenderness of Pog, he believed
that the man had at least an interest in him, the interest that a poor,
abandoned child always inspires in one who has the care of him. The
brutal confession of Pog left him no longer in doubt. These detestable
maxims he had just uttered were too much in accord with the rest of his
life to allow the young man to question their reality.
The feelings of his own heart were inexplicable. He seemed to have
fallen into some deep and bloody abyss. The thoughts which rushed upon
him drove him to frenzy. His tender and generous instincts thrilled
painfully, as if an iron hand had torn them from his heart.
After the first moment of dejection, the detestable influence of Pog
regained the ascendency. Erebus wished to vie with this man in cynicism
and barbarity. He lifted up his pale face, and said, as a sarcastic
smile played upon his lips:
“You have enlightened me, Captain Pog; until now, the hatred of the
soldiers of Christ had never entered into my heart; until now, I only
wished their death because they had killed my father and mother; if I
showed them no mercy, I fought them, sword to sword, galley to galley.
But now, captain, armed or disarmed, young or old, fairly or basely, I
will kill as many as I can kill,--do you know why, captain? Say, do you
know why, captain?”
“He is out of his head!” whispered Trimalcyon.
“No, he says what he feels,” replied Pog. “Ah, well, then, my
child, tell me why?” added he.
“Because in making me an orphan, they put me in your power, and you
have made me what I am.”
There was in the expression of the features of Erebus something which
revealed a hatred so implacable, that Trimalcyon whispered to Pog:
“There is blood in his look!”
Erebus, although exasperated beyond measure by the contemptuous hatred
of Pog, did not dare avenge himself, because he was dominated by an
involuntary sentiment of gratitude toward the man who had reared him,
and with an air of desperation he went out of the chamber.
“He is going to kill himself!” cried Trimalcyon.
Pog shrugged his shoulders.
Some moments after, while the two companions sat in gloomy silence, they
heard the sound of oars striking the water.
“He is going back to his chebec,” said Trimalcyon.
Without replying, Pog went out of the chamber and walked to the prow.
It was late. The wind had grown somewhat calm; the galley-slaves were
sleeping on their benches.
Nothing was heard but the regular step of the spahis who walked their
rounds on the vessel.
Pog, leaning over the guards, looked at the sea in silence.
Trimalcyon, in spite of his depravity, had been moved by this scene.
Never had the cruel monomania of Pog shown itself in such a horrible
light. He felt a certain embarrassment in engaging in conversation
with his silent friend. At last, approaching him with several
“Hem--Hems,” and numerous hesitations, he said: “The weather is
very fine this evening, Captain Pog.”
“Your remark is full of sense, Trimalcyon.”
“Come to the point now, and shame to the devil! I do not know what
to say to you, Pog, but you are a terrible man; you will make that poor
starling insane. How in the devil can you find pleasure in tormenting
the young fellow so? Some fine day he will leave you.”
“If you were not a man incapable of understanding me, Trimalcyon,
I would tell you that what I feel for this unfortunate youth is
strange,” said Pog. “Yes, it is strange,” continued he, talking to
himself. “Sometimes I feel furious anger rising in me against Erebus,
a resentment as implacable as if he were my most deadly enemy. Again I
have the indifference of a piece of ice. Other times I feel for him a
compassion, I would say affection if that sentiment could enter my
soul. Then, the sound of his voice--yes, especially the sound of his
voice--and his look awaken in me memories of a time which is no more.”
As he uttered these last words, Pog spoke indistinctly. Trimalcyon was
touched by the accent of his usually morose companion. The voice of Pog,
ordinarily hard and sarcastic, softened almost to a lamentation.
Trimalcyon, amazed, approached Pog to speak to him; he recoiled in
fright as he saw him suddenly raise his two fists toward Heaven in a
threatening manner, and heard him utter such a painful, despairing cry
that there seemed nothing human in it.
“Captain Pog, what is the matter with you? What is the matter with
you?” cried Trimalcyon.
“What is the matter with me!” cried Pog, in a delirium, “what is
the matter with me! Then you do not know that this man who stands here
before you, who roars with pain, who pushes cruelty to madness, who
dreams only of blood and massacre; that this man was once blessed with
all, because he was good, kind, and generous. You do not know, oh, you
do not know the evil that must have been done to this man to excite in
him the rage which now possesses him!”
Trimalcyon was more and more amazed at this language, which contrasted
so singularly with the habitual character of Pog.
He tried to enlighten himself by carefully examining the countenance of
his old comrade.
After a long silence he heard the dry, strident laugh of the pirate
ring through the galley. “Eh, eh! comrade,” said Pog, in the tone of
irony natural to him, “it is quite right to say that at night mad dogs
bark at the moon! Have you understood one word of all the nonsense I
have just uttered to you? I would have been a good actor, on my faith I
would; do you not think so, comrade?”
“I have not understood much, to tell the truth, Captain Pog, except
that you have not been always what you are now. We are alike in that. I
was a servant in a college before being a pirate.”
Pog, without making a reply, made a gesture of his hand commanding
silence. Then, listening with attention on the side next to the sea, he
said: “It seems to me I hear a boat.”
“Without doubt,” said Trimalcyon.
One of the watchmen on the rambade uttered three distinct cries, the
first separated from the two last by quite a long interval; the last
two, however, were close together.
The patron of the boat replied to this cry in the opposite manner; that
is to say, he uttered at first two short, quick cries, followed by a
prolonged cry.
“Those are persons from the chebec, and the spy, no doubt,” said
Trimalcyon.
In fact the long-boat was already at the first seat of the rowers. The
spy climbed to the deck of the galley.
“What news from Hyères?” said Pog to him.
“Bad for Marseilles, captain; the galleys of the Marquis de Brézé,
coming from Naples, anchored there yesterday.”
“Who told you that?” asked Pog.
“Two bargemasters. I entered a hostelry to beg an alms, and these
bargemasters were talking about it. Some mule-drivers, coming from the
west, heard the same thing at St. Tropez.”
“And what rumour on the coast?”
“They are alarmed at La Ciotat.”
Pog waved his hand, and the spy retired.
“What is to be done, Captain Pog?” cried Trimalcyon. “There are
only blows to be gained at Marseilles; the squadron of the Marquis de
Brézé protects the port. To attack an enemy unseasonably is to do him
good instead of harm; we can do nothing at Marseilles.”
“Nothing,” said Captain Pog.
“Then La Ciotat invites us; the swine, those citizens, are alarmed,
it is true, but, Sardanapalus! what does that matter? The little birds
tremble when they see the hawk ready to pounce upon them; but do their
terrors make his claws any the less sharp, or his beak less cutting?
What do you say to it, Captain Pog?”
“To La Ciotat, to-morrow at sunset, if the wind ceases. We will
surprise these people in the midst of a feast; we will change their
cries of joy into cries of death!” said Pog, in a hollow voice.
“Sardanapalus! these citizens, they say, have hens on golden eggs
hidden in their houses. They say that the convent of the Minimes
brothers is filled with costly wines, without counting the money of the
farm-rent that the farmers bring to these rich do-nothings at Christmas.
We will find their cash-box well furnished.”
“To La Ciotat,” said Pog; “The wind may change in our favour. I am
going to return on board the _Red Galleon_; at the first signal, follow
my manoeuvre.”
“So be it, Captain Pog,” replied Trimalcyon.
While the pirates, ambushed in that solitary bay, are preparing to
surprise and attack the inhabitants of La Ciotat, we will return to Cape
l’Aigle, where we left the watchman occupied in drawing up the defence
of the coast.