UNDER ARREST.
By the time that Claude reached the Aigle, the evening of this
eventful day was at hand. He was taken to a room on the gun-deck,
which seemed as though used for a prison, from the general character
of the bolts and bars, and other fixtures. Claude asked to see the
captain, and the lieutenant promised to carry the message to him.
After about an hour he came back with the message that the captain
could not see him that evening. Upon this Claude begged him to ask
Count de Cazeneau for an interview. The officer went off once more,
and returned with the same answer. Upon this Claude was compelled to
submit to his fate as best he might. It was a hard thing for him, in
the midst of health, and strength, and joy, with all the bounding
activity and eager energy of youth, to be cast down into a prison;
but to be arrested and imprisoned under such circumstances; to be so
foully wronged by the very man whose life he had saved; to have his
own kindness and hospitality repaid by treachery, and bonds, and
insult,--all this was galling in the highest degree, and well nigh
intolerable.
That night Claude did not sleep. He lay awake wondering what could be
the cause of Cazeneau's enmity, and trying in vain to conjecture.
All the next morning Claude waited for some message from Captain
Ducrot; but none came. His breakfast was brought to him, consisting
of the coarse fare of common seamen, and then his dinner; but the
captain did not make his appearance. Even the officer who had
arrested him, and who had hitherto shown himself sufficiently
sympathetic, did not appear. The sailor who brought his meals gave no
answer to his questions. It seemed to Claude as though his captors
were unwilling to give him a hearing.
At length, in about the middle of the afternoon, Claude heard the
tramp of men approaching his prison; the door was opened, and he saw
an officer enter, while three marines, with fixed bayonets, stood
outside.
"Have I the honor of speaking to Captain Ducrot?" asked Claude.
"I am Captain Ducrot," said the other.
He was a small, wiry man, dressed with extreme neatness, who looked
rather like an attorney than a seaman. His voice was thin and
harsh,--his manner cold and repulsive, with an air of primness and
formality that made him seem more like a machine than a man. The
first sight of him made Claude feel as though any appeal to his
humanity or generosity, or even justice, would be useless. He looked
like an automaton, fit to obey the will of another, but without any
independent will of his own. Nevertheless, Claude had no other
resource; so he began:--
"I have asked for this interview, monsieur," said he, "from a
conviction that there must be some mistake. Listen to me for a
moment. I have lived in Boston all my life. I was on my way to
Louisbourg, intending to go to France from there, on business. I had
engaged a schooner to take me to Louisbourg; and at sea I came across
a portion of the wreck of the Arethuse, with six people on board, one
of whom was the Count de Cazeneau. I saved them all--that is, with
the assistance of the captain of the schooner. After I brought them
on board the schooner, I treated them all with the utmost kindness;
and finally, when I saw your ship in the distance, I voluntarily
sailed towards you, for the purpose of allowing my passengers to go
on board. I had designed coming on board myself also, if your
destination suited my views. And now, monsieur, for all this I find
myself arrested, held here in prison, treated as a common felon, and
all because I have saved the lives of some shipwrecked fellow-beings.
Monsieur, it is not possible that this can be done with your
knowledge. If you want confirmation of my words, ask the good priest
Pere Michel, and he will confirm all that I have said."
The captain listened to all this very patiently, and without any
interruption. At length, as Claude ended, he replied,--
"But you yourself cannot suppose that you, as you say, are imprisoned
merely for this. People do not arrest their benefactors merely
because they are their benefactors; and if you have saved the life of
his excellency, you cannot suppose that he has ordered your arrest
for that sole reason. Monsieur has more good sense, and must
understand well that there is some sort of charge against him."
"Monsieur," said Claude, "I swear to you I not only know no reason
for my arrest, but I cannot even imagine one; and I entreat you, as a
man of honor, to tell me what the charge against me is."
"Monsieur," said the captain, blandly, "we are both men of honor, of
course. Of your honor I have no doubt. It is untouched. Every day men
of honor, and of rank, too, are getting into difficulties; and
whenever one meddles with political affairs it must be so."
"Political affairs!" cried Claude. "What have I to do with political
affairs?"
The captain again smiled blandly.
"_Parbleu_, monsieur, but that is not for me to say."
"But is that the charge against me?"
"Most certainly. How could it be otherwise?"
"Politics, politics!" cried Claude. "I don't understand you! I must
be taken for some other person."
"O, no," said the captain; "there's no mistake."
"Pardon me, monsieur, there must be."
"Then, monsieur, allow me to indulge the hope that you may be able to
show where the mistake is, at your trial."
The captain made a movement now as though he was about to leave; but
Claude detained him.
"One moment, monsieur," said he. "Will you not tell me something
more? Will you not tell me what these political charges are? For, I
swear to you, I cannot imagine. How can I, who have lived all my life
in Boston, be connected with politics in any way? Let me know, then,
something about these charges; for nothing is more distressing than
to be in a situation like this, and have no idea whatever of the
cause of it."
[Illustration: "Of Your Honor I Have No Doubt."]
"_Eh bien_, monsieur," said the captain, "since you wish it, I have
no objection whatever to state what they are; and if you can clear
yourself and show your innocence, I shall be the first to
congratulate you. His excellency will not object to my telling you, I
am sure, for he is the soul of goodness, and is full of generous
impulses. Very well, then. In the first place you call yourself
Claude Motier. Now, this is said to be an assumed name. Your real
name is said to be Claude de Montresor; and it is said that you are
the son of a certain Eugene de Moutresor, who committed grave
offences about twenty years ago, for which he would have been
severely punished had he not fled from the country. His wife,
also,--your mother, perhaps,--was proscribed, and would have been
arrested and punished had she not escaped with her husband. They were
then outlawed, and their estates were confiscated. The wife died, the
husband disappeared. This is what happened to them."
"That is all true," said Claude. "But my father and mother were both
most foully wronged--"
"Pardon, monsieur," said the captain. "That is very probable; but I
am not here as judge; I am only giving you information about the
charge against you. I have not time to listen to your answer; and I
would advise you not to speak too hastily. You have already confessed
to the assumed name. I would advise you to be careful in your
statements. And now, monsieur, should you like to hear any more?"
"Yes, yes!" cried Claude, eagerly; "tell me all that there is to
know."
"Very well," said the captain. "Now you, under an assumed name,
engage a schooner to take you, not to Louisbourg, but to some place
in the vicinity of Louisbourg. Being the son of two dangerous
political offenders, who were both outlawed for grave crimes, you are
found coming from Boston to Louisbourg under an assumed name, and
upon a secret errand, which you keep to yourself. Under these
circumstances the commandant could not overlook your case. It seemed
to him one which was full of suspicion, and, in spite of the
gratitude which he felt for your kind offices, he nevertheless was
compelled, by a strong sense of public duty, to order your arrest.
You will be accorded a fair trial; and, though appearances are
against you, you may succeed in proving your innocence; in which
case, monsieur, I am sure that no one will be more rejoiced than
myself and his excellency.
"You have also complained, monsieur, of the arrest of your captain.
That was done on account of his unfortunate connection with you. He
may be innocent, but that remains to be seen. At present appearances
are against him, and he must take his share of the guilt which
attaches to you. His arrest was a political necessity."
After this the captain left; and, as Claude saw how useless it was to
attempt to plead his cause to this man, he made no further attempt to
detain him.
Left once more to his own reflections, Claude recalled all that the
captain had said, and at first was lost in wonder at the gravity of
the charges that had been raised up against him. Nor could he conceal
from himself that, though they were based on nothing, they still were
serious and formidable. Even in France charges of a political kind
would lead to serious consequences; and here in the colonies he felt
less sure of justice. Indeed, as far as justice was concerned, he
hardly hoped to experience anything of the kind, for his judge would
be the very man who had got up these charges, and had treated him
with such baseness and treachery. The fact was, that he would be
called before a court where accuser, witness, and judge would all be
one and the same person, and, what was more, the person who for some
reason had chosen to become his bitterest enemy. Dark indeed and
gloomy was the prospect that now lowered before him.
Before an impartial court the charges against him might be answered
or refuted; but where could he find such a court? Cazeneau had
created the charges, and would know how to make them still more
formidable. And now he felt that behind these charges there must lurk
something more dangerous still.
Already there had arisen in his mind certain suspicions as to
Cazeneau's designs upon Mimi. These suspicions he had hinted at in
conversation with her, and his present circumstances deepened them
into convictions. It began now to seem to him that Cazeneau had
designs to make the beautiful, high-born girl his wife. Everything
favored him. He was supreme in authority out here; the old Laborde
was under his influence; the daughter's consent alone was wanting. Of
that consent, under ordinary circumstances, he could make sure. But
he had seen a close and strong friendship arising between Mimi and
her preserver. This Claude considered as a better and more probable
cause for his hate. If this were indeed so, and if this hate grew up
out of jealousy, then his prospects were indeed dark, for jealousy is
as cruel as the grave.
The more Claude thought of this, the greater was the importance which
he attached to it. It seemed to be this which had made Cazeneau
transform himself into an eavesdropper; this which had occasioned his
dark looks, his morose words, and haughty reticence. In his
eavesdropping he must have heard enough to excite his utmost
jealousy; and Claude, in recalling his conversations with Mimi, could
remember words which must have been gall and bitterness to such a
jealous listener.