 | CHAPTER XI. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
The palace and the throne,
Where reason sits, a scepter'd king,
And breathes his judgment tone;
Oh! who with silent step shall trace
The borders of that haunted place,
Nor in his weakness own,
That mystery and marvel bind
That lofty thing—the human mind.
Anonymous.
It is unnecessary to dwell on the glories of the Mediterranean.
They are familiar to every traveller, and books
have, again and again, laid them before the imaginations of
readers of all countries and ages. Still, there are lights and
shades peculiar to every picture, and this of ours has some
of its own that merit a passing notice. A sunset, in midsummer,
can add to the graces of almost any scene. Such
was the hour when Raoul anchored; and Ghita, who had
come on deck, now that the chase was over, and the danger
was thought to be past, fancied she had never seen her own
Italy, or the blue Mediterranean, more lovely.
The shadows of the mountains were cast far upon the
sea, long ere the sun had actually gone down, throwing the
witchery of eventide over the whole of the eastern coast,
some time before it came to grace its western. Corsica
and Sardinia resemble vast fragments of the Alps, which
have fallen into the sea by some accident of nature, where
they stand in sight of their native beds, resembling, as it
might be, out-posts to those great walls of Europe. Their
mountains have the same formations, the same white peaks,
for no small portion of the year at least, and their sides the
same mysterious and riven aspect. In addition, however, to
their other charms, they have one that is wanting in most
of Switzerland, though traces of it are to be found in Savoy
and on the southern side of the Alps; they have that strange
admixture of the soft and the severe, of the sublime and
beautiful, that so peculiarly characterize the witchery of
the deck of le Feu-Follet. The sea, with its dark-blue tint,
was losing every trace of the western wind, and was becoming
glassy and tranquil; the mountains on the other side
were solemn and grand, just showing their ragged outlines
along a sky glowing with “the pomp that shuts the day;”
while the nearer valleys and narrow plains were mysterious,
yet soft, under the deep shadows they cast. Pianosa lay
nearly opposite, distant some twenty miles, rising out of the
water like a beacon; Elba was visible to the north-east, a
gloomy confused pile of mountain at that hour; and Ghita,
once or twice thought she could trace on the coast of the main,
the dim outline of her own hill, Monte Argentaro; though
the distance, some sixty or seventy miles, rendered this
improbable. Outside, too, lay the frigate, riding on the glassy
surface of the sea, her sails furled, her yards squared, every
thing about her cared for and in its place, until she formed
a faultless picture of nautical symmetry and naval propriety.
There are all sorts of men in a marine, as well as in civil
life; these taking things as they come, content to perform
their duties in the most quiet manner, while others again
have some such liking for their vessels as the dandy has for
his own person, and are never happy unless embellishing
them. The truth, in this, as in most other matters, lies in a
medium; the officer who thinks too much of the appearance
of his vessel, seldom having mind enough to bestow due attention
on the great objects for which she was constructed,
and is sailed; while, on the other hand, he who is altogether
indifferent to these appearances is usually thinking of things
foreign to his duty and his profession; if, indeed, he thinks
at all. Cuffe was near the just medium, inclining a little too
much, perhaps, to the naval dandy. The Proserpine, thanks
to the builders of Toulon, was thought to be the handsomest
model then afloat in the Mediterranean, and like an established
beauty, all who belonged to her were fond of decorating
her, and of showing her fine proportions to advantage.
As she now lay, at single anchor, just out of gun-shot from
his own berth, Raoul could not avoid gazing at her with
envy, and a bitter feeling passed through his mind, when
he recalled the chances of fortune and of birth, which deprived
him of the hope of ever rising to the command of
of a privateersman for life.
Nature had intended Raoul Yvard for a much higher
destiny than that which apparently awaited his career. He
had come into active life with none of the advantages that
accompany the accidents of birth, and, at a moment, in the
history of his great nation when its morals, and its religious
sentiments, had become unsettled by the violent reaction
which was throwing off the abuses of centuries. They who
imagine, however, that France, as a whole, was guilty of
the gross excesses that disfigured her struggles for liberty,
know little of the great mass of moral feeling that endured
through all the abominations of the times; and mistake the
crimes of a few desperate leaders, and the exaggerations of
misguided impulses, for a radical and universal depravity.
The France of the Reign of Terror, even, has little more to
answer for than the compliance which makes bodies of men
the instruments of the enthusiastic, the designing, and the
active—our own country often tolerating error, that differs
only in the degree, under the same blind submission to combinations
and impulses; this very degree, too, depending
more on the accidents of history and natural causes, than
any agencies which are to be imputed to the one party, as a
fault, or, to the other, as a merit. It was with Raoul, as it
had been with his country—each was the creature of circumstances;
and if the man had some of the faults, he had also
most of the merits of his nation and his age. The looseness
on the subject of religion, which was his principal defect in
the eyes of Ghita, but which could scarcely fail to be a
material one, with a girl educated and disposed as was the
case with our heroine, was the error of the day, and with
Raoul it was, at least, sincere; a circumstance that rendered
him, with one so truly pious as the gentle being he loved,
the subject of a holy interest, which, in itself, almost rivalled
the natural tenderness of her sex, in behalf of the object of
her affections.
While the short engagement with the boats lasted, and
during the few minutes he was under the fire of the frigate,
Raoul had been himself; the excitement of actual war always
nerving him to deeds worthy of his command, and the high
name he had acquired; but, throughout the remainder of the
assured that his spars were likely to stand, gave him little
concern; and now that he was at anchor within the shallow
water, he felt much as the traveller who has found a comfortable
inn, after the fatigue of a hard day's ride. When
Ithuel suggested the possibility of a night-attack, in boats,
he laughingly reminded the American that “the burnt child
dreads the fire,” and gave himself no great concern in the
matter. Still, no proper precaution was neglected. Raoul
was in the habit of exacting much of his men, in moments
of necessity; but, at all other times, he was as indulgent as
a kind father, among obedient and respectful children. This
quality, and the never-varying constancy and coolness that
he displayed in danger, was the secret of his great influence
with them; every seaman under his orders feeling certain,
that no severe duty was required at his hands, without a
corresponding necessity for it.
On the present occasion, when the people of le Feu-Follet
had supped, they were indulged in their customary dance;
and the romantic songs of Provence were heard on the forecastle.
A light-hearted gaiety prevailed, that wanted only
the presence of woman, to make the scene resemble the
evening amusement of some hamlet on the coast. Nor was
the sex absent in the sentiment of the hour, or wholly so in
person. The songs were full of chivalrous gallantry, and
Ghita listened, equally touched and amused. She sat on
the taffrail, with her uncle standing at her side, while Raoul
paced the quarter-deck, stopping, in his turn, to utter some
thought, or wish, to ears that were always attentive. At
length the song and the dance ended, and all but the few
who were ordered to remain on watch, descended to their
hammocks. The change was as sudden, as it was striking.
The solemn, breathing stillness of a star-lit night succeeded
to the light laugh, melodious song, and spirited merriment
of a set of men, whose constitutional gaiety seemed to be
restrained by a species of native refinement, that is unknown
to the mariners of other regions, and who, unnurtured as
they might be deemed, in some respects, seldom or never
offended against the proprieties; as is so common with the
mariners of the boasted Anglo-Saxon race. By this time
the cool air from the mountains began to descend, and floating
blew in an exactly contrary direction to that, which, about
the same hour, came off from the adjacent continent. There
was no moon; but the night could not be called dark.
Myriads of stars gleamed out from the fathomless firmament,
filling the atmosphere with a light that served to render
objects sufficiently distinct; while it left them clad in a semiobscurity
that suited the witchery of the scene and the hour.
Raoul felt the influence of all these circumstances in an
unusual degree. It disposed him to more sobriety of thought
than always attended his leisure moments, and he took a
seat on the taffrail, near Ghita, while her uncle went below,
to his knees and his prayers.
Every foot-fall in the lugger had now ceased. Ithuel
was posted on a knight-head, where he sat watching his old
enemy, the Proserpine; the proximity of that ship not allowing
him to sleep. Two experienced seamen, who alone
formed the regular anchor-watch, as it is termed, were
stationed apart, in order to prevent conversation; one on the
starboard cat-head, and the other in the main rigging; both
keeping vigilant ward over the tranquil sea, and the different
objects that floated on its placid bosom. In that retired spot,
these objects were necessarily few, embracing the frigate,
the lugger, and three coasters; the latter of which had all
been boarded before the night set in, by the Proserpine, and,
after short detentions, dismissed. One of these coasters lay
about half-way between the two hostile vessels, at anchor,
having come-to, after making some fruitless efforts to get
to the northward, by means of the expiring west-wind.
Although the light land-breeze would now have sufficed to
carry her a knot or two through the water, she preferred
maintaining her position, and giving her people a good
night's rest, to getting under-way. The situation of this
felucca, and the circumstance that she had been boarded by
the frigate, rendered her an object of some distrust with
Raoul, through the early part of the evening, and he had
ordered a vigilant eye to be kept on her; but nothing had
been discovered to confirm these suspicions. The movements
of her people—the manner in which she brought-up—
the quiet that prevailed on board her, and even the lubberly
disposition of her spars and rigging, went to satisfy Raoul
she lay less than a mile outside of the lugger, though now
dead to leeward all that distance, she was to be watched;
and one of the seamen, he in the rigging, rarely had his eyes
off her, a minute at a time. The second coaster was a little
to the southward of the frigate, under her canvass, hauling
in for the land; doubtless with a view to get as much as
possible of the breeze from the mountains; and standing
slowly to the south. She had been set by compass, an hour
before, and all that time had altered her bearings but half a
point, though not a league off—a proof how light she had
the wind. The third coaster, a small felucca, too, was to
the northward; but, ever since the land-breeze, if breeze it
could be called, had come, she had been busy turning slowly
up to windward; and seemed disposed either to cross the
shoals, closer in than the spot where the lugger lay, or to
enter the Golo. Her shadowy outline was visible, though
drawn against the land, moving slowly athwart the lugger's
hawse, perhaps half-a-mile in-shore of her. As there was a
current setting out of the river, and all the vessels rode with
their heads to the island, Ithuel occasionally turned his head
to watch her progress; which was so slow, however, as to
produce very little change.
After looking around him several minutes, in silence,
Raoul turned his face upward, and gazed at the stars.
“You probably do not know, Ghita,” he said, “the use
those stars may be, and are, to us mariners. By their aid,
we are enabled to tell where we are, in the midst of the
broadest oceans—to know the points of the compass; and to
feel at home even when furthest removed from it. The seaman
must go far south of the equator, at least, ere he can
reach a spot where he does not see the same stars that he
beheld from the door of his father's house.”
“That is a new thought, to me,” answered Ghita, quickly,
her tender nature, at once, struck with the feeling and poetry
of such an idea; “that is a new thought, to me, Raoul;
and I wonder you never mentioned it before. It is a great
thing to be able to carry home and familiar objects with you,
when so distant from those you love.”
“Did you never hear that lovers have chosen an hour
though separated by oceans and countries?”
“That is a question you might put to yourself, Raoul;
all I have ever heard of lovers, and love, having come from
your own lips.”
“Well, then, I tell it you; and hope that we shall not
part, again, without selecting our star, and our hour—if,
indeed, we ever part more. Though I have forgotten to tell
you this, Ghita, it is because you are never absent from my
thoughts—no star is necessary to recall Monte Argentaro
and the Towers.”
If we should say Ghita was not pleased with this, it would
be to raise her above an amiable and a natural weakness.
Raoul's protestations never fell dead on her heart; and few
things were sweeter, to her ear, than his words, as they
declared his devotedness and passion. The frankness with
which he admitted his delinquencies, and most especially the
want of that very religious sentiment which was of so much
value in the eyes of his mistress, gave an additional weight
to his language, when he affirmed his love. Notwithstanding
Ghita blushed, as she now listened, she did not smile;
she rather appeared sad. For near a minute she made no
reply; and when she did answer, it was in a low voice, like
one who felt and thought intensely.
“Those stars may well have a higher office,” she said.
“Look at them, Raoul;—count them we cannot, for they
seem to start out of the depths of heaven, one after another,
as the eye rests upon the space, until they mock our efforts
at calculation. We see they are there in thousands, and
may well believe they are in myriads. Now, thou hast been
taught, else couldst thou never be a navigator, that those
stars are worlds, like our own, or suns, with worlds sailing
around them; how is it possible to see and know this, without
believing in a God, and feeling the insignificance of our
being?”
“I do not deny that there is a power to govern all this,
Ghita—but I maintain that it is a principle; not a being, in
our shape and form; and that it is the reason of things,
rather than a deity.”
“Who has said that God is a being, in our shape and
say it, who reverence and worship him as they ought!”
“Do not your priests say that man has been created in
his image? and is not this creating him in his form and
likeness?”
“Nay, not so, dear Raoul, but in the image of his spirit
—that man hath a soul which partakes, though in a small
degree, of the imperishable essence of God; and thus far
doth he exist in his image. More than this, none have presumed
to say. But what a being, to be the master of all
those bright worlds!”
“Ghita, thou know'st my way of thinking, on these matters;
and thou also know'st that I would not wound thy
gentle spirit by a single word that could grieve thee.”
“Nay, Raoul, it is not thy way of thinking, but thy
fashion of talking, that makes the difference between us.
No one, who thinks, can ever doubt the existence of a being
superior to all of earth, and of the universe; and who is
Creator and Master of all.”
“Of a principle, if thou wilt, Ghita; but of a being, I ask
for the proof. That a mighty principle exists, to set all
these planets in motion — to create all these stars, and to
plant all these suns, in space, I never doubted; it would be
to question a fact which stands, day and night, before my
eyes; but to suppose a being capable of producing all these
things, is to believe in beings I never saw.”
“And why not as well suppose that it is a being that does
all this, Raoul, as to suppose it what you call a principle?”
“Because I see principles, beyond my understanding, at
work all around me: in yonder heavy frigate, groaning
under her load of artillery, which floats on this thin water;
in the trees, of the land that lies so near us; in the animals,
which are born, and die; the fishes, the birds, and the
human beings. But I see no being—know no being, that is
able to do all this.”
“That is because thou know'st not God! He is the
creator of the principles of which thou speak'st, and is
greater than thy principles, themselves.”
“It is easy to say this, Ghita—but hard to prove. I take
the acorn, and put it in the ground; in due time it comes up
a plant; in the course of years, it becomes a tree. Now,
unknown to me, but which I am sure exists, for I can cause
it, myself, to produce its fruits, by merely opening the earth
and laying the seed in its bosom. Nay, I can do more—
so well do I understand this principle, to a certain extent, at
least, that, by choosing the season and the soil, I can hasten
or retard the growth of the plant, and, in a manner, fashion
the tree.”
“True, Raoul, to a certain extent thou canst; and it is
precisely because thou hast been created after the image of
God. The little resemblance thou enjoyest to that Mighty
being, enables thee to do this much more than the beasts of
the field: wert thou his equal, thou couldst create that principle
of which thou speakest, and which, in thy blindness,
thou mistakest for its master.”
This was said with more feeling than Ghita had ever
before manifested, in their frequent discourses on this subject,
and with a solemnity of tone that startled her listener.
Ghita had no philosophy, in the common acceptation of the
term, while Raoul fancied he had much, under the limitations
of a deficient education; and yet the strong religious
sentiment of the girl so quickened her faculties, that he had
often been made to wonder why she had seemingly the best
of the argument, on a subject in which he flattered himself
with being so strong.
“I rather think, Ghita, we scarcely understand each
other,” answered Raoul. “I pretend not to see any more
than is permitted to man; or, rather, more than his powers
can comprehend; but this proves nothing, as the elephant
understands more than the horse, and the horse more than
the fish. There is a principle which pervades everything,
which we call Nature; and this it is which has produced
these whirling worlds, and all the mysteries of creation.
One of its laws is, that nothing it produces shall comprehend
its secrets.”
“You have only to fancy your principle a spirit, a being
with mind, Raoul, to have the Christian God. Why not
believe in him, as easily as you believe in your unknown
principle, as you call it? You know that you exist—that
you can build a lugger—can reason on the sun and stars,
so as to find your way across the widest ocean, by means
exists, who can do even more than this? Your principles
can be thwarted, even by yourself—the seed can be deprived
of its power to grow—the tree destroyed; and, if principles
can thus be destroyed, some accident may one day destroy
creation, by destroying its principle. I fear to speak to
you of revelation, Raoul, for I know you mock it!”
“Not when it comes from thy lips, dearest. I may not
believe, but I never mock at what thou utterest and reverencest.”
“I could thank thee for this, Raoul, but I feel it would be
taking to myself a homage that ought to be paid elsewhere.
But, here is my guitar, and I am sorry to say that the hymn
to the Virgin has not been sung on board this lugger to-night;
thou canst not think how sweet is a hymn sung upon
the waters. I heard the crew that is anchored towards the
frigate, singing that hymn, while thy men were at their light
Provencal songs, in praise of woman's beauty; instead of
joining in praise of their Creator.”
“Thou mean'st to sing thy hymn, Ghita, else the guitar
would not have been mentioned?”
“Raoul, I do. I have ever found thy soul the softest, after
holy music. Who knows, but the mercy of God may one
day touch it, through the notes of this very hymn!”
Ghita paused a moment, and then her light fingers passed
over the strings of her guitar, in a solemn symphony; after
which came the sweet strains of “Ave Maria,” in a voice
and melody that might, in sooth, have touched a heart of
stone. Ghita, a Neapolitan by birth, had all her country's
love for music; and she had caught some of the science that
seems to pervade nations, in that part of the world. Nature
had endowed her with one of the most touching voices of her
sex; one less powerful, than mellow and sweet; and she never
used it, in a religious office, without its becoming tremulous
and eloquent with feeling. While she was now singing this
well-known hymn, a holy hope pervaded her moral system,
that, in some miraculous manner, she might become the
agent of turning Raoul to the love and worship of God; and
the feeling communicated itself to her execution. Never
before had she sung so well; as a proof of which, Ithuel left
his knight-head, and came aft, to listen, while the two French
attention.
“If anything could make me a believer, Ghita,” murmured
Raoul, when the last strain had died on the lips of
his beloved, “it would be to listen to thy melody! What
now, Monsieur Etooell! are you, too, a lover of holy music?”
“This is rare singing, Captain Rule; but we have different
business on hand. If you will step to the other end of the
lugger, you can take a look at the craft that has been crawling
along, in-shore of us, for the last three hours—there is
something about her that is unnat'ral; she seems to be dropping
down nearer to us, while she has no motion through
the water. The last circumstance I hold to be unnat'ral
with a vessel that has all sail set, and in this breeze.”
Raoul pressed the hand of Ghita, and whispered her to go
below, as he was fearful the air of the night might injure her.
He then went forward, where he could command as good a
view of the felucca, in-shore, as the obscurity of the hour
permitted; and he felt a little uneasiness, when he found
how near she had got to the lugger. When he last noted
her position, this vessel was quite half-a-mile distant, and
appeared to be crossing the bows of le Feu-Follet, with
sufficient wind to have carried her a mile ahead, in the interval;
yet could he not perceive that she had advanced as far,
in that direction, as she had drifted down upon the lugger,
the while.
“Have you been examining her long?” he demanded of
the New-Hampshire-man.
“Ever since she has seemed to stand still; which is now
some twenty minutes. She is dull, I suppose, for she has
been several hours getting along a league; and there is now
air enough for such a craft to go three knots to the hour.
Her coming down upon us is easily accounted for, there
being a considerable current out of this river, as you may
see by the ripple at our own cut-water; but I find nothing to
keep her from going ahead, at the same time. I set her by
the light you see, here in the wake of the nearest mountain,
at least a quarter of an hour since, and she has not advanced
five times her own length, since.”
“'T is nothing but a Corsican coaster, after all, Etooell:
I hardly think the English would risk our canister, again,
board!”
“They 're a spiteful set, aboard the frigate; and the Lord
only knows! See, here is a good heavy night-air, and that
felucca is not a cable's-length from us; set her by the jib-stay,
and judge for yourself, how slowly she goes ahead!
That it is, which non-plushes me!”
Raoul did as the other desired, and, after a short trial, he
found that the coaster had no perceptible motion ahead, while,
it was certain, she was drifting down with the current,
directly athwart the lugger's hawse. This fact satisfied him
that she must have drags astern; a circumstance that, at
once, denoted a hostile intention. The enemy was probably
on board the felucca, in force; and it was incumbent on him
to make immediate preparations for defence.
Still, Raoul was reluctant to disturb his people. Like all
firm and cool men, he was averse to the parade of a false
alarm; and it seemed so improbable that the lesson of the
morning was so soon forgotten, that he could hardly persuade
himself to believe his senses. Then the men had been
very hard at work, throughout the day; and most of them
were sleeping the sleep of the weary. On the other hand,
every minute brought the coaster nearer, and increased the
danger, should the enemy be really in possession of her.
Under all the circumstances, he determined, first, to hail;
knowing that his crew could be got up in a minute, and that
they slept with arms at their sides, under an apprehension
that a boat attack might possibly be attempted, in the course
of the night.
“Felucca, ahoy!” called out the captain of le Feu-Follet,
the other craft being too near to render any great effort of
the voice necessary; “What felucca is that? and why have
you so great a drift?”
“La Bella Corsienne!” was the answer, in a patois, half
French, half Italian, as Raoul expected, if all were right.
“We are bound into la Padulella; and wish to keep in with
the land, to hold the breeze the longer. We are no great
sailer, at the best, and have a drift, because we are, just now,
in the strength of the current.”
“At this rate, you will come athwart my hawse.—You
know I am armed, and cannot suffer that!”
“Ah, Signore, we are friends of the republic, and would
not harm you, if we could. We hope you will not injure
poor mariners, like us. We will keep away, if you please,
and pass you under your stern—”
This proposition was made so suddenly, and so unexpectedly,
that Raoul had not time to object; and, had he been
disposed to do so, the execution was too prompt to allow him
the means. The felucca fell broad off, and came down
almost in a direct line for the lugger's bows, before the wind
and current; moving fast enough, now, to satisfy all Ithuel's
scruples.
“Call all hands to repel boarders!” cried Raoul, springing
aft to the capstan, and seizing his own arms—“Come
up lively, mes enfans!—here is treachery!”
These words were hardly uttered before Raoul was back
on the heel of the bowsprit, and the most active of his men—
some five or six, at most—began to show themselves on deck.
In that brief space, the felucca had got within eighty yards,
when, to the surprise of all in the lugger, she luffed into the
wind, again, and drifted down, until it was apparent that she
was foul of the lugger's cable, her stern swinging round
directly on the latter's starboard bow. At that instant, or
just as the two vessels came in actual contact, and Raoul's
men were thronging around him, to meet the expected attack,
the sounds of oars, pulled for life or death, were heard, and
flames burst upward from the open hatch of the coaster.
Then a boat was dimly seen gliding away, in a line with the
hull, by the glowing light.
“Un brûlot!—un brûlot!—a fireship!” exclaimed twenty
voices together, the horror that mingled in the cries proclaiming
the extent of a danger which is, perhaps, the most
terrific that seamen can encounter.
But the voice of Raoul Yvard was not among them.
The moment his eye caught the first glimpse of the flames,
he disappeared from the bowsprit. He might have been
absent about twenty seconds. Then he was seen on the taffrail
of the felucca, with a spare shank-painter, which had
been lying on the forecastle, on his shoulder.
“Antoine!—Francois!—Grégoire!”—he called out, in a
voice of thunder,—“follow me!—the rest, clear away the
cable, and bend a hawser to the better end!”
The people of le Feu-Follet were trained to order and
implicit obedience. By this time, too, the lieutenants were
among them; and the men set about doing as they had been
directed. Raoul, himself, passed into the felucca, followed
by the three men he had selected by name. The adventurers
had no difficulty, as yet, in escaping the flames, though,
by this time, they were pouring upward from the hatch in a
torrent. As Raoul suspected, his cable had been grappled;
and, seizing the rope, he tightened it to a severe strain,
securing the in-board part. Then he passed down to the
cable, himself, directing his companions to hand him the
rope-end of the shank-painter, which he fastened to the cable
by a jamming hitch. This took half-a-minute; in half-a-minute
more, he was on the felucca's forecastle, again.
Here the chain was easily passed through a hawse-hole; and
a knot tied, with a marlinespike passed through its centre.
To pass the fire, on the return, was now a serious matter;
but it was done without injury, Raoul driving his companions
before him. No sooner did his foot reach the bows of le
Feu-Follet, again, than he shouted—
“Veer away!—pay out cable, men, if you would save
our beautiful lugger from destruction!”
Nor was there a moment to spare. The lugger took the
cable that was given her, fast enough, under the pressure of
the current, and helped by the breeze; but at first the fire-vessel,
already a sheet of flame, her decks having been saturated
with tar, seemed disposed to accompany her. To the
delight of all in the lugger, however, the stern of the felucca
was presently seen to separate from their own bows; and a
sheer having been given to le Feu-Follet, by means of the
helm, in a few seconds even her bowsprit and jib had cleared
the danger. The felucca rode stationary, while the lugger
dropped astern, fathom after fathom, until she lay more than
a hundred yards distant from the fiery mass. As a matter
of course, while the cable was paid out, the portion to which
the lanyard, or rope part of the shank-painter was fastened,
dropped into the water, while the felucca rode by the chain.
These events occupied less than five minutes; and all had
been done with a steadiness and promptitude that seemed
more like instinct, than reason. Raoul's voice was not
heard, except in the few orders mentioned; and when, by the
adjacent water to some distance, nearly to the brightness of
noon-day, he saw Ghita gazing at the spectacle in awed
admiration and terror, he went to her, and spoke as if the
whole were merely a brilliant spectacle, devised for their
amusement.
“Our girandola is second only to that of St. Peter's,” he
said, smiling. “'T was a narrow escape, love; but, thanks
to thy God, if thou wilt it shall be so, we have received no
harm.”
“And you have been the agent of his goodness, Raoul;
I have witnessed all, from this spot. The call to the men
brought me on deck; and, Oh! how I trembled, as I saw
you on the flaming mass!”
“It has been cunningly planned, on the part of Messieurs
les Anglais; but it has signally failed. That coaster has a
cargo of tar, and naval stores, on board; and, capturing her,
this evening, they have thought to extinguish our lantern by
the brighter and fiercer flame of their own. But, le Feu-Follet
will shine again, when their fire is dead!”
“Is there, then, no danger that the brûlot will yet come
down upon us—she is fearfully near!”
“Not sufficiently so to do us harm; more especially as
our sails are damp with dew. Here she cannot come, so
long as our cable stands; and, as that is under water, where
she lies, it cannot burn. In half-an-hour there will be little
of her left; and we will enjoy the bonfire, while it lasts.”
And, now the fear of danger was past, it was a sight truly
to be enjoyed. Every anxious and curious face in the lugger
was to be seen, under that brilliant light, turned toward
the glowing mass, as the sun-flower follows the great source
of heat, in his track athwart the heavens; while the spars,
sails, guns, and even the smallest object on board the lugger,
started out of the obscurity of night, into the brightness
of such an illumination, as if composing parts of some brilliant
scenic display. But so fierce a flame soon exhausted
itself. Ere long, the felucca's masts fell, and with them a
pyramid of fire. Then the glowing deck tumbled in; and,
finally, timber after timber, and plank after plank fell, until
the conflagration, in a great measure, extinguished itself in
appeared, little remained but the embers which were glowing
in the hold of the wreck.
| CHAPTER XI. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet | |