 | CHAPTER VIII. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
Was also certain that the earth was square,
Because he 'd journey'd fifty miles, and found
No sign that it was circular anywhere.”
Don Juan.
Raoul Yvard was indebted to a piece of forethought in
Clinch, for his life. But for the three guns, fired so opportunely
from the Foudroyant, the execution could not have
been stayed; and but for a prudent care on the part of the
master's-mate, the guns would never have been fired. The
explanation is this: When Cuffe was giving his subordinate
instructions how to proceed, the possibility of detention struck
the latter, and he bethought him of some expedient by which
such an evil might be remedied. At his suggestion, then,
the signal of the guns was mentioned by the captain, in his
letter to the commander-in-chief, and its importance pointed
out. When Clinch reached the fleet, Nelson was at Castel
a Mare, and it became necessary to follow him to that place
by land. Here Clinch found him in the palace of Qui-Si-Sane,
in attendance on the court, and delivered his despatches.
Nothing gave the British admiral greater pleasure,
than to be able to show mercy; the instance to the
contrary already introduced, existing as an exception in his
private character and his public career; and it is possible
that an occurrence so recent, and so opposed to his habits,
may have induced him the more willingly now to submit to
his ordinary impulses, and to grant the respite asked, with
the greater promptitude.
“Your captain tells me, here, sir,” observed Nelson, after
he had read Cuffe's letter a second time, “little doubt exists
that Yvard was in the Bay on a love affair, and that his
purposes were not those of a spy, after all?”
“Such is the opinion aboard us, my lord,” answered the
master's-mate. “There are an old man and a very charming
young woman in his company, whom Captain Cuffe
only a few days since.”
Nelson started, and his face flushed. Then he seized a
pen, and, with the only hand he had, scratched a letter,
directing a reprieve until further orders. This he signed,
and handed to Clinch, saying, as he did so—
“Get into your boat, sir, and pull back to the frigate as
fast as possible; God forbid that any man suffer wrongfully!”
“I beg your pardon, my lord — but there is not time,
now, for me to reach the ship before the sun set. I have
a signal prepared in the boat, it is true; but the frigate may
not come round Campanella before the last moment, and
then all these pains will be lost. Does not Captain Cuffe
speak of some guns to be fired from the flag-ship, my lord?”
“He does, sir; and this may be the safest mode of communicating,
after all. With this light westerly air, a gun
will be heard a long distance at sea. Take the pen, and
write as I dictate, sir.”
Clinch seized the pen, which the admiral, who had lost
his right arm only a few years before, really felt unable to
use, and wrote as follows—
“Sir—Immediately on receipt of this, you will fire three
heavy guns, at intervals of half-a-minute, as a signal to the
Proserpine to suspend an execution.
“To the Commanding Officer of His Majesty's Ship
Foudroyant.”
As soon as the magical words of “Nelson and Bronte”
were affixed to this order, with a date, Clinch rose to depart.
After he had made his bows, he stood with his hand on the
lock of the door, as if uncertain whether to prefer a request
or not.
“This is a matter of moment, sir, and no time is to be
lost,” added Nelson. “I feel great anxiety about it, and
wish you to desire Captain Cuffe to send you back with a
report of all that has passed, as soon as convenient.”
“I will report your wishes, my lord,” answered Clinch,
brightening up; for he only wanted an opportunity to speak
of his own promotion, and this was now offered in perspective.
to use the lower-deck guns, my lord?”
“He will do that of his own accord, after reading those
orders — heavy guns, mean the heaviest. Good-afternoon,
sir; for God's sake, lose no time.”
Clinch obeyed this injunction to the letter. He reached
the Foudroyant, some time before sunset, and immediately
placed the order in her captain's hands. A few words of
explanation set everything in motion, and the three guns
were fired on the side of the ship towards Capri, most
opportunely for our hero.
The half-hour that succeeded, on board the Proserpine,
was one of gaiety and merriment. Every person was glad
that the ship had escaped an execution; and then, it was
the hour for piping down the hammocks, and for shifting
the dog-watches. Cuffe recovered all his animation, and
conversed cheerfully, having Griffin for an interpreter, with
his two Italian guests. These last had been prevented from
paying their visit to the prisoner, on account of the latter's
wish to be alone; but the intention was now renewed; and
sending below, to ascertain if it would be agreeable, they
proceeded together on their friendly mission. As the two
worthies, who had not altogether got their sea-legs, slowly
descended the ladder, and threaded their way among the
throng of a ship, the discourse did not flag between them.
“Cospetto!” exclaimed the podestâ; “Signor Andrea,
we live in a world of wonders! A man can hardly say
whether he is actually alive, or not. To think how near
this false Sir Smees was to death, half an hour since; and,
now, doubtless he is as much alive, and as merry as any
of us!”
“It would be more useful, friend Vito Viti,” answered the
philosophical vice-governatore, “to remember how near
those who live are always to death, who has only to open
his gates, to cause the strongest and fairest to pass at once
into the tombs.”
“By San Stefano, but you have a way with you, vice-governatore,
that would become a cardinal! It 's a thousand
pities the church was robbed of such a support; though
I do think, Signor Andrea, if your mind would dwell less on
another state of being, it would be more cheerful; and I
There are evils enough, in this life, without thinking so
much of death.”
“There are philosophers who pretend, good Vito, that
nothing that we see around us actually has an existence.
That we fancy everything: fancy that this is a sea called
the Mediterranean; fancy this is a ship — yonder is the
land; fancy that we live; and even fancy death.”
“Corpo di Bacco! Signor Andrea,” exclaimed the other,
stopping short at the foot of the ladder, and seizing his companion
by a button, afraid he would desert him in the midst
of a strange delusion, “you would not trifle in such a matter
with an old friend — one who has known you from childhood?
Fancy that I am alive!”
“Si — I have told you only the truth. The imagination
is very strong, and may easily give the semblance of reality
to unreal things.”
“And that I am not a podestâ in fact, but one only in
fancy!”
“Just so, friend Vito; and that I am only a vice-governatore,
too, in the imagination.”
“And that Elba is not a real island, or Porto Ferrajo a
real town; and that even all our iron, of which we seem to
send so much about the world, in good, wholesome ships, is
only a sort of ghost of solid substantial metal!”
“Si—si—that everything which appears to be material,
is, in fact, imaginary; iron, gold, or flesh.”
“And then I am not Vito Viti, but an impostor? What
a rascally philosophy is this! Why, both of us are as bad
as this Sir Smees, if what you say be true, vice-governatore
—or make-believe vice-governatore.”
“Not an impostor, friend Vito; for there is no real being
of thy name, if thou art not he.”
“Diavolo! A pretty theory this, which would teach the
young people of Elba that there is no actual podestâ in the
island, but only a poor miserable sham one; and no Vito
Viti on earth. If they get to think this, God help the place,
as to order and sobriety.”
“I do not think, neighbour, that you fully understand the
matter, which may be owing to a want of clearness on my
part; but as we are now on our way to visit an unfortunate
time. There are many leisure moments on board a ship, to
the language of which one is a stranger, that might be usefully
and agreeably relieved by going into the subject more
at large.”
“Your pardon, Signor Andrea;—but there is no time like
the present. Then, if the theory be true, there is no prisoner
at all—or, at the most, an imaginary one—and it can
do Sir Smees no harm to wait; while, on the other hand, I
shall not have a moment's peace, until I learn whether there
is such a man as Vito Viti, or not, and whether I am he.”
“Brother Vito, thou art impatient; these things are not
learned in a moment; moreover, every system has a beginning
and an end, like a book; and who would ever become
learned, that should attempt to read a treatise backward?”
“I know what is due to you, Signor Andrea, both on
account of your higher rank, and on account of your greater
wisdom, and will say no more at present; though to keep
from thinking on a philosophy that teaches I am not a
podestâ, or you a vice-governatore, is more than flesh and
blood can bear.”
Andrea Barrofaldi, glad that his companion was momentarily
appeased, now proceeded towards Raoul's little prison,
and was immediately admitted by the sentry, who had his
orders to that effect. The prisoner received his guests
courteously and cheerfully; for we are far from wishing to
represent him as so heroic as not to rejoice exceedingly at
having escaped death by hanging, even though it might
prove to be a respite, rather than a pardon. At such a
moment, the young man could have excused a much more
offensive intrusion, and the sudden change in his prospects
disposed him a little to be jocular; for truth compels us to
add, that gratitude to God entered but little into his emotions.
The escape from death, like his capture, and the
other incidents of his cruise, were viewed simply as the
results of the fortune of war.
Winchester had directed that Raoul's state-room should
be supplied with every little convenience that his situation
required, and, among other things, it had two common
ship's stools. One of these was given to each of the Italians,
while the prisoner took a seat on the gun-tackle of one
was now night, and a mist had gathered over the arch above,
which hid the stars, and rendered it quite dark. Still,
Raoul had neither lamp, nor candles; and, though they had
been offered him, he declined their use, as he had found
stranger eyes occasionally peeping through the openings in
the canvass, with the idle curiosity of the vulgar, to ascertain
the appearance and employments of one condemned to
die. He had experienced a good deal of annoyance from
this feeling, the previous night; and the same desire existing
to see how a criminal could bear a respite, he had determined
to pass his evening in obscurity. There was a
lantern, or two, however, on the gun-deck, which threw a
dim light, even beyond the limits of the canvass bulk-heads.
As has been said already, these bulk-heads extended from
gun to gun, so as to admit light and air from the ports.
This brought the tackles, on one side, into the room; and
on one of these Raoul now took his seat.
Andrea Barrofaldi, from his superior condition in life, as
well as from his better education, and nicer natural tact, far
surpassed his companion in courtesy of demeanour. The
latter would have plunged in medias res at once, but the
vice-governatore commenced a conversation on general
matters, intending to offer his congratulations for the recent
respite, when he conceived that a suitable occasion should
offer. This was an unfortunate delay in one respect; for
Vito Viti no sooner found that the main object of the visit
was to be postponed, than he turned with eagerness to the
subject in discussion, which had been interrupted in order to
enter the state-room.
“Here has the vice-governatore come forward with a
theory, Sir Smees,” he commenced, the moment a pause in
the discourse left him an opening—“here has the vice-governatore
come forward with a theory, that I insist the
church would call damnable, and at which human nature
revolts—”
“Nay, good Vito, thou dost not state the case fairly,”
interrupted Andrea, whose spirit was a little aroused at so
abrupt an assault. “The theory is not mine; it is that of
a certain English philosopher, in particular, who, let it be
said, too, was a bishop.”
“A Lutheran!—was it not so, honourable Signor Andrea?—a
bishop so called?”
“Why, to confess the truth, he was a heretic, and not
to be considered as an apostle of the true church.”
“Ay — I would have sworn to that. No true son of
the church would ever broach such a doctrine. Only
fancy, signori, the number of imaginary fires, tongues, and
other instruments of torture that would become necessary
to carry on punishment under such a system! To be consistent,
even the devils ought to be imaginary.”
“Comment, signori!” exclaimed Raoul, smiling, and
arousing to a sudden interest in the discourse; “did any
English bishop ever broach such a doctrine? Imaginary
devils, and imaginary places of punishment, are coming near
to our revolutionary France! After this, I hope our much
abused philosophy will meet with more respect.”
“My neighbour has not understood the theory of which
he speaks,” answered Andrea, too good a churchman not to
feel uneasiness at the direction things were taking; “and so,
worthy Vito Viti, I feel the necessity of explaining the whole
matter, at some length. Sir Smees,” so the Italians called
Raoul, out of courtesy, still, it being awkward for them,
after all that had passed, to address him by his real name—
“Sir Smees will excuse us, for a few minutes; perhaps it
may serve to amuse him, to hear to what a flight the imagination
of a subtle-minded man can soar.”
Raoul civilly expressed the satisfaction it would give him
to listen, and stretching himself on the gun-tackle, in order
to be more at ease, he leaned back with his head fairly within
the port, while his feet were braced against the inner truck
of the gun-carriage. This threw him into a somewhat recumbent
attitude, but it being understood as intended to
render what was but an inconvenient seat at the best, tolerably
comfortable, no one thought it improper.
It is unnecessary for us to repeat, here, all that Andrea
Barrofaldi thought proper to say, in his own justification, and
in explanation of the celebrated theory of Bishop Berkely.
Such a task was not performed in a minute; and, in truth,
prolixity, whenever he got upon a favourite theme, was apt
to be one of the vice-governatore's weaknesses. He was far
from acquiescing in the doctrine, though he annoyed his old
way as to render it respectable in appearance, if not conclusive
in argument. To the latter, it was peculiarly unpleasant
to imagine, even for the sake of argument, that there was no
such island as Elba, and that he was not its podestâ; and
all his personal and egotistical propensities came in aid
of his official reluctance, to disgust him thoroughly with a
theory that he did not hesitate to say, “was an outrage on
every honest man's nature.”
“There are fellows in the world, Signor Andrea,” the
straight-forward podestâ urged, in continuation of his objections,
“who might be glad enough to find everything imaginary,
as you say—chaps that cannot sleep of nights, for bad
consciences, and to whom it would be a great blessing if the
earth would throw them overboard, as they say in this ship,
and let them fall into the great ocean of oblivion. But they
are baroni in grain, and ought not to pass for anything
material, among honest people. I 've known several of those
rogues at Livorno, and, I dare say, Napoli is not altogether
without them; but that is a very different matter from telling
a handsome and virtuous young maiden, that her beauty
and modesty are both seeming; and respectable magistrates,
that they are as great impostors as the very rogues they
send to the prisons; or, perhaps, to the galleys.”
To speeches like these, Andrea opposed his explanations
and his philosophy, until the discussion became animated,
and the dialogue loud. It is rather a peculiarity of Italy,
that one of the softest languages of Christendom is frequently
rendered harsh and unpleasant, by the mode of using it. On
this occasion, certainly, the animation of the disputants did
not mitigate the evil. Griffin happened to pass the spot, on
the outside of the canvass, just at this moment, and, catching
some of the words, he stopped to listen. His smiles and
translations soon collected a group of officers, and the sentry
respectfully dropping a little on one side, the deck around
the state-room of the prisoner became a sort of parquet to
a very amusing representation. Several of the young gentlemen
understood a little Italian, and Griffin translating
rapidly, though in an under-tone, the whole affair was deemed
to be particularly diverting.
“This is a rum way of consoling a man who is condemned
stands all their nonsense.”
“O!” rejoined the marine officer, “drill will do anything.
These Revolutionists are so drilled into hypocrisy, that, I
dare say, the fellow is grinning, the whole time, as if perfectly
delighted.”
Raoul, in fact, listened with no little amusement. At
first, his voice was occasionally heard in the discussion,
evidently aiming at exciting the disputants; but the warmth
of the latter soon silenced him, and he was fain to do nothing
but listen. Shortly after the discussion got to be warm,
and just as Griffin was collecting his group, the prisoner
stretched himself still further into the port, to enjoy the coolness
of the evening breeze, when, to his surprise, a hand
was laid gently on his forehead.
“Hush!” whispered a voice close to his ear, “it is the
American—Ithuel—be cool;—now is the moment to pull
for life.”
Raoul had too much self-command to betray his astonishment,
but, in an instant, every faculty he possessed was on
the alert. Ithuel, he knew, was a man for exigencies.
Experience had taught him a profound respect for his enterprise
and daring, when it became necessary to act. Something
must certainly be in the wind, worthy of his attention,
or this cautious person would not have exposed himself in a
situation which would be sure to lead to punishment, if detected.
Ithuel was seated astride of one of the chains,
beneath the main-channel of the ship, a position which might
be maintained without detection, possibly, so long as it continued
dark; but which, in itself, if seen, would have been
taken as a proof of an evil intention.
“What would you have, Etooelle?” whispered Raoul,
who perceived that his companions were too much occupied
to observe his movements, or to hear his words.
“The Eyetalian, and his niece, are about to go ashore.
Everything is ready and understood. I 've consaited you
might pass out of the port, in the dark, and escape in the
boat. Keep quiet—we shall see.”
Raoul understood his respite to be a thing of doubtful
termination. Under the most favourable results, an English
prison remained in perspective, and then the other side of
in a tumult of feeling, but, accustomed to self-command, still
no exclamation escaped him.
“When—cher Etooelle? when?” he asked, his whisper
being tremulous, in spite of every effort to command himself.
“Now—too-der-sweet—(tout-de-suite)—the boat is at the
gangway, and old Giuntotardi is in her—they are rigging a
chair for the gal.—Ay—there she swings off!—don't you
hear the call?”
Raoul did hear the whistle of the boatswain, which was
piping “lower away,” at that very moment. He listened
intently, as he lay stretched upon the gun-tackles; and then
he heard the splash in the water, as the boat was hauled
closer to, in order to be brought beneath the chair. The
rattling of oars, too, was audible, as Ghita left the seat, and
moved aft. “Round in,” called out the officer of the deck;
after which Carlo Giuntotardi was left in quiet possession of
his own boat.
The moment was exceedingly critical. Some one, in all
probability, was watching the boat from the deck; and,
though the night was dark, it required the utmost caution to
proceed with any hopes of success. At this instant, Ithuel
again whispered—
“The time 's near. Old Carlo has his orders, and little
Ghita is alive to see them obeyed. All now depends on
silence and activity. In less than five minutes, the boat will
be under the port.”
Raoul understood the plan; but, it struck him as hopeless.
It seemed impossible that Ghita could be permitted to
quit the ship, without a hundred eyes watching her movements;
and though it was dark, it was far from being sufficiently
so, to suppose it practicable for any one to join her
and not be seen. Yet this risk must be taken, or escape
was out of the question. An order given through the
trumpet, was encouraging; it announced that the officer of
the watch was employed at some duty that must draw his
attention another way. This was a great deal; few presuming
to look aside, while this functionary was inviting
their attention in another direction.
Raoul's brain was in a whirl. The two Italians were at
they made was at the loudest. Even the suppressed laughter
of the officers on the outside of the canvass, was audible to
him; though the disputants could hear nothing but their
own voices. Every knock of the boat against the ship's
side, every sound of the oars, as Carlo's foot rattled them
about, and the wash of the water, were audible. It seemed
as if all the interests of life — the future, the past, and the
present, together with the emotions of his whole heart, were
compressed into that single instant. Ignorant of what was
expected, he asked Ithuel, in French, the course he ought to
take.
“Am I to fall, head-foremost, into the water? What
would you have of me?” he whispered.
“Lie quiet, till I tell you to move. I'll make the signal,
Captain Rule; let the Eyetalians blaze away.”
Raoul could not see the water, as he lay with his head
fairly in the port; and he had to trust entirely to the single
sense of hearing. Knock, knock, knock; the boat dropped
slowly along the ship's side, as if preparing to shove off.
All this, Carlo Giuntotardi managed exceedingly well. When
he lay immediately beneath the main-channels, it would not
have been an easy thing to see his boat, even had there
been any one on the look-out. Here he held on; for he
was not so lost to external things, as not fully to understand
what was expected of him. Perhaps he was less attended
to, by those on deck, from the circumstance that no one
believed him capable of so much worldly care.
“Is everything safe for a movement, inboard?” whispered
Ithuel.
Raoul raised his head and looked about him. That a
group was collected around the state-room, he understood
by the movements, the low conversation, and the suppressed
laughter; still, no one seemed to be paying any attention to
himself. As he had not spoken for some time, however, he
thought it might be well to let his voice be heard; and,
taking care that it should sound well within the port, he
made one of the light objections to the vice-governatore's
theory, that he had urged at the commencement of the controversy.
This was little heeded, as he expected; but it
served to make those without know that he was in his prison,
seemed propitious; and laying down again, at his length,
his face came within a few inches of Ithuel's.
“All safe,” he whispered; “what would you have me
do?”
“Nothing, but shove yourself ahead carefully, by means
of your feet.”
This Raoul did; at first, as it might be, inch by inch,
until Ithuel put the end of a rope into his hands, telling him
it was well fast to the channel above. The rope rendered
the rest easy; the only danger now being of too much precipitation.
Nothing would have been easier, than for Raoul
to drag his body out at the port, and to drop into the boat;
but, to escape, it was still necessary to avoid observation.
The ship was quite half-a-league from the point of Campanella,
and directly abreast of it; and there was no security
to the fugitives unless they got some distance the start of
any pursuers. This consideration induced the utmost caution
on the part of Ithuel; nor was it entirely lost on his
friend. By this time, however, Raoul found he was so
completely master of his movements, as to be able to swing
his legs out of the port, by a very trifling effort; then the
descent into the boat would be the easiest thing imaginable.
But a pressure from the hand of Ithuel checked him.
“Wait a little,” whispered the latter, “till the Eyetalians
are at it, cat and dog fashion.”
The discussion was now so loud and warm, that it was
not necessary to lose much time. Ithuel gave the signal,
and Raoul dragged his head and shoulders up by his arms,
while he placed his feet against the gun; the next moment
he was hanging perpendicularly, beneath the main-chains.
To drop lightly and noiselessly into the boat, took but a
second. When his feet touched a thwart, he found that the
American was there before him. The latter dragged him
down to his side, and the two lay concealed in the bottom
of the yawl, with a cloak of Ghita's thrown over their persons.
Carlo Giuntotardi was accustomed to the management
of a craft like that in which he now found himself;
simply releasing his boat-hook from one of the chains, the
ship passed slowly ahead, leaving him, in about a minute,
fairly in her wake, a hundred feet astern.
So far, everything had succeeded surprisingly. The night
was so dark, as to embolden the two fugitives now to rise,
and to take their seats on the thwarts; though all this was
done with exceeding caution, and without the least noise.
The oars were soon out, Carlo took the tiller, and a feeling
of exultation glowed at the heart of Raoul, as he bent to his
ashen implement, and felt the boat quiver with the impulse.
“Take it coolly, Captain Rule,” said Ithuel, in a low
voice; “it's a long pull, and we are still within ear-shot of
the frigate. In five minutes more we shall be dropped so
far, as to be beyond sight; then we may pull directly out
to sea, if we wish.”
Just then the bell of the Proserpine struck four; the signal
it was eight o'clock. Immediately after, the watch was
called, and a stir succeeded in the ship.
“They only turn the hands up,” said Raoul, who perceived
that his companion paused, like one uneasy.
“That is an uncommon movement for shifting the watch!
What is that?”
It was clearly the overhauling of tackles; the plash of a
boat, as it struck the water, followed.
| CHAPTER VIII. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet | |