 | CHAPTER IX. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
“From the same stem the rose and prickle rise.”
Alleyn.
It has been seen that a generous sympathy had taken
place of hostile feeling, as respects Raoul, in the minds of
most on board the Proserpine. Under the influence of this
sentiment, an order had been passed through the sentries,
not to molest their prisoner, by too frequent or unnecessary
an examination of the state-room. With a view to a proper
regard to both delicacy and watchfulness, however, Winchester
had directed that the angle of the canvass nearest
the cabin-door lantern, should be opened a few inches, and
that the sentinel should look in, every half-hour; or as often
was simply to be certain that the prisoner was in his room,
and that he was making no attempt on his own life; a step
that had been particularly apprehended previously to the
respite. Now, the whole of the dispute between the two
Italians, and that which had passed beneath the ship's channels,
did not occupy but six or seven minutes; and the
little cluster of officers was still gaining recruits, when
Raoul was fairly in the yawl of his own lugger. At this
moment the ship's bell struck the hour of half-past seven.
The marine advanced, with the respect of a subordinate,
but with the steadiness of a man on post, to examine the
state-room. Although the gentlemen believed this caution
unnecessary, the loud voices of Andrea and Vito Viti being
of themselves a sort of guarantee that the prisoner was in
his cage, they gave way to a man, fully understanding that
a sentinel was never to be resisted. The canvass was opened
a few inches, the light of the lantern at the cabin-door shot
in, and there sat the vice-governatore and the podestâ, gesticulating,
and staring into each other's face, still in hot
dispute;—but the place of Raoul Yvard was empty!
Yelverton happened to look into the room with the sentinel.
He was a young man of strong powers of perception,
with all the phrenological bumps that are necessary to
the character, and he saw, at a glance, that the bird had
flown. The first impression was, that the prisoner had
thrown himself into the sea, and he rushed on deck, without
speaking to those around him, made a hurried statement to
the officer of the deck, and had a quarter-boat in the water
in a surprisingly short time. His astonished companions
below, were less precipitate, though the material fact was
soon known to them. Griffin gave a hasty order, and the
canvass bulk-head came down, as it might be, at a single
jerk, leaving the two disputants in full view, utterly unconscious
of the escape of their late companion, sputtering and
gesticulating, furiously.
“Halloo! vice-governatore,” cried Griffin, abruptly, for
he saw that the moment was not one for ceremony; “what
have you done with the Frenchman? — where is Raoul
Yvard?”
“Il Signor, Sir Smees? Monsieur Yvard, if you will?
so lately sat there?”
“Cospetto!—according to your doctrine, Signor Andrea,
there never was a man there at all—only the imagination of
one; it is not surprising that such a being should be missed.
But, I protest against any inferences being drawn from this
accident. All Frenchmen are flighty and easily carried
away, and now that they are no longer ballasted by religion,
they are so many moral feathers. No, no — let a
man of respectable information, of sound principles, and
a love for the saints, with a good, substantial body, like
myself, vanish only once, and then I may confess, it will tell
in favour of your logic, vice-governatore.”
“An obstinate man, neighbour Vito, is a type of the imperfections
that a—”
“Your pardon, Signor Barrofaldi,”—interrupted Griffin—
“this is not a moment for philosophical theories, but for us
seamen to do our duty. What has become of Raoul Yvard
—your Sir Smees?”
“Signor Tenente, as I hope to be saved, I have not the
smallest idea! There he was, a minute or two since, seated
by that cannon, apparently an attentive and much edified
auditor of a discussion we were holding on the celebrated
theory of a certain bishop of your own country; which
theory, rightly considered—mind I say rightly considered,
neighbour Vito; for the view you have taken of this matter
is—”
“Enough of this, for the present, Signori”—added Griffin.
“The Frenchman was in this place when you came here?”
“He was, Signor Tenente, and seemed greatly to enjoy
the discussion in which—”
“And you have not seen him quit you—through the canvass,
or the port?”
“Not I, on my honour, — I did suppose him too much
entertained to leave us.”
“Ah! Sir Smees has just vanished into the imagination,”
growled the podestâ, “which is going home to the great
logical family of which he is an ideal member! There
being no lugger, no corsair, no sea, and no frigate, it seems
to me that we are all making a stir about nothing.”
Griffin did not stop to question farther. He was quickly
out of his cabin by a hurried report.
“What the d—l is the meaning of all this, gentlemen?”
demanded the latter, in that tone which a commander so
naturally assumes when things go wrong. “Whoever has
suffered the prisoner to escape may expect to hear from the
Admiral directly, on the subject.”
“He is not in his state-room, sir,” answered Griffin, “and
I directed the boatswain to pipe away all the boats'-crews
as I came up the ladder.”
As this was said, boat after boat was falling, and, in two
or three minutes, no less than five were in the water, including
that in which Yelverton was already rowing round the
ship to catch the presumed swimmer, or drowning man.
“The Frenchman is gone, sir,” said Winchester, “and he
must have passed out of the port. I have sent one of the
gentlemen to examine if he is not stowed away about the
chains.”
“Where is the boat of the old Italian and his niece?”
A pause succeeded this question, and light broke in upon
all at the same instant.
“That yawl was alongside,” cried Griffin,—“no one
was in her, however, but Giuntotardi and the girl”
“Beg your pardon, sir,” said a young fore-top-man, who
had just descended the rigging,—“I saw the boat from aloft,
sir, and it hung some time, sir, under the starboard mainchains.—It
is so dark I couldn't fairly make it out; but
summat seemed to be passed into it, from a port. I didn't
like the look of the thing, and so our captain just told me to
come on deck and report it, sir.”
“Send Ithuel Bolt here, Mr. Winchester—bear a hand,
sir, and let us have a look at that gentleman.”
It is needless to say that the call was unanswered; and
then all on board began to understand the mode of the
escape. Officers rushed into the several boats, and no less
than five different parties commenced the pursuit. At the
same time the ship hoisted a lantern, as a signal for the boats
to rally to.
It has been said that the Proserpine, when this incident
occurred, was off the point of the Campanella, distant about
half a marine league. The wind was light at east, or was what
knots way on her. The head-land was nearly abeam, and
she was looking up through the pass which separates Capri
from the main, hauling round into the Bay of Naples; intending
to anchor in the berth she had left the previous day.
The night was too dark to permit an object small as a boat
to be seen at any distance, but the black mass of Capri was
plainly visible in its outlines, towering into the air near two
thousand feet; while the formation of the coast on the other
side, might be traced with tolerable certainty and distinctness.
Such was the state of things when the five boats
mentioned quitted the ship.
Yelverton had acted as if a man were overboard; or, he
had not waited for orders. While pulling round the ship
alone, he caught sight, though very dimly, of the yawl, as
it moved in towards the land, and without communicating
with any on board, the truth flashed on his mind also, and
he gave chase. When the other boats were ready, the two
that were on the outside of the ship pulled off to seaward a
short distance, to look about them in that direction; while
the two others, hearing the oars of the light gig, in which
Yelverton was glancing ahead, followed the sound, under
the impression that they were in pursuit of the yawl. Such
was the state of things at the commencement of an exceedingly
vigorous and hot pursuit.
As Raoul and Ithuel had been at work, while time was
lost in doubt in and around the ship, they had got about
three hundred yards the start of even Yelverton. Their
boat pulled unusually well, and being intended for only two
oars, it might be deemed full manned, with two as vigorous
hands in it as those it had. Still it was not a match for the
second gig, and the four chosen men who composed its crew,
which was the boat taken by Yelverton, in the hurry of the
moment. In a pull of a mile and a half, the yawl was certain
to be overtaken, and the practised ears of Raoul soon
assured him of the fact. His own oars were muffled. He
determined to profit by the circumstance, and turn aside, in
the hope that his fleet pursuers would pass him unseen. A
sheer was accordingly given to the boat, and instead of pulling
directly towards the land, the fugitives inclined to the
westward; the sea appearing the most obscure in that
was completely successful. Yelverton was so eager in
the chase, that he kept his eyes riveted before him, fancying,
from time to time, that he saw the boat ahead, and he
passed within a hundred and fifty yards of the yawl, without
in the least suspecting her vicinity. Raoul and Ithuel ceased
rowing, to permit this exchange of position, and the former
had a few sarcastic remarks on the stupidity of his enemies,
as some relief to the feelings of the moment. None of the
English had muffled oars. On the contrary, the sounds of the
regular man-of-war jerks were quite audible in every direction;
but so familiar were they to the ears of the Proserpines,
that the crews of the two boats that came next after Yelverton,
actually followed the sounds of his oars, under the
belief that they were in the wake of the fugitives. In this
manner, then, Raoul suffered three of the five boats to pass
ahead of him. The remaining two were so distant as not
to be heard, and when those in advance were sufficiently in
advance, he and Ithuel followed them, with a leisurely stroke,
reserving themselves for any emergency that might occur.
It was a fair race between the gig and the two cutters
that pursued her. The last had the sounds of the former's
oars in the ears of their crews to urge them to exertion; it
being supposed they came from the strokes of the pursued,
while Yelverton was burning with the desire to outstrip
those who followed, and to secure the prize for himself.
This made easy work for those in the yawl, which was soon
left more than a cable's-length astern.
“One would think, Ghita,” said Raoul, laughing, though
he had the precaution to speak in an under-tone—“one
would think that your old friends, the vice-governatore and
the podestâ, commanded the boats in-shore of us, were it not
known that they are this very moment quarrelling about the
fact, whether there is such a place as Elba on this great
planet of ours, or not.”
“Ah! Raoul, remember the last dreadful eight-and-forty
hours! do not stop to trifle, until we are once more fairly
beyond the power of your enemies.”
“Peste!—I shall be obliged to own, hereafter, that there
is some generosity in an Englishman. I cannot deny their
treatment, and yet I had rather it had been more ferocious.”
“This is an unkind feeling; you should strive to tear it
from your heart.”
“It's a great deal to allow to an Englishman, Captain
Rule, to allow him gineros'ty,” interrupted Ithuel. “They 're
a fierce race, and fatten on mortal misery.”
“Mais, bon Etooelle, your back has escaped this time;
you ought to be thankful.”
“They 're short-handed, and didn't like to cripple a top-man,”
answered he of the Granite state, unwilling to concede
anything to liberal or just sentiments. “Had the
ship's complement been full, they wouldn't have left as
much skin on my back as would cover the smallest-sized
pin-cushion. I owe 'em no thanks, therefore.”
“Bien; quant à moi, I shall speak well of the bridge
which carries me over,” said Raoul. “Monsieur Cuffe has
given me good food, good wine, good words, a good state-room,
a good bed, and a most timely reprieve.”
“Is not your heart grateful to God for the last, dear
Raoul?” asked Ghita, in a voice so gentle and tender, that
the young man could have bowed down and worshipped her.
After a pause, however, he answered, as if intentionally
to avoid the question by levity.
“I forgot the philosophy, too,” he said. That was no
small part of the good cheer. Ciel! it was worth some risk
to have the advantage of attending such a school. Did you
understand the matter in dispute between the two Italians,
brave Etooelle?”
“I heerd their Eye-talian jabber,” answered Ithuel; “but
supposed it was all about saints' days, and eating fish. No
reasonable man makes so much noise when he is talking
sense.”
“Pardie—it was philosophy! They laugh at us French
for living by the rules of reason, rather than those of prejudice;
and then to hear what they call philosophy! You
would scarce think it, Ghita,” continued Raoul, who was
now light of heart, and full of the scene he had so recently
witnessed—“you would hardly think it, Ghita, but Signor
Andrea, sensible and learned as he is, maintained that it
was not folly to believe in a philosophy which teaches that
nothing we see or do actually exists, but that everything
was mere seeming. In short, that we live in an imaginary
sea, and cruise in imaginary ships.”
“And was all that noise about an idee, Captain Rule?”
“Si—but men will quarrel about an idea—an imaginary
thing, Etooelle, as stoutly as about substantials. Hist!
They will chase imaginary things, too, as are the boats
ahead of us at this moment.”
“There are others following us,” observed Carlo Giuntotardi,
who was more alive to surrounding objects than common;
and who, from his habitual silence, often heard that
which escaped the senses of others. “I have noticed the
sound of their oars some time.”
This produced a pause, and even a cessation in the rowing,
in order that the two seamen might listen. Sure
enough, the sound of oars was audible outside, as well as
in-shore, leaving no doubt that some pursuers were still
behind them. This was bringing the fugitives between two
fires, as it might be; and Ithuel proposed pulling off at right
angles to the course again, in order to get into the rear of
the whole party. But to this, Raoul objected. He thought
the boats astern were still so distant as to enable them to
reach the shore in time to escape. Once on the rocks,
there could be little danger of being overtaken in the darkness.
Still, as it was a first object with Raoul to rejoin his
lugger as soon as possible, after landing Ghita, he did not
wish to place his boat in any situation of much risk. This
induced some deliberation; and it was finally determined to
take a middle course, by steering into the pass between
Capri and Campanella, in the expectation that, when the
leading English boats reached the point of the latter, they
would abandon the pursuit as hopeless, and return to the
ship.
“We can land you, dearest Ghita, at the Marina Grande
of Sorrento; then your walk to St. Agata will be neither
long nor painful.”
“Do not mind me, Raoul; put me on the land at the
nearest place, and go you to your vessel. God has relieved
you from this great jeopardy, and your duty is to strive to
act as it is evident he intends you to do. As for me, leagues
will be light, if I can only be satisfied that thou art in
safety.”
“Angel! — Thou never thinkest of self! But not a foot
this side of Sorrento will I quit thee. We can pull thither
in an hour or two; then I shall feel that I have done a duty.
Once ashore, Etooelle and I can set our little sail, and will
run out to sea between the two islands. No fear but what
we can do that, with this land breeze; after which, a few
rockets burned, will tell us where to find le Feu-Follet.”
Ghita again remonstrated, but in vain. Raoul persisted,
and she was obliged to submit. The conversation now
ceased; the two men plying the oars diligently, and to good
effect. Occasionally they ceased, and listened to the sounds
of the oars in the frigate's boats, all which were evidently
collecting in the vicinity of the point or cape. By this time,
the yawl had the extremity of the land abeam, and it soon
passed so far into the Bay, as to bring most, if not all, of
the pursuers astern. In the darkness, with no other guide
than the sounds mentioned, and with so many pursuers,
there was some uncertainty, of course, as to the position of
all the boats; but there was little doubt that most of them
were now somewhere in the immediate vicinity of Campanella.
As Raoul gave this point a good berth, and his own
progress was noiseless, this was bringing himself and companions,
after their recent dangers, into comparative
security.
More than an hour of steady rowing followed, during
which time the yawl was making swift way towards the
Marina Grande of Sorrento. After passing Massa, Raoul
felt no further uneasiness, and he requested Carlo Giuntotardi
to sheer in towards the land, where less resistance from
the breeze was met with, and where it was also easier to
know the precise position. Apprehension of the boats now
ceased, though Ithuel fancied, from time to time, that he
heard smothered sounds, like those of oars imperfectly muffled.
Raoul laughed at his conceits and apprehensions, and,
to confess the truth, he became negligent of his duty, again,
in the soothing delight of finding himself, once more, free, in
all but heart, in the company of Ghita. In this manner
the yawl moved ahead, though with materially diminished
speed, until, by the formation of the heights, and the appearance
of the lamps and candles on the piano, Ghita knew
coast on which is situate the town of Sorrento.
“As soon as my uncle and myself have landed at the
Marina Grande, Raoul,” said Ghita, “thou and the American
will be certain to seek thy lugger; then thou promisest
to quit the coast?”
“Why ask promises of one that thou dost not sufficiently
respect to think he will keep them?”
“I do not deserve this, Raoul; between thee and me, no
promise has ever been broken.”
“It is not easy to break vows with one who will neither
give nor accept them. I cannot boast of keeping such idle
faith as this! Go with me before some priest, Ghita, ask
all that man ever has or can swear to, and then thou shalt
see how a sailor can be true to his vow.”
“And why before a priest? Thou know'st, Raoul, that,
in thine eyes, all the offices of the church are mummery;
that nothing is more sacred, with thee, for being sworn to at
the altar of God, and with one of his holy ministers for a
witness!”
“Every oath or promise made to thee, Ghita, is sacred,
in my eyes. It wanteth not any witness, or any consecrated
place, to make it more binding than thy truth and tenderness
can insure. Thou art my priest—my altar—my—”
“Forbear!” exclaimed Ghita, in alarm, lest he should
utter the name of that holy Being towards whom her heart
was even at that moment swelling with gratitude for his own
recent escape from death. “Thou know'st not the meaning
of thine own words, and mightst add that which would give
me more pain than I can express.”
“Boat, ahoy!” cried a deep, nautical voice, within twenty
yards of them, and in-shore; the hail coming in the sudden,
quick demand that distinguishes the call of a man-of-war's-man.
A pause of half a minute succeeded, for they in the yawl
were completely taken by surprise.
At length Ithuel, who felt the necessity of saying something,
if he would not bring the stranger close alongside of
them, answered in the customary manner of the Italians.
Clinch, for it was he, scouring the shore in quest of the
lugger, on his way back to the Proserpine, gave a growl,
would continue the discourse; then he mustered all the
Italian of which he was master for the occasion. Having
cruised long on the station, this was sufficient, however, for
his present purpose.
“Is that a boat from Massa or from Capri?” he inquired.
“Neither, S'nore,” answered Raoul, afraid to trust Carlo's
conscience with the management of such a dialogue. “We
come round the cape, from St. Agata, and carry figs to
Napoli.”
“St. Agata! ay, that is the village on the heights; I
passed a night there, myself, in the house of one Maria
Giuntotardi—”
“Who can this be?” murmured Ghita—“my aunt knows
no forestieri!”
“An Inglese, by his thick speech and accent. I hope he
will not ask for figs for his supper!”
Clinch was thinking of other things, at that moment; and
when he continued, it was to follow the train of his own
thoughts.
“Have you seen anything of a barone-looking lugger,”
he asked, “French-rigged, and French manned, skulking
anywhere about this coast?”
“Si—she went north, into the Gulf of Gaeta, just as the
sun was setting, and is, no doubt, gone to anchor under the
cannon of her countrymen.”
“If she has, she 'll find herself in hot water,” answered
Clinch, in English. “We 've craft enough, up there, to
hoist her in and dub her down to a jolly-boat's size, in a
single watch. Did you see anything of a frigate, this evening,
near the Point of Campanella?—An Inglese, I mean; a
tight six-and-thirty, with three new topsails.”
“Si—the light you see, here, just in a range with Capri,
is at her gaff; we have seen her the whole afternoon and
evening. In fact, she towed us kindly round the cape, until
we got fairly into this Bay.”
“Then you are the people for me!—Was there a man
hanged on board her or not, about sunset?”
This question was put with so much interest, that Raoul
cursed his interrogator, in his heart; imagining that he was
also now aware that this was the boat which had left the
Proserpine about noon.
“I can tell you there was not, s'nore—if that will gladden
your heart. A man was all ready to be hanged, when
Capitaine Cuffe was pleased to order him taken down.”
“Just as three heavy guns were fired up at town—was it
not so?” Clinch eagerly inquired.
“Diable! this man may have been my preserver, after
all!—You say true, s'nore; it was just as three guns were
fired up at Naples, though I did not know those guns had
anything to do with the intended execution. Can you tell
me if they had?”
“If they had! — Why I touched them off with my own
hands; they were signals made by the admiral to spare
poor Raoul Yvard, for a few days, at least. I am rejoiced
to hear that all my great efforts to reach the fleet were not
in vain. I don't like this hanging, Mr. Italian.”
“S'nore, you show a kind heart, and will one day reap
the reward of such generous feelings. I wish I knew the
name of so humane a gentleman, that I might mention him
in my prayers.”
“They 'll never fancy that Captain Rule said that,” muttered
Ithuel, grinning.
“As for my name, friend, it 's no great matter. They
call me Clinch, which is a good fast word to sail under, too;
but it has no handle to it, other than of a poor devil of a
master's-mate; and that, too, at an age when some men
carry broad-pennants.”
This was said bitterly, and in English; when uttered, the
supposed Italian was wished a “buona sera,” and the gig
proceeded.
“That is un brave,” said Raoul, with emphasis, as they
parted. “If ever I meet with Monsieur Cleench, he will
learn that I do not forget his good wishes. Peste! if there
were a hundred such men in the British marine, Etooelle,
we might love it.”
“They 're fiery sarpents, Captain Rule, and not to be
trusted, any on 'em. As for fine words, I might have fancied
myself a cousin of the king's, if I 'd only put my name
to their shipping articles. This Mr. Clinch is well enough
grog pitcher.”
“Boat, ahoy!” shouted Clinch again, now about a hundred
yards distant, having passed towards the cape. Raoul and
Ithuel mechanically ceased rowing, under the impression
that the master's-mate had still something to communicate.
“Boat, ahoy!—Answer at once, or you 'll hear from
me,” repeated Clinch.
“Ay, ay,” answered another voice, which, in fact, was
Yelverton's; “Clinch, is that you?”
“Ay, ay, sir—Mr. Yelverton, is it not?—I think I know
the voice, sir.”
“You are quite right; but make less noise — who was
that you hailed, a minute or two since?”
Clinch began to answer; but, as the two gigs were
approaching each other all the time, they were soon so near
as to render it unnecessary to speak loud enough to be
heard at any distance. All this time, Raoul and Ithuel lay
on their oars, almost afraid to stir the water, and listening
with an attention that was nearly breathless. They were
satisfied that the oars of the English were now muffled; a
sign that they were in earnest in the pursuit, and bent on
making a thorough search. The two gigs could not be more
than a hundred yards from the yawl, and Ithuel knew that
they were the two fastest-rowing boats of the English fleet—
so fast, indeed, that Cuffe and his lieutenants had made
several successful matches with them, against the officers of
different vessels.
“Hist!” said Ghita, whose heart was in her mouth.
“Oh! Raoul, they come!”
Coming, indeed, were they; and that with vast velocity.
So careful, however, was the stroke, that they were within
two hundred feet of the yawl, before Raoul and his companion
took the alarm, and plunged their own oars again
into the water. Then, indeed, the gigs might be dimly seen;
though the shadows of the land deepened the obscurity of
night so far, as to render objects at even a less distance
quite indistinct. The suddenness and imminency of the
danger appeared to arouse all there was of life in Carlo
Giuntotardi. He steered, and steered well, being accustomed
to the office, by living so long on the coast; and he
necessary, and of getting still deeper within the shadows.
It was soon evident the English gained. Four oars
against two were fearful odds; and it was plainly apparent
the yawl must be overtaken.
“Oh! uncle, towards the arch and water-cavern of the
point,” whispered Ghita, whose hands were clasped on her
breast, as if to keep down her emotions. “That may yet
save him!”
The yawl was in the act of whirling round the rocks,
which form the deep cove, on which the Marina Grande of
Sorrento lies. Carlo caught his niece's idea, and he kept
his tiller hard a-port; telling Raoul and Ithuel, at the same
time, to take in their oars, as quick as possible. The men
obeyed, supposing it was the intention to land, and take to
the heights for shelter. But just as they supposed the boat
was about to strike against some perpendicular rocks, and
Raoul was muttering his surprise that such a spot should be
chosen to land at, it glided through a low natural arch, and
entered a little basin, as noiselessly as a bubble floating in a
current. The next minute, the two gigs came whirling
round the rocks; one following the shore, close in, to prevent
the fugitives from landing, and the other steering more
obliquely athwart the bay. In still another minute, they
had passed a hundred yards ahead, and the sound of their
movements was lost.
| CHAPTER IX. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet | |