 | CHAPTER III. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
Come hither, gentlemen,
And lay your hands upon my sword:
Swear by my sword.”
Hamlet.
“Your name is Ghita,” commenced the Judge Advocate,
examining his memoranda — “Ghita what?”
“Ghita Caraccioli, Signore,” answered the girl, in a voice
so gentle and sweet, as to make a friend of every listener.
The name, however, was not heard, without producing a
general start, and looks of surprise were exchanged among
all in the room; most of the officers of the ship who were
not on duty being present as spectators.
“Caraccioli,” repeated the Judge Advocate, with emphasis.
“That is a great name in Italy. Do you assume to
belong to the illustrious house which bears this appellation?”
“Signore, I assume to own nothing that is illustrious,
being merely an humble girl who lives with her uncle, in
the prince's towers, on Monte Argentaro.”
“How happens it, then, that you bear the distinguished
name of Caraccioli, signorina?”
“I dare say, Mr. Medford,” observed Cuffe, in English,
of course, “that the young woman doesn't know herself,
whence she got the name. These matters are managed
very loosely in Italy.”
“Signore,” resumed Ghita, earnestly, after waiting respectfully
for the captain to get through, “I bear the name of my
father, as is usual with children; but, it is a name on which
a heavy disgrace has fallen, so lately as yesterday; his father
having been a sight for the thousands of Naples to gaze on,
as his aged body hung at the yard of one of your ships.”
“And do you claim to be the grand-daughter of that unfortunate
admiral?”
“So I have been taught to consider myself; may his soul
rest in a peace that his foes would not grant to his body!
That criminal, as you doubtless believe him, was my father's
father, though few knew it when he was honoured as a
prince and a high officer of the king's.”
A deep silence followed; the singularity of the circumstance,
and the air of truth which pervaded the manner of
the girl, uniting to produce a profound sensation.
“The admiral had the reputation of being childless,” observed
Cuffe, in an under tone. “Doubtless this girl's father
has been the consequence of some irregular connection.”
“If there has been a promise, or any words of recognition
uttered before witnesses,” muttered Lyon, “accordin'
to the laws of Scotland, issue, and a few pairtenant expressions,
will splice a couple as strongly as ye 'll be doing it in
England, before either of the archbishops.”
“As this is Italy, it is not probable that the same law
rules here. Proceed, Mr. Judge Advocate.”
“Well, Ghita Caraccioli—if that be your name—I wish
to know if you have any acquaintance with a certain Raoul
Yvard; a Frenchman, and the commander of a private
sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth.”
Ghita's heart beat violently, and the colour came into her
face with the impetuosity of sensitive alarm. She had no
knowledge of courts, and the object of the inquiry was unknown
to her. Then followed the triumph of innocence;
the purity of her mind, and the quiet of her conscience
reassuring her, by bringing the strong conviction that she
had no reason to blush for any sentiment she might happen
to entertain.
“Signore,” she said, dropping her eyes to the floor, for
the gaze of all the court was fastened on her face—“I am
acquainted with Raoul Yvard, the person you mention;
this is he, who sits between those two cannon. He is a
Frenchman, and he does command the lugger called the
Feu-Follet.”
“I knew we should get it all by this witness!” exclaimed
Cuffe, unable to suppress the relief he felt at obtaining the
required testimony.
“You say that you know this, of your own knowledge,”
resumed the Judge Advocate—
“Messieurs,” said Raoul, rising, “will you grant me
leave to speak? This is a cruel scene; and, rather than
endure it—rather than give this dear girl the cause for future
pain, that I know her answers will bring, I ask that you
permit her to retire, when I promise to admit all that you
can possibly prove by her means.”
A short consultation followed; then Ghita was told to
withdraw. But the girl had taken the alarm, from the
countenance of Raoul, although she did not understand what
had passed in English; and she was reluctant to quit the
place in ignorance.
“Have I said aught to injure thee, Raoul?” she anxiously
asked—“I was sworn on the Word of God, and by the
sacred cross—had I foreseen any harm to thee, the power
of England would not have made me take so solemn an oath,
and then I might have been silent.”
“It matters not, dearest—the fact must come out, in some
way or other, and, in due time, you shall know all. And
now, Messieurs,”—the door closing on Ghita—“there need
the person you take me for, and the person that some of
you must well know me to be. I fought your boats, Monsieur
Cuffe—avoided your brulôt, and led you a merry chase
round Elba. I deceived the Signor Barrofaldi, and his friend
the podestâ, and all for the love of this beautiful and modest
girl, who has just left the cabin; no other motive having
carried me into Porto Ferrajo, or into this Bay of Naples, on
the honour of a Frenchman.”
“Umph!” muttered Lyon—“it must be admitted, Sir
Frederick, that the prisoner appeals to a most eligible standard!”
On another occasion, national antipathy and national
prejudice might have caused the rest of the court to smile at
this sally; but there was an earnestness and sincerity in the
manner and countenance of Raoul, which, if they did not
command entire belief, at least, commanded respect. It was
impossible to deride such a man; and long-cherished antipathies
were rebuked by his spirited and manly declarations.
“There will be no further occasion for witnesses, Mr.
Judge Advocate, if the prisoner be disposed to acknowledge
the whole truth,” observed Cuffe. “It is proper, however,
Monsieur Yvard, to apprise you of the possible consequences.
You are on trial for your life; the charge being that of
coming on board an English ship in disguise, or rather, into
the centre of an English fleet, you being an alien enemy,
engaged in carrying on open warfare against His Majesty.”
“I am a Frenchman, Monsieur, and I serve my country,”
answered Raoul, with dignity.
“Your right to serve your country, no one will dispute;
but you must know it is against the laws of civilized warfare
to act the part of a spy. You are now on your guard, and
will decide for yourself. If you have anything to say, we
will hear it.”
“Messieurs, there is little more to be said,” answered
Raoul. “That I am your enemy, as I am of all those who
seek the downfall of France, I do not deny. You know who
I am, and what I am, and I have no excuses to make for
being either. As brave Englishmen, you will know how to
allow for the love a Frenchman bears his country. As for
coming on board this ship, you cannot bring that as a charge
rights of hospitality are as sacred as they are general.”
The members of the court exchanged significant glances
with each other, and there was a pause of more than a
minute. Then the Judge Advocate resumed his duties, by
saying—
“I wish you to understand, prisoner, the precise legal
effect of your admissions; then I wish them to be made formally
and deliberately; else we must proceed to the examination
of other witnesses. You are said to be Raoul Yvard,
an alien enemy, in arms against the king.”
“Monsieur, this I have already admitted; it cannot
honourably be denied.”
“You are accused of coming on board His Majesty's ship
Proserpine disguised, and of calling yourself a boatman of
Capri, when you were Raoul Yvard, an alien enemy, bearing
arms against the king.”
“This is all true; but I was invited on board the ship, as
I have just stated.”
“You are furthermore accused of rowing in among the
ships of His Majesty, now lying in the Bay of Naples, and
which ships are under the orders of Rear-Admiral Lord
Nelson, Duke of Bronté, in Sicily, you being in the same
disguise, though an alien enemy, with the intent to make
your observations as a spy, and, doubtless, to avail yourself
of information thus obtained, to the injury of His Majesty's
subjects, and to your own advantage, and that of the nation
you serve.”
“Monsieur, this is not so—parole d'honneur, I went into
the bay in search of Ghita Caraccioli, who has my whole
heart, and whom I would persuade to become my wife.
Nothing else carried me into the bay; and I wore this dress,
because I might otherwise have been known and arrested.”
“This is an important fact, if you can prove it; for,
though it might not technically acquit you, it would have its
effect on the commander-in-chief, when he comes to decide
on the sentence of this court.”
Raoul hesitated. He did not doubt that Ghita, she whose
testimony had just proved so serious a matter against him,
would testify that she believed such was alone his motive;
and this, too, in a way, and with corroborative circumstances,
as she could testify that he had done the same thing
before, in the Island of Elba, and was even in the practice
of paying her flying visits at Monte Argentaro. Nevertheless,
Raoul felt a strong reluctance to have Ghita again
brought before the court. With the jealous sensitiveness of
true love, he was averse to subjecting its object to the gaze
and comments of the rude of his own sex; then he knew his
power over the feelings of the girl, and had too much sensibility
not to enter into all the considerations that might
influence a man on a point so delicate; and he could not
relish the idea of publicly laying bare feelings that he wished
to be as sacred to others, as they were to himself.
“Can you prove what you have just averred, Raoul
Yvard?” demanded the Judge Advocate.
“Monsieur—I fear it will not be in my power. There is
one—but—I much fear it will not be in my power—unless,
indeed, I am permitted to examine my companion; he who
has already been before you.”
“You mean Ithuel Bolt, I presume. He has not yet been
regularly before us, but you can produce him, or any other
witness; the court reserving to itself the right to decide,
afterwards, on the merits of the testimony.”
“Then, Monsieur, I could wish to have Etoo-ell here.”
The necessary directions were given, and Ithuel soon
stood in the presence of his judges. The oath was tendered,
and Ithuel took it like a man who had done such things
before.
“Your name is Ithuel Bolt?” commenced the Judge Advocate.
“So they call me on board this ship—but if I am to be
a witness, let me swear freely; I don't wish to have words
put into my mouth, or idees chained to me with iron.”
As this was said, Ithuel raised his arms, and exhibited
his hand-cuffs, which the master-at-arms had refused to
remove, and the officers of the court had overlooked. A
reproachful glance from Cuffe, and a whisper from Yelverton,
disposed of the difficulty—Ithuel was released.
“Now I can answer more conscientiously,” continued
the witness, grinning sardonically; “when iron is eating
into the flesh, a man is apt to swear to what he thinks will
have anything to say.”
“You appear to be an Englishman.”
“Do I? Then I appear to be what I am not. I'm
a native of the Granite state, in North America. My fathers
went to that region, in times long gone by, to uphold
their religious idees. The whole country, thereabouts, sets
onaccountable store by their privileges.”
“Do you know the prisoner, Ithuel Bolt, the person who
is called Raoul Yvard?”
Ithuel was a little at a loss exactly how to answer this
question. Notwithstanding the high motive which had led
his fathers into the wilderness, and his own peculiar estimate
of his religious advantages, an oath had got to be a
sort of convertible obligation with him, ever since the day
he had his first connection with a custom-house. A man
who had sworn to so many false invoices, was not likely to
stick at a trifle in order to serve a friend; still, by denying
the acquaintance, he might bring discredit on himself, and
thus put it out of his power to be of use to Raoul on some
more material point. As between himself and the Frenchman,
there existed a remarkable moral discrepancy; for,
while he who prided himself on his religious ancestry and
pious education, had a singularly pliable conscience, Raoul,
almost an Atheist in opinion, would have scorned a simple
lie, when placed in a situation that touched his honour. In
the way of warlike artifices, few men were more subtle, or
loved to practise them oftener, that Raoul Yvard; but the
mask aside, or when he fell back on his own native dignity
of mind, death itself could not have extorted an equivocation
from him. On the other hand, Ithuel had an affection for a
lie; more especially if it served himself, or injured his
enemy—finding a mode of reconciling all this to his spirituality,
that is somewhat peculiar to fanaticism, as it begins
to grow threadbare. On the present occasion, he was
ready to say whatever he thought would most conform to
his shipmate's wishes, and luckily he construed the expression
of the other's countenance aright.
“I do know the prisoner, as you call him, 'squire,” Ithuel
answered, after the pause that was necessary to come to his
conclusion—“I do know him well; and a master-crittur he
Had there been a Rule Yvard, on board each of the Frenchmen,
at the Nile, over here, in Egypt, Nelson would have
found that his letter stood in need of some post-cripts, I
guess.”
“Confine your answers, witness, to the purport of the
question,” put in Cuffe, with dignity.
Ithuel stood too much in habitual awe of the captain of
his old ship, to venture on an answer; but if looks could
have done harm, that important functionary would not have
escaped altogether uninjured. As he said nothing, the examination
proceeded.
“You know him to be Raoul Yvard, the commander of
the French privateer lugger, le Feu-Follet?” continued the
Judge Advocate, deeming it prudent to fortify his record of
the prisoner's confession of identity, with a little collateral
evidence.
“Why—I some think—” answered Ithuel, with a peculiar
provincialism, that had a good deal of granite in it—“that
is, I kind o' conclude—” catching an assent from Raoul's
eye—“oh! yes—of that, there is n't the smallest mite of
doubt in the world. He's the captain of the lugger, and a
right down good one he is!”
“You were with him, in disguise, when he came into the
Bay of Naples yesterday?”
“I in disguise, 'squire!—What have I got to disguise? I
am an American of different callings, all of which I practyse,
as convenience demands; being a neutral, I 've no
need of disguises to go anywhere. I am never disguised,
except when my jib is a little bowsed up; and that, you
know, is a come-over that befals most seafaring men, at
times.”
“You need answer nothing concerning yourself, that will
tend to criminate you. Do you know with what inducement,
or on what business, Raoul Yvard came into the Bay
of Naples yesterday?”
“To own to you the candid truth, 'squire, I do not,”
answered Ithuel, simply; for the nature of the tie which
bound the young Frenchman so closely to Ghita, was a profound
mystery, in all that related to its more sacred feelings,
to a being generally so obtuse on matters of pure sentiment.
“Captain Rule is a good deal given to prying about on
the coast; and what particular eend he had in view, in this
expedition, I cannot tell you. His a'r'n'ds inshore, I must
own, be sometimes onaccountable!—Witness the island of
Elby, gentlemen.”
Ithuel indulged in a small laugh, as he made this allusion;
for, in his own way, he had a humour in which he occasionally
indulged, after a manner that belonged to the class of
which he was a conspicuous member.
“Never mind what occurred at Elba. Prisoner, do you
wish to question the witness?”
“Etuelle,” asked Raoul, “do you not know that I love
Ghita Caraccioli?”
“Why, Captain Rule, I know you think so, and say so—
but I set down all these matters as somewhat various and
onaccountable.”
“Have I not often landed on the enemy's coast, solely to
see her, and to be near her?”
By this time, Ithuel, who was a little puzzled at first to
understand what it all meant, had got his cue, and no witness
could have acquitted himself better than he did from
that moment.
“That you have,” he answered; “a hundred times, at
least; and right in the teeth of my advice.”
“Was not my sole object in coming into the Bay yesterday,
to find Ghita, and Ghita only?”
“Just so. Of that, gentlemen, there can be no more
question, than there is about Vesuvius standing up at the
head of the Bay, smoking like a brick-kiln. That was
Captain Rule's sole a'r'n'd.'
“I just understood ye to say, witness,” put in Lyon, “and
that only a bit since, that ye did not know the prisoner's
motive in coming into the Bay of Naples. Ye called his
behaviour unaccountable.”
“Very true, sir, and so it is to me. I know'd all along,
that love was at the bottom of it; but I don't call love a
motive, while I do call it onaccountable. That's the explanation
on 't. Yes, I know'd it was love for Miss Gyty, but
then that's not a motive in law.”
“Answer to the facts. The court will judge of the motive
for itself. How do you know that love for the young
coming into the Bay?”
“One finds out such things by keeping company with a
man. Captain Rule went first to look for the young woman
up on the mountain yonder, where her aunt lives, and I
went with him to talk English, if it got to be necessary;
and not finding Gyty at home, we got a boat and followed
her over to Naples. Thus, you see, sir, that I have reason
to know what craft he was in chase of the whole time.”
As all this was strictly true, Ithuel related it naturally,
and in a way to gain some credit.
“You say you accompanied Raoul Yvard, witness, in a
visit to the aunt of the young woman, called Ghita Caraccioli,”
observed Cuffe, in a careless way, that was intended
to entrap Ithuel into an unwary answer—“where did you
go from, when you set out on your journey?”
“That would depend on the place one kept his reckoning
from, and the time of starting. Now, I might say I started
from Ameriky, which part of the world I left some years
since; or I might say from Nantes, the port in which we
fitted for sea. As for Captain Rule, he would probably say
Nantes.”
“In what manner did you come from Nantes?” continued
Cuffe, without betraying resentment at an answer that might
be deemed impertinent; or surprise, as if he found it difficult
to comprehend. “You did not make the journey on
horseback, I should think?”
“Oh, I begin to understand you, Captain Cuffe. Why,
if the truth must be said, we came in the lugger, the Few-Folly.”
“I supposed as much. And when you went to visit this
aunt, where did you leave the lugger?”
“We did n't leave her at all, sir; being under her canvass,
our feet were no sooner in the boat, and the line cast
off, than she left us as if we had been stuck up, like a tree,
on dry ground.”
“Where did this happen?”
“Afloat, of course, Captain Cuffe; such a thing would
hardly come to pass, ashore.”
“All that, I understand; but you say the prisoner left
his vessel, in order to visit an aunt of the young woman's;
the young woman herself. Now, this is an important fact,
as it concerns the prisoner's motives, and may affect his life.
The court must act with all the facts before it; as a commencement,
tell us where Raoul Yvard left his lugger, to go
on yonder head-land.”
“I do not think, Captain Cuffe, you 've got the story
exactly right. Captain Rule did n't go on the mountain,
after all, so much to see the aunt, as to see the niece at the
aunt's dwelling; if one would end right in a story, he must
begin right.”
“I left le Feu-Follet, Monsieur le Capitaine,” Raoul
calmly observed, “not two cables' length from the very spot
where your own ship is now lying; but it was at an hour of
the night when the good people of Capri were asleep, and
they knew nothing of our visit. You see the lugger is no
longer here.”
“And do you confirm this story, under the solemnity of
your oath?” demanded Cuffe of Ithuel, little imagining how
easy it was to the witness to confirm anything he saw fit, in
the way he mentioned.
“Sartain; every word is true, gentlemen,” answered
Ithuel. “It was not more than a cable's length from this
very spot, according to my judgment.”
“And where is the lugger, now?” asked Cuffe, betraying
the drift of all his questions, in his eagerness to learn more.
Ithuel was not to be led on so hurriedly, or so blindly.
Affecting a girlish sort of coyness, he answered, simpering,
“Why, Captain Cuffe, I cannot think of answering a
question like that, under the solemnity of an oath, as you
call it. No one can know where the little Folly is, but them
that's in her.”
Cuffe was a little disconcerted at the answer, while Lyon
smiled ironically; the latter then took upon himself the
office of cross-examining, with an opinion of his own penetration
and shrewdness, that, at least, ought to have made
him quite equal to encountering one of Ithuel's readiness in
subterfuges.
“We do not expect you to tell us, of your own knowledge,
witness,” he said, “precisely the position, by latitude
and longitude, or by the points of the compass, at this identical
others, the Few-Follay, and, as it would now seem, by yourself,
the Little Folly; for that, as ye 've well obsairved, can
be known only to those who are actually on board her; but
ye 'll be remembering, perhaps, the place it was agreed on
between you, where ye were to find the lugger at your
return from this hazardous expedition that ye 've been making
amang ye, into the Bay of Naples?”
“I object to that question, as contrary to law,” put in
Ithuel, with a spirit and promptitude that caused the Judge
Advocate to start, and the members of the court to look at
each other in surprise.
“Nay, if ye object to the question on the ground that a
true ainswer will be criminating yersel', ye 'll be justified in
so doing, by reason and propriety; but then ye 'll consider
well the consequences it may have on your own case, when
that comes to be investigated.”
“I object on gin'ral principles,” said Ithuel. “Whatever
Captain Rule may have said on the subject, admitting that
he said anything, just to bear out the argument, (by the
way, Ithuel called this word argooment, a pronunciation
against which we enter our solemn protest;) admitting, I
say, that he said anything on the subject, it cannot be testimony,
as hearsay evidence is ag'in law, all the world
over.”
The members of the court looked at the Judge Advocate,
who returned the glance with an air of suitable gravity;
then, on a motion of Sir Frederick's, the court was cleared,
to discuss the point in private.
“How's this, Mr. Judge Advocate,” demanded Cuffe, as
soon as the coast was clear; “it is of the last importance
to find where that lugger is—do you hold that the question
is contrary to law?”
“Its importance makes it pertinent, I think, sir; as for
the legality, I do not see how it can be affected by the circumstance
that the fact came up in discourse.”
“D'ye think so?” observed Sir Frederick, looking much
more profound than was his wont. “Legality is the boast
of English law, and I should dislike excessively to fail in
that great essential. What is said, must be heard, to be
believe it 's admitted all round, we must reject that.”
“What is your opinion, Captain Lyon?” demanded the
president.
“The case is somewhat knotty, but it may be united,”
returned the Scot, with a sneer on his hard features. “No
need of Alexander and his sword to cut the rope, I 'm thinking,
when we bring common sense to bear on the point.
What is the matter to be ascertained?—Why, the place
which was agreed on as the point of rendezvous between
this Rawl Eevart and his people. Now, this arrangement
must have been made orally, or in writing; if orally, testimony
to the words uttered will not be hearsay, farther than
testimony to what a man has seen will be eyesight.”
“Quite true, Mr. President and gentlemen!” exclaimed
the Judge Advocate, who was not a little relieved at finding
a clue to lead him out of the difficulty. “If the agreement
had been made in writing, then that writing would have to
be produced, if possible, as the best evidence the case
affords; but, being made in words, those words can be
sworn to.”
Cuffe was much relieved by this opinion, and, as Sir
Frederick did not seem disposed to push his dissent very far,
the matter would have been determined on the spot, but for
a love of disputation that formed part and parcel, to speak
legally on a legal subject, of Lyon's moral temperament.
“I'm agreeing with the Judge Advocate, as to his distinction
about the admissibility of the testimony on the
ground of its not being technically what is called hearsay
evidence,” he observed; “but a difficulty suggests itself to
my mind touching the pairtenency. A witness is sworn to
speak to the point before the court; but he is not sworn to
discuss all things in heaven and airth. Now, is it pairtenent
to the fact of Rawl Eevart's being a spy, that he made sairtain
agreements to meet this or that fellow-creature, in this
or that place. Now, as I comprehend the law, it divides
all questions into two great classes—the pairtinent, and the
impairtinent, of which the first are legal, and the second
illegal.”
“I think it would be a great piece of audacity,” said Sir
pretend to call any question we can put him, impertinent!”
“That 's no just the p'int, Sir Frederick; this being altogether
a matter of law, while ye 'll be thinking of station
and etiquette. Then, there's two classes of the pairtinent,
and two of the impairtenent; one being legal and logical, as
it might be, and the other conventional and civil, as one
may say. There 's a nice distinction, latent, between the
two.”
“I believe the court is of opinion that the question may
be put,” observed Cuffe, who was impatient of the Scotchman's
subtleties, bowing to Sir Frederick, to ask an acquiescence
which he immediately received. “We will re-open
the doors, and proceed in the examination.”
“The court is of opinion, witness,” resumed the Judge
Advocate, when every one was in his place again, “that
you must answer the question. In order that you may
understand it, I will now repeat it. Where was it agreed
between Raoul Yvard and his people, that they should meet
again?”
“I do not think the people of the lugger had anything to
say in the matter,” answered Ithuel, in the most unmoved
manner. “If they had, I knew nothing on 't.”
The court felt embarrassed; but as it would never do to
be thwarted in this manner, a look of determination was
exchanged between the members, and the examination proceeded.
“If not the people, the officers, then. Where was it
agreed between the prisoner and his officers, that the former
should find the lugger, when he returned from his expedition
into the Bay?”
“Well, now, gentlemen,” answered Ithuel, turning his
quid from one cheek into the other, “I some conclude,
you 've no great acquaintance with Captain Rule, a'ter all!
He is not apt to enter into any agreements, at all. What
he wants done, he orders; and what he orders, must be
done.”
“What did he order, then, as respects the place where
the lugger was to wait for his return?”
“I 'm sorry to be troublesome, please the court,” returned
the witness, with admirable self-possession; “but law is
ag'in it. In the Granite state, it is always held that when
a thing can be proved by the person who said any particular
words, that the question must be put to him, and not to a
bystander.”
“Not if that person is a prisoner, and on his trial,”
answered the Judge Advocate, staring to hear such a distinction
from such a source; “though the remark is a
good one, in the cases of witnesses, purely. You must
answer, therefore.”
“It is unnecessary,” again interposed Raoul. “I left
my vessel here, where I have told you, and had I made a
certain signal, the last night, from the heights of St. Agata,
le Feu-Follet would have stood in, near to the rocks of the
Sirens, and taken me off again. As the hour is passed, and
the signal is not likely to be made, it is probable my lieutenant
has gone to another rendezvous, of which the witness
knows nothing, and which, certainly, I shall never betray.”
There was so much manliness and quiet dignity in Raoul's
deportment, that, whatever he said made an impression.
His answer disposed of the matter, for the moment at least.
The Judge Advocate, accordingly, turned to other inquiries.
Little remained, however, to be done. The prisoner had
admitted his identity; his capture, with all the attendant
circumstances, were in proof, and his defence came next.
When Raoul rose to speak, he felt a choking emotion;
but it soon left him, and he commenced in a steady, calm
tone, his accent giving point and interest to many of his
expressions.
“Messieurs,” said he, “I will not deny my name, my
character, or my manner of life. I am a Frenchman, and
the enemy of your country. I am, also, the enemy of the
King of Naples, in whose territories you found me. I have
destroyed his and your ships. Put me on board my lugger,
and I should do both again. Whoever is the enemy of
la France, is the enemy of Raoul Yvard. Honourable seamen,
like yourselves, Messieurs, can understand this. I am
young. My heart is not made of rock; evil as it may be,
it can love beauty, and modesty, and virtue, in the other
sex. Such has been my fate — I love Ghita Caraccioli;
have endeavoured to make her my wife for more than a
favoured—this I must acknowledge; but she is not the less
admirable for that. We differ in our opinions of religion,
and I fear she left Monte Argantaro, because, refusing my
hand, she thought it better, perhaps, that we should not
meet again. It is so with maidens, as you must know,
Messieurs. But it is not usual for us, who are less refined,
to submit to such self-denial. I learned whither Ghita had
come, and followed; my heart was a magnet, that her
beauty drew after it, as our needles are drawn towards the
pole. It was necessary to go into the Bay of Naples,
among the vessels of enemies, to find her I loved; and this
is a very different thing, from engaging in the pitiful attempts
of a spy. Which of you would not have done the
same, Messieurs? You are braves Anglais, and I know you
would not hesitate. Two of you are still youthful, like
myself, and must still feel the power of beauty; even the
Monsieur that is no longer a young man, has had his moments
of passion, like all that are born of woman. Messieurs,
I have no more to say: you know the rest. If you
condemn me, let it be as an unfortunate Frenchman, whose
heart had its weaknesses—not as an ignominious and treacherous
spy.”
The earnestness and nature with which Raoul spoke,
were not without effect. Could Sir Frederick have had his
way, the prisoner would have been acquitted on the spot.
But, Lyon was sceptical, as to the story of love, a sentiment
about which he knew very little; and there was a spirit of
opposition in him, too, that generally induced him to take
the converse of most propositions that were started. The
prisoner was dismissed, and the court closed its doors, to
make up its decision, by itself, in the usual form.
We should do injustice to Cuffe, if we did not say that he
had some feeling in favour of the gallant foe, who had so
often foiled him. Could he have had his will at that moment,
he would have given Raoul his lugger, allowed the
latter a sufficient start, and then gladly have commenced a
chase round the Mediterranean, to settle all questions between
them. But it was too much to give up the lugger, as
well as the prisoner. Then his oath, as a judge, had its
obligations also, and he felt himself bound to yield to the arguments
and thought no more of sentiment than Lyon,
himself.
The result of the deliberation, which lasted an hour, was
a finding against the prisoner. The court was opened, the
record made up and read, the offender introduced, and the
judgment delivered. The finding was “that Raoul Yvard
had been caught in disguise, in the midst of the allied fleets,
and that he was guilty as a spy.” The sentence was to
suffer death the succeeding day, by hanging at the yard-arm
of such ship, as the commander-in-chief might select,
on approving of the sentence.
As Raoul expected little else, he heard his doom with
steadiness, bowing with dignity and courtesy to the court,
as he was led away, to be placed in irons, as befitted one
condemned.
| CHAPTER III. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet | |