 | CHAPTER VII.
SCENE WITHIN THE ISLAND-FORTRESS. The quadroone, or, St. Michael's day |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
SCENE WITHIN THE ISLAND-FORTRESS.
The sun was yet a quarter of an hour high on the
afternoon of this murderous execution of the councillors,
when a single horseman, in the uniform of a chasseur,
issued at full gallop out of a forest two leagues
from the town, and drew rein upon the shores of a
wooded lake. His coal-black horse was whitened with
foam, and his flanks reeking with blood, while the brow
of the rider was flushed and stern. Matters of serious
import evidently had caused him to take to saddle.
The shore on which he emerged was a shelving
beach of white sand, that, like a snowy belt, girdled a
small lake about one mile in width, and on every side
shut in by noble forest-trees. In the centre of the
lake, which lay, like a steel mirror, tinted with gold
under the evening sun, was a small island, on which
frowned the towers and battlements of a fortress, with
the flag of France hoisted over that of Spain proudly
waving above its ramparts. Wild ducks sailed in
surface with arrowy wing; the kingfisher seared mid-heaven,
marking his finny prey with far-sighted vision
as it swam deep beneath the surface; while the eagle,
balanced still higher, kept watch upon him in turn,
ready to descend like a thunderbolt, and rob him of it
when he should rise dripping from the flood. The
whole scene was brilliant and touchingly beautiful, yet
full of majestic repose, slumbering so quiet there in
the lap of eternal forests.
Without pausing to bestow a glance upon the scenery,
he had no sooner reined up, than, looking wistfully
towards the fortress, he wound a horn that hung at
his saddle-bow, sending the notes far across the water.
After the lapse of a few seconds it was answered from
the fortress, and a boat instantly put off from the island
and approached the main. It was rowed by two oarsmen,
and a third individual stood up in the stern. As
it came near the shore, the horseman dismounted, tied
his horse to a tree, and walked to the water's edge, as
if too impatient to lose a moment in getting to the
island.
“Ha, Rapin de Thoyras! Is it thou?” demanded
the person in the boat, on coming near enough to the
land to discern his features. “Cease rowing, my
men! Here is treachery!”
“Nay, Charleval,” answered the other, stretching
forth his hand frankly, and then placing it earnestly on
his heart, “I am henceforth a courreur du bois! Take
me to your bosom again!”
“Nay, I did love thee as a brother once—love thee
more than all our happy band of Seven; now, alas!
disloyal and debased. But we will speak of this no
more. Wherefore have you sounded our private signal?”
“I would be conducted to the presence of your first
chief.”
“Renault hath been engaged in a sacred duty since
the morning. Sieur d'Alembert lieth at the point of
death, and he waits by his bed's head to receive his
him. I fear treachery from thee, De Thoyras. Wherefore
shouldst thou see him?”
“They have slain my father!”
“Thy father! Who hath done it?”
“This Count Osma. Within this hour, my father,
with five of the other judges, have been shot in the
square.”
“Sayest thou this on thy faith?”
“True as I stand here shedding hot tears of grief
and vengeance.”
“I believe thee! They shall be avenged!” said
Charleval, with deep sorrow. “What wouldst thou
do?”
“Avenge my father!” was the stern reply. “Every
sword in our band shall be thine. To offer them
to thee I have ridden hither.”
“Take a seat beside me,” he said, as the boat touched
the shore; “our brave, noble councillors! Hath
Osma done so bloody a thing? Then are his own days
numbered! I will trust thee, De Thoyras, for grief
hath made thee penitent. Nay, I will embrace thee,
and give thee my confidence. Now know that a messenger,
a swift Indian runner, hath been despatched to
the Camanchee king, who has often pressed upon us
his services, to come and aid us in driving out the
Spanish troops, with a thousand of his warriors. He
has a deadly hatred, it seems, for the Spaniards, and
desires to meet them in battle. It will be ten days before
they can reach us. One hundred of the noble
Atchafalayas, with a fleet of pirogues, will waft them
to this side of the river, while their horses swim beside
the boats. In ten days, at the farthest, they will be
here. We had intended only to drive out the Spaniards;
but now, blood shall atone for blood, and that of
Osma's heart must flow ere vengeance is appeased.
Poor councillors! Savage and bloodthirsty tyrant!”
“The whole town are indignant and alarmed,” said
the chasseur; “this act has filled every bosom with
terror. Men are flying to arms everywhere, and Renault
against the city.”
“Doth thy chief, Caronde, know this? and if he does,
will he not side with this guilty governor?”
“He lies suffering from shame and pain in our
stronghold, and hath, in his rage, slain two of our party
for mocking at his mutilated hand. This has enraged
the whole band against him; and their affection hath
ever been more for myself than for him.”
“Will they obey you?”
“To a man!”
“And these Ladrones of the Lagoons, that are thy
allies, some two hundred in number?” asked Charleval,
as the boat moved swiftly across the lake.
“They will fight where the booty and pay is best.
Caronde is become nearly penniless through his extravagances,
and they will easily be persuaded to use
their knives and carbines on this side.”
“This I will leave to you, and also the conversion
of Caronde's band.”
In a few moments they reached the island, and the
messenger was escorted into the fortress; which, as
he passed along, he saw was filled with the adherents
of Renault.
In a small room of the fortress, with rough stone
walls, and a single aperture for a window, through
which the sunlight shone in cheerfully, lay an old man
upon a rude pallet. His thin, white hairs were scattered
over his expansive forehead, which was pale, and,
to the eye, cold like sculptured marble. His majestic
features were of the hue of death, but on them patience
in endurance struggled with suffering. It was the
Sieur d'Alembert. He had received a mortal wound
in the attack the night before, and death was fast fixing
his seal upon his brow. Beside him stood a priest,
in silent waiting for his departure, having administered
to him the last sacraments of the church. Near
his pillow stood Renault, full of grief; for he loved
him as a father, and affection had bound him to his
bedside since he first placed him there on reaching the
had his fading eyes fixed upon the small spot of sky
through the window, as if surveying the path along
which his spirit was to take its upward flight. Reason
was clear, and serene resignation sat upon his countenance.
“My son!” he said, faintly.
Renault pressed his hand, but could not speak.
“I have wearied you this day, my son. My time
here will be but a few moments longer. I would ask
a dying favour!”
“Speak, my father!”
“That you avenge not my death. Louis has seen
fit to give our province to Spain; and Spain has done
no more than take her right. Forgive your king, and
suffer Spain! Disperse your band, and be a peaceful
citizen. This world hath enough evils that come uncalled;
seek to live in peace in it with all men, even
with thy enemies. If you would look upon human
wars and ambition as they now appear to me, you
would, so you could serve Heaven in conscience, scarce
heed who ruled the different nations of the earth for
the short time you lived upon it. Now promise me,
Renault, my son, you will live peaceably under the
Spanish rule, nor seek to avenge my death!”
Renault dropped the hand he had so long held, rose
from the bedside, and hastily paced the room a few
moments without replying, his bosom torn by conflicting
emotions.
“My son,” said the dying councillor, with a slight
accent of reproof.
The voice instantly drew him to his pillow. “Forgive
me, my more than father! Thy wish shall be
granted!”
“Bless thee, bless thee! I shall go happier, feeling
that I do not bequeath civil commotions to my unhappy
country.”
There was at this moment a low knock at the door,
and Charleval then entered.
“How is it with the venerable judge?” he asked,
his features.”
“He will go with the sun,” answered Renault.
“What news bring you from the main land? Your
countenance is troubled.”
“The councillor will in a few moments rejoin his
friends,” was the evasive reply.
“What mean you?”
“They are dead!”
“How? Do I hear rightly?”
“Too well. The six councillors have been shot, by
order of Osma, in the square.”
“Then Osma dies!”
“Dead are they all?” said the dying judge, who
had overheard and understood their words. “Then
have they exchanged misery for happiness.” With a
triumphant lighting up of his countenance, he then
half rose up in his bed, and cried,
“I come to thee, my friends! I come! Heaven receive
my spirit!”
He fell back and expired.
“Another victim has gone to accuse Osma at the
bar of Heaven!” cried Renault, with mingled grief
and indignation. “Happy councillor! Heaven hath
a great gain in our loss.”
“He must be avenged!” said Charleval, sternly.
“Nay, I have sworn he shall not.”
“But not to avenge the other councillors thou hast
not sworn?”
“No; but the president looked at me as he expired,
and I knew what his tongue would have spoken had
not death taken away the power of speech. No,
Charleval, we must not do it. To avenge them were
to avenge him also. We must live either under this
Spanish rule, or leave our native land for maternal
France.”
“Art thou in earnest, Renault?”
“The chamber of death is no place to trifle in, my
friend. We must disband our adherents, or leave
Spain in quiet possession of the province.”
“Be it so, Renault,” answered Charleval, grasping
his hand; “but we will talk of this anon. Rapin de
Thoyras is waiting to see thee,” he added, quickly, hoping
that his account of the sanguinary massacre
might fire his friend's bosom, and lead him to forget
his promise to the dying councillor.
The interview between De Thoyras and Renault,
which grief did not permit him to grant for full two
hours after the death of the councillor, was brief, and
terminated with Renault's rejection of his offer of assistance.
“I pray thee, sir,” he said to him, as he was about
dismissing him, “use thy influence over thy band, and
persuade them also to disperse. It is best the province
should be settled in quiet, and we shall most show
our love to our country by forwarding, all that lies in
our power, the wishes of our departed father and councillor.”
While he was yet speaking, a bugle was heard from
the main, blown in a harsh, discordant key.
“That is Gobin, and none else,” said Charleval, as
the unskilful bugler continued to wind note after note.
“Despatch a boat for him,” said Renault; “I fear
worse tidings still. Didst thou learn aught of my sister,
Sieur de Thoyras, while thou wert in the city?”
“Nothing touching her welfare.”
“It may be she hath come to no harm. Now Heaven
hath taken the spirit of my friend to itself, I must
see to her safety.”
In a little while Gobin, for the messenger was indeed
he, was brought into the presence of Renault.
His countenance was expressive of great alarm, and
his limbs trembled.
“Gobin, I pray thee deliver speedily and briefly the
message thou art charged with,” said Renault, impatiently.
“Brother Spain ha' a shotted the councillors.”
“Hath any harm come to Azèlie?”
“Not yet, gossip. I took service last night wi'
brother Spain, but I was a drunk when I did't. I
a-firing woke me up, and I looked out o' the window,
and I see the six councillors lying dead, shotten
through the heart, on the ground,” he added, as if his
mind was deeply impressed with the scene he had
witnessed.
“We know it, Gobin; did this alone bring thee
hither?”
“No, gossip. Soon as it was well dark, before the
moon got up, I ran off from the palace, afraid cousin
Spain would a-chop my head off, and was going to
hide myself in your house, when a gray woman met
me and gave me this note,” he continued, fumbling
in his vest; “and told me to bear it to you with the
wind's speed. I dropped myself down the outside of
the wall, and was coming a-foot, when I saw gossip
Boviedo on a horse he had found running loose after
the last night's battle. He swore he had won him by
his valour; I bade him keep him by his valour; and,
setting upon him, overset him like a cotton bale to the
ground, robbed him of his bugle, jumped into the saddle,
and am here wi' the first news o' the councillor's
being shotted. The note will scarce give thee more
sorry news, gossip Renault.”
He delivered the note as he spoke. It contained but
one line. Renault read it, and with a loud cry of misery
and despair, fell forward, and would have quite fallen
to the floor but for the sustaining arm of Charleval.
He was for an instant in convulsions. By a strong effort
of his mind, he, however, recovered himself, and
once more glanced over the note.
“'Tis writ there in letters of fire. Blood alone can
quench them. Ho! Charleval! sound the gathering
cry of the band. De Thoyras, I will accept thy aid.
To horse, and meet me an hour hence at the Pontchartrain
gate, with every man thou canst make follow
thee. To arms and to horse!” he shouted, madly.
The chasseur lieutenant instantly took his departure,
full of surprise at this sudden change in the temper of
the courreur chef, and wondering at the cause that produced
was at once in arms. In less than half an hour, a flotilla
of horse-barges left the island, and steered for the
main land; while Renault, full of impatience, his brain
burning with the fever of his mind, and incapable of enduring
the slow progress of the barges, leaped from a
rock into the lake, and swam on horseback before them
to the land.
| CHAPTER VII.
SCENE WITHIN THE ISLAND-FORTRESS. The quadroone, or, St. Michael's day | |