University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

We have seen the beautiful and heroic Madeline
Navarre rescued from the waves, after
the loss of the line-of-battle ship, by Louis de
Fernay. We have also seen the effect of
transient jealousy it produced upon his fair
cousin, the Countess Josephine, who witnessed
his gallant conduct from a window of the
chateau; for she had heard that the rescued
maiden was `young and fair.'

With joy that expressed itself in tears, the
grateful Captain Navarre clasped his recovered
child to his heart, and overwhelmed Louis
with thanks for preserving her life. Henry
Monteith also grasped Louis' hand, and gratefully
thanked him for his assistance, instead
of showing that reserve, which lovers often
do, fowards another young man who aids them
in rescuing their lady love in a time of peril.
Madeline was borne insensible to the chateau,
her almost lifeless form attended by her father,
who forgot not to take Monteith's hand, and
ask his forgiveness for his severity towards
him.

`Young man,' he said to him as they climbed
the rocks to the mansion, `you have been
instrumental in preserving to me my only
daughter; if she recovers, and does not say
`nay, she shall be yours, as none can be more
worthy of her.' Henry returned the grasp of
his hand with feelings of pride and happiness,
and fervently prayed that the lovely girl they
were bearing to the chateau might live to bless
him. Louis, in the meanwhile, remained to
watch the motions of the schooner, which he
had discovered in the offing, and which was
now lying too, nearly abreast the smuggler's
cave. He thought he saw a boat putting off
from her and pulling in towards the land, and
after watching a few seconds, the gleam of
moonshine upon a range of lifting and falling
oars, convinced him that he was not mistaken.
Springing into his saddle, he spurred his trusty
horse, still reeking with sea-water, towards
the cavern. He felt a deep interest in the
man he saw there, Lan-franc, whom he knew
to be a leader of a daring horde that had for
years infested the French coast. He also desired
to know who sailed in the rakish schooner
that lay rocking upon the undulating sea
like a snowy gull riding upon the waves.
Leaving him on his way to the vicinity of the
cavern, where he expected the boat to land,
we will return to the chateau.

Madeline has been borne to the chamber of
the Countess Josephine—medical aid had arrived
from Calais—and every means that affection
and skill could command, was employed
to affect her restoration. But the pulse of
life, which had grown fainter each hour, at
length ceased its scarcely perceptible vibrations,
and the lovely Madeline Navarre lay,
in the presence of weeping friends and silent
spectators, a corpse, lovely even in the marble
of death!

Her father gazed upon her awhile in speechless
grief, kissed her cold forehead and senseless
lips, and left the chamber to indulge his
sorrow alone. Henry Monteith was left alone
with her! He knelt beside her inanimate
form, and, with her hand clasped in his, he
bent his forehead upon them thus grasped, and
wept like a child. At length he became calm
and realized the vastness of his misfortune!
He paced the chamber long in agony and grief,
at times approaching he, body and addressing
her in the language of eloquent despair; at
others, kneeling beside her, seemingly as inanimate
with his grief as she for whom he
mourned. The morning sun darted its earliest
beams into the chamber of death, and rested
like a blessing upon the face of the corpse. It
came through rosy stained glass, and gave to
the marble hue of the countenance the flush
and semblance of life.

`My child! she lives,' cried Capt. Navarre,
entering at this moment and seeing this effect
of the sunlight.

He rushed towards her to clasp death in his
arms, and feel the chill of death strike to his
soul from the icy lips he warmly pressed.
Monteith was deeply affected by this scene.
His heart bled for the father, and approaching
him he spoke.

`Even in death she lives,' he said gazing
upon her.

`My son—my son—forgive me!' he said
turning and opening his arms.

Monteith rushed into them, and the late
foes remained long and wept in each others
embrace beside that unconscious corpse of reconciliation.

Louis de Fernay followed the course of the
shore until he came near the tavern where he
had met the adventure of the night before,
when, dismounting from his horse, he fastened
him to a projection of the crag, and cautiously
descended to the beach. He saw
through the trees, glimpses of a boat approaching
with four oars, and containing two persons.
He watched it till he saw it enter and
disappear in the wild mouth of the cavern.
He then made his way to the hut and entered
with secreey. It was, as before, silent and
without an occupant. The door, which had
been thrown down in the storm, had been replaced
by Lan-franc, but on trial he found
that it was not secured. He removed it with
out noise and entered the passage. He proceeded
to its extremity, when he heard voices
of persons approaching from the sea outlet,
and the steps of another coming from the interior
of the cave. He hastily drew back within
one of the recesses, when Lan franc pushed

rapidly along, with a lantern in one hand and
a pistol in the other, in the direction of the
approaching voices. He heard his greeting,
and then all came towards the spot in which
he stood, on the way to the inner chamber of
the vault.

By the side of Lan-franc, who carried the
lantern, the light of which he turned upon
his face as he conversed with him, walked a
tall, dark man, with a face expressive of the
fiercest passions. It was Ralph Horsely. His
brow was gloomy and stern, and his tones
were impatient and angry, as if something had
displeased him. Behind him followed a lad
in seaman's jacket, and blue cap; a graceful,
handsome boy, with a fearless, a beautiful firm
lip, almost girlish for its delicacy. He reresembled
the taller stranger sufficiently to
have been his child. Lan-franc led them to
the inner apartment of the cavern, and Louis,
prompted by curiosity, followed unseen.

`This will not excuse you, `sir,' said Horseley,
sternly; `I bade you have all the merchandise
disposed of—the money ready for my
hand on my return! Yet I find it all here in
store, and of no more value to me now than so
much of the bare rock. I want the money!'

`I could not prevent the storm, Captain.
If the vessels which were to take it have been
driven back, I am not to blame. The goods
should have been sent to Calais yesterday but
for what I told you. There is time enough
tomorrow night.'

`Tomorrow night! By the red cross of Lucifer
it you prate to me longer I will throttle
you, villain,' said Horsely, fiercely. `I have
no time to wait! I must be on board and at
sea by day-break. I can run no risk by staying
here to wait for money. I have blown up
a King's cruiser, and done other deeds in the
last twenty-four hours that will make these
waters too hot for `The Steel Arrow's keel a
day longer. What money have you, Lan-franc?'

`None.'

`It is false.'

`I like not your mood,' said Lan-franc,
haughtily. `If you are Captain one side of
the channel I am chief on this side. I am as
well born as thyself. I am not to be dictated
to! Choose better words in your speech if
you would hold further discourse with me.'

`I am in no humor to select my words, so
you must take as I give them;' said Horseley,
between surprise and vindictiveness. `Come,
I must have money. I am going to sail for
America, and give my services to the rebels.
I must have gold, and you have it!'

`I have none.'

`You are a liar.'

`Ha! take that!' exclaimed Lan-franc,
striking him violently in the face.

`And take that, villain,' cried Horsely, instantaneously
drawing a pistol and discharging
at his head. The Frenchman fell dead
without a struggle. Horsely, with a smile of
triumphant vindictiveness, returned his smoking
pistol to his belt and beckoned to the lad,
who had sprung forward, when Lan-franc
gave the blow with a drawn stiletto, as if to
avenge it.

`Frank.'

`Sir.'

`This is an ugly affair. Lan-franc was useful
to me. But I forget I should no longer
need his services, as I must fly for blowing up
the cruiser.'

`It is a pity he struck you, father,' said the
lad; he has not paid too high for the blow
even with his life. Here is that American
prisoner aslaep or dead, or the pistol should
have waked him.'

`Wake him with a smart blow upon the
cheek.'

The Yankee `man of all work,' and late
one of the crew of `Capting Jemmy Coffin's
'morphrodite brig, the `Fishhook,' started to
his feet on receiving the rough salutation of
the handsome lad. He immediately recognised
them, but was horror struck at beholding
the dead body of Lan-franc. He instantly
fell upon his knees and begged for mercy.

`Cease, and tell me where Lan-franc keeps
his gold,' said Horsely. `I am going to sail
forthwith for America, and if you find it, I
will take you on board to your own country.'

This was a temptation to Zebedee Beebee,
and as he had already discovered Lan-franc's
secret treasure deposit, he promptly conducted
Horsely to the place. There were about twelve
hundred francs in gold and silver which he
took possession of, and then, after bidding
Zebedee search the body, he departed from the
cavern.

Louis witnessed all this with varied emotions
of horror, surprise and resentment. He
took a dislike to Horsely on first beholding
his visage, and now that he had done a deed
of murder, he shuddered in his presence. The
youth, on the other hand, had deeply interested
him, inasmuch as his great beauty, and peculiar
grace of manner, and richness of voice,
led him to suspect his sex. He, therefore, let
them pass him, and unseen followed them as
far as the place of embarkation, at the sea-outlet
of the cavern. Here the boat lay in a
little inlet above which projected the ragged
roof of the cave. Four oarsmen were waiting
in it for the appearance of their chief. On
seeing him approach two of them got out and
stood to receive them. Louis saw by the light
of the lantern, borne by Zebedee, that they
were armed with pistols and cutlasses. The
money was placed in the boat by the men,
and Horsely was about to step in, when Louis'
foot unluckily loosened a stone, the noise of
which attracted the quick ear of the smuggler.
Turning round and seizing the lantern from
the hand of the American, he rushed back into
the shadow of the cavern, and before Louis
could escape his observation he was discovered.

`A spy! seize him!' cried Horsely to his
men.

In an instannt, ere he could prepare to defend
himself, Louis was arrested and made
prisoner. His sword was taken from him and
he was hurried into the boat.

`Pull to the schooner,' said the smuggler
sternly. `We will then see what business this
gentleman has with us.'

It was just at the dawning of day that the

boat reached the schooner. Louis was taken
on board and conducted by Horsely's command
into the cabin under guard. The schooner
then filled away and stood westward, as
the rising sun gilded her sails and flashed from
the steel arrow at her truck.

Her course, as she passed a mile distant off
against the chateau, was witnessed by all its
inmates; for she had been recognized by her
`arrowy vane,' with the glass, to be the `Steel
Arrow,' so well known on the coast yet so
seldom seen.

The third day after these events, the remains
of the ill-fated Madcline Navarre were
consigned to a tomb beneath the Chapel de
Fernay; and a few days afterwards, the bereaved
father and happy lover departed—the
former to Calais, to join his late consort, the
frigate, which had run before the gale, and
afterwards with loss of her topmasts, put into
this port, previous to fitting out to join the fleet
of D'Estaing at New York.

Henry Monteith rejoined his ship at Portsmouth,
and also joined the squadron of Lord
Howe on the American coast. It was, perhaps,
a singular coincidence, that Captain Navarre
sailed in the frigate (of which he took command)
from Calais on the same day that Henry
Monteith sailed from Portsmouth, in the
British frigate `The Thunderer,' of which he
was second lieutenant. The remaining scenes
of our story will be laid in New York Bay and
Long Island Sound, whither we beg our readers
will have the courtesy to transfer their
imaginations.