Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 788
“That is true, Master Peyrou, and thanks to you and your cabalistic papers that I put on my bullets, and to your oil of Syrakoe, not less magical, with which I rubbed my muskets and cannon, I gave a hot chase to a corsair that came near, indiscreetly near, the Terror to the Moors and the vessels she was escorting. Ah, you are a great man, Master Peyrou.”
“And those who heed my counsels are wise and sensible,” replied the watchman, smiling. “Now the wise never allow their betrothed to grow weary of waiting.”
After having thanked the watchman again, Luquin Trinquetaille decided to profit by the advice given with regard to Stephanette, and went in all haste to Maison-Forte.
Finding himself alone, Peyrou breathed a sigh of content, as if he felt again that he was master of his little kingdom.
Although he received those who came to consult him with kindly courtesy, he saw them depart with a secret pleasure.
He entered his little cell and sighed deeply after having contemplated for some time the costly piece of ebony furniture which always seemed to awaken painful memories in his mind; then, as night came on, he wrapped himself in his thick hood and coat.
Thus well protected from the north wind which was blowing, Peyrou lit his pipe, and surveyed with sadness the immense horizon which was spread out before him.
As we have said, the house of Maison-Forte could be distinctly seen from the western side of the summit of Cape l’Aigle.
It was about three o’clock, and the watchman thought he saw a ship in the distance. He took up his telescope, and for a long time followed the uncertain point with his eyes, until it became more and more distinct.
He soon recognised a heavy merchant vessel whose aspect presented nothing of menace.
Following the manoeuvres and progress of this vessel with the aid of his telescope, he unconsciously turned it upon the imposing mass of Maison-Forte, the home of Raimond V., and on one part of the beach which was absolutely bare, at the point where it touched the rocks upon which the castle stood. He soon distinguished Reine des Anbiez mounted on her nag and followed by Master Laramée. The young girl was going, doubtless, in advance of the baron into the road.
Several huge rocks intervened, cutting off the view from the beach, and Peyrou lost sight of Mlle. Anbiez.
Just at this moment the watchman was startled by a loud noise; he felt the air above him in commotion, and suddenly his eagle fell at his feet. She had come, no doubt, to demand her accustomed food, as her hoarse and impatient cries testified.
The watchman sat caressing the bird abstractedly, when a new incident awakened his interest.
His sight was so penetrating that, in watching the spot on the coast where Mlle, des Anbiez would be likely to appear, he distinguished a man who seemed to be cautiously hiding himself in the hollow of the rock.
Turning his telescope at once on this man, he recognised the Bohemian.
To his great astonishment, he saw him draw from a bag a white pigeon, and attach to its neck a small sack, into which he slipped a letter.
Evidently the Bohemian thought himself protected from all observation, as, owing to the form and elevation of the rock where he was squatting, it was impossible for him to be seen either from the coast or from Maison-Forte.
Only from the prodigious height of Cape l’Aigle, which commanded the entire shore of the bay, could Master Peyrou have discovered the Bohemian.
After having looked anxiously from one side to the other, as if he feared he might be seen in spite of his precautions, the vagabond again secured the little sack around the neck of the pigeon, and then let it fly.
Evidently the intelligent bird knew the direction it was to take.
Once set at liberty, it did not hesitate, but rose almost perpendicularly above the Bohemian, then flew rapidly toward the east. As quick as thought, Peyrou took his eagle and tried to make her perceive the pigeon, which already appeared no larger than a white speck in space.
For a few seconds the eagle did not seem to see the bird; then, suddenly uttering a hoarse cry, she violently spread her broad wings, and started in pursuit of the Bohemian’s emissary.
Either the unfortunate pigeon was warned by the instinct of danger which threatened it, or it heard the discordant cries of its enemy, for it redoubled its swiftness, and flew with the rapidity of an arrow.
Once it endeavoured to rise above the eagle, hoping perhaps to escape its pursuer by disappearing in the low, dark clouds which veiled the horizon; but the eagle, with one swoop of her powerful wings, mounted to such a height, that the pigeon, unable to cope with its adversary, rapidly fell within a few feet of the surface of the sea, grazing the top of the highest waves.
Brilliant still followed her victim in this new manoeuvre.
The watchman was divided between the desire to see the end of the struggle between the eagle and the pigeon, and the curiosity to watch the countenance of the Bohemian.
Thanks to his telescope, he saw the Bohemian in a state of extraordinary excitement as he followed with intense anxiety the diverse chances of destruction or safety left to his messenger.
Finally, the pigeon attempted one last effort; realising, no doubt, that its destination was too far to be reached, it tried to return and come back to the coast, and thus escape its terrible enemy.
Unfortunately, its strength failed; its flight became heavy, and, approaching too near the waves, it was swept by foam and water.
The eagle availed herself of the moment when the pigeon was painfully resuming its embarrassed flight to fall upon it with the rapidity of a thunderbolt. She seized the pigeon in her strong claws, rose swiftly in the direction of the promontory, and came with her prey to take refuge in her eyrie, on a rock not far from the watchman’s sentry-box.
Peyrou rose quickly to take the pigeon from her; he could not succeed. The natural ferocity of Brilliant was in the ascendency; she bristled her feathers, uttered sharp and fierce cries, and showed herself disposed to defend her prey with her life.
Peyrou feared to offend her, lest she might fly away and hide in some inaccessible rock; he allowed her to devour the pigeon in peace, having observed that the little sack tied around the neck of the bird consisted of two silver plates fastened by a small chain of the same material.
He did not, after that discovery, fear the destruction of the letter which he knew was enclosed therein.
While the eagle was devouring the Bohemian’s messenger in peace, Peyrou returned to the door of his cell, took up his telescope, and vainly examined the rocks on the coast, in order to discover the Bohemian; he had disappeared.
While he was occupied with this new investigation, the watchman saw on the shore the carriage of Raimond V. The baron had mounted Laramée’s horse, and was riding by the side of Reine, and doubtless accompanied her to Maison-Forte.
Thinking the eagle had finished her feast, the watchman directed his steps to her eyrie.
Brilliant was no longer there, but among the bones and feathers of the pigeon he saw the little sack, opened it, and found there a letter of a few lines written in Arabic.
Unfortunately, Peyrou was not acquainted with that language. Only, in his frequent campaigns against the Barbary pirates, he had noticed in the letters of marque of the corsairs the word Reis, which means captain, and which always followed the name of the commander of the vessels.
In the letter which he had just captured, he found the word Reis three times.
He thought the Bohemian was possibly the secret emissary of some Barbary pirate, whose ship, ambuscaded in one of the deserted bays along the coast, was waiting for some signal to land her soldiers. The Bohemian probably had left this ship in order to come to Maison-Forte, bringing his pigeons with him, and it is well known with what intelligence these birds return to the places they are accustomed to inhabit.
As he raised his head to obtain another view of the horizon, the watchman saw in the distance, on the azure line which separated the sky from the sea, certain triangular sails of unusual height, which seemed to him suspicious. He turned his telescope on them; a second examination confirmed him in the idea that the chebec in sight belonged to some pirate.
For some time he followed the manoeuvres of the vessel.
Instead of advancing to the coast, the chebec seemed to run along broadside, and to beat about, in spite of the increasing violence of the wind, as if it were waiting for a guide or signal.
The watchman was trying to connect in his thought the sending of the pigeon with the appearance of this vessel of bad omen, when a light noise made him raise his head.
The Bohemian stood before him.
CHAPTER XIX. THE LITTLE SATCHEL
THE LITTLE SATCHEL and the open letter were lying on the watchman’s knees. With a movement more rapid than thought, which escaped the observation of the Bohemian, he hid the whole in his girdle. At the same time he assured himself that his long Catalonian knife would come out of its scabbard easily, for the sinister countenance of the vagabond did not inspire confidence.
For some moments these two men looked at each other in silence, and measured each other with their eyes.
Although old, the watchman was still fresh and vigorous.
The Bohemian, more slender, was much younger, and seemed hardy and resolute.
Peyrou was much annoyed by this visit. He wished to watch the manoeuvres of the suspicious chebec; the presence of the Bohemian constrained him.
“What do you want?” said the watchman, rudely.
“Nothing; I came to see the sun go down in the sea.”
“It is a beautiful sight, but it can be seen elsewhere.”
As he said these words, the watchman entered his cell, took two pistols, placed one in his girdle, loaded the other, took it in his hand, and came out.
By that time the chebec could be distinguished by the naked eye.
The Bohemian, seeing Peyrou armed, could not repress a movement of surprise, almost of vexation, but he said to him, in a bantering tone, as he pointed to the pistol:
“You carry there a strange telescope, watchman!”
“The other is good to watch your enemy when he is far off; this one serves my purpose when he is near.”
“Of what enemy are you speaking, watchman?”
“Of you.”
“Of me?”
“Of you.”
After exchanging these words, the men were silent for some time.
“You are mistaken. I am the guest of Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez,” said the Bohemian, with emphasis.
“Is the venomous scorpion, too, the guest of the house he inhabits?” replied Peyrou, looking steadily in his eyes.
The eyes of the vagabond kindled, and, by a muscular contraction of his cheeks, Peyrou saw that he was gnashing his teeth; nevertheless, he replied to Peyrou, with affected calmness:
“I do not deserve your reproaches, watchman. Raimond V. took pily on a poor wanderer, and offered me the hospitality of his roof—”
“And to prove your gratitude to him, you wish to bring sorrow and ruin upon that roof.”
“I?”
“Yes, you, — you are in communication with that chebec down there, beating about the horizon.”
The Bohemian looked at the vessel with the most indifferent air in the world, and replied:
“On my life, I have never set foot on a ship; as to the communication which you suppose I have with that boat, that you call a chebec, I believe, — I doubt if my voice or my signal could reach it.”
The watchman threw a penetrating glance on the Bohemian, and said to him:
“You have never set foot on the deck of a ship?”
“Never, except on those boats on the Rhone, for I was born in Languedoc, on the highway; my father and mother belonged to a band of Bohemians which came from Spain, and the only recollection that I have of my childhood is the refrain so often sung in our wandering clan:
“‘Cuando me pario Mi madre la gitana.’
“That is all I know of my birth, — all the family papers I have, watchman.”
“The Bohemians of Spain speak Arabic also,” said Peyrou, observing the vagabond attentively.
“They say so. I know no other language than the one I speak, — very badly, as you see.”
“The sun is setting behind those great clouds down there; for one who is fond of that sight you seem to be quite indifferent to it,” answered the watchman, with an ironical air. “No doubt the chebec interests you more.”
“To-morrow evening I can see the sun set; to-day I would rather spend my time in guessing your riddles, watchman.”
During this conversation, the syndic of the overseers had not lost sight of the vessel, which continued to beat about, evidently waiting for a signal.
Although the appearance of this vessel was suspicious, Peyrou hesitated to give the alarm on the coast by kindling the fire. To set the whole seashore in excitement unnecessarily was a dangerous precedent, because some other time, in case of real danger, the signal might be taken for a false alarm.
While the watchman was absorbed in these reflections, the Bohemian looked around him uneasily; he was trying to discover some traces of the eagle, as from the rock where he had been squatting, he had seen Brilliant alight in this direction.
For a moment he thought of getting rid of Peyrou, but he soon renounced this idea. The watchman, strong and well-armed, was on his guard.
Peyrou, notwithstanding the anger that the presence of the vagabond inspired in him, feared to see him descend again to the castle of Maison-Forte, as Raimond V. did not suspect this wretch. Besides, seeing his wicked designs discovered, the villain might attempt some diabolical scheme before he left the country.
However, it was impossible to abandon his sentry-box under such serious circumstances, in order to warn the baron. Night was approaching, and the Bohemian was still there.
Happily, the moon was almost full; in spite of the densely piled clouds, her light was bright enough to reveal all the manoeuvres of the chebec.
The Bohemian, his arms crossed on his breast, surveyed Peyrou, with imperturbable coolness.
“You see the sun has set,” said this old seaman, “the night will be cold; you had better return to Maison-Forte.”
“I intend to spend the night here,” replied the vagabond.
The watchman, made furious by the remark, rose, and walking up to the Bohemian with a threatening air, said:
“And by Our Lady, I swear that you shall descend to the beach this instant!”
“And suppose I do not wish to go.”
“I will kill you.”
The Bohemian shrugged his shoulders.
“You will not kill me, watchman, and I will remain.”
Peyrou raised his pistol, and exclaimed: “Take care!”
“Would you kill a defenceless man, who has never done you any harm? I defy you,” said the vagabond, without moving from the spot.
The watchman dropped his arm; he revolted at the thought of murder. He replaced his pistol in his belt, and walked back and forth in violent agitation. He found himself in a singular position, — he could not rid himself of this persistent villain by fear or force; he must then resolve to pass the night on guard.
He resigned himself to this last alternative, hoping that next day some one might appear, and he would be able to rid himself of the Bohemian.
“Very well, let it be,” said he, with a forced smile. “Although I have not invited you to be my companion, we will pass the night by the side of each other.”
“And you will not repent it, watchman. I am not a sailor, but I have a telescope. If the chebec annoys you, I will assist you in watching it.”
After some moments of silence, the watchman seated himself on a piece of the rock.
The wind, increasing in violence, blew with irresistible force. Great clouds from time to time veiled the pale disc of the moon, and the door of the sentry-box, left open, was flapping with a loud noise.
“If you wish to be of some use,” said Peyrou, “take that end of the rope there on the ground, and fasten the door of my cell, because the wind will continue to rise.” The Bohemian looked at the watchman with an astonished air, and hesitated to obey for a moment.
“You wish to shut me up in there. You are cunning, watchman.”
Peyrou bit his lips, and replied:
“Fasten that door on the outside, I tell you, or I will take you for a bad fellow.”
The Bohemian, seeing nothing disagreeable in satisfying the watchman, picked up the rope, passed it through a ring screwed to the door, and tied it to a cramp-iron fixed in the wall.
The watchman, seated, was attentively watching the movements of his companion. When the knot was tied, Peyrou approached it, and said, after examining it a moment:
“As sure as God is in heaven, you are a sailor!”
“I, watchman?”
“And you have served on board those corsairs from Barbary.”
“Never! Never!”
“I tell you that one who has not sailed with the pirates of Algiers or Tunis cannot have the habit of making that triple knot that you have just made. Only pirates fasten tie anchor to the ring in that manner!”
The Bohemian now, in his turn, bit his lips until they bled, but, regaining his self-possession, he said:
“Come now, you have a sharp eye; you are both right and wrong, my lord watchman, this knot was taught me by one of our people, who joined us in Languedoc, after having been made a slave on a corsair from Algiers.”
Losing all patience, and furious at the villain’s impudence, the watchman cried:
“I tell you that you are lying. You came here to prepare some villainous scheme. Look at this!”
And the watchman held up the little satchel The Bohemian, struck with amazement, uttered a curse in Arabic in spite of himself.
If the watchman had felt the least doubt concerning the character of the Bohemian, this last exclamation, which had so often met his ears in his combats with the pirates, would have sufficed to prove the truth of his suspicions.
