Collected works of eugen.., p.707
Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 707
This traveller, who was a man in the prime of life, wore a tarpaulin hat and a thick blue reefer jacket, and looked like a petty officer or a sailing master in the merchant service. His hair and whiskers were red, his complexion light, his expression stern and impassible, and he spoke French without the slightest accent though he was an Englishman.
Walking straight up to the landlord, he said: “Can you tell me if a dark-complexioned man dressed about as I am, but very dark-complexioned and with a strong Italian accent, did not come here this morning? His name is Pietri.”
“I have seen no one answering either to that name or description, monsieur.”
“Are you sure?”
“Perfectly sure.”
“Is there any other inn in the town?”
“No, thank Heaven! monsieur, so parties travelling either by diligence or post patronise me, as the post-station is only a few yards from my door.”
“So there is a relay station near here.”
“On the other side of the street, almost directly opposite.”
“Can you give me a room and have a breakfast prepared for two persons? I am expecting some one who will call and inquire for Master Dupont, for that is my name.”
“Very well, monsieur.”
“As soon as this person comes, you will serve breakfast in my room.”
“Very well, and monsieur’s baggage, shall I send for that?”
“I have no baggage. Have many post-carriages passed to-day?”
“Not a single one, monsieur.”
“Neither from Paris nor Dieppe?”
“No, monsieur, neither from Paris nor Dieppe. But, by the way, as you came from the last named place, you must have seen those wonderful men everybody is talking about.”
“What wonderful men?”
“Why, that famous corsair who is death to the English, the brave Captain l’Endurci (a good name for a privateer, isn’t it?). With his brig The Hell-hound (another appropriate name by the way), that goes through the water like a fish, not a single English ship seems to escape him. He gobbles them all up, his last haul being a number of vessels loaded with wheat, that he captured after a terrible fight. A wonderful piece of good luck, for wheat is so scarce now! They say the people of Dieppe have gone wild over him! He must have been born under a lucky star, for though it is said that he fights like a tiger, he has never been wounded. Is that true? Do you know him? What kind of a looking man is he? He must be terribly ferocious-looking, and people say he dresses very strangely. You, being a sailor, have probably seen him.”
“Never,” dryly replied the stranger, who did not appear to share the innkeeper’s admiration for the privateer.
Then he added:
“Show me to my room, and when the person who inquires for Master Dupont comes, bring him to me at once. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, monsieur.”
“And as soon as the person comes you are to serve breakfast.”
“Very well, monsieur. I will show you to your room now.”
“Is it a front room?”
“Yes, monsieur, with two large windows.”
“I want some of your best wine, remember.”
“Give yourself no uneasiness; you will be perfectly satisfied, I think,” replied the innkeeper.
About a quarter of an hour afterward a second guest entered the inn. This man also wore a heavy pea-jacket, and his swarthy skin, jet-black hair, and hard, almost repulsive features gave him a decidedly sinister appearance. After casting a quick glance around, the newcomer said, in bad French, and with an Italian accent, for he was a native of the island of Malta:
“Is there a man named Dupont here?”
“Yes, monsieur, and I will take you to his room at once if you will follow me.”
Subsequently, when the host had placed breakfast on the table, he received orders to retire and not return until he was summoned.
As soon as the two strangers found themselves alone together, the Maltese, striking the table a terrible blow with his clenched fist, exclaimed in English:
“That dog of a smuggler has backed out; all is lost!”
“What are you saying?”
“The truth, as surely as I would take delight in burying this knife in the heart of the coward who betrayed us,” and as he spoke he plunged his knife into the table.
“Damnation!” exclaimed the Englishman, startled out of his usual phlegm, “and the captain is to pass through the town about nightfall.”
“Are you sure?”
“This morning just as I was leaving Dieppe our friend told me that the captain had ordered post-horses for four o’clock this afternoon, so he will arrive here between five and six.”
“Mille tonnerres! everything seemed to favour our plans, and but for this miserable smuggler—”
“Pietri, the case is not so desperate as you think, perhaps, after all. At all events this violence will avail nothing, so let us talk the matter over calmly.”
“Calmly, when rage fairly blinds me!”
“A blind man can not see his road.”
“If you can be calm, you do not hate this man as I do.”
“I do not?”
It is impossible to give the reader any adequate conception of the tone in which the Englishman uttered these words.
After a pause, he resumed, in a tone of concentrated hatred:
“I must hate him worse than you hate him, Pietri, as I do not wish to kill him.”
“A dead serpent bites no more.”
“Yes, but a dead serpent suffers no more, and I want to see this man suffer a thousand worse tortures than death. He must atone for the evil he has done my country; he must atone for the bloody victories which have demoralised our cruisers; he must atone for the recent insult offered to me. D — n him! Am I such an insignificant enemy that I can be released simply upon parole after the combat that cost us so much treasure and blood, but without one drop of his being shed, for he really seems to be invulnerable as they say. As surely as there is a hell my disgrace and England’s shall be avenged.”
“And yet a moment ago Captain Russell was reproaching me for the foolish violence of my words,” retorted the Maltese, with a sardonic smile.
“You are right,” replied Russell, controlling himself. “Such an outburst is foolish in the extreme. Besides, we must not despair. What passed between you and the smuggler?”
“Leaving Dieppe in a fishing-smack last night, I reached Hosey this morning and made my way to the man’s hut, which stands some distance farther down the beach. ‘Is your name Bezelek?’ I asked. ‘Yes.’ ‘I was sent here by Master Keller.’ ‘What is the countersign?’ ‘Passe-partout.’ ‘Good! I have been expecting you. My boat is at your service. It is high tide at ten o’clock to-night, and the wind, if it doesn’t change, will take you to England before morning.’ ‘Master Keller told you what is to be done?’ ‘Yes, some one is to be transported to England, willy-nilly, but safe and sound, understand. I am a smuggler, but no murderer. So bring your passenger along to-night and I promise you he shall be in England before sunrise.’ ‘Did Keller tell you that I must have four or five of your most determined men at my disposal?’ ‘What for?’ ‘To assist me in capturing the man on the highway a few miles from here.’ ‘Keller told me nothing of the kind, and you need not expect me or my men to mix ourselves up in any such affair. Bring your man here, and I will see that he is put aboard my boat. That is all. If he resists, I can suppose he is drunk, and that it is for his good we are putting him aboard, but to assist in the abduction of a man on the public highway is a very different thing, and I have no notion of doing anything of the kind.’ That was what he said, and he stuck to it. I soon discovered there wasn’t the slightest chance of moving him, for neither threats nor bribes had the slightest effect upon him.”
“This is too bad! too bad!”
“So you see, Russell, we shall have to resort to other means, for even if the postilion remains neutral, it would be impossible for us two to do the job without assistance, especially as the captain has a devoted and intrepid companion in the shape of his head gunner, who never leaves him either on land or sea, so if we resort to force we shall only make fools of ourselves, it seems to me.”
“That is true,” muttered the Englishman, gloomily.
“So as there is no chance of succeeding by violence we shall have to resort to stratagem,” continued the Maltese.
“Explain.”
“On my way here I noticed that about two miles from the town, at a place marked by a stone cross, there is a steep hill, followed by a no less abrupt descent.”
“Well, what of it?”
“We will lie in wait for the carriage about half-way up the hill. It will be moving very slowly as the hill is so steep, and we will suddenly rush out from our hiding-place, and, pretending that we are sailors on our way back to our vessel, ask the captain for aid, you at one door and I at the other. Both of us will have our pistols loaded and our knives in our belts and—”
“Never!” exclaimed Russell, “I am no assassin nor do I desire this man’s death. The murder would be a disgrace to England; besides, it would only half avenge me. No, what I want is to enjoy this indomitable man’s rage and humiliation when, as our prisoner, he is exposed to the abuse and derision and insults of the multitudes whom his name has so often terrified. No caged tiger ever roared and chafed against confinement more wildly and yet more impotently than he will. Imprisonment in the hulks will be a thousand times more terrible than death to such a man. But the obstinacy of this smuggler ruins all my plans. As they have become impossibilities, what shall we do?”
“Adopt mine,” urged the Maltese. “Death may be less cruel than vengeance, but it is much more certain; besides, vengeance is impossible now, but we hold this man’s life in our hands. Besides, what difference does it really make about the means we employ so long as England is delivered from one of her most dangerous enemies?”
“Say no more.”
“But think of the vessels this man has captured and burned, and of the bloody combats from which he has emerged safe and sound and victorious, too, in spite of greatly inferior numbers!”
“Be silent, I tell you.”
“Think of the terror his name inspires in English sailors — the best seamen in the world; haven’t you even heard them say in their superstitious fear that the success of this invincible and invulnerable man seems to indicate the swift decadence of England’s maritime supremacy, and that the sea is to have its Napoleon as well as the land? Think what a disastrous effect such a superstition will have if the time ever comes when England makes an attempt to overthrow Bonaparte and crush France.”
“But a murder, — a cowardly assassination!”
“An assassination? No, England and France are at war, and to take advantage of an ambuscade to surprise and destroy an enemy is one of the recognised laws of warfare.”
Russell made no reply, but sat with his head bowed upon his breast for some time apparently absorbed in thought.
The Maltese seemed to be equally absorbed in thought. As they sat there in silence, the sound of carriage wheels was heard in the distance, followed by the cracking of the postilion’s whip and the ring of horses’ hoofs.
“Five o’clock! It must be he!” exclaimed the Englishman as he glanced at his watch.
Both men darted to the window and saw a dusty cabriolet drawn by two horses stop in front of the post-house on the other side of the street, opposite the inn, and in another instant the Englishman turned livid with rage and cast a look of implacable hatred on the unsuspecting traveller.
“It is he! It is really he!”
“And he is alone,” added the Maltese, quickly.
“He is entering this very inn.”
“Everything favours us. He must have left his friend and companion in Dieppe. He is alone; there are two of us!”
“Can we still count upon the smuggler’s boat and assistance to-night?” suddenly inquired Russell. A new idea seemed to have struck him. A slight flush suffused his pale, cold face, and a spark of diabolical joy glittered in his eye, as he asked the question.
“Yes; for desiring to reserve a means of flight in case of need, I told him he might expect us.”
“Courage, then,” exclaimed Russell, ringing the bell, violently.
“What do you mean?” inquired the Maltese. “What do you intend to do?”
“You shall know, presently. Hush! here comes somebody.”
It was the innkeeper that had answered the summons.
“The breakfast was excellent, my friend,” said Russell. “How much do I owe you?”
“Six francs, including the room.”
“Here it is, and a present for the waiter, besides.”
“You are very honest, monsieur. I hope to be honoured with your patronage again.”
“You certainly will be. But tell me, I thought I heard post-horses just now. Has there been another arrival?”
“Yes, monsieur, another gentleman just came. I put him in the blue room overlooking the garden.”
“He is one of your old patrons, probably, as a person who has been here once is sure to come back.”
“Monsieur is very kind, I am sure, but it is the first time this traveller has ever stopped here.”
“Is he travelling in style with a retinue of servants and all that, and is he going to remain long?”
“No, monsieur, only long enough to take a slight lunch. This is no rich nobleman. He is travelling alone, and looks and acts like a well-to-do tradesman. He hums tunes and drums upon the window-panes, and seems as gay as a peacock. He must be a very pleasant man.”
“You seem to be a great physiognomist, mine host,” responded the Englishman, with a sarcastic smile.
Then making a sign to his companion, he rose, remarking to the innkeeper as he did so:
“Au revoir, my friend. We are going to take a stroll around the town, and then return to Dieppe.”
“If you would like to wait for the Paris diligence, it will pass through the town about eight o’clock this evening.”
“Thanks, but though we are sailors, we are good walkers, and it is such a fine evening I think we won’t wait for it.”
CHAPTER VI.
A CUNNING SCHEME.
AFTER LEAVING THE inn, the two strangers took themselves off for a quarter of an hour to decide upon their plans, then strolled like a couple of inquisitive idlers toward the post-station in front of which the traveller’s carriage stood, nearly ready for departure, as the postilion was already putting fresh horses to it.
Captain Russell and his companion approached the vehicle, and, seating themselves upon one of the benches in front of the post-house, pretended to be examining the animals that were being harnessed, with a knowing eye.
“You have a horse there that seems to be as willing as he is handsome,” Russell remarked to the postilion, after a few minutes’ scrutiny.
“And he is as good as he looks, my friend,” replied the postilion, pleased by the well-deserved praise bestowed upon his steed, “so I call him the Friar, and he is worthy of his name.”
“He’s a fine animal, there’s no doubt of that. What a broad chest he has, and what powerful withers and flanks!”
“And what a beautiful head he has!” chimed in Pietri. “It is as delicate and intelligent as that of any Arabian steed.”
“It is evident that you are both good judges of horse flesh, gentlemen, so you won’t doubt my word when I tell you that I can get over a mile or two of ground in the twinkling of an eye with the Friar and Sans-Culotte, as I call his mate.”
“Yes, it must be a real pleasure to have a horse like that between one’s legs, my worthy fellow. Though I’m a sailor, I’ve ridden horseback a good deal, but I never had the good fortune to bestride an animal like that.”
“I can very readily believe that, monsieur; but this I know, you will never bestride a finer one.”
“And it is too bad!”
“I don’t see what you are going to do about it.”
“Would you like to make forty francs, my friend?” inquired the Englishman, after a brief silence.
“Forty francs, I?” exclaimed the astonished postilion.
“Yes.”
“But how the devil could I?”
“In the easiest way imaginable.”
“Let me hear it.”
Just as the Englishman was about to make known his proposition, a waiter from the inn crossed the street to tell the postilion that he need not be in a hurry, for the traveller would not be ready for some time.
“What is he doing? and why did he order his horses so long ahead, then?”
“I don’t know anything about that, but I do know he’s a queer one. What do you think he dined on? He drank milk instead of wine, and ate some poached eggs and panada.”
“Panada? Well, he must be a queer one!” said Jean Pierre, scornfully. Then turning to Russell, “Come, friend, what were you going to tell me a few minutes ago about—”
“Step into the stable-yard, my good fellow, I want to say a few words to you.”
“I can’t leave the Friar; he would be sure to cut up some caper. He’s always fussing with Sans-Culotte. Whoa, you rascal! See, he’s beginning his antics now. Whoa, there! if you break away, you brigand, I’ll give you a beating you’ll remember.”
“Listen, then,” said the Englishman, whispering a few words in the postilion’s ear.
“What a funny idea!” exclaimed that young man, laughing.
“Will you accept my offer?”
“Really—”
“If you will, here are twenty francs. You shall have the rest when you get to the appointed place. After all, what risk do you run? There is no harm in it.”
“None in the world, but it is such a funny idea. It isn’t the first time I’ve heard of the like, though. What do you think I saw in Dieppe the other day? Those privateersmen — my! how they make their money fly! — did the queerest things! I saw some of them offer twenty-five napoleons to an old sacristan to dress himself up like a woman in a furbelowed dress and a plumed hat and then drive about the town in a cab with them.”
