The Buccaneer Chief: A Romance of the Spanish Main

But Montbarts seized him by the arm and rendered him motionless.

"One word, one gesture, and I blow out your brains like the wild beast you are," he said to him.

There was such an accent of menace in the filibuster's words; his interference had been so rapid that the Count, involuntarily cowed, fell back with his arms folded on his chest and remained apparently calm, although a volcano was at work in his heart, and his eyes were obstinately fixed on the Countess.

Montbarts gazed for a moment at his enemy with an expression of pity and contempt.

"You have desired, sir," he at length said to him ironically; "to try your strength with the filibusters and will soon learn the cost; while impelled by a mad desire of vengeance and inspired by an imaginary jealousy, you were virulently pursuing a lady whose noble heart and brilliant virtues you are incapable of appreciating, one half of the island of which you are the governor has been torn forever from the power of your sovereign, by my companions and myself; Tortuga, Leogane, San Juan de Goava, and your hatto del Rincón, suddenly surprised, have fallen without a blow."

The Count drew himself up, a feverish flush covered his face, he advanced a step and cried in a voice choking with passion, —

"You lie, villain; however great your audacity may be, it is impossible that you have succeeded in seizing the places you mention."

Montbarts shrugged his shoulders.

"An insult coming from lips like yours has no effect," he said, "you shall soon have the confirmation of what I assert; but enough of this subject; I wished to have you in my power in order that you may be witness of what I have to say to this lady. Come," he added, addressing Doña Clara; "come, madam, and forgive me for not wishing to see you except in the presence of the man you call your husband."

On hearing the appeal, Doña Clara rose trembling, and tottered forward.

There was a momentary silence; Montbarts, with his head hanging on his chest, seemed plunged in bitter thoughts; at length he drew himself up, passed his hand over his forehead as if to drive away the mist that obscured his reason, turned to Doña Clara, and said to her in a gentle voice, —

"You desired to see me, madam, in order to remind me of a time forever past, and to confide a secret to me. This secret I have no right to know; the Count de Barmont is dead, dead to everybody, to you before all, who did not blush to renounce him, and though you belonged to him by legitimate ties, and before all by the more legitimate one of a powerful love, cowardly permitted yourself to be chained to another; this is a crime, madam, which no forgiveness can efface, either in the present or past."

"Pity me, sir," the unhappy lady said, as she writhed beneath this curse and burst into tears; "pity me, in the name of my remorse and my sufferings!"

"What are you doing, madam?" the Count exclaimed, "Rise at once."

"Silence," Montbarts said in a harsh voice, "Allow this culprit to be bowed beneath the weight of her repentance; you, who have been her executioner, have less right than anyone else to protect her."

Don Sancho had rushed toward his sister and, roughly repulsing the Count, raised her in his arms. Montbarts continued.

"I will only add one word, madam; the Count de Barmont had a child; on the day when that child comes to ask his mother's pardon of me, I will grant it – perhaps," he added in a faint voice.

"Oh!" the young lady exclaimed with a feverish energy, as she seized the hand which the filibuster had not the courage to withdraw from her, "Oh sir! You are great and noble, this promise restores me all my hope and courage; oh! I swear to you, sir, I will find my child again."

"Enough, madam," Montbarts continued with ill suppressed emotion; "this interview has lasted too long; here is your brother, he loves you, and will be able to protect you; there is another person whom I regret not to see here, for he would have advised and sustained you, in your affliction."

"To whom do you allude?" Don Sancho asked.

"To the confessor of your sister."

The young man turned away without answering.

"Why, brother," Lepoletais here observed, "here he is half dead, look at his burnt hands."

"Oh!" Montbarts exclaimed, "It is really he, who is the monster that has dared – "

"Here he is!" the buccaneer replied, as he tapped the shoulder of the Count, who was dumb with stupor and horror, for only at this moment did he notice his victim.

Two flashes of flame started from Montbart's eyes.

"Villain," he exclaimed, "what, torture an inoffensive man! Oh, Spaniards, race of vipers! What sufficiently horrible punishment could I inflict on you!"

All his hearers trembled at this passion so long restrained, which had at length burst its bonds and now overflowed with irresistible violence.

"By Heaven!" the filibuster exclaimed in a terrible voice, "It is the worse for you, butcher, that you remind me I am Montbarts the exterminator. L'Olonnais, prepare the fire under the barbacoas of the boucan."

An indescribable terror seized on all the hearers of this order, which clearly expressed to what a horrible punishment the Count was condemned; Don Stenio himself, in spite of his indomitable pride, felt a chill at his heart.

But at this moment, the monk, who had hitherto remained motionless on his couch, and apparently insensible to what was going on, rose with a painful effort, and leaning on the shoulders of Doña Clara and her brother, tottered forward, and knelt with them to the filibuster.

"Pity," he exclaimed, "pity, in Heaven's name!"

"No," Montbarts replied harshly, "This man is condemned."

"I implore you, brother, be merciful," the monk went on to urge him.

All at once the Count drew two pistols from his doublet, and pointed one at Doña Clara, while he placed the other against his own forehead.

"Of what use is it to implore a tiger," he said, "I die, but by my own hands, and I die avenged," and he pulled the trigger.

The double detonation was blended in one.

The Count fell dead on the ground; the second shot badly aimed did not strike Doña Clara, but Fray Arsenio, and laid him dying at the foot of his assassin. The last word of the poor monk was, "pity!"

And he expired with his eyes fixed on heaven, as if with a last prayer addressed in favour of his murderer.

At sunset the savannah had returned to its habitual solitude; Montbarts, after having the victim and the assassin interred in the same grave, doubtless that the just man might protect the culprit in the presence of the Most High, set out for Port Margot, at the head of the filibusters and Caribs.

Doña Clara and her brother returned to the hatto del Rincón, accompanied by the Spanish soldiers, to whom Montbarts had consented to restore their liberty, through consideration for the two young people.

notes

1

Term of contempt for the Spaniards.