The Love of Monsieur

“Can you not see farther than the end of your bowsprit, Billee Winch?” he cried; and while the captain wondered, “Can you not see, stupid fish? – ’tis Bras-de-Fer himself!”

Blackbeard fell back a step or two in his amazement, while a murmur swept over the crew, who, loath to leave the scene, had remained interested listeners to the colloquy.

“What! René the Iron Arm aboard the Sally?” said the captain, approaching the Frenchman again. “Soho! Though, by St. Paul’s – ye’re not unlike – An’ with a wig an’ doublet – ’Pon my soul, Jacky Jacquard, but I believe ’tis the truth. Say, is it so, master?”

“I am René Mornay,” said the Frenchman.

“Soho!” he roared in delight. “Then Sally shall give ye meat and drink and make a bed to ye. An’ when ye will she’ll set ye ashore in France. Or, if ye care for the clashin’ of arms, she’ll show ye the path of the galleons o’ Spain. Come, let’s below and drink to a better understanding.”

It was thus that Monsieur Mornay sailed forth for the Spanish Main.

CHAPTER X

BRAS-DE-FER MAKES A CAPTURE

The feat at arms of Monsieur Mornay at the expense of the luckless Gratz had set the ship by the ears, and with little opposition Bras-de-Fer became the third in command. Before many weeks were gone it was discovered that he had his seamanship at as ready a convenience as his pike-play, for in a troublesome squall in a windy watch on deck, while Jacquard was below, he had not scrupled to take the command from Captain Billy Winch, who was so deep in liquor that he didn’t know the main-brace from a spritsail sheet, and who had had the Sally upon her beam-ends, with all his ports and hatches open. Mornay sprang to the helm and gave the orders necessary to bring her to rights. Indeed, the command had clearly devolved upon Jacquard; for the lucid intervals of Captain Billy Winch were becoming less and less, until from that state of continued jubilation which marked his departure from the port of London he had passed into one of beatific unconsciousness, from which he only aroused himself to assuage his thirst the more copiously. One black morning in the wilds of the Atlantic he reached the deck, his eyes wide with fever and his mouth full of oaths, swearing that he would no longer stay below, but his legs were so completely at a loss that, what with the wild plunges of the vessel and the assaults of the seas which made clean breaches over her, he was thrown down into the scuppers again and again, and all but drowned in the wash of the deck. But the bruising and sousing in the saltwater, instead of rebuffing him or abating a whit of his ardor, but served to sober him and make him the more ambitious to take his proper place aboard the vessel. Jacquard would have restrained him, but he threw the Frenchman aside, and, while trying to descend the ladder at the angle of the poop, lost his balance, and, catching wildly at the lee bulwark, disappeared in the dirty smother under the quarter and was seen no more.

After this mishap, Jacquard went below to the cabin with Mornay to make his plans for the future of the Saucy Sally. There, among the rum-reeking effects of the captain, he discovered the royal charter and warrant under which the vessel sailed, together with the lists of Spanish vessels which should have left port, their destinations and probable values. Jacquard outlined the plans he had made for their operations when they should have reached the waters he had chosen. Cornbury, who had been reading abstractedly in the warrant, gave a sudden cry.

“Bresac,” he said, pointing a long forefinger upon the parchment. “Faith, my dear man, your fortune is a silly, whimsical jade, after all. Cast your eye hither for a moment of time.”

Mornay took the document in amazement.

Whereas it hath come to Our Notice [it began] that certain Enemies of the State sailing in the Vessels of the Kingdom of Spain have prepared, ordered, and levied war against Us, and have molested and harassed Our lawful Commerce upon the Sea, to the oppression of Our loyal Subjects carrying on the same, by the advice of Our Privy Council we hereby grant to our good and loyal subject Henry Heywood, Knt., that his vessel or vessels —

“’Tis as plain as a pike-handle,” said Cornbury. And as Mornay still scanned the document: “Faith, can ye not see? – ye’re a guest upon a vessel of your own. The vessel and all she owns is yours, man – yours!”

“Parbleu!” said Mornay, when the edge of his wonderment was dulled. “I believe you. A rare investment, indeed, for the millions of the Bresacs.”

“A thousand per centum at the very least, with a modicum for the King. Ye cannot wonder how Charles bewailed the man’s demise. Ye touched his purse, René. And friendship has little to expect from the conscience of an empty pocket.”

“By my life, it is so!” said the wide-eyed Mornay. “Jacquard shall know. Listen, my friend.” And, with a particular reticence with regard to the name of Mistress Clerke, he told Jacquard of the great secret, the rape of the papers, and the other things pertaining to his discovery. It was learned that in the matter Jacquard knew only one Captain Brail, a ship-chandler and owner, who had the finding of all the sea appurtenances, the making of the contracts, and the furnishing of the stores. The sympathetic Jacquard followed Monsieur Mornay through a description of the duel, his face wreathed in smiles, his eyes shining with delight. He wept at the tale of the mother, commiserated the orphan, and, when he learned how Sir Henry Heywood had taken possession of the proofs of the boy’s birth and lineage and had kept him from his rightful inheritance, Jacquard rose upon his long legs and swore aloud at the man’s perfidy. When Mornay had finished, he sat silent a moment, clasping and unclasping his knotted, bony fingers.

“It is a strange story, monsieur – the strangest I have ever heard. It means, monsieur, that upon the Saucy Sally, at least, you have come into your own. Besides, once my captain, always my captain. Allons! It shall be as before. Bras-de-Fer shall lead. Jacquard shall obey. That is all.” He arose and took Monsieur Mornay by the hand. “Henceforth,” he said, “it shall be Captain René Bras-de-Fer. Now we will go upon deck, and I shall tell them.”

Although the death of Billy Winch had caused much commotion aboard the vessel, the crew in the main were tractable and compliant. Upon his own great popularity, upon the reputation of Bras-de-Fer, and upon the large portion of the crew who were Frenchmen like himself, Jacquard relied to effect the necessary changes in the management of the vessel. The Frenchman’s bearing since he had come aboard had been such as to enhance rather than to remove the early impression that he had made, and but a spark was needed to amalgamate him with the ship’s company. That spark Jacquard dexterously applied. He called all hands aft, and with a stirring appeal to their imagination, one by one, recalled the feats of the chevalier – the fight in the open boat with the Austrian pirate, the defiance of the Spanish Admiral under the very guns of the Bona Ventura, the six duels upon the landing-place at Cronenburg, the wreck of the Sainte Barbe, and the mutiny and ignominious defeat of Jean Goujon upon the Dieu Merci. All of these things he painted with glowing colors, so that as he stepped forth on deck they hailed Bras-de-Fer with a glad acclaim. Then Bras-de-Fer told them what he hoped to do, and read them (amid huzzahs) the list of Spanish shipping.

When the matter of the captaincy had been duly settled beyond a doubt, with a grace which could not fail to gain approval, he unhesitatingly appointed Yan Gratz again the third in command, and this magnanimity did much to unite him to the small faction which stood aloof. The frank confidence he placed in the Hollander put them upon the terms of an understanding which Gratz accepted with as good a grace as he could bring to the occasion. A cask of rum was brought up on the deck and the incident ended in jubilation and health-giving, which in point of good-fellowship and favorable augury left nothing to be desired. At the end of a week Bras-de-Fer had given still more adequate proofs of his ability. With a shrewd eye he had discovered the natural leaders among the crew. These he placed in positions of authority. Then, appointing Cornbury master-at-arms, put the men upon their mettle at pike-play and the broadsword with such admirable results that the carousing and laxity engendered by the habits of Captain Billy Winch became less and less, until the rum-casks were no more brought up on deck, except upon rare and exceptional occasions. Of growls there were a few, and here and there a muttering apprised him of dissatisfaction among the free-drinkers. But he offered prizes from the first Spanish vessel captured for those most proficient in the manly arts, to appease their distaste for the sport, himself entering upon the games with a spirit and a poise which were irresistible. The unrestrained life had caught the fancy of Cornbury, too, and with nimble tongue and nimbler weapon he won his way with the rough blades as though he had entered upon this service by the same hawse-pipe as themselves. Once, when a not too complimentary remark had been passed upon his beard, which was grown long and of an ingenuous crimson, he took the offender by the nose and at the point of his sword forced him upon his knees to swear by all the saints that his life-long prayer had been that some exclusive dispensation of nature should one day turn his beard the very self-same color as the Irish captain’s; who then, in satisfaction of the cravings of that reluctant delinquent, forced him below to the paint closet, where he caused him to bedaub himself very liberally with a pigment of the same uncompromising hue – so liberally that not storm nor stress could avail for many weeks to wash clean the stigma. Indeed, so strikingly did the combative characteristics of his race manifest themselves in the performance of his new duties that but for Jacquard the aggressive Irishman had been almost continually embroiled. But as it was, Cornbury served his captain a useful purpose; and, though the ready tact of Bras-de-Fer averted serious difficulties, there were adventures aplenty for the master-at-arms – enough, at least, to satisfy the peculiar needs of his temperament.

In this fashion, learning a discipline of gunnery, arms, and seamanship, and a little of discontent at the restraint besides, they crept south and across the broad Atlantic. Gales buffeted them and blew them from their course, but after many weeks they made northing enough to cross the path of the Spanish silver ships from South America. The first vessel they took was a galleon from Caracas. She was heavy with spices and silks, but had lost her convoy in the night, and was making for Porto Bello. A shot across her bows hove her to, and her guard of soldiers gave her up without a struggle. The Sally hove alongside, and here came the first test of the discipline of Bras-de-Fer. The fellows rushed aboard with drawn weapons, and, finding no resistance, were so enraged at the lack of opportunity to display their new prowess that they fell to striking lustily right and left, and driving the frightened Spaniards forward shrieking down into the hold. ’Twas rare sport for Cornbury, who went dancing forward, aiding the progress of the flying foe with the darting end of his backsword. Only the best efforts of Bras-de-Fer prevented the men from following the victims below, where darker deeds might have been done. Yan Gratz, who had made one voyage with an old pirato named Mansfelt, made so bold as to propose that the Spaniards be dropped overboard, that being the simplest solution of the difficulty. But Bras-de-Fer clapped the hatches over the prisoners with a decision which left little doubt in the minds of the crew as to his intentions. There was a flare of anger at this high-handed discipline, for they were free men of the sea, they said, and owed nothing to any one. Captain Billy Winch had been none too particular in this matter of detail. But, in spite of their curses, Bras-de-Fer brought the prisoners and the prize to port in safety.

It was the beginning of a series of small successes which filled the Sally’s store-rooms and brought three prizes for her into the harbor of Port Royal, Jamaica. There, quarrelsome, bedizened, and swaggering through the streets of the town, Bras-de-Fer and Cornbury saw many of these gentlemen of the sea, who owed allegiance to no man, company, or government. In the same trade as themselves, it might be, save only that with a less nice discrimination these gentry robbed broadly, while the Sally, in despite of her very crew, fought and took only from the enemies of the English King. It was there, too, that the Frenchman met the new English governor, and explained the freak of fortune by which he had come to command the Sally. The governor became most friendly, and (with a sly look of cupidity, which had but one meaning) gave information of the sailing of the San Isidro from Spain, bearing the new governor of Chagres, several bishops and priests, and gold and silver coin of inestimable value for the priests of the Church in the Spanish colonies of America.

Learning that the San Isidro would stop at the Havana, Bras-de-Fer filled his water-tanks and sailed boldly forth to intercept her. It was untried water to the Frenchman, and charted with so little adequacy that the booming of the surf upon the reefs sounded with a too portentous frequency upon the ears. But Jacquard had eyes and ears for everything, and they won their way to the Florida coast without mishap. There a herikano buffeted them out to sea, and it was with many misgivings that they won their way back to the channels of the Bahamas.

The storm had blown itself out, and the ocean shone translucent as an emerald. Low-hanging overhead, great patches of fleecy white, torn from a heaped-up cloud-bank over the low-lying islands of the eastern horizon, took their wild flight across the deep vault of sky in mad pursuit of their fellows who had gone before and were lost in a shimmer of purple, where the sea met the palm-grown spits of the western main. The cool, pink glow upon the Sally’s starboard beam filled the swell of the top-sails with a soft effulgence which partook of some of the coolness and freshness of the air that drove them. Far down upon the weather bow, first a blur, then a shadow which grew from gray to silver and gold, came the San Isidro. Jacquard sighted her, but it was Bras-de-Fer who proclaimed her identity. She was a fine new galleon, spick and span from the Tagus, with three tiers of guns, and masts of the tallest. Her bright new fore-topsail bore the arms of Spain, and the long pennons floating from her trucks and poles proclaimed the high condition of her passengers.

Bras-de-Fer cleared his ship for action and called his men aft.

“There, my fine fellows,” he cried, “is steel worthy of your metal. Let it not be said that Saucy Sally takes her sustenance from the weak and cowardly and flirts her helm to the powerful. Yonder is your prize. She has thrice your bulk and complement – three gun tiers and twenty score of men. So much the more honor! For in her hold are gold and silver bright and new minted from the Spanish treasury, and wines for fat priests, which shall run no less smoothly down your own proper throats. Yonder she is. Take her. Follow where I shall lead and she is yours for the asking.”

A roar of approval greeted him, and the manner in which the rascals sprang to their places showed that, if they growled at his discipline, they were ready enough for this opportunity.

If the Spanish vessel had aught of fear of the English brig, she did not show it. The sound of trumpets had proclaimed that she had called her gun-crews, but she shifted her helm not a quarter-point of the compass and came steadily on.

Bras-de-Fer lost no time sending the English colors aloft and firing a shot from his forward guns, as a test of distance. This brought the Spaniard speedily to himself, for he shortened sail and came upon the wind to keep the weather-gauge. When he had reached easy gunshot distance, the Sally began firing a gun at a time with great deliberation, and so excellent was her aim that few of these failed to strike her huge adversary. Cornbury, who had taken a particular fancy for great-gun exercise, practised upon the rigging to such advantage that he brought the mizzen topsail and cross-jack yard in a clatter about the ears of the fellows upon the poop. As the Frenchman suspected, the Spaniards’ gun-play was of the poorest, and the glittering hordes of harnessed men upon his decks availed him nothing. Then the San Isidro, with true concern, and thinking to end the matter, eased her sheets in the effort to close with her troublesome antagonist. Bras-de-Fer kept all fast, and, braving a merciless broadside which churned the ocean in a hundred gusts of water all about him, went jauntily up to windward with no other loss than that of the main top-gallant yard, the wreck of which was quickly cut away.

For two hours the roar of the battle echoed down the distances. The Sally presented a forlorn appearance with her main topsail torn to shreds. Two guns of her broadside had been dismounted and ten of her men had been killed and injured; but upon the Spaniard the wreck of yards and spars hung festooned with the useless gear upon her wounded masts, like tangled mosses or creepers upon a dying oak.

At last a lucky shot of the unremitting Cornbury carried away her pintle, rudder, and steering-gear, so that she lay a heavy and lifeless thing upon the water. Bras-de-Fer called for boarders, and, firing a broadside pointblank, lay the Sally aboard, and with a wild cry for those who dared follow, himself sprang for the mizzen chains of his adversary. In the light of the dying day, like a hundred wriggling, dusky cats, they swarmed over the sides of the luckless San Isidro, springing through the ports and over the bulwarks upon the deck with cries that struck terror to the hearts of their adversaries, many of whom threw down their weapons and sprang below. A few men in breast-pieces, who gave back, firing a desultory volley, made a brief stand upon the forecastle, from which they were speedily swept down into the head and so forward upon the prow and into the sea.

Bras-de-Fer and Cornbury sprang into the after-passage. Two blanched priests fell upon the deck, raining their jewels like hailstones before them and chattering out a plea for mercy from the pirato. Indeed, Bras-de-Fer looked not unlike the pictures of the most desperate of those bloody villains. A splinter-cut upon the head had bathed him liberally with blood, and the wild light of exultation glowed from eyes deep-set and dark with the fumes of dust and gunpowder. His coat was torn, and his naked sword, dimmed and lusterless, moved in reckless circles with a careless abandon which spoke a meaning not to be misconstrued.

The priests he pushed aside, and burst through the door into the cabin. It was almost dark, but the glow in the west which shone in the wide stern ports shed a warm light upon the backs of a dozen persons who had taken refuge there, and were now gazing wide-eyed upon him. By the table in the center two or three figures were standing, and an old man with streaming gray hair drew a sword most pitifully and put himself in posture of defense. Several women thereupon fell jibbering prone upon the deck, and two figures in uniform crouched back in the shadow of the bulkhead. But the shedding of blood was done. Cornbury took the weapon from the patriarch, and Bras-de-Fer, seeing no further resistance, bowed in his best manner and begged that the ladies be put to no further inquietude. It was then for the first time that he noticed the figure of one of them, tall, fair, and of a strange familiarity, standing firm and impassive, her hand upon a small petronel, or pistolet, which lay upon the port sill. The splendid lines of the neck, the imperious turn of the head, the determination in the firm lines of the mouth, which, in spite of the ill-concealed terror which lurked in the eyes and brows, betrayed a purpose to defend herself to the last. Bras-de-Fer stepped back a pace in his surprise to look again; but there was no mistake. He had seen that same figure, that same poise of the head, almost that same look out of the eyes, and, deep as he had steeped his mind in the things which brought forgetfulness, every line of it was written upon his memory. The lady was Mistress Barbara Clerke.

CHAPTER XI

THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE

In the first flood of his astonishment the Frenchman lost countenance and fell back upon the entrance of the cabin. He forgot the efficiency of his disguise. In London he had worn the mustachio, smooth chin, and perruque; and the deft touches of poor Vigot had given him a name for a beau which no art of the tailor alone could have bestowed. All of these were lacking in the rough garments that he wore. When last my lady had seen him it had been in the laces, orders, and all the accouterments of a man of fashion, as befitted his station. Now the deep shadows which the fog of battle had painted under his brows and eyes served a purpose as effectual as the growth of his hair and beard. For no sign passed the lady’s features, though she looked fair at him. A momentary wonder there was, as the Frenchman paused; then a mute and pallid supplication. Two Spanish women fell heavily upon their knees before him, demeaning themselves in every conceivable manner for a look or a word that would lull their apprehension and alarm.

It was not until then that Cornbury saw Mistress Clerke. She looked at him blankly; but he, swearing audibly, fled past Bras-de-Fer to the door.

“Bedad!” he muttered – “the lady in the play!” and vanished into the passage.

Cast upon himself, Bras-de-Fer halted and stammered again. He was daunted by that cold, gray eye, and discovered an inquietude and trepidation greater than he had felt in the presence of a company of pikemen. He wiped his sword and thrust it into its scabbard with something of an air of the blusterer, fumbled at the collar at his throat, and with a gesture tossed back the curls from his brow, finally taking refuge in the women at his knees from that chill glance which seemed to read and reproach him. Then, learning that his identity was still unrevealed, he plucked up courage, and, releasing himself, coldly but with a certain gallantry bowed to the gray-haired Spanish lady who had been the most timorous in her embraces.

“Your fear, señora, pays neither me nor my ship a compliment,” he said, coolly. “Your San Isidro is of a nation that of late has proved itself the enemy of my King upon the sea. I have taken her in honorable battle, and – ”

Here Jacquard, leering wickedly, the personification of the very thing the women most feared, with Yan Gratz and a dozen pikes, came rushing in at the door, rendering at naught his amiable intentions, for the women fell to screaming again, and Mistress Clerke raised her pistolet to her breast, it seemed, in the very act of firing. With a hoarse cry Bras-de-Fer quelled the turmoil and sent Jacquard and the men growling back upon the deck; but it was some moments before the qualms of the women were relieved and quiet and order brought out of the tumult.

“Señor, what you say may be true,” said the patriarch who had sought to defend himself, “but not all who bear the warrant of the King of England have so honest a notion of warfare in these waters. What proof have we of your integrity?”

Bras-de-Fer tossed his head with a touch of the old hauteur. He looked past the gray-beard to the casement window, where the last glimmer of the western light was burnishing her hair to gold. He saw only the fair head of the woman who had discredited him, scorned and spurned him as though he had been as low as the very thing he now appeared. The lips grew together in a hard line that had in it a touch of cruelty.

“It is not the custom of officers of the King,” he said, “to give proofs of integrity to prisoners of war. I offer no proof but my word. I shall do with you as I see fit to do.” And stationing two pikemen at the door of the cabin, he went upon the deck, filled with the thought which almost drove from his mind the serious business of bringing the wreck to rights and mending his own affairs.

There was much to be done before the Sally and her huge captive could be brought out into the safety of the broad ocean, away from this dangerous proximity to the Havana. But Bras-de-Fer set himself resolutely to the task, and, putting beside him all but the matter in hand, with a fine, seaman-like sense brought order out of the tangle and wreck of rigging both upon his own vessel and the Spaniard.

The night had come on apace, and with it a rising wind which ground the vessels together in a manner which threatened to make them the more vulnerable to the assaults of the sea. The business of shifting the valuable part of the cargo was going swiftly forward under great flares and ship’s lanterns, which were stuck in the bulwarks and hung from the chains and rigging. Bras-de-Fer, a black shade against the lurid glow, stood with folded arms and downcast eyes at a commanding eminence upon the poop, watching the struggling, dusky, gnomelike figures below him. A hoarse order rang from his lips now and then, which was echoed down into the bowels of his own vessel and mingled with the cries and oaths of the fellows below. Blocks creaked above, and the swaying bales and chests, growing for a moment into fiery patches against the sooty darkness behind them, swept over the bulwarks and into gray shadow again, when they were speedily borne down into the gaping black maws of the brig.

A pale and sibilant presence rustled from the shadows of the mizzen-mast behind Bras-de-Fer. Trembling in limb and more pallid even than the white frock that enfolded her, Mistress Barbara, in a ferment of uncertainty, unattended and unguarded, had crept resolutely and with indomitable courage past the guard at the cabin door to the side of the conqueror of San Isidro. So frail and slender a thing she was, emerging pale and spectral into the glare of the torches, that at the touch of her halting hand upon his arm he started with a quick intaking of the breath and sought his weapon. But when the light glowed upon the brow and hair, and he saw, his hand dropped to his side and he bowed his head to hide his features. With a gesture of annoyance designed to serve the same end, he turned away towards the bulwarks.

“No, no,” she began, pleadingly; “you must hear me. I am English, like the King you serve. At your hands I have every right to consideration.”

“You sail in parlous times, madame,” he replied, coldly, striving to disguise his voice.

“Listen, sir. I have braved danger of insult, and worse, to come hither to-night. But there is something – I cannot tell what – which says that you will deal fairly.”