Chapter Thirty One.A regular set-to, in which the parties beaten are not knocked down, but rise higher and higher at each discomfiture—nothing but the troops could have prevented them from going up to Heaven.Don Rebiera and his two sons quitted the room, Gascoigne entered into conversation with the senora, while Easy took this opportunity of addressing Agnes. He had been too much occupied with the consultation to pay her much attention before. He had spoken, with his eyes fixed upon her, and had been surprised at the improvement which had taken place in less than a year. He now went to her, and asked her, in a low voice, “whether she had received his letter?”“Oh, yes!” replied she, colouring.“And were you angry with what I said, Agnes?” in a low tone.“No,” replied she, casting her eyes down on the floor.“I repeat now what I said, Agnes—I have never forgotten you.”“But—”“But what?”“Father Thomaso.”“What of him?”“He never will—”“Will what?”“You are a heretic,” he says.“Tell him to mind his own business.”“He has great influence with my father and mother.”“Your brothers are on our side.”“I know that, but there will be great difficulty. Our religion is not the same. He must talk to you—he will convert you.”“We’ll argue that point, Agnes. I will convert him if he has common sense; if not, it’s no use arguing with him. Where is he?”“He will soon be at home.”“Tell me, Agnes, if you had your own will, would you marry me?”“I don’t know; I have never seen any one I liked so well.”“Is that all?”“Is it not enough for a maiden to say?” replied Agnes, raising her eyes, and looking reproachfully. “Signor, let me go, here comes my father.”Notwithstanding, Jack cast his eyes to the window where Gascoigne and the senora were in converse, and perceiving that the old lady’s back was turned, he pressed Agnes to his bosom before he released her. The gentlemen then returned with all the fire-arms and destructive weapons they could collect.“We have enough,” observed Don Philip, “to arm all the people we have with us.”“And we are all well armed,” replied Jack, who had left Agnes standing alone. “What now are your plans?”“Those we must now consult about. It appears”—but at this moment the conversation was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Pedro, who had been despatched to the town with the load of wine. He rushed in, flurried and heated, with his red cap in his hand.“How now, Pedro, back so early!”“O signor!” exclaimed the man—“they have taken the cart and the wine, and have drawn it away up to the mountains.”“Who?” inquired Don Rebiera.“The galley-slaves who have been let loose—and by the body of our blessed saint, they have done pretty mischief—they have broken into the houses, robbed everything—murdered many—clothed themselves with the best—collected all the arms, provisions, and wine they could lay their hands on, and have marched away into the mountains. This took place last night. As I was coming down within a mile of the town, they met me with my loaded cart, and they turned the bullocks round and drove them away along with the rest. By the blessed Virgin! but they are stained with blood, but not altogether of men, for they have cut up some of the oxen. I heard this from one of the herdsmen, but he too fled and could not tell me more. But, signor, I heard them mention your name.”“I have no doubt of it,” replied Don Rebiera. “As for the wine, I only hope they will drink too much of it to-night. But, Pedro, they will be here, and we must defend ourselves—so call the men together; I must speak to them.”“We shall never see the bullocks again,” observed Pedro mournfully.“No; but we shall never see one another again, if we do not take care. I have information they come here to-night.”“Holy Saint Francis! and they say there are a thousand of them.”“Not quite so many, to my knowledge,” observed Jack.“They told me that a great many were killed in their attack upon the town, before they mastered it.”“So much the better. Go now, Pedro, drink a cup of wine, and then call the other men.”The house was barricaded as well as circumstances would permit; the first story was also made a fortress by loading the landing-place with armoires and chests of drawers. The upper story, or attic, if it might be so called, was defended in the same way, that they might retreat from one to the other if the doors were forced.It was eight o’clock in the evening before all was ready, and they were still occupied with the last defence, under the superintendence of Mesty, who showed himself an able engineer, when they heard the sound of an approaching multitude. They looked out of one of the windows and perceived the house surrounded by the galley-slaves, in number, apparently, about a hundred. They were all dressed in a most fantastic manner with whatever they could pick up: some had fire-arms, but the most of them were supplied with only swords or knives. With them came also their cortège of plunder: carts of various descriptions, loaded with provisions of all sorts, and wine; women lashed down with ropes, sails from the vessels and boats to supply them with covering in the mountains, hay and straw and mattresses. Their plunder appeared to be well chosen for their exigencies. To the carts were tied a variety of cattle, intended to accompany them to their retreat. They all appeared to be under a leader, who was issuing directions—that leader was soon recognised by those in the house to be Don Silvio.“Massa Easy, you show me dat man?” said Mesty, when he heard the conversation between Easy and the Rebieras; “only let me know him.”“Do you see him there, Mesty, walking down in front of those men? he has a musket in his hand, a jacket with silver buttons, and white trousers.”“Yes, Massa Easy, me see him well—let me look little more—dat enough.”The galley slaves appeared to be very anxious to surround the house that no one should escape, and Don Silvio was arranging the men.“Ned,” said Jack, “let us show him that we are here. He said that he would acquaint Don Rebiera with our arrival—let us prove to him that he is too late.”“It would not be a bad plan,” replied Gascoigne; “if it were possible that these fellows had any gratitude among them, some of them might relent at the idea of attacking those who saved them.”“Not a bit; but it will prove to them that there are more in the house than they think for; and we can frighten some of them by telling them that the soldiers are near at hand.”Jack immediately threw up the casement, and called out in a loud voice, “Don Silvio! galley-slave! Don Silvio!”The party hailed turned round, and beheld Jack, Gascoigne, and Mesty, standing at the window of the upper floor.“We have saved you the trouble of announcing us,” called out Gascoigne. “We are here to receive you.”“And in three hours the troops will be here, so you must be quick, Don Silvio,” continued Jack.“A reveder la,” continued Gascoigne, letting fly his pistol at Don Silvio.The window was then immediately closed. The appearance of our heroes, and their communication of the speedy arrival of the troops, was not without effect. The criminals trembled at the idea; Don Silvio was mad with rage—he pointed out to the men the necessity of immediate attack—the improbability of the troops arriving so soon, and the wealth which he expected was locked up by Don Rebiera in his mansion. This rallied them, and they advanced to the doors, which they attempted to force without success, losing several men by the occasional fire from those within the house. Finding their efforts, after half an hour’s repeated attempts, to be useless, they retreated, and then bringing up a long piece of timber, which required sixty men to carry it, they ran with it against the door, and the weight and impetus of the timber drove it off its hinges, and an entrance was obtained. By this time it was dark, the lower story had been abandoned, but the barricade at the head of the stairs opposed their progress. Convenient loop-holes had been prepared by the defenders, who now opened a smart fire upon the assailants, the latter having no means of returning it effectually, had they had ammunition for their muskets, which fortunately they had not been able to procure. The combat now became fierce, and the galley-slaves were several times repulsed with great loss during a contest of two hours; but, encouraged by Don Silvio, and refreshed by repeated draughts of wine, they continued by degrees removing the barriers opposed to them.“We shall have to retreat!” exclaimed Don Rebiera; “very soon they will have torn down all. What do you think, Signor Easy?”“Hold this as long as we can. How are we off for ammunition?”“Plenty as yet—plenty to last for six hours, I think.”“What do you say, Mesty?”“By holy St. Patrig—I say hold out here—they got no fire-arms—and we ab um at arm-length.”This decision was the occasion of the first defence being held for two hours more, an occasional relief being afforded by the retreat of the convicts to the covered carts.At last, it was evident that the barricade was no longer tenable, for the heavy pieces of furniture they had heaped up to oppose entrance were completely hammered to fragments by poles brought up by the assailants, and used as battering-rams. The retreat was sounded; they all hastened to the other story, where the ladies were already placed, and the galley-slaves were soon in possession of the first floor—exasperated by the defence, mad with wine and victory, but finding nothing.Again was the attack made upon the second landing, but, as the stairs were now narrower, and their defences stronger in proportion, they for a long while gained no advantage. On the contrary, many of their men were wounded and taken down below.The darkness of the night prevented both parties from seeing distinctly, which was rather in favour of the assailants. Many climbed over the fortress of piled-up furniture, and were killed as soon as they appeared on the other side, and, at last, the only ammunition used was against those who made this rash attempt. For four long hours did this assault and defence continue, until daylight came, and then the plan of assault was altered: they again brought up the poles, hammered the pieces of furniture into fragments, and gained ground. The defenders were worn out with fatigue, but flinched not; they knew that their lives, and the lives of those dearest to them, were at stake, and they never relaxed their exertions; still the criminals, with Silvio at their head, progressed, the distance between the parties gradually decreased, and there was but one massive chest of drawers now defending the landing-place, and over which there was a constant succession of blows from long poles and cutlasses, returned with the bullets from their pistols.“We must now fight for our lives,” exclaimed Gascoigne to Easy, “for what else can we do?”“Do?—get on the roof and fight there, then,” replied Jack.“By-the-bye, that’s well thought of, Jack,” said Gascoigne. “Mesty, up and see if there is any place we can retreat to in case of need.”Mesty hastened to obey, and soon returned with a report that there was a trap-door leading into the loft under the roof, and that they could draw the ladder up after them.“Then we may laugh at them,” cried Jack. “Mesty, stay here while I and Gascoigne assist the ladies up,” explaining to the Rebieras and to their domestics why they went.Easy and Gascoigne hastened to the signora and Agnes, conducted them up the ladder into the loft, and requested them to have no fear; they then returned to the defences on the stairs, and joined their companions. They found them hard pressed, and that there was little chance of holding out much longer; but the stairs were narrow, and the assailants could not bring their force against them. But now, as the defences were nearly destroyed, although the convicts could not reach them with their knives, they brought up a large supply of heavy stones, which they threw with great force and execution. Two of Don Rebiera’s men and Don Martin were struck down, and this new weapon proved most fatal.“We must retreat, Jack,” said Gascoigne, “the stones can do no harm where we are going to. What think you, Don Philip?”“I agree with you; let those who are wounded be first carried up, and then we will follow.”This was effected, and as soon as the wounded men were carried up the ladder, and the arms taken up to prevent their falling into the hands of their assailants, for they were now of little use to them, the ammunition being exhausted, the whole body went into the large room which contained the trap-door of the loft, and, as soon as they were up, they drew the ladder after them. They had hardly effected this, when they were followed with the yells and shoutings of the galley-slaves, who had passed the last barriers, and thought themselves sure of their prey: but they were disappointed—they found them more secure than ever.Nothing could exceed the rage of Don Silvio at the protracted resistance of the party, and the security of their retreat. To get at them was impossible, so he determined to set fire to the room, and suffocate them, if he could do no otherwise. He gave his directions to his men, who rushed down for straw, but in so doing he carelessly passed under the trap-door, and Mesty, who had carried up with him two or three of the stones, dashed one down on the head of Don Silvio, who fell immediately. He was carried away, but his orders were put in execution; the room was filled with straw and fodder, and lighted. The effects were soon felt. The trap-door had been shut, but the heat and smoke burst through; after a time, the planks and rafters took fire, and their situation was terrible. A small trap-window in the roof on the side of the house was knocked open, and gave them a temporary relief; but now the rafters burned and crackled, and the smoke burst on them in thick columns. They could not see and with difficulty could breathe. Fortunately the room below that which had been fired was but one out of four on the attics, and, as the loft they were in spread over the whole of the roof they were able to remove far from it. The house was slated with massive slate of some hundredweight each, and it was not found possible to remove them so as to give air, although frequent attempts were made. Donna Rebiera sank exhausted in the arms of her husband, and Agnes fell into those of our hero, who, enveloped in the smoke, kissed her again and again; and she, poor girl, thinking that they must all inevitably perish, made no scruple, in what she supposed her last moment, of returning these proofs of her ardent attachment.“Massa Easy, help me here—Massa Gascoigne, come here. Now heab wid all your might: when we get one off we get plenty.”Summoned by Mesty, Jack and Gascoigne put their shoulders to one of the lower slates; it yielded—was disengaged, and slid down with a loud rattling below. The ladies were brought to it, and their heads put outside; they soon recovered; and now that they had removed one, they found no difficulty in removing others. In a few minutes they were all with their heads in the open air, but still the house was on fire below, and they had no chance of escape. It was while they were debating upon this point, and consulting as to their chance of safety, that a breeze of wind wafted the smoke that issued from the roof away from them, and they beheld the detachment of troops making up to the house; a loud cheer was given, and attracted the notice of the soldiers. They perceived Easy and his companions; the house was surrounded and entered in an instant.The galley-slaves, who were in the house searching for the treasure reported by Don Silvio to be concealed, were captured or killed, and in five minutes the troops had possession. But how to assist those above was the difficulty. The room below was in flames, and burning fiercely. There were no ladders that could reach so high, and there were no means of getting to them. The commandant made signs from below, as if to ask what he was to do.“I see no chance,” observed Don Philip mournfully. “Easy, my dear fellow, and you, Gascoigne, I am sorry that the feuds of our family should have brought you to such a dreadful death; but what can be done?”“I don’t know,” replied Jack, “unless we could get ropes.”“You quite sure, Massa Easy, that all galley-rascals below gone?” asked Mesty.“Yes,” replied Easy, “you may see that; look at some of them bound there, under charge of the soldiers.”“Den, sar, I tink it high time we go too.”“So do I, Mesty; but how?”“How? stop a little.”“Come, help me, Massa Easy; dis board (for the loft was floored) is loose, come help, all of you.”They all went, and with united strength pulled up the board.“Now strike like —!—and drive down de plaster,” said Mesty, commencing the operation.In a few minutes they had beaten an opening into one of the rooms below not on fire, pulled up another board, and Mesty having fetched the ladder, they all descended in safety, and, to the astonishment of the commandant of the troops, walked out of the door of the house, those who had been stunned with the stones having so far recovered as to require little assistance.The soldiers shouted as they saw them appear, supporting the females. The commanding officer, who was an intimate friend of Don Philip, flew to his arms. The prisoners were carefully examined by Mesty, and Don Silvio was not among them. He might however, be among the dead who were left in the house, which now began to burn furiously. The galley-slaves who were captured amounted in number to forty-seven. Their dead they could not count. The major part of the plunder and the carts were still where they had been drawn up.As soon as the culprits had been secured, the attention of the troops was directed to putting out the flames, but their attempts were ineffectual; the mansion was burned to the bare walls, and but little of the furniture saved; indeed, the major part of it had been destroyed in the attack made by Don Silvio and his adherents.Leaving directions with Pedro and his people, that the property collected by the miscreants should be restored to the owners, Don Rebiera ordered the horses, and with the whole party put himself under the protection of the troops, who, as soon as they had been refreshed, and taken some repose, bent their way back to Palermo with the galley-slaves, bound and linked together in a long double row.They halted when they had gone half-way, and remained for the night. The next day, at noon, Don Rebiera and his family were once more in their palazzo, and our two midshipmen and Mesty took their leave, and repaired on board to make themselves a little less like chimney-sweepers.Captain Wilson was not out of the ship. Jack made his report, and then went down below, very much pleased at what had passed, especially as he would have another long yarn for the Governor on his return to Malta.
Don Rebiera and his two sons quitted the room, Gascoigne entered into conversation with the senora, while Easy took this opportunity of addressing Agnes. He had been too much occupied with the consultation to pay her much attention before. He had spoken, with his eyes fixed upon her, and had been surprised at the improvement which had taken place in less than a year. He now went to her, and asked her, in a low voice, “whether she had received his letter?”
“Oh, yes!” replied she, colouring.
“And were you angry with what I said, Agnes?” in a low tone.
“No,” replied she, casting her eyes down on the floor.
“I repeat now what I said, Agnes—I have never forgotten you.”
“But—”
“But what?”
“Father Thomaso.”
“What of him?”
“He never will—”
“Will what?”
“You are a heretic,” he says.
“Tell him to mind his own business.”
“He has great influence with my father and mother.”
“Your brothers are on our side.”
“I know that, but there will be great difficulty. Our religion is not the same. He must talk to you—he will convert you.”
“We’ll argue that point, Agnes. I will convert him if he has common sense; if not, it’s no use arguing with him. Where is he?”
“He will soon be at home.”
“Tell me, Agnes, if you had your own will, would you marry me?”
“I don’t know; I have never seen any one I liked so well.”
“Is that all?”
“Is it not enough for a maiden to say?” replied Agnes, raising her eyes, and looking reproachfully. “Signor, let me go, here comes my father.”
Notwithstanding, Jack cast his eyes to the window where Gascoigne and the senora were in converse, and perceiving that the old lady’s back was turned, he pressed Agnes to his bosom before he released her. The gentlemen then returned with all the fire-arms and destructive weapons they could collect.
“We have enough,” observed Don Philip, “to arm all the people we have with us.”
“And we are all well armed,” replied Jack, who had left Agnes standing alone. “What now are your plans?”
“Those we must now consult about. It appears”—but at this moment the conversation was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Pedro, who had been despatched to the town with the load of wine. He rushed in, flurried and heated, with his red cap in his hand.
“How now, Pedro, back so early!”
“O signor!” exclaimed the man—“they have taken the cart and the wine, and have drawn it away up to the mountains.”
“Who?” inquired Don Rebiera.
“The galley-slaves who have been let loose—and by the body of our blessed saint, they have done pretty mischief—they have broken into the houses, robbed everything—murdered many—clothed themselves with the best—collected all the arms, provisions, and wine they could lay their hands on, and have marched away into the mountains. This took place last night. As I was coming down within a mile of the town, they met me with my loaded cart, and they turned the bullocks round and drove them away along with the rest. By the blessed Virgin! but they are stained with blood, but not altogether of men, for they have cut up some of the oxen. I heard this from one of the herdsmen, but he too fled and could not tell me more. But, signor, I heard them mention your name.”
“I have no doubt of it,” replied Don Rebiera. “As for the wine, I only hope they will drink too much of it to-night. But, Pedro, they will be here, and we must defend ourselves—so call the men together; I must speak to them.”
“We shall never see the bullocks again,” observed Pedro mournfully.
“No; but we shall never see one another again, if we do not take care. I have information they come here to-night.”
“Holy Saint Francis! and they say there are a thousand of them.”
“Not quite so many, to my knowledge,” observed Jack.
“They told me that a great many were killed in their attack upon the town, before they mastered it.”
“So much the better. Go now, Pedro, drink a cup of wine, and then call the other men.”
The house was barricaded as well as circumstances would permit; the first story was also made a fortress by loading the landing-place with armoires and chests of drawers. The upper story, or attic, if it might be so called, was defended in the same way, that they might retreat from one to the other if the doors were forced.
It was eight o’clock in the evening before all was ready, and they were still occupied with the last defence, under the superintendence of Mesty, who showed himself an able engineer, when they heard the sound of an approaching multitude. They looked out of one of the windows and perceived the house surrounded by the galley-slaves, in number, apparently, about a hundred. They were all dressed in a most fantastic manner with whatever they could pick up: some had fire-arms, but the most of them were supplied with only swords or knives. With them came also their cortège of plunder: carts of various descriptions, loaded with provisions of all sorts, and wine; women lashed down with ropes, sails from the vessels and boats to supply them with covering in the mountains, hay and straw and mattresses. Their plunder appeared to be well chosen for their exigencies. To the carts were tied a variety of cattle, intended to accompany them to their retreat. They all appeared to be under a leader, who was issuing directions—that leader was soon recognised by those in the house to be Don Silvio.
“Massa Easy, you show me dat man?” said Mesty, when he heard the conversation between Easy and the Rebieras; “only let me know him.”
“Do you see him there, Mesty, walking down in front of those men? he has a musket in his hand, a jacket with silver buttons, and white trousers.”
“Yes, Massa Easy, me see him well—let me look little more—dat enough.”
The galley slaves appeared to be very anxious to surround the house that no one should escape, and Don Silvio was arranging the men.
“Ned,” said Jack, “let us show him that we are here. He said that he would acquaint Don Rebiera with our arrival—let us prove to him that he is too late.”
“It would not be a bad plan,” replied Gascoigne; “if it were possible that these fellows had any gratitude among them, some of them might relent at the idea of attacking those who saved them.”
“Not a bit; but it will prove to them that there are more in the house than they think for; and we can frighten some of them by telling them that the soldiers are near at hand.”
Jack immediately threw up the casement, and called out in a loud voice, “Don Silvio! galley-slave! Don Silvio!”
The party hailed turned round, and beheld Jack, Gascoigne, and Mesty, standing at the window of the upper floor.
“We have saved you the trouble of announcing us,” called out Gascoigne. “We are here to receive you.”
“And in three hours the troops will be here, so you must be quick, Don Silvio,” continued Jack.
“A reveder la,” continued Gascoigne, letting fly his pistol at Don Silvio.
The window was then immediately closed. The appearance of our heroes, and their communication of the speedy arrival of the troops, was not without effect. The criminals trembled at the idea; Don Silvio was mad with rage—he pointed out to the men the necessity of immediate attack—the improbability of the troops arriving so soon, and the wealth which he expected was locked up by Don Rebiera in his mansion. This rallied them, and they advanced to the doors, which they attempted to force without success, losing several men by the occasional fire from those within the house. Finding their efforts, after half an hour’s repeated attempts, to be useless, they retreated, and then bringing up a long piece of timber, which required sixty men to carry it, they ran with it against the door, and the weight and impetus of the timber drove it off its hinges, and an entrance was obtained. By this time it was dark, the lower story had been abandoned, but the barricade at the head of the stairs opposed their progress. Convenient loop-holes had been prepared by the defenders, who now opened a smart fire upon the assailants, the latter having no means of returning it effectually, had they had ammunition for their muskets, which fortunately they had not been able to procure. The combat now became fierce, and the galley-slaves were several times repulsed with great loss during a contest of two hours; but, encouraged by Don Silvio, and refreshed by repeated draughts of wine, they continued by degrees removing the barriers opposed to them.
“We shall have to retreat!” exclaimed Don Rebiera; “very soon they will have torn down all. What do you think, Signor Easy?”
“Hold this as long as we can. How are we off for ammunition?”
“Plenty as yet—plenty to last for six hours, I think.”
“What do you say, Mesty?”
“By holy St. Patrig—I say hold out here—they got no fire-arms—and we ab um at arm-length.”
This decision was the occasion of the first defence being held for two hours more, an occasional relief being afforded by the retreat of the convicts to the covered carts.
At last, it was evident that the barricade was no longer tenable, for the heavy pieces of furniture they had heaped up to oppose entrance were completely hammered to fragments by poles brought up by the assailants, and used as battering-rams. The retreat was sounded; they all hastened to the other story, where the ladies were already placed, and the galley-slaves were soon in possession of the first floor—exasperated by the defence, mad with wine and victory, but finding nothing.
Again was the attack made upon the second landing, but, as the stairs were now narrower, and their defences stronger in proportion, they for a long while gained no advantage. On the contrary, many of their men were wounded and taken down below.
The darkness of the night prevented both parties from seeing distinctly, which was rather in favour of the assailants. Many climbed over the fortress of piled-up furniture, and were killed as soon as they appeared on the other side, and, at last, the only ammunition used was against those who made this rash attempt. For four long hours did this assault and defence continue, until daylight came, and then the plan of assault was altered: they again brought up the poles, hammered the pieces of furniture into fragments, and gained ground. The defenders were worn out with fatigue, but flinched not; they knew that their lives, and the lives of those dearest to them, were at stake, and they never relaxed their exertions; still the criminals, with Silvio at their head, progressed, the distance between the parties gradually decreased, and there was but one massive chest of drawers now defending the landing-place, and over which there was a constant succession of blows from long poles and cutlasses, returned with the bullets from their pistols.
“We must now fight for our lives,” exclaimed Gascoigne to Easy, “for what else can we do?”
“Do?—get on the roof and fight there, then,” replied Jack.
“By-the-bye, that’s well thought of, Jack,” said Gascoigne. “Mesty, up and see if there is any place we can retreat to in case of need.”
Mesty hastened to obey, and soon returned with a report that there was a trap-door leading into the loft under the roof, and that they could draw the ladder up after them.
“Then we may laugh at them,” cried Jack. “Mesty, stay here while I and Gascoigne assist the ladies up,” explaining to the Rebieras and to their domestics why they went.
Easy and Gascoigne hastened to the signora and Agnes, conducted them up the ladder into the loft, and requested them to have no fear; they then returned to the defences on the stairs, and joined their companions. They found them hard pressed, and that there was little chance of holding out much longer; but the stairs were narrow, and the assailants could not bring their force against them. But now, as the defences were nearly destroyed, although the convicts could not reach them with their knives, they brought up a large supply of heavy stones, which they threw with great force and execution. Two of Don Rebiera’s men and Don Martin were struck down, and this new weapon proved most fatal.
“We must retreat, Jack,” said Gascoigne, “the stones can do no harm where we are going to. What think you, Don Philip?”
“I agree with you; let those who are wounded be first carried up, and then we will follow.”
This was effected, and as soon as the wounded men were carried up the ladder, and the arms taken up to prevent their falling into the hands of their assailants, for they were now of little use to them, the ammunition being exhausted, the whole body went into the large room which contained the trap-door of the loft, and, as soon as they were up, they drew the ladder after them. They had hardly effected this, when they were followed with the yells and shoutings of the galley-slaves, who had passed the last barriers, and thought themselves sure of their prey: but they were disappointed—they found them more secure than ever.
Nothing could exceed the rage of Don Silvio at the protracted resistance of the party, and the security of their retreat. To get at them was impossible, so he determined to set fire to the room, and suffocate them, if he could do no otherwise. He gave his directions to his men, who rushed down for straw, but in so doing he carelessly passed under the trap-door, and Mesty, who had carried up with him two or three of the stones, dashed one down on the head of Don Silvio, who fell immediately. He was carried away, but his orders were put in execution; the room was filled with straw and fodder, and lighted. The effects were soon felt. The trap-door had been shut, but the heat and smoke burst through; after a time, the planks and rafters took fire, and their situation was terrible. A small trap-window in the roof on the side of the house was knocked open, and gave them a temporary relief; but now the rafters burned and crackled, and the smoke burst on them in thick columns. They could not see and with difficulty could breathe. Fortunately the room below that which had been fired was but one out of four on the attics, and, as the loft they were in spread over the whole of the roof they were able to remove far from it. The house was slated with massive slate of some hundredweight each, and it was not found possible to remove them so as to give air, although frequent attempts were made. Donna Rebiera sank exhausted in the arms of her husband, and Agnes fell into those of our hero, who, enveloped in the smoke, kissed her again and again; and she, poor girl, thinking that they must all inevitably perish, made no scruple, in what she supposed her last moment, of returning these proofs of her ardent attachment.
“Massa Easy, help me here—Massa Gascoigne, come here. Now heab wid all your might: when we get one off we get plenty.”
Summoned by Mesty, Jack and Gascoigne put their shoulders to one of the lower slates; it yielded—was disengaged, and slid down with a loud rattling below. The ladies were brought to it, and their heads put outside; they soon recovered; and now that they had removed one, they found no difficulty in removing others. In a few minutes they were all with their heads in the open air, but still the house was on fire below, and they had no chance of escape. It was while they were debating upon this point, and consulting as to their chance of safety, that a breeze of wind wafted the smoke that issued from the roof away from them, and they beheld the detachment of troops making up to the house; a loud cheer was given, and attracted the notice of the soldiers. They perceived Easy and his companions; the house was surrounded and entered in an instant.
The galley-slaves, who were in the house searching for the treasure reported by Don Silvio to be concealed, were captured or killed, and in five minutes the troops had possession. But how to assist those above was the difficulty. The room below was in flames, and burning fiercely. There were no ladders that could reach so high, and there were no means of getting to them. The commandant made signs from below, as if to ask what he was to do.
“I see no chance,” observed Don Philip mournfully. “Easy, my dear fellow, and you, Gascoigne, I am sorry that the feuds of our family should have brought you to such a dreadful death; but what can be done?”
“I don’t know,” replied Jack, “unless we could get ropes.”
“You quite sure, Massa Easy, that all galley-rascals below gone?” asked Mesty.
“Yes,” replied Easy, “you may see that; look at some of them bound there, under charge of the soldiers.”
“Den, sar, I tink it high time we go too.”
“So do I, Mesty; but how?”
“How? stop a little.”
“Come, help me, Massa Easy; dis board (for the loft was floored) is loose, come help, all of you.”
They all went, and with united strength pulled up the board.
“Now strike like —!—and drive down de plaster,” said Mesty, commencing the operation.
In a few minutes they had beaten an opening into one of the rooms below not on fire, pulled up another board, and Mesty having fetched the ladder, they all descended in safety, and, to the astonishment of the commandant of the troops, walked out of the door of the house, those who had been stunned with the stones having so far recovered as to require little assistance.
The soldiers shouted as they saw them appear, supporting the females. The commanding officer, who was an intimate friend of Don Philip, flew to his arms. The prisoners were carefully examined by Mesty, and Don Silvio was not among them. He might however, be among the dead who were left in the house, which now began to burn furiously. The galley-slaves who were captured amounted in number to forty-seven. Their dead they could not count. The major part of the plunder and the carts were still where they had been drawn up.
As soon as the culprits had been secured, the attention of the troops was directed to putting out the flames, but their attempts were ineffectual; the mansion was burned to the bare walls, and but little of the furniture saved; indeed, the major part of it had been destroyed in the attack made by Don Silvio and his adherents.
Leaving directions with Pedro and his people, that the property collected by the miscreants should be restored to the owners, Don Rebiera ordered the horses, and with the whole party put himself under the protection of the troops, who, as soon as they had been refreshed, and taken some repose, bent their way back to Palermo with the galley-slaves, bound and linked together in a long double row.
They halted when they had gone half-way, and remained for the night. The next day, at noon, Don Rebiera and his family were once more in their palazzo, and our two midshipmen and Mesty took their leave, and repaired on board to make themselves a little less like chimney-sweepers.
Captain Wilson was not out of the ship. Jack made his report, and then went down below, very much pleased at what had passed, especially as he would have another long yarn for the Governor on his return to Malta.
Chapter Thirty Two.In which our hero and Gascoigne ought to be ashamed of themselves, and did feel what might be called midshipmite compunction.TheAuroracontinued three weeks at Palermo, during which the most active search had been made for the remainder of the galley-slaves, and some few had been captured, but still Don Silvio, and a considerable number, were at large; and it was said that they had returned to the fastnesses in the mountains. Our hero was constantly on shore at Don Rebiera’s house, and, after what had passed, he was now looked upon as soon to become a member of the family. The difference of religion was overlooked by Don Rebiera and the relations—by all but the confessor, Father Thomaso, who now began to agitate and fulminate into the ears of the Donna Rebiera all the pains and penalties attending heretical connection, such as excommunication and utter damnation. The effects of his remonstrances were soon visible, and Jack found that there was constraint on the part of the old lady, tears on the part of Agnes, and all father confessors heartily wished at the devil ten times a day on the part of Don Philip and his brother. At last he wormed the truth out of Agnes, who told her tale, and wept bitterly.“Ned, I don’t much like the appearance of things,” observed Jack; “I must get rid of that Father Thomaso.”“You’ll find that rather difficult,” observed Gascoigne; “besides, if you get rid of him you would have his place filled up with another.”“He has frightened that poor old woman into the dismals, and she has the pains of purgatory on her already. I shall go and talk to Mesty.”“How can Mesty help you?”“I don’t know, but you can’t; so, for want of better advice, I’ll try the Ashantee.”Our hero went to Mesty, and laid the difficult affair open to him.“I see,” said Mesty, showing his filed teeth, “you want him skull.”“No, I don’t, Mesty; but I want him out of the way.”“How dat possible, Massa Easy?—ship sail day after to-morrow. Now ’pose I ab time, I soon manage all dat. Stop a little.”“Confound it! but there’s no stopping,” replied Jack.“Suppose, Massa Easy, you get leave go on shore—not come off again.”“That will be deserting, Mesty.”“By holy poker, I ab it—you go on shore and break your leg.”“Break my leg!—break my leave, you mean?”“No, Massa Easy—you break your leg—den captain leave you shore, and leave me take care of you.”“But why should I break my leg, and how am I to break my leg?”“Only pretend break leg, Massa Easy. Go talk Massa Don Philip, he manage all dat.—Suppose man break his leg in seven pieces, it is not possible to take him board.”“Seven pieces, Mesty! that’s rather too many. However, I’ll think of this.”Jack then went back and consulted Gascoigne, who approved of Mesty’s advice, and thought the scheme feasible.“If we could only pretend that we were thrown out of a caricola, you break your leg, a compound fracture of course—I break my arm—both left on shore at sick quarters, with Mesty to take care of us.”“Capital indeed,” replied Jack; “I really would not mind it if it really took place; at all events we’ll overturn the caricola.”“But shall we get leave the last day?”“Yes, it’s two days since I have been on shore, for I have not liked to go to Don Rebiera’s since what Agnes told me. Besides, my clothes are all on shore, and that will be an excuse for a few hours.”Our two midshipmen applied for leave the next morning to be off in the afternoon. The first lieutenant gave them permission. They hastened to the hotel, sent for Don Philip, and made him a party to their plan. He readily promised his assistance, for he had resolved that our hero should marry his sister, and was fearful of the effect of his absence, coupled with Friar Thomaso’s influence over his mother. He went to the surgeon of his regiment, who immediately entered into the scheme.Our two midshipmen got into a caricola, rattled up and down the streets, and perceiving Captain Wilson at his window flogged the horse into a gallop: when abreast of the barracks Jack ran the wheel against a bank, and threw himself and Gascoigne out. Midshipmen are never hurt by these accidents, but fortunately for the success of the enterprise their faces were cut and bruised. Don Philip was standing by: he called the men to pick up our two scamps, carried them into the barracks, and sent for the surgeons, who undressed them, put Jack’s left leg into a multitude of splints, and did the same to Gascoigne’s arm. They were then put to bed, their contused faces with the blood, leftin statu quo, while Don Philip sent an orderly, as from the commandant, to Captain Wilson, to acquaint him that two of his officers had been thrown out of a caricola, and were lying dangerously hurt at the barracks.“Good heavens, it must be Mr Easy and Mr Gascoigne!” said Captain Wilson, when the intelligence was communicated; “I saw them galloping down the street like two madmen just now. Coxswain, take the gig on board and tell the surgeon to come on shore immediately, and bring him up to me at the barracks.”Captain Wilson then put on his hat, buckled on his sword, and hastened to ascertain the extent of the injury. Don Philip kept out of the way, but the captain was ushered into the room by one of the officers, where he found, in two beds, our two midshipmen stretched out, the surgeon of the forces and the regimental surgeon in consultation between them, while attendants were standing by each bed with restoratives. The medical gentlemen saluted Captain Wilson, and looked very grave, talked about fractures, contusions, injuries, in the most interminable manner—hoped that Mr Easy would recover—but had doubts. The other gentleman might do well with care; that is, as far as his arm was concerned, but there appeared to be a concussion of the brain. Captain Wilson looked at the cut and blood-smeared faces of the two young men, and waited with anxiety the arrival of his own surgeon, who came at last, puffing with the haste he had made, and received the report of the brothers of the faculty.The leg of Mr Easy fractured in two places—had been set—bone protruding—impossible to move him. Gascoigne, arm, compound fracture—concussion of the brain not certain. Now, that all this would have been discovered to be false if the surgeon had been able to examine, is true; but how could he not credit the surgeon of the forces and the regimental surgeon, and how could he put the young men to fresh tortures by removing splints and unsetting limbs? Politeness, if nothing else, prevented his so doing, for it would have been as much as to say that either he did not credit their report, or that he doubted their skill. He looked at our hero and his companion, who kept their eyes closed, and breathed heavily with their mouths open, put on a grave face as well as his brothers in the art, and reported to Captain Wilson.“But when can they be moved, Mr Daly?” inquired the latter; “I cannot wait; we must sail to-morrow, or the next day at the farthest.”The surgeon, as in duty bound, put the question to the others, who replied that there would be great risk in removing before the fever, which might be expected the next day, and which might last ten days; but that Captain Wilson had better not think of removing them, as they should have every care and attention where they were and could rejoin the ship at Malta. Mr Daly, the surgeon, agreed that this would be the most prudent step, and Captain Wilson then gave his consent.That being settled, he walked up to the bed of Gascoigne, and spoke to him; but Gascoigne knew that he was to have a concussion of the brain, and he made no reply, nor gave any signs of knowing that Captain Wilson was near him. He then went to our hero, who, at the sound of Captain Wilson’s voice, slowly opened his eyes without moving his head, and appeared to recognise him.“Are you in much pain, Easy?” said the captain kindly.Easy closed his eyes again, and murmured, “Mesty, Mesty!”“He wants his servant, the ship’s corporal, sir,” said the surgeon.“Well,” replied Captain Wilson, “he had better have him: he is a faithful fellow, and will nurse him well. When you go on board, Mr Daly, desire the first lieutenant to send Mesty on shore with Mr Gascoigne’s and Mr Easy’s chests, and his own bag and hammock. Good heavens! I would not for a thousand pounds that this accident had occurred. Poor foolish boys—they run in couples, and if one’s in a scrape the other is sure to share it. Gentlemen, I return you many thanks for your kindness, and I must accept of your promised care for my unfortunate officers. I sail to-morrow at daylight. You will oblige me by informing their friends, the Rebieras, of their mischance, as I am sure they will contribute all they can to their comfort.” So saying, Captain Wilson bowed and quitted the room, followed by the surgeon.As soon as the door was closed the two midshipmen turned their heads round and looked at each other, but they were afraid to speak at first, in case of the return of the surgeon. As soon as it was announced to them that Captain Wilson and Mr Daly were outside the barrack gates our hero commenced—“Do you know, Ned, that my conscience smites me, and if it had not been that I should have betrayed those who wish to oblige us, when poor Captain Wilson appeared so much hurt and annoyed at our accident, I was very near getting up and telling him of the imposition, to relieve his mind.”“I agree with you, Jack, and I felt much the same—but what’s done cannot be undone. We must now keep up the imposition for the sake of those who, to help us, have deceived him.”“I don’t think that you would find an English surgeon who would have consented to such an imposition.”“No, that is certain; but after all, it is an imposition that has hurt nobody.”“Oh, I do not wish to moralise—but I repent of my share in the deceit; and had it to be done over again I would not consent to it.”“Not even for —? but I won’t mention her name in barracks.”“I don’t know,” replied Jack; “but let’s say no more about it, and thank these gentlemen for their kindness.”“Yes, but we must keep it up until we see theAuroraunder all sail.”“And longer too,” replied Jack; “we must not let the affair get wind even on shore. We must not recover quickly, but still appear to recover. Don Rebiera and his wife must be deceived. I have a plot in my head, but I cannot work it out clear until I see Mesty.”Don Philip now came in. He had seen Captain Wilson, who had requested him to look after the two invalids, and stated his intention to sail the next morning. They consulted with him, and it was agreed that no one should be acquainted with the real fact but his brother Martin, and that all Palermo should be as much deceived as Captain Wilson, for if not, it would put Father Thomaso on thequi vive, and make him fulminate more than ever. Our midshipmen ate an excellent dinner, and then remained in bed conversing till it was time to go to sleep; but long before that, Mesty had made his appearance with their clothes. The eyes of the Ashantee said all that was necessary—he never spoke a word, but unlashed his hammock and lay down in a corner, and they were soon all three asleep.The next morning Captain Wilson called to ascertain how our hero and his companion were, but the room had been darkened, and he could not see their faces plainly. Easy thanked him for his kindness in allowing Mesty to attend them, and having received his orders as to their joining the ship as soon as they recovered, and having promised to be very cautious in their behaviour and keep out of all scrapes, he wished them a speedy recovery, and departed.In little more than half an hour afterwards, Mesty, who had been peeping out of the shutters, suddenly threw them open with a loud laugh.TheAurorawas under way, with studding sails below and aloft, standing out of the roads. Jack and Gascoigne got up, threw off the splints, and danced about in their shirts. As soon as they were quiet again, Mesty said in a grave tone, “Den why you stay at sea, Massa Easy?”“Very true, Mesty, I’ve asked myself that question often enough lately; because I’m a fool, I suppose.”“And I, because I can’t help it,” replied Gascoigne; “never mind, we are on shore now, and I look for a famous cruise.”“But first we must see what the ground is we are to cruise on,” replied Jack; “so, Mesty, let us have a palaver, as they say in your country.”The two midshipmen got into their beds, and Mesty sat on the chest between them, looking as grave as a judge. The question was, how to get rid of the padre Thomaso. Was he to be thrown over the molehead to the fishes—or his skull broke—was Mesty’s knife to be resorted to—was he to be kidnapped or poisoned—or were fair means to be employed—persuasion, bribery? Every one knows how difficult it is to get rid of a priest.As our hero and Gascoigne were not Italians, they thought that bribery would be the more English-like way of doing the thing; so they composed a letter, to be delivered by Mesty to the friar, in which Jack offered to Father Thomaso the moderate sum of one thousand dollars, provided he would allow the marriage to proceed, and not frighten the old lady with ecclesiastical squibs and crackers.As Mesty was often on shore with Jack, and knew the friar very well by sight, it was agreed that the letter should be confided to his charge; but, as it was not consistent that a person in such a state as our hero was represented to be should sit up and write letters, the delivery was deferred for a few days, when, after waiting that time, Mesty delivered the letter to the friar, and made signs that he was to take back the answer. The friar beckoned him that he was to accompany him to his room, where he read the letter, and then again made signs to him to follow him. The friar led the way to his monastery, and as soon as Mesty was in his cell, he summoned another who could speak English to act as interpreter.“Is your master recovering?”“Yes,” replied Mesty, “he is at present doing well.”“Have you served him long?”“No,” replied Mesty.“Are you very fond of him? does he treat you well, give you plenty of money?”At these questions, the artful black conceived that there was something in the wind, and he therefore very quietly replied, “I do not care much for him.”The friar fixed his keen eye upon Mesty, and perceived there was a savage look about the black, from which he augured that he was a man who would suit his purpose.“Your master offers me a thousand dollars; would you wish to gain this money for yourself?”Mesty grinned and showed his sharp-filed teeth.“It would make me a rich man in my own country.”“It would,” replied the friar; “now you shall have it, if you will only give your master a small powder.”“I understand,” replied Mesty; “hab those things in my country.”“Well—do you consent?—if so, I will write the letter to get the money.”“Suppose they find me out?” replied Mesty.“You will be safe, and you shall be sent away as soon as possible—say, will you consent?”“The whole thousand dollars?”“Every one of them.”“Den give me the powder?”“Stay a little,” replied the friar, who went out of the cell, and, in about ten minutes, returned with an answer to our hero’s letter and a paper containing a grayish powder.“Give him this in his soup or anything—spread it on his meat, or mix it up with his sugar if he eats an orange.”“I see,” replied Mesty.“The dollars shall be yours. I swear it on the holy cross.”Mesty grinned horribly, took his credentials, and then asked, “When I come again?”“As soon as you have received the money bring it to me at Don Rebiera’s—then give the powder: as soon as it is given you must let me know, for you must not remain in Palermo. I will myself conduct you to a place of safety.”Mesty then quitted the cell and was shown out of the monastery.“By de holy poker he one damn rascal!” muttered Mesty, as he was once in the open air. “But stop a little.”The Ashantee soon arrived at the barracks, and repeated the whole of the conference between him and the Friar Thomaso.“It must be poison, of course,” observed Gascoigne; “suppose we try it upon some animal?”“No, Massa Gascoigne,” replied Mesty, “I try it myself, by-and-bye. Now what we do?”“I must give you the order for the thousand dollars, Mesty,” replied Jack. “The rascal here writes to me that for that sum he will consent not only not to oppose me, but agrees to assist my cause; but the great question is, whether he will keep his word with you, Mesty; if not, I shall lose my money. So therefore we must now have another palaver and argue the point.”The point was argued between Jack and Gascoigne. A thousand dollars was a large sum, but Jack’s father was a philosopher. After manyprosandcons, it was as last decided that the money should be given to Mesty; but that Mesty should state, when he took the money to the friar, that he had administered the powder, and claim it when he presented it.The next day the order for the money was given to Mesty, and he went to the Friar Thomaso with it. The friar hastened with Mesty to the monastery and sent for the interpreter.“You have given it?” inquired the friar.“Yes—not one hour ago. Here de order for de money.”“You must run for the money before he is dead, for the powder is very rapid.”“And me,” replied Mesty, apparently much alarmed, “where am I to go?”“As soon as you bring the money here, you must go back to the barracks. Remain there till he is dead, and then return here. I will have all ready, and take you, as soon as it is dusk, to a monastery of our order in the mountains, where no one will think of looking for you till the affair is blown over; and then I will find you a passage in some vessel out of the island.”Mesty hastened for the money, and taking it in a large bag to the monastery, delivered it to the friar’s charge, and then returned to the barracks to Easy and Gascoigne. It was agreed that he should go with the friar, who would probably remain away some time; indeed, Mesty insisted upon so doing. Mesty stayed two hours, and then returned about dusk to the monastery, and reported the death of our hero. He remained there until it was dark, and then the friar ordered him to tie the bag of dollars to his saddle-bow. They mounted two mules, which stood already caparisoned, and quitted Palermo.In the morning, Don Philip, as usual, made his appearance, and told our hero that the friar had been summoned away by the abbot, and would not return for some time.“I came to tell you this news,” said Don Philip, “as I thought it would please you; the sooner you are now well, the better. I mean to propose your both being removed to my father’s palazzo, and then you can recover your lost ground during the confessor’s absence.”“And I have the means,” replied Jack, showing the friar’s letter. Don Philip read it with astonishment, but was still more surprised when he heard the whole story from Jack. He was for a time silent: at last he said:“I am sorry for your poor black.”“Why so?” replied Jack.“You will never see him again, depend upon it. A thousand dollars would sign the death-warrant of a thousand blacks; but there is another reason—they will put him out of the way that he may not give evidence. Where is the powder?”“Mesty has it; he would not part with it.”“He is a shrewd fellow, that black; he may be too much for the friar,” replied Don Philip.“He means mischief, I’m sure,” replied Gascoigne.“Still I feel a great deal of alarm about him,” replied Easy; “I wish now that I had not let him go.”“Are you sure that he went?”“No, I am not; but the friar told him that he should take him to the mountains as soon as it was dark.”“And probably he will,” replied Don Philip, “as the best place to get rid of him. However, the whole of this story must be told both to my father and my mother; to the former that he may take the right measures, and to my mother that it may open her eyes. Give me the copy of the letter you wrote to the friar, and then I shall have it all.”The report of the accident which had occurred to Easy and Gascoigne had been spread and fully believed throughout Palermo. Indeed, as usual, it had been magnified, and asserted that they could not recover. To Agnes only had the case been imparted in confidence by Don Philip, for her distress at the first intelligence had been so great that her brother could not conceal it.Two days after Don Philip had made his parents acquainted with the villainy of the friar, the midshipmen were transported to the palazzo, much to the surprise of everybody, and much to the renown of the surgeons, who were indemnified for their duplicity and falsehood by an amazing extension of their credit as skilful men.After their arrival at the palazzo, Don Rebiera was also entrusted with the secret, but it went no further. As now there was no particular hurry for our hero to get well, he was contented and happy in the society of Agnes and her parents; the old lady, after she had been informed of the conduct of Friar Thomaso, having turned round in our hero’s favour, and made a vow never to have a confessor in the house again. Jack and Gascoigne were now as happy as could be; all their alarm was about Mesty, for whose return they were most anxious.To Don Rebiera Jack made known formally his intentions with regard to Agnes. He fully satisfied him as to his qualifications and his property, and Don Rebiera was fully aware of his debt of gratitude to our hero. But all he required was the consent of Jack’s father, and until this was obtained, he would not consent to the marriage taking place. Jack attempted to argue the point; his father, he said, had married without consulting him, and therefore he had a right to marry without consulting his father. But Don Rebiera, not having any acquaintance with the rights of man and equality, did not feel the full force of Jack’s argument, and made it asine quâ nonthat his parents should write and consent to the alliance before it took place.
TheAuroracontinued three weeks at Palermo, during which the most active search had been made for the remainder of the galley-slaves, and some few had been captured, but still Don Silvio, and a considerable number, were at large; and it was said that they had returned to the fastnesses in the mountains. Our hero was constantly on shore at Don Rebiera’s house, and, after what had passed, he was now looked upon as soon to become a member of the family. The difference of religion was overlooked by Don Rebiera and the relations—by all but the confessor, Father Thomaso, who now began to agitate and fulminate into the ears of the Donna Rebiera all the pains and penalties attending heretical connection, such as excommunication and utter damnation. The effects of his remonstrances were soon visible, and Jack found that there was constraint on the part of the old lady, tears on the part of Agnes, and all father confessors heartily wished at the devil ten times a day on the part of Don Philip and his brother. At last he wormed the truth out of Agnes, who told her tale, and wept bitterly.
“Ned, I don’t much like the appearance of things,” observed Jack; “I must get rid of that Father Thomaso.”
“You’ll find that rather difficult,” observed Gascoigne; “besides, if you get rid of him you would have his place filled up with another.”
“He has frightened that poor old woman into the dismals, and she has the pains of purgatory on her already. I shall go and talk to Mesty.”
“How can Mesty help you?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t; so, for want of better advice, I’ll try the Ashantee.”
Our hero went to Mesty, and laid the difficult affair open to him.
“I see,” said Mesty, showing his filed teeth, “you want him skull.”
“No, I don’t, Mesty; but I want him out of the way.”
“How dat possible, Massa Easy?—ship sail day after to-morrow. Now ’pose I ab time, I soon manage all dat. Stop a little.”
“Confound it! but there’s no stopping,” replied Jack.
“Suppose, Massa Easy, you get leave go on shore—not come off again.”
“That will be deserting, Mesty.”
“By holy poker, I ab it—you go on shore and break your leg.”
“Break my leg!—break my leave, you mean?”
“No, Massa Easy—you break your leg—den captain leave you shore, and leave me take care of you.”
“But why should I break my leg, and how am I to break my leg?”
“Only pretend break leg, Massa Easy. Go talk Massa Don Philip, he manage all dat.—Suppose man break his leg in seven pieces, it is not possible to take him board.”
“Seven pieces, Mesty! that’s rather too many. However, I’ll think of this.”
Jack then went back and consulted Gascoigne, who approved of Mesty’s advice, and thought the scheme feasible.
“If we could only pretend that we were thrown out of a caricola, you break your leg, a compound fracture of course—I break my arm—both left on shore at sick quarters, with Mesty to take care of us.”
“Capital indeed,” replied Jack; “I really would not mind it if it really took place; at all events we’ll overturn the caricola.”
“But shall we get leave the last day?”
“Yes, it’s two days since I have been on shore, for I have not liked to go to Don Rebiera’s since what Agnes told me. Besides, my clothes are all on shore, and that will be an excuse for a few hours.”
Our two midshipmen applied for leave the next morning to be off in the afternoon. The first lieutenant gave them permission. They hastened to the hotel, sent for Don Philip, and made him a party to their plan. He readily promised his assistance, for he had resolved that our hero should marry his sister, and was fearful of the effect of his absence, coupled with Friar Thomaso’s influence over his mother. He went to the surgeon of his regiment, who immediately entered into the scheme.
Our two midshipmen got into a caricola, rattled up and down the streets, and perceiving Captain Wilson at his window flogged the horse into a gallop: when abreast of the barracks Jack ran the wheel against a bank, and threw himself and Gascoigne out. Midshipmen are never hurt by these accidents, but fortunately for the success of the enterprise their faces were cut and bruised. Don Philip was standing by: he called the men to pick up our two scamps, carried them into the barracks, and sent for the surgeons, who undressed them, put Jack’s left leg into a multitude of splints, and did the same to Gascoigne’s arm. They were then put to bed, their contused faces with the blood, leftin statu quo, while Don Philip sent an orderly, as from the commandant, to Captain Wilson, to acquaint him that two of his officers had been thrown out of a caricola, and were lying dangerously hurt at the barracks.
“Good heavens, it must be Mr Easy and Mr Gascoigne!” said Captain Wilson, when the intelligence was communicated; “I saw them galloping down the street like two madmen just now. Coxswain, take the gig on board and tell the surgeon to come on shore immediately, and bring him up to me at the barracks.”
Captain Wilson then put on his hat, buckled on his sword, and hastened to ascertain the extent of the injury. Don Philip kept out of the way, but the captain was ushered into the room by one of the officers, where he found, in two beds, our two midshipmen stretched out, the surgeon of the forces and the regimental surgeon in consultation between them, while attendants were standing by each bed with restoratives. The medical gentlemen saluted Captain Wilson, and looked very grave, talked about fractures, contusions, injuries, in the most interminable manner—hoped that Mr Easy would recover—but had doubts. The other gentleman might do well with care; that is, as far as his arm was concerned, but there appeared to be a concussion of the brain. Captain Wilson looked at the cut and blood-smeared faces of the two young men, and waited with anxiety the arrival of his own surgeon, who came at last, puffing with the haste he had made, and received the report of the brothers of the faculty.
The leg of Mr Easy fractured in two places—had been set—bone protruding—impossible to move him. Gascoigne, arm, compound fracture—concussion of the brain not certain. Now, that all this would have been discovered to be false if the surgeon had been able to examine, is true; but how could he not credit the surgeon of the forces and the regimental surgeon, and how could he put the young men to fresh tortures by removing splints and unsetting limbs? Politeness, if nothing else, prevented his so doing, for it would have been as much as to say that either he did not credit their report, or that he doubted their skill. He looked at our hero and his companion, who kept their eyes closed, and breathed heavily with their mouths open, put on a grave face as well as his brothers in the art, and reported to Captain Wilson.
“But when can they be moved, Mr Daly?” inquired the latter; “I cannot wait; we must sail to-morrow, or the next day at the farthest.”
The surgeon, as in duty bound, put the question to the others, who replied that there would be great risk in removing before the fever, which might be expected the next day, and which might last ten days; but that Captain Wilson had better not think of removing them, as they should have every care and attention where they were and could rejoin the ship at Malta. Mr Daly, the surgeon, agreed that this would be the most prudent step, and Captain Wilson then gave his consent.
That being settled, he walked up to the bed of Gascoigne, and spoke to him; but Gascoigne knew that he was to have a concussion of the brain, and he made no reply, nor gave any signs of knowing that Captain Wilson was near him. He then went to our hero, who, at the sound of Captain Wilson’s voice, slowly opened his eyes without moving his head, and appeared to recognise him.
“Are you in much pain, Easy?” said the captain kindly.
Easy closed his eyes again, and murmured, “Mesty, Mesty!”
“He wants his servant, the ship’s corporal, sir,” said the surgeon.
“Well,” replied Captain Wilson, “he had better have him: he is a faithful fellow, and will nurse him well. When you go on board, Mr Daly, desire the first lieutenant to send Mesty on shore with Mr Gascoigne’s and Mr Easy’s chests, and his own bag and hammock. Good heavens! I would not for a thousand pounds that this accident had occurred. Poor foolish boys—they run in couples, and if one’s in a scrape the other is sure to share it. Gentlemen, I return you many thanks for your kindness, and I must accept of your promised care for my unfortunate officers. I sail to-morrow at daylight. You will oblige me by informing their friends, the Rebieras, of their mischance, as I am sure they will contribute all they can to their comfort.” So saying, Captain Wilson bowed and quitted the room, followed by the surgeon.
As soon as the door was closed the two midshipmen turned their heads round and looked at each other, but they were afraid to speak at first, in case of the return of the surgeon. As soon as it was announced to them that Captain Wilson and Mr Daly were outside the barrack gates our hero commenced—“Do you know, Ned, that my conscience smites me, and if it had not been that I should have betrayed those who wish to oblige us, when poor Captain Wilson appeared so much hurt and annoyed at our accident, I was very near getting up and telling him of the imposition, to relieve his mind.”
“I agree with you, Jack, and I felt much the same—but what’s done cannot be undone. We must now keep up the imposition for the sake of those who, to help us, have deceived him.”
“I don’t think that you would find an English surgeon who would have consented to such an imposition.”
“No, that is certain; but after all, it is an imposition that has hurt nobody.”
“Oh, I do not wish to moralise—but I repent of my share in the deceit; and had it to be done over again I would not consent to it.”
“Not even for —? but I won’t mention her name in barracks.”
“I don’t know,” replied Jack; “but let’s say no more about it, and thank these gentlemen for their kindness.”
“Yes, but we must keep it up until we see theAuroraunder all sail.”
“And longer too,” replied Jack; “we must not let the affair get wind even on shore. We must not recover quickly, but still appear to recover. Don Rebiera and his wife must be deceived. I have a plot in my head, but I cannot work it out clear until I see Mesty.”
Don Philip now came in. He had seen Captain Wilson, who had requested him to look after the two invalids, and stated his intention to sail the next morning. They consulted with him, and it was agreed that no one should be acquainted with the real fact but his brother Martin, and that all Palermo should be as much deceived as Captain Wilson, for if not, it would put Father Thomaso on thequi vive, and make him fulminate more than ever. Our midshipmen ate an excellent dinner, and then remained in bed conversing till it was time to go to sleep; but long before that, Mesty had made his appearance with their clothes. The eyes of the Ashantee said all that was necessary—he never spoke a word, but unlashed his hammock and lay down in a corner, and they were soon all three asleep.
The next morning Captain Wilson called to ascertain how our hero and his companion were, but the room had been darkened, and he could not see their faces plainly. Easy thanked him for his kindness in allowing Mesty to attend them, and having received his orders as to their joining the ship as soon as they recovered, and having promised to be very cautious in their behaviour and keep out of all scrapes, he wished them a speedy recovery, and departed.
In little more than half an hour afterwards, Mesty, who had been peeping out of the shutters, suddenly threw them open with a loud laugh.
TheAurorawas under way, with studding sails below and aloft, standing out of the roads. Jack and Gascoigne got up, threw off the splints, and danced about in their shirts. As soon as they were quiet again, Mesty said in a grave tone, “Den why you stay at sea, Massa Easy?”
“Very true, Mesty, I’ve asked myself that question often enough lately; because I’m a fool, I suppose.”
“And I, because I can’t help it,” replied Gascoigne; “never mind, we are on shore now, and I look for a famous cruise.”
“But first we must see what the ground is we are to cruise on,” replied Jack; “so, Mesty, let us have a palaver, as they say in your country.”
The two midshipmen got into their beds, and Mesty sat on the chest between them, looking as grave as a judge. The question was, how to get rid of the padre Thomaso. Was he to be thrown over the molehead to the fishes—or his skull broke—was Mesty’s knife to be resorted to—was he to be kidnapped or poisoned—or were fair means to be employed—persuasion, bribery? Every one knows how difficult it is to get rid of a priest.
As our hero and Gascoigne were not Italians, they thought that bribery would be the more English-like way of doing the thing; so they composed a letter, to be delivered by Mesty to the friar, in which Jack offered to Father Thomaso the moderate sum of one thousand dollars, provided he would allow the marriage to proceed, and not frighten the old lady with ecclesiastical squibs and crackers.
As Mesty was often on shore with Jack, and knew the friar very well by sight, it was agreed that the letter should be confided to his charge; but, as it was not consistent that a person in such a state as our hero was represented to be should sit up and write letters, the delivery was deferred for a few days, when, after waiting that time, Mesty delivered the letter to the friar, and made signs that he was to take back the answer. The friar beckoned him that he was to accompany him to his room, where he read the letter, and then again made signs to him to follow him. The friar led the way to his monastery, and as soon as Mesty was in his cell, he summoned another who could speak English to act as interpreter.
“Is your master recovering?”
“Yes,” replied Mesty, “he is at present doing well.”
“Have you served him long?”
“No,” replied Mesty.
“Are you very fond of him? does he treat you well, give you plenty of money?”
At these questions, the artful black conceived that there was something in the wind, and he therefore very quietly replied, “I do not care much for him.”
The friar fixed his keen eye upon Mesty, and perceived there was a savage look about the black, from which he augured that he was a man who would suit his purpose.
“Your master offers me a thousand dollars; would you wish to gain this money for yourself?”
Mesty grinned and showed his sharp-filed teeth.
“It would make me a rich man in my own country.”
“It would,” replied the friar; “now you shall have it, if you will only give your master a small powder.”
“I understand,” replied Mesty; “hab those things in my country.”
“Well—do you consent?—if so, I will write the letter to get the money.”
“Suppose they find me out?” replied Mesty.
“You will be safe, and you shall be sent away as soon as possible—say, will you consent?”
“The whole thousand dollars?”
“Every one of them.”
“Den give me the powder?”
“Stay a little,” replied the friar, who went out of the cell, and, in about ten minutes, returned with an answer to our hero’s letter and a paper containing a grayish powder.
“Give him this in his soup or anything—spread it on his meat, or mix it up with his sugar if he eats an orange.”
“I see,” replied Mesty.
“The dollars shall be yours. I swear it on the holy cross.”
Mesty grinned horribly, took his credentials, and then asked, “When I come again?”
“As soon as you have received the money bring it to me at Don Rebiera’s—then give the powder: as soon as it is given you must let me know, for you must not remain in Palermo. I will myself conduct you to a place of safety.”
Mesty then quitted the cell and was shown out of the monastery.
“By de holy poker he one damn rascal!” muttered Mesty, as he was once in the open air. “But stop a little.”
The Ashantee soon arrived at the barracks, and repeated the whole of the conference between him and the Friar Thomaso.
“It must be poison, of course,” observed Gascoigne; “suppose we try it upon some animal?”
“No, Massa Gascoigne,” replied Mesty, “I try it myself, by-and-bye. Now what we do?”
“I must give you the order for the thousand dollars, Mesty,” replied Jack. “The rascal here writes to me that for that sum he will consent not only not to oppose me, but agrees to assist my cause; but the great question is, whether he will keep his word with you, Mesty; if not, I shall lose my money. So therefore we must now have another palaver and argue the point.”
The point was argued between Jack and Gascoigne. A thousand dollars was a large sum, but Jack’s father was a philosopher. After manyprosandcons, it was as last decided that the money should be given to Mesty; but that Mesty should state, when he took the money to the friar, that he had administered the powder, and claim it when he presented it.
The next day the order for the money was given to Mesty, and he went to the Friar Thomaso with it. The friar hastened with Mesty to the monastery and sent for the interpreter.
“You have given it?” inquired the friar.
“Yes—not one hour ago. Here de order for de money.”
“You must run for the money before he is dead, for the powder is very rapid.”
“And me,” replied Mesty, apparently much alarmed, “where am I to go?”
“As soon as you bring the money here, you must go back to the barracks. Remain there till he is dead, and then return here. I will have all ready, and take you, as soon as it is dusk, to a monastery of our order in the mountains, where no one will think of looking for you till the affair is blown over; and then I will find you a passage in some vessel out of the island.”
Mesty hastened for the money, and taking it in a large bag to the monastery, delivered it to the friar’s charge, and then returned to the barracks to Easy and Gascoigne. It was agreed that he should go with the friar, who would probably remain away some time; indeed, Mesty insisted upon so doing. Mesty stayed two hours, and then returned about dusk to the monastery, and reported the death of our hero. He remained there until it was dark, and then the friar ordered him to tie the bag of dollars to his saddle-bow. They mounted two mules, which stood already caparisoned, and quitted Palermo.
In the morning, Don Philip, as usual, made his appearance, and told our hero that the friar had been summoned away by the abbot, and would not return for some time.
“I came to tell you this news,” said Don Philip, “as I thought it would please you; the sooner you are now well, the better. I mean to propose your both being removed to my father’s palazzo, and then you can recover your lost ground during the confessor’s absence.”
“And I have the means,” replied Jack, showing the friar’s letter. Don Philip read it with astonishment, but was still more surprised when he heard the whole story from Jack. He was for a time silent: at last he said:
“I am sorry for your poor black.”
“Why so?” replied Jack.
“You will never see him again, depend upon it. A thousand dollars would sign the death-warrant of a thousand blacks; but there is another reason—they will put him out of the way that he may not give evidence. Where is the powder?”
“Mesty has it; he would not part with it.”
“He is a shrewd fellow, that black; he may be too much for the friar,” replied Don Philip.
“He means mischief, I’m sure,” replied Gascoigne.
“Still I feel a great deal of alarm about him,” replied Easy; “I wish now that I had not let him go.”
“Are you sure that he went?”
“No, I am not; but the friar told him that he should take him to the mountains as soon as it was dark.”
“And probably he will,” replied Don Philip, “as the best place to get rid of him. However, the whole of this story must be told both to my father and my mother; to the former that he may take the right measures, and to my mother that it may open her eyes. Give me the copy of the letter you wrote to the friar, and then I shall have it all.”
The report of the accident which had occurred to Easy and Gascoigne had been spread and fully believed throughout Palermo. Indeed, as usual, it had been magnified, and asserted that they could not recover. To Agnes only had the case been imparted in confidence by Don Philip, for her distress at the first intelligence had been so great that her brother could not conceal it.
Two days after Don Philip had made his parents acquainted with the villainy of the friar, the midshipmen were transported to the palazzo, much to the surprise of everybody, and much to the renown of the surgeons, who were indemnified for their duplicity and falsehood by an amazing extension of their credit as skilful men.
After their arrival at the palazzo, Don Rebiera was also entrusted with the secret, but it went no further. As now there was no particular hurry for our hero to get well, he was contented and happy in the society of Agnes and her parents; the old lady, after she had been informed of the conduct of Friar Thomaso, having turned round in our hero’s favour, and made a vow never to have a confessor in the house again. Jack and Gascoigne were now as happy as could be; all their alarm was about Mesty, for whose return they were most anxious.
To Don Rebiera Jack made known formally his intentions with regard to Agnes. He fully satisfied him as to his qualifications and his property, and Don Rebiera was fully aware of his debt of gratitude to our hero. But all he required was the consent of Jack’s father, and until this was obtained, he would not consent to the marriage taking place. Jack attempted to argue the point; his father, he said, had married without consulting him, and therefore he had a right to marry without consulting his father. But Don Rebiera, not having any acquaintance with the rights of man and equality, did not feel the full force of Jack’s argument, and made it asine quâ nonthat his parents should write and consent to the alliance before it took place.
Chapter Thirty Three.In which Mesty should be called throughout Mephistopheles, for it abounds in black cloaks, disguises, daggers, and dark deeds.On the fourth evening after the removal of our two midshipmen to the palazzo of Don Rebiera, as they were sitting in company with Agnes and Don Philip in their own room, a friar made his appearance at the door. They all started, for by his height they imagined him to be the Friar Thomaso, but no one addressed him. The friar shut the door without saying a word, and then lifting up his cowl, which had been drawn over it, discovered the black face of Mesty. Agnes screamed, and all sprang from their seats at this unusual and unexpected apparition. Mesty grinned, and there was that in his countenance which said that he had much to communicate.“Where is the friar, Mesty?” inquired Easy.“Stop a little, Massa—suppose we lock door first, and den I tell all.”Taking this precaution, Mesty threw off the friar’s gown, and appeared in his own dress, with the bag of dollars slung round his body.“Now, Massa Easy, I hab a long tory to tell—so I tink I better begin at the beginning.”“It is the most approved method,” replied Jack; “but stop when I hold up my finger, that we may translate what you say to the lady and Don Philip.”“Dat all right, sar. Friar and I get on two mule as soon as it quite dark. He make me carry all tousand dollars—and we ride out of town. We go up mountain and mountain, but the moon get up shine and we go on cheek by jowl—he nebber say one word, and I nebber say one word, ’cause I no speak his lingo, and he no understand my English. About two o’clock in de morning, we stop at a house and stay dere till eight o’clock, and den we go on again all next day, up all mountain, only stop once, eat a bit bread and drink lilly wine. Second night come on, and den we stop again, and people bow very low to him, and woman bring in rabbit for make supper. I go in the kitchen, woman make stew smell very nice, so I nod my head, and I say very good, and she make a face, and throw on table black loaf of bread and garlic, and make sign dat for my supper; good enough for black fellow, and dat rabbit stew for friar. Den I say to myself, stop a little; suppose friar hab all de rabbit, I tink I give him a lilly powder.”“The powder, Mesty?” exclaimed Jack.“What does he say?” inquired Don Philip.Gascoigne translated all that Mesty had communicated. The interest of the narrative now became exciting. Mesty continued:“Well, Massa Easy, den woman she go for dish to put stew in, and I take de powder and drop it in de pot, and den I sit down again and eat black bread, she say good enough for black man. She stir up de stew once more, and den she pour it out into dish, and take it to friar. He lick um chops, by all de powers, and he like um so well he pick all de bones, and wipe up gravy with him bread. You tink it very nice, Massa Friar, tink I; but stop a little. After he drink a whole bottle of wine he tell em bring mules to de door, and he put him hands on de woman head, and dat de way he pay for him supper.“The moon shone bright, and we go up all mountain, always go up, and ’bout two hour, he got off him mule and he put him hand so, and set down on de rock. He twist, and he turn and he groan for half an hour, and den he look at me, as much as to say, you black villain, you do this? for he not able to speak, and den I pull out de paper of de powder, and I show him, and make him sign he swallow it: he look again, and I laugh at him—and he die.”“Oh Mesty, Mesty,” exclaimed our hero; “you should not have done that—there will be mischief come from it.”“Now he dead, Massa Easy, so much less mischief.”Gascoigne then interpreted to Don Philip and Agnes, the former of whom looked very grave and the latter terrified.“Let him go on,” said Don Philip; “I am most anxious to hear what he did with the body.”Mesty, at the request of our hero, proceeded: “Den I thought what I should do, and I said I would hide him, and I tink I take his coat for myself—so I pull off him coat and I pull off all his oder clothes—he not wear many—and I take the body in my arm and carry him where I find a great split in de rock above all road. I throw him in, and den I throw plenty large pieces rock on him till I no see him any more; den I take de two mules and get on mine wid de dollars, and lead the other three four mile, till I come to a large wood—take off him saddle and bridle, turn him adrift. Den I tear up all clothes all in lilly bits, hide one piece here, noder piece dere, and de saddle and bridle in de bush. All right now, I say; so put on friar cloak, hide my face, get on my mule, and den I look where I shall go—so I say, I not be in dis road anyhow. I passed through wood till I find nother. I go ’bout two mile—moon go down, all dark, and five six men catch hold my bridle, and they all got arms, so I do nothing—they speak to me, but I no answer, and neber show my face. They find all dollars (damn um) fast enough, and they lead me away through the wood. Last we come to large fire in de wood, plenty of men lie ’bout, some eat and some drink. They pull me off, and I hold down my head and fold my arms, just like friar do. They bring me along to one man, and pour out all my dollar before him. He give some order, and they take me away, and I peep through the cloak, and I say to myself, he that damn galley—slave rascal Don Silvio.”“Don Silvio!” cried Jack.“What does he say of Don Silvio?” demanded Don Philip.Mesty’s narrative was again translated, and he continued.“Dey lead me away ’bout fifty yards, tie me to tree, and den dey leave me, and dey all drink and make merry, neber offer me anyting; so I hab noting den to eat. I eat de ropes and gnaw them through, and den I stay there two hour until all go asleep, and all quiet; for I say to myself, stop a little. Den when dey all fast asleep, I take out my knife and I crawl ’long de ground, as we do in our country sometime—and den I stop and look ’bout me; no man watch but two, and dey look out for squarl, not look in board where I was. I crawl ’gain till I lay down ’longside that damn galley-slave Don Silvio. He lie fast asleep with my bag thousand dollars under him head. So I tink, ‘you not hab dem long, you rascal.’ I look round—all right, and I drive my knife good aim into him heart, and press toder hand on him mouth, but he make no noise; he struggle little and look up, and den I throw off de head of de gown and show him my black face, and he look and he try to speak; but I stop dat, for down go my knife, again, and de damn galley-slave dead as herring.”“Stop, Mesty, we must tell this to Don Philip,” said Gascoigne.“Dead, Don Silvio dead! well, Mesty, we are eternally obliged to you, for there was no safety for my father while he was living. Let him go on.”“So when I put de knife through his body, I lie down by him, as if noting had happened, for ten minute, and den I take de bag of dollars from under him head, and den I feel him all over, and I find him pistols and him purse, which I hab here, all gold. So I take them and I look—all asleep, and I crawl back to de tree. Den I stay to tink a little; de man on watch come up and look at me, but he tink all right and he go away again. Lucky ting, by de power, dat I go back to tree. I wait again, and den I crawl and crawl till I clear of all, and den I take to my heel and run for um life, till daylight come, and den I so tired I lie down in bush: I stay in bush all day, and den I set off again back here, for I find road and know my way. I not eat den for one day and one night, and come to house where I put my head in and find woman there. I not able to speak, so I help myself, and not show my face. She not like dat and make a bobbery, but I lift up my cloak and show my black face and white teeth, and den she tink me de debil. She ran out of de house and I help myself very quick, and den set off and come close here yesterday morning. I hide myself all day and come in at night, and now, Massa Easy, you ab all de whole truth—and you ab your tousand dollars—and you ab got rid of de rascal friar and de damn galley-slave Don Silvio.”“Tell them all this, Ned,” said Jack, who, whilst Gascoigne was so employed, talked with Mesty.“I was very much frightened for you, Mesty,” said Jack; “but still I thought you quite as cunning as the friar, and so it has turned out; but the thousand dollars ought to be yours.”“No, sar,” replied Mesty, “the dollars not mine; but I hab plenty of gold in Don Silvio’s purse—plenty, plenty of gold. I keep my property, Massa Easy, and you keep yours.”“I’m afraid that this affair may be found out, Mesty; the woman will spread the report of having been attacked by a black friar, and that will lead to suspicion, as the other friars of the convent knew that you left with Friar Thomaso.”“So I tink dat, but when a man starve, he quite forget his thought.”“I don’t blame you; but now I must talk to Don Philip.”“Suppose you no objection, while you talk I eat something from the table then, Massa Easy; for I hungry enough to eat de friar, mule and all.”“Eat, my good fellow, and drink as much as you please.”The consultation between our two midshipmen and Don Philip was not long: they perceived the immediate necessity for the departure of Mesty, and the suspicion which would attach to themselves. Don Philip and Agnes left them, to go to Don Rebiera, and make him acquainted with what had passed, and to ask his advice.When they went into the room, Don Rebiera immediately accosted his son.“Have you heard, Philip, that Friar Thomaso has returned at last?—so the servants tell me.”“The report may be fortunate,” replied Don Philip; “but I have another story to tell you.”He then sat down and imparted to Don Rebiera all the adventures of Mesty. Don Rebiera was for some time in deep thought; at last he replied:“That Don Silvio is no more is fortunate, and the negro would be entitled to reward for his destruction—but for the friar, that is a bad business. The negro might remain and tell the whole story, and the facts might be proved by the evidence of Signor Easy and the letters; but what then? we should raise the whole host of the clergy against our house, and we have suffered too much from them already; the best plan would be the immediate departure, not only of the negro, but of our two young friends. The supposition of Friar Thomaso being here, and their departure with the negro servant to rejoin their ship, will remove much suspicion and destroy all inquiry. They must be off immediately. Go to them, Philip, and point out to them the absolute necessity of this measure, and tell our young friend that I rigidly adhere to my promise, and as soon as he has his father’s sanction I will bestow upon him my daughter. In the meantime I will send down and see if a vessel can be chartered for Malta.”Our hero and Gascoigne fully admitted the wisdom of this measure, and prepared for their departure; indeed, now that Don Rebiera’s resolution had been made known to our hero, he cared more for obtaining his father’s consent than he did for remaining to enjoy himself at Palermo, and before noon of the next day all was ready, the vessel had been procured, Jack took his leave of Agnes and her mother, and accompanied by Don Rebiera and Don Philip (for Don Martin was on duty a few miles from Palermo), went down to the beach, and having bid them farewell embarked with Gascoigne and Mesty on board of the two-masted lateen which had been engaged, and before sunset not a steeple of Palermo was to be seen.“What are you thinking of, Jack?” said Gascoigne, after our hero had been silent half an hour.“I have been thinking, Ned, that we are well out of it.”“So do I,” replied Gascoigne; and here the conversation dropped for a time.“What are you thinking of now, Jack?” said Gascoigne after a long pause.“I’ve been thinking that I’ve a good story for the old Governor.”“Very true,” replied Gascoigne; and both were again silent for some time.“What are you thinking of now, Jack?” said Gascoigne, after another long interval.“I’ve been thinking that I shall leave the service,” replied Jack.“I wish you would take me with you,” replied Gascoigne, with a sigh; and again they were both in deep contemplation.“What are you thinking of now, Jack?” said Gascoigne again.“Of Agnes,” replied our hero.“Well, if that’s the case I’ll call you when supper’s ready. In the meantime I’ll go and talk with Mesty.”
On the fourth evening after the removal of our two midshipmen to the palazzo of Don Rebiera, as they were sitting in company with Agnes and Don Philip in their own room, a friar made his appearance at the door. They all started, for by his height they imagined him to be the Friar Thomaso, but no one addressed him. The friar shut the door without saying a word, and then lifting up his cowl, which had been drawn over it, discovered the black face of Mesty. Agnes screamed, and all sprang from their seats at this unusual and unexpected apparition. Mesty grinned, and there was that in his countenance which said that he had much to communicate.
“Where is the friar, Mesty?” inquired Easy.
“Stop a little, Massa—suppose we lock door first, and den I tell all.”
Taking this precaution, Mesty threw off the friar’s gown, and appeared in his own dress, with the bag of dollars slung round his body.
“Now, Massa Easy, I hab a long tory to tell—so I tink I better begin at the beginning.”
“It is the most approved method,” replied Jack; “but stop when I hold up my finger, that we may translate what you say to the lady and Don Philip.”
“Dat all right, sar. Friar and I get on two mule as soon as it quite dark. He make me carry all tousand dollars—and we ride out of town. We go up mountain and mountain, but the moon get up shine and we go on cheek by jowl—he nebber say one word, and I nebber say one word, ’cause I no speak his lingo, and he no understand my English. About two o’clock in de morning, we stop at a house and stay dere till eight o’clock, and den we go on again all next day, up all mountain, only stop once, eat a bit bread and drink lilly wine. Second night come on, and den we stop again, and people bow very low to him, and woman bring in rabbit for make supper. I go in the kitchen, woman make stew smell very nice, so I nod my head, and I say very good, and she make a face, and throw on table black loaf of bread and garlic, and make sign dat for my supper; good enough for black fellow, and dat rabbit stew for friar. Den I say to myself, stop a little; suppose friar hab all de rabbit, I tink I give him a lilly powder.”
“The powder, Mesty?” exclaimed Jack.
“What does he say?” inquired Don Philip.
Gascoigne translated all that Mesty had communicated. The interest of the narrative now became exciting. Mesty continued:
“Well, Massa Easy, den woman she go for dish to put stew in, and I take de powder and drop it in de pot, and den I sit down again and eat black bread, she say good enough for black man. She stir up de stew once more, and den she pour it out into dish, and take it to friar. He lick um chops, by all de powers, and he like um so well he pick all de bones, and wipe up gravy with him bread. You tink it very nice, Massa Friar, tink I; but stop a little. After he drink a whole bottle of wine he tell em bring mules to de door, and he put him hands on de woman head, and dat de way he pay for him supper.
“The moon shone bright, and we go up all mountain, always go up, and ’bout two hour, he got off him mule and he put him hand so, and set down on de rock. He twist, and he turn and he groan for half an hour, and den he look at me, as much as to say, you black villain, you do this? for he not able to speak, and den I pull out de paper of de powder, and I show him, and make him sign he swallow it: he look again, and I laugh at him—and he die.”
“Oh Mesty, Mesty,” exclaimed our hero; “you should not have done that—there will be mischief come from it.”
“Now he dead, Massa Easy, so much less mischief.”
Gascoigne then interpreted to Don Philip and Agnes, the former of whom looked very grave and the latter terrified.
“Let him go on,” said Don Philip; “I am most anxious to hear what he did with the body.”
Mesty, at the request of our hero, proceeded: “Den I thought what I should do, and I said I would hide him, and I tink I take his coat for myself—so I pull off him coat and I pull off all his oder clothes—he not wear many—and I take the body in my arm and carry him where I find a great split in de rock above all road. I throw him in, and den I throw plenty large pieces rock on him till I no see him any more; den I take de two mules and get on mine wid de dollars, and lead the other three four mile, till I come to a large wood—take off him saddle and bridle, turn him adrift. Den I tear up all clothes all in lilly bits, hide one piece here, noder piece dere, and de saddle and bridle in de bush. All right now, I say; so put on friar cloak, hide my face, get on my mule, and den I look where I shall go—so I say, I not be in dis road anyhow. I passed through wood till I find nother. I go ’bout two mile—moon go down, all dark, and five six men catch hold my bridle, and they all got arms, so I do nothing—they speak to me, but I no answer, and neber show my face. They find all dollars (damn um) fast enough, and they lead me away through the wood. Last we come to large fire in de wood, plenty of men lie ’bout, some eat and some drink. They pull me off, and I hold down my head and fold my arms, just like friar do. They bring me along to one man, and pour out all my dollar before him. He give some order, and they take me away, and I peep through the cloak, and I say to myself, he that damn galley—slave rascal Don Silvio.”
“Don Silvio!” cried Jack.
“What does he say of Don Silvio?” demanded Don Philip.
Mesty’s narrative was again translated, and he continued.
“Dey lead me away ’bout fifty yards, tie me to tree, and den dey leave me, and dey all drink and make merry, neber offer me anyting; so I hab noting den to eat. I eat de ropes and gnaw them through, and den I stay there two hour until all go asleep, and all quiet; for I say to myself, stop a little. Den when dey all fast asleep, I take out my knife and I crawl ’long de ground, as we do in our country sometime—and den I stop and look ’bout me; no man watch but two, and dey look out for squarl, not look in board where I was. I crawl ’gain till I lay down ’longside that damn galley-slave Don Silvio. He lie fast asleep with my bag thousand dollars under him head. So I tink, ‘you not hab dem long, you rascal.’ I look round—all right, and I drive my knife good aim into him heart, and press toder hand on him mouth, but he make no noise; he struggle little and look up, and den I throw off de head of de gown and show him my black face, and he look and he try to speak; but I stop dat, for down go my knife, again, and de damn galley-slave dead as herring.”
“Stop, Mesty, we must tell this to Don Philip,” said Gascoigne.
“Dead, Don Silvio dead! well, Mesty, we are eternally obliged to you, for there was no safety for my father while he was living. Let him go on.”
“So when I put de knife through his body, I lie down by him, as if noting had happened, for ten minute, and den I take de bag of dollars from under him head, and den I feel him all over, and I find him pistols and him purse, which I hab here, all gold. So I take them and I look—all asleep, and I crawl back to de tree. Den I stay to tink a little; de man on watch come up and look at me, but he tink all right and he go away again. Lucky ting, by de power, dat I go back to tree. I wait again, and den I crawl and crawl till I clear of all, and den I take to my heel and run for um life, till daylight come, and den I so tired I lie down in bush: I stay in bush all day, and den I set off again back here, for I find road and know my way. I not eat den for one day and one night, and come to house where I put my head in and find woman there. I not able to speak, so I help myself, and not show my face. She not like dat and make a bobbery, but I lift up my cloak and show my black face and white teeth, and den she tink me de debil. She ran out of de house and I help myself very quick, and den set off and come close here yesterday morning. I hide myself all day and come in at night, and now, Massa Easy, you ab all de whole truth—and you ab your tousand dollars—and you ab got rid of de rascal friar and de damn galley-slave Don Silvio.”
“Tell them all this, Ned,” said Jack, who, whilst Gascoigne was so employed, talked with Mesty.
“I was very much frightened for you, Mesty,” said Jack; “but still I thought you quite as cunning as the friar, and so it has turned out; but the thousand dollars ought to be yours.”
“No, sar,” replied Mesty, “the dollars not mine; but I hab plenty of gold in Don Silvio’s purse—plenty, plenty of gold. I keep my property, Massa Easy, and you keep yours.”
“I’m afraid that this affair may be found out, Mesty; the woman will spread the report of having been attacked by a black friar, and that will lead to suspicion, as the other friars of the convent knew that you left with Friar Thomaso.”
“So I tink dat, but when a man starve, he quite forget his thought.”
“I don’t blame you; but now I must talk to Don Philip.”
“Suppose you no objection, while you talk I eat something from the table then, Massa Easy; for I hungry enough to eat de friar, mule and all.”
“Eat, my good fellow, and drink as much as you please.”
The consultation between our two midshipmen and Don Philip was not long: they perceived the immediate necessity for the departure of Mesty, and the suspicion which would attach to themselves. Don Philip and Agnes left them, to go to Don Rebiera, and make him acquainted with what had passed, and to ask his advice.
When they went into the room, Don Rebiera immediately accosted his son.
“Have you heard, Philip, that Friar Thomaso has returned at last?—so the servants tell me.”
“The report may be fortunate,” replied Don Philip; “but I have another story to tell you.”
He then sat down and imparted to Don Rebiera all the adventures of Mesty. Don Rebiera was for some time in deep thought; at last he replied:
“That Don Silvio is no more is fortunate, and the negro would be entitled to reward for his destruction—but for the friar, that is a bad business. The negro might remain and tell the whole story, and the facts might be proved by the evidence of Signor Easy and the letters; but what then? we should raise the whole host of the clergy against our house, and we have suffered too much from them already; the best plan would be the immediate departure, not only of the negro, but of our two young friends. The supposition of Friar Thomaso being here, and their departure with the negro servant to rejoin their ship, will remove much suspicion and destroy all inquiry. They must be off immediately. Go to them, Philip, and point out to them the absolute necessity of this measure, and tell our young friend that I rigidly adhere to my promise, and as soon as he has his father’s sanction I will bestow upon him my daughter. In the meantime I will send down and see if a vessel can be chartered for Malta.”
Our hero and Gascoigne fully admitted the wisdom of this measure, and prepared for their departure; indeed, now that Don Rebiera’s resolution had been made known to our hero, he cared more for obtaining his father’s consent than he did for remaining to enjoy himself at Palermo, and before noon of the next day all was ready, the vessel had been procured, Jack took his leave of Agnes and her mother, and accompanied by Don Rebiera and Don Philip (for Don Martin was on duty a few miles from Palermo), went down to the beach, and having bid them farewell embarked with Gascoigne and Mesty on board of the two-masted lateen which had been engaged, and before sunset not a steeple of Palermo was to be seen.
“What are you thinking of, Jack?” said Gascoigne, after our hero had been silent half an hour.
“I have been thinking, Ned, that we are well out of it.”
“So do I,” replied Gascoigne; and here the conversation dropped for a time.
“What are you thinking of now, Jack?” said Gascoigne after a long pause.
“I’ve been thinking that I’ve a good story for the old Governor.”
“Very true,” replied Gascoigne; and both were again silent for some time.
“What are you thinking of now, Jack?” said Gascoigne, after another long interval.
“I’ve been thinking that I shall leave the service,” replied Jack.
“I wish you would take me with you,” replied Gascoigne, with a sigh; and again they were both in deep contemplation.
“What are you thinking of now, Jack?” said Gascoigne again.
“Of Agnes,” replied our hero.
“Well, if that’s the case I’ll call you when supper’s ready. In the meantime I’ll go and talk with Mesty.”