"No such person has ever been in Naples."
"Why, was she not picked up adrift? and where could they have taken her?"
"She never was picked up. Rely upon that. No such ship as the one she mentions has ever been here."
"Then she has written down 'Naples' in mistake," cried Zillah, while a shudder passed through her at Obed's frightful insinuation.
"No," said Obed. "She wrote it down deliberately, and wrote it several times. Her repetition of that name, her description of the charms of Naples, show that she did this intentionally. Besides, your envelope has the Naples postage stamps and the Naples post-marks. It was mailed here, whether it was written here or not. It was sent from here to fetch you to this place, on this journey, which resulted as you remember."
"Oh, my God!" cried Zillah, as the full horror of Obed's meaning began to dawn upon her. "What do you mean? What do you mean? Do you wish to drive me to utter despair? Tell me where you have been and what you have done. Oh, my God! Is any new grief coming?"
"My child, the Lord on high knows," said Obed Chute, with solemn emphasis, "that I would cut off my right hand with my own bowie-knife, rather than bring back to you the news I do. But what can be done? It is best for you to know the whole truth, bitter as it is."
"Go on," said Zillah, with an effort to be calm.
"Come," said Obed, and he led her to a seat. "Calm yourself, and prepare for the worst. For at the outset, and by way of preparation and warning, I will say that yours is a little the darkest case that I ever got acquainted with. The worst of it is that there is ever so much behind it all which I don't know any thing about."
Zillah leaned her head upon her hand and looked at him with awful forebodings.
"When I left you," said Obed Chute, "I went at once to the Hotel de l'Europe, expecting to find her there, or at least to hear of her. I will not relate the particulars of my inquiry there. I will only say that no such person as Miss Lorton had been there. I found, however, that the police had been watching there for seven weeks for Gualtier. I went with them to the Prefecture of Police. I gave my letter of introduction from the prefect of Marseilles, and was treated with the utmost attention. The prefect himself informed me that they had been searching into the whole case for weeks. They had examined all the vessels that had arrived, and had inspected all their logs. They had searched through foreign papers. They had visited every house in the city to which a stranger might go. The prefect showed me his voluminous reports, and went with me to the Harbor Bureau to show me the names of ships which arrived here and were owned here. Never could there be a more searching investigation than this had been. What was the result?
"Listen," said Obed, with impressive emphasis, yet compassionately, as Zillah hung upon his words. "I will tell you all in brief. First, no such person as Miss Lorton ever came to the Hotel de l'Europe. Secondly, no such person ever came to Naples at all. Thirdly, no ship arrived here at the date mentioned by your sister. Fourthly, no ship of that name ever came here at all. Fifthly, no ship arrived here at any time this year that had picked up any one at sea. The whole thing is untrue. It is a base fiction made up for some purpose."
"A fiction!" cried Zillah. "Never--never--she could not so deceive me."
"Can the writing be forged?"
"I don't see how it can," said Zillah, piteously. "I know her writing so well," and she drew the letter from her pocket. "See--it is a very peculiar hand--and then, how could any one speak as she does about those things of hers which she wished me to bring? No--it can not be a forgery."
"It is not," said Obed Chute. "It is worse."
"Worse?"
"Yes, worse. If it had been a forgery she would not have been implicated in this. But now she does stand implicated in this horrible betrayal of you."
"Heavens! how terrible! It must be impossible. Oh, Sir! we have lived together and loved one another from childhood. She knows all my heart, as I know hers. How can it be? Perhaps in her confusion she has imagined herself in Naples."
"No," said Obed, sternly. "I have told you about the post-marks."
"Oh, Sir! perhaps her mind was wandering after the suffering of that sea voyage."
"But she never had any voyage," said Obed Chute, grimly. "This letter was written by her somewhere with the intention of making you believe that she was in Naples. It was mailed here. If she had landed in Palermo or any other place you would have had some sign of it. But see--there is not a sign. Nothing but 'Naples' is here, inside and out--nothing but 'Naples;' and she never came to Naples! She wrote this to bring you here."
"Oh, my God! how severely you judge her! You will drive me mad by insinuating such frightful suspicions. How is it possible that one whom I know so well and love so dearly could be such a demon as this? It can not be."
"Listen, my child," said Obed Chute, tenderly. "Strengthen yourself. You have had much to bear in your young life, but this is easier to bear than that was which you must have suffered that morning when you first woke and found the water in your cabin. Tell me--in that hour when you rushed up on deck and saw that you were betrayed--in that hour--did no thought come to your mind that there was some other than Gualtier who brought this upon you?"
Zillah looked at him with a frightened face, and said not a word.
"Better to face the worst. Let the truth be known, and face it, whatever it is. Look, now. She wrote this letter which brought you here--this letter--every word of which is a lie; she it was who sent Gualtier to you to bring you here; she it was who recommended to you that miscreant who betrayed you, on whose tracks the police of France and Italy are already set. How do you suppose she will appear in the eyes of the French police? Guilty, or not guilty?"
Zillah muttered some inarticulate words, and then suddenly gasped out, "But the hat and the basket found by the fishermen?"
"Decoys--common tricks," said Obed Chute, scornfully. "Clumsy enough, but in this case successful."
Zillah groaned, and buried her face in her hands.
A long silence followed.
"My poor child," said Obed Chute at last, "I have been all the day making inquiries every where, and have already engaged the police to search out this mystery. There is one thing yet, however, which I wish to know, and you only can tell it. I am sorry to have to talk in this way, and give you any new troubles, but it is for your sake only, and for your sake there is nothing which I would not do. Will you answer me one question?"
Zillah looked up. Her face had now grown calm. The agitation had passed. The first shock was over, but this calm which followed was the calm of fixed grief--a grief too deep for tears.
"My question is this, and it is a very important one: Do you know, or can you conceive of any motive which could have actuated this person to plot against you in this way?"
"I do not."
"Think."
Zillah thought earnestly. She recalled the past, in which Hilda had always been so devoted; she thought of the dying Earl by whose bedside she had stood so faithfully; she thought of her deep sympathy with her when the writings were found in her father's desk; she thought of that deeper sympathy which she had manifested when Guy's letter was opened; she thought of her noble devotion in giving up all for her and following her into seclusion; she thought of their happy life in that quiet little sea-side cottage. As all these memories rose before her the idea of Hilda being a traitor seemed more impossible than ever. But she no longer uttered any indignant remonstrance.
"I am bewildered," she said. "I can think of nothing but love and fidelity in connection with her. All our lives she has lived with me and loved me. I can not think of any imaginable motive. I can imagine that she, like myself, is the victim of some one else, but not that she can do any thing else than love me."
"Yet she wrote that letter which is the cause of all your grief. Tell me," said he, after a pause, "has she money of her own?"
"Yes--enough for her support."
"Is she your sister?"
Zillah seemed startled.
"I do not wish to intrude into your confidence--I only ask this to gain some light while I am groping in the dark."
"She is not. She is no relation. But she has lived with me all my life, and is the same as a sister."
"Does she treat you as her equal?"
"Yes," said Zillah, with some hesitation, "that is--of late."
"But you have been her superior until of late?"
"Yes."
"Would you have any objection to tell her name?"
"Yes," said Zillah; "I can not tell it. I will tell this much: Lorton is an assumed name. It belongs neither to her nor to me. My name is not Lorton."
"I knew that," said Obed Chute. "I hope you will forgive me. It was not curiosity. I wished to investigate this to the bottom; but I am satisfied--I respect your secret. Will you forgive me for the pain I have caused you?"
Zillah placed her cold hand in his, and said:
"My friend, do not speak so. It hurts me to have you ask my forgiveness."
Obed Chute's face beamed with pleasure.
"My poor child," he said, "you must go and rest yourself. Go and sleep; perhaps you will be better for it."
And Zillah dragged herself out of the room.
CHAPTER XLI.
OBED ON THE RAMPAGE.
A long illness was the immediate result of so much excitement, suffering, and grief. Gradually, however, Zillah struggled through it; and at last, under the genial sky of Southern Italy, she began to regain her usual health. The kindness of her friends was unfaltering and incessant. Through this she was saved, and it was Obed's sister who brought her back from the clutches of fever and the jaws of death. She had as tender a heart as her brother, and had come to love as a sister or a daughter this poor, friendless, childlike girl, who had been thrown upon their hands in so extraordinary a manner. Brought up in that puritanical school which is perpetually on the look-out for "special providences," she regarded Zillah's arrival among them as the most marked special providence which she had ever known, and never ceased to affirm that something wonderful was destined to come of all this. Around this faithful, noble-hearted, puritanical dame, Zillah's affections twined themselves with something like filial tenderness, and she learned in the course of her illness to love that simple, straightforward, but high-souled woman, whose love she had already won. Hitherto she had associated the practice of chivalrous principles and the grand code of honor exclusively with lofty gentlemen like the Earl and her father, or with titled dames; now, however, she learned that here, in Obed Chute, there was as fine an instinct of honor, as delicate a sentiment of loyalty to friendship, as refined a spirit of knight-errantry, as strong a zeal to succor the weak and to become the champion of the oppressed, and as profound a loathing for all that is base and mean, as in either of those grand old gentlemen by whom her character had been moulded. Had Obed Chute been born an English lord his manners might have had a finer polish, but no training known among the sons of men could have given him a truer appreciation of all that is noble and honorable and chivalrous. This man, whose life had been passed in what Zillah considered as "vulgar trade," seemed to her to have a nature as pure and as elevated as that of the Chevalier Bayard, that hero _sans peur et sans reproche_.
Obed, as has already been seen, had a weakness for Neapolitan life, and felt in his inmost soul that strange fascination which this city possesses. He had traversed every nook and corner of Naples, and had visited, with a strange mixture of enthusiasm and practical observation, all its environs. In the course of his wanderings he had fallen in with a party of his countrymen, all of whom were kindred spirits, and who hailed his advent among them with universal appreciation. Without in any way neglecting Zillah, he joined himself to these new friends, and accompanied them in many an excursion into the country about Naples--to Capua, to Cumae, to Paestum, and to many other places. To some of these places it was dangerous to go in these unsettled times; but this party laughed at dangers. They had acquired a good-natured contempt for Italians and Italian courage; and as each man, in spite of the Neapolitan laws, carried his revolver, they were accustomed to venture any where with the most careless ease, and the most profound indifference to any possible danger. In fact, any approach to danger they would have hailed with joy, and to their adventurous temper the appearance of a gang of bandits would have been the greatest blessing which this land could afford.
The whole country was in a most disturbed condition. The Lombard war had diffused a deep excitement among all classes. Every day new rumors arose, and throughout the Neapolitan dominions the population were filled with strange vague desires. The government itself was demoralized--one day exerting its utmost power in the most repressive measures, and on the next recalling its own acts, and retreating in fear from the position which it had taken up. The troops were as agitated as the people. It was felt that in case of an attempt at revolution they could not be relied upon. In the midst of all other fears one was predominant, and was all comprised in one magic word--the name of that one man who alone, in our age, has shown himself able to draw nations after him, and by the spell of his presence to paralyze the efforts of kings. That one word was "Garibaldi."
What he was, or what he was to do, were things which were but little known to these ignorant Neapolitans. They simply accepted the name as the symbol of some great change by which all were to be benefited. He was, in their thoughts, half hero, half Messiah, before whom all opposing armies should melt away, and by whom all wrongs should be redressed. Through the heart of this agitated mass there penetrated the innumerable ramifications of secret societies, whose agents guided, directed, and intensified the prevalent excitement. These were the men who originated those daily rumors which threw both government and people into a fever of agitation; who taught new hopes and new desires to the most degraded population of Christendom, and inspired even the lazaroni with wild ideas of human rights--of liberty, fraternity, and equality. These agents had a far-reaching purpose, and to accomplish this they worked steadily, in all parts and among all classes, until at last the whole state was ripe for some vast revolution. Such was the condition of the people among whom Obed and his friends pursued their pleasures.
The party with which Obed had connected himself was a varied one. There were two officers from those "Yankee frigates" which he had hurled in the teeth of the police agent at the Hotel de l'Europe; two young fellows fresh from Harvard, and on their way to Heidelberg, who had come direct from New York to Naples, and were in no hurry to leave; a Southerner, fresh from a South Carolina plantation, making his first tour in Europe; a Cincinnati lawyer; and a Boston clergyman traveling for his health, to recruit which he had been sent away by his loving congregation. With all these Obed at once fraternized, and soon became the acknowledged leader, though, as he could not speak Italian, he was compelled to delegate all quarrels with the natives to the two Heidelbergians, who had studied Italian on their way out, and had aired it very extensively since their arrival.
Having exhausted the land excursions, the party obtained a yacht, in which they intended to make the circuit of the bay. On their first voyage they went around its whole extent, and then, rounding the island of Capri, they sailed along the coast to the southeast without any very definite purpose.
The party presented a singular appearance. All were dressed in the most careless manner, consulting convenience without any regard to fashion. The Heidelbergians had made their appearance in red flannel shirts and broad-brimmed felt hats, which excited such admiration that the others at once determined to equal them. Obed, the officers, and the South Carolinian went off, and soon returned with red flannel shirts and wide-awake hats of their own, for which they soon exchanged their more correct costume. The lawyer and the clergyman compromised the matter by donning reefing jackets; and thus the whole party finally set out, and in this attire they made their cruise, with many loud laughs at the strange transformation which a change of dress had made in each other's appearance.
In this way they made the circuit of the bay, and proceeded along the coast until they came opposite to Salerno. It was already four o'clock, and as they could not get back to Naples that day they decided to land at this historic town, with the hope that they might be rewarded by some adventure. The yacht, therefore, was headed toward the town, and flew rapidly over the waves to her destination.
On rounding a headland which lay between them and the town their progress was slow. As they moved toward the harbor they sat lazily watching the white houses as they stretched along the winding beach, and the Boston clergyman, who seemed to be well up in his medieval history, gave them an account of the former glories of this place, when its university was the chief medical school of Europe, and Arabian and Jewish professors taught to Christian students the mysteries of science. With their attention thus divided between the learned dissertation of the clergyman and the charms of the town, they approached their destination.
It was not until they had come quite near that they noticed an unusual crowd along the shore. When they did notice it they at first supposed that it might be one of those innumerable saints' days which are so common in Italy. Now, as they drew nearer, they noticed that the attention of the crowd was turned to themselves. This excited their wonder at first, but after a time they thought that in so dull a place as Salerno the arrival of a yacht was sufficient to excite curiosity, and with this idea many jokes were bandied about. At length they approached the principal wharf of the place, and directed the yacht toward it. As they did so they noticed a universal movement on the part of the crowd, who made a rush toward the wharf, and in a short time filled it completely. Not even the most extravagant ideas of Italian laziness and curiosity could account for this intense interest in the movements of an ordinary yacht; and so our Americans soon found themselves lost in an abyss of wonder.
Why should they be so stared at? Why should the whole population of Salerno thus turn out, and make a wild rush to the wharf at which they were to land? It was strange; it was inexplicable; it was also embarrassing. Not even the strongest curiosity could account for such excitement as this.
"What 'n thunder does it all mean?" said Obed, after a long silence.
"There's something up," said the Cincinnati lawyer, sententiously.
"Perhaps it is a repetition of the landing at Naples on a grander scale," said the clergyman. "I remember when I landed there at least fifty lazaroni followed me to carry my carpet-bag."
"Fifty?" cried one of the Heidelbergians. "Why, there are five hundred after us!"
"But these are not lazaroni," said Obed. "Look at that crowd! Did you ever see a more respectable one?"
In truth, the crowd was in the highest degree respectable. There were some workmen, and some lazaroni. But the greater number consisted of well-dressed people, among whom were intermingled priests and soldiers, and even women. All these, whatever their rank, bore in their faces an expression of the intensest curiosity and interest. The expression was unmistakable, and as the yacht came nearer, those on board were able to see that they were the objects of no common attention. If they had doubted this, this doubt was soon dispelled; for as the yacht grazed the wharf a movement took place among the crowd, and a confused cry of applause arose.
For such a welcome as this the yachting party were certainly not prepared. All looked up in amazement, with the exception of Obed. He alone was found equal to the occasion. Without stopping to consider what the cause of such a reception might be, he was simply conscious of an act of public good-will, and prepared to respond in a fitting manner. He was standing on the prow at the time, and drawing his tall form to its full height, he regarded the crowd for a moment with a benignant smile; after which he removed his hat and bowed with great _empressement_.
At this there arose another shout of applause from the whole crowd, which completed the amazement of the tourists. Meanwhile the yacht swung up close to the wharf, and as there was nothing else to be done they prepared to land, leaving her in charge of her crew, which consisted of several sailors from one of the American frigates. The blue shirts of these fellows formed a pleasing contrast to the red shirts and reefing jackets of the others, and the crowd on the wharf seemed to feel an indiscriminate admiration for he crew as well as for the masters. Such attentions were certainly somewhat embarrassing, and presented to these adventurous spirits a novel kind of difficulty; but whether novel or not, there was now no honorable escape from it, and they had to encounter it boldly by plunging into the midst of the crowd. So they landed--eight as singular figures as ever disturbed the repose of this peaceful town of Salerno. Obed headed the procession, dressed in a red shirt with black trowsers, and a scarf tied round his waist, while a broad-brimmed felt hat shaded his expansive forehead. His tall form, his broad shoulders, his sinewy frame, made him by far the most conspicuous member of this company, and attracted to him the chief admiration of the spectators. Low, murmured words arose as he passed amidst them, expressive of the profound impression which had been produced by the sight of his magnificent physique. After him came the others in Indian file; for the crowd was dense, and only parted sufficiently to allow of the progress of one man at a time. The Southerner came next to Obed, then the Heidelbergians, then the naval officers, while the clergyman and the Cincinnati lawyer, in their picturesque pea-jackets, brought up the rear. Even in a wide-awake American town such a company would have attracted attention; how much more so in this sleepy, secluded, quiet, Italian town! especially at such a time, when all men every where were on the look-out for great enterprises.
Obed marched on with his friends till they left the wharf and were able to walk on together more closely. The crowd followed. The Americans took the middle of the street, and walked up into the town through what seemed the principal thoroughfare. The crowd pressed after them, showing no decrease whatever in their ardent curiosity, yet without making any noisy demonstrations. They seemed like men who were possessed by some conviction as to the character of these strangers, and were in full sympathy with them, but were waiting to see what they might _do_. The Americans, on their side, were more and more surprised at every step, and could not imagine any cause whatever for so very singular a reception. They did not even know whether to view it as a hostile demonstration, or as a sort of triumphant reception. They could not imagine what they had done which might merit either the one or the other. All that was left for them to do, therefore, they did; and that means, they accepted the situation, and walked along intent only upon the most prosaic of purposes--the discovery of a hotel. At length, after a few minutes' walk, they found the object of their search in a large stucco edifice which bore the proud title of "Hôtel de l'Univers" in French. Into this they turned, seeking refuge and refreshment. The crowd without respected their seclusion. They did not pour into the hotel and fill it to overflowing from top to bottom, but simply stood outside, in front, in a densely packed mass, from which arose constantly the deep hum of earnest, animated, and eager conversation.
On entering they were accosted by the landlord, who received them with the utmost obsequiousness, and a devotion which was absolute. He informed them that the whole hotel was at their disposal, and wished to know at what time their excellencies would be pleased to dine. Their excellencies informed him, through the medium of the Heidelbergians, that they would be pleased to dine as soon as possible; whereupon the landlord led them to a large upper room and bowed himself out.
Their room looked out upon the street. There was a balcony in front of the windows; and, as they sat there waiting, they could see the dense crowd as it stood in front of the hotel--quiet, orderly, waiting patiently; yet waiting for what? That was the problem. It was so knotty a problem that it engaged all their thoughts and discussions while they were waiting for dinner, and while they were eating their dinner. At last that solemn meal was over, and they arose refreshed; but the peaceful satisfaction that generally ensues after such an important meal was now very seriously disturbed, in their case, by the singular nature of their situation. There was the crowd outside still, though it was already dusk.
"I think," said Obed, "that I'll step out and see what is going on. I'll just look around, you know."
Saying this, Obed passed through the open window, and went out on the balcony. His appearance was the cause of an immense sensation. For a moment the crowd was hushed, and a thousand eyes were fixed in awe and admiration upon his colossal form. Then the silence was suddenly broken by loud, long, and wild acclamations, "_Viva la Liberia_!" "_Viva la Republica_!" "_Viva l'Italia_!" "_Viva Vittore Emmanuele_!" "_Viva Garibaldi_!"
This last word was caught up with a kind of mad enthusiasm, and passed from mouth to mouth till it drowned all other cries.
"What'n thunder's all this?" cried Obed, putting his head into the room, and looking at the Heidelbergians. "See here--come out here," he continued, "and find out what in the name of goodness it all means, for I'll be durned if I can make head or tail of it."
At this appeal the Heidelbergians stepped out, and after them came the naval officers, while the rest followed, till the whole eight stood on the balcony.
Their appearance was greeted with a thunder of applause.
Obed knew not what it all meant, nor did any of the others; but as he was the acknowledged leader he felt upon him the responsibility of his situation, and so, with this feeling animating him, he responded to the salutation of the crowd by a low bow.
It was now dusk, and the twilight of this southern climate was rapidly deepening, when suddenly the Americans were aware of a sound in the distance like the galloping of horses. The sound seemed to strike the crowd below at the same moment. Cries arose, and they fell back quickly on either side of the road, leaving a broad path in their midst. The Americans did not have a long time left to them for conjecture or for wonder. The sounds drew nearer and nearer, until at last, through the gloom, a body of dragoons were plainly seen galloping down the street. They dashed through the crowd, they reined in their horses in front of the hotel, and, a the sharp word of command from their leader, a number of them dismounted, and followed him inside, while the rest remained without.
The crowd stood breathless and mute. The Americans saw in this a very singular variation to the events of the evening, and, as they could no more account for this than for those which had preceded it, they waited to see the end.
They did not have to wait long.
A noise in the room which they had left roused them. Looking in they saw about a dozen dragoons with the captain and the landlord. The dragoons had arranged themselves in line at the word of command, and the landlord stood with a terror-stricken face beside the captain.
"Ah!" said Obed, who had looked through the window into the room, "this looks serious. There's some absurd mistake somewhere, but just now it does seem as though they want us, so I move that we go in and show ourselves."
Saying this he entered the room, followed by the others, and the eight Americans ranged themselves quietly opposite the dragoons. The sight of these red-shirted strangers produced a very peculiar effect on the soldiers, as was evident by their faces and their looks; and the captain, as he regarded the formidable proportions of Obed, seemed somewhat overawed. But he soon overcame his emotion, and, stepping forward, he exclaimed:
"Siete nostri prigionieri. Rendetevi."
"What's that he says?" asked Obed.
"He says we're his prisoners," said one of the Heidelbergians, "and calls on us to surrender."
"Tell him," said Obed, unconsciously parodying Leonidas--"Tell him to come on and take us."