CHAPTER III.
After the departure of the Frenchman, Lieutenant Cooke and William Thornton commented upon what they had just heard.
“I forgot to ask the stranger,” remarked the Lieutenant, “the lady’s present title; he called her Madame la Duchesse. Her former name, at all events, was Arden.”
“I dare say,” said the midshipman, “the note he presented will explain, and perhaps give some further particulars of her situation.”
“True, I forgot the note; there will be daylight in another hour, its getting grey to the eastward. A terrible scene this poor lady and her child must have witnessed in Lyons,” continued the lieutenant; “the atrocities committed there by that fiend, Collet de Herbois, exceeds all human belief. The wretch found the guillotine too slow for his bloodthirsty soul; he had the unfortunate people of Lyons actually shot down by cannon, loaded with grape shot, hundreds at a time. He even undermined the streets, and blew up the houses with gunpowder,[1]tied his victims to trees, and shot them down like wild beasts. In five months this detestable monster slaughtered six thousand persons.”
“What extraordinary infatuation!” exclaimed our hero. “I can scarcely understand human beings becoming so suddenly seized with such a thirst for blood.”
Lieutenant Cooke, finding the daylight rapidly increasing,became curious to examine his letter. It was addressed in a female handwriting—
“TO THE ENGLISH OFFICER IN COMMAND OF THE VICTORY’SBOAT.”
Opening the letter, he read its contents in a low voice to William Thornton.
“Sir,—Hearing that a boat from the British Admiral’s ship was lying in the dock basin, inspired me with the hope of being rescued from the perilous situation in which, with my daughter, I am placed. I am native of England, and the widow of the late Duke de Coulancourt. My first husband, the father of my little girl, was the Honourable James Somers Arden. My anxious desire is, if possible, to get on board one of the British ships, hoping thus to be able to reach England. If, therefore, any assistance can be rendered me, I shall for ever pray for the welfare of those to whom my gratitude will be due. You may implicitly trust Monsieur Jean Plessis, the bearer of this; he can give you every information.
“Anne Coulancourt,néeDe Bracy.”
“Well, William, you must do your best, and try and see this poor lady and her little girl,” said Lieutenant Cooke. “If they could manage to get on the beach to the eastward of the shipping, along which we pass to get clear of the harbour, we might readily pick them up. I do not know the locality myself, but Monsieur Plessis, I dare say, knows how to get them there. Now let us pull in for the quay, I see a number of persons assembled; and there goes a signal for us. Be very cautious, William, how you act. Get back to the boat as soon as you can; Saunders will keep a good look out for you, and haul off from the quay till he sees either you or me. Now, my lads,” added the Lieutenant, “pull in for the pier.”
On reaching the pier, they found the Commissioners and several other naval officers in full uniform, waiting to receive them. As Lieutenant Cooke leaped on shore, followed by our hero, two of the Commissioners advanced and offered many apologies for leaving them in their boat all night. The tumultuous assemblies in the town was the cause. Breakfast was prepared for them in a mansion near the dock gates, after partaking of which they would conduct Lieutenant Cooke before the constituted authorities to hear his proposals. Accordingly, they all went through the dock gates, a vast concourse of people of the very lowest grade was assembled outside, and various cries and violent vociferations saluted their ears. There were royalists and republicans, Jacobins and Girondists, allfurious and excited; nevertheless, they proceeded unmolested to the house where breakfast was prepared for them; after which, accompanied by more than twenty gentlemen and officers, Lieutenant Cooke arrived at the chamber where the Commissioners sat awaiting them.
“Be cautious, and take care of yourself, William,” whispered the Lieutenant, as the midshipman dropped into the rear without being particularly noticed, for the crowd rushed eagerly after Lieutenant Cooke, and his escort, Thornton, walked quietly on, attired in a plain jacket and trousers, without any marks of a naval uniform on them; his dirk he left in the boat purposely, but he carried a brace of small pistols in his pockets.
As the crowd rushed on, William Thornton found himself proceeding up a narrow street, when he suddenly felt a hand laid upon his arm. The man who had touched him passed on, but turning round, looked him in the face with a peculiar expression on his features.
“That is our friend of last night,” thought the midshipman, and he followed him at a little distance. The man presently turned down a deserted side street, for almost the entire population of the town were assembled before the hall where the Committee-General sat; an intense state of excitement existing, for it was then known that General Castenau, the fierce Republican General, was before Marseilles, and this created a fearful panic amongst the royalists, and a source of fiend-like rejoicing with the bloodthirsty Republicans. Following the stranger through several bye-streets, he suddenly dived beneath an arch, making a sign to our hero to be quick after him. William Thornton did not delay, and passing under the arch he found himself in a very small court, with his guide standing before the door of an apparently deserted house.
“This is fortunate, monsieur,” said the man, “the streets, you see, are totally deserted; no one, I think, saw us enter this court.”
Unlocking the door, they traversed a dark, damp passage. Pushing open a side door, they entered a small room, totally unfurnished, the light being admitted through a half-open shutter.
“Please to stay here a few minutes, monsieur,” said Jean Plessis; “I will get madame up from the vaults into another room, where she usually stays when I am in the house to watch. When I am absent, she and her daughter keep below; their place of concealment would not be easily discovered.”
“Poor lady!” said William Thornton; “what a state for one of her rank to live in. But are there not many Royalist families in the town not forced to live in such a state of concealment?”
“Yes,” said Jean Plessis, “but there is only one Duchesse of Coulancourt. Collet de Herbois would give ten thousand francs for her head. There are many of his spies here, who will soon track me. There will be more blood spilt here than even in Lyons.”
He then departed.
“That is very odd,” thought the midshipman. “With a magnificent British and Spanish fleet before the town, surely, if the Admiral pleases, he could take the town and fort at any time, and drive these horrid Republicans into the sea.”
William Thornton was a young reasoner; he did not know that there were wheels within wheels in politics; that, with the finest fleet in the world, it was sometimes the policy of ministers to do nothing with it. As it turned out, however, the fleet did get possession of the fort and the town, but only to abandon it and its wretched inhabitants afterwards, to one of the most fearful massacres on record.
Our hero remained waiting for the return of Jean Plessis, wondering in his heart how the unfortunate Duchesse de Coulancourt and her daughter could dwell in so desolate and unwholesome a place.
In less than half-an-hour the Frenchman returned, saying:—
“I am sorry to have kept you, young gentleman, in so dismal a chamber; but madame is now ready to receive you. Please to follow me.”
Our hero followed Jean Plessis through two or three dismal corridors and chambers, till, opening a door, he ushered him into a room partly furnished. There were two windows to the apartment, but only the top part of the shutters was kept open. As he entered the chamber—a little bashful, perhaps, for he was but seventeen, and but little accustomed to female society—he perceived a lady in deep mourning rise from a chair and advance to meet him; but he was more surprised when, instead of a fair young girl, as he expected to see, he observed a slight, fragile boy, with a pale and very thin face, but with eyes dark, large, and lustrous. He appeared about twelve years of age, and stood leaning against the high-backed chair of his mother.
The Duchess slightly started as she gazed up into the handsome, expressive features of the midshipman. For a moment she appeared to be reflecting, as if some past transaction was recalled by his presence.
“Ah!” said the lady, in French, speaking in a low voice, “he is young, very young;” but then, looking up, with a sweet smile on her pale but very beautiful features, she said, in English:—
“Pardon me, young gentleman, instead of wondering at your youth, I ought to have expressed my gratitude at seeing one soyoung willing to incur so much risk in his desire to befriend a perfect stranger.”
“But nevertheless, madame,” said the young sailor, “a countrywoman. Lieutenant Cooke, my superior officer, would most willingly have come in my place, but that he was forced to attend a most important meeting with the Royalist committee. He, however, bade me say that any assistance he can offer you, will be a pleasure, and that perhaps you, madame, would be able to point out to me how that assistance can be rendered.”
The Duchesse de Coulancourt seemed to reflect for a few moments, during which time our young midshipman had an opportunity of regarding her features and person, and also that of the young boy, looking so earnest and pensive beside her. The Duchess was tall, graceful in figure, and, though exceedingly pale and thin, her features were beautifully formed. Like the boy, her eyes were black, large, and expressive; with luxuriant black hair; and in years, as well as he could judge, not more than five or six-and-thirty. The boy was of a slight figure, dressed in the tunic and vest then worn by boys of his age; he had the same fine features as the mother, but his excessive thinness and pallor gave him a consumptive appearance, which was only relieved by the singularly expressive look about the eyes, and the beautifully marked eyebrows.
“I have been thinking all the morning,” said the Duchess, rousing herself from her thoughts, “how to act in the painful and trying situation in which I am placed; for no human power could save me were I recognised, or known to be living in this town. Not even to the Royalist party would I venture to show myself, unless, indeed, the British Admiral ultimately gains possession of the town. My chief desire is to secure the safety of my beloved daughter. Come hither, Mabel. I have disguised her, as you see, like a boy. Poor child! she is so attenuated by fretting, confinement, and various other privations, that she appears a mere shadow.”
Madame Coulancourt turned, and took her disguised daughter by the hand, the child’s pale face slightly flushed as she saw that William Thornton’s dark eyes were fixed upon her, with an expression of deep interest and surprise. The midshipman thought her plain, even with her large speaking eyes.
The Duchess sighed, and the tears ran down her cheeks as she kissed her daughter’s forehead, and then taking her hand, she said:—
“Mabel, this young gentleman will be a brother to you. Pray what is your name?” she added, as our hero took the little hand in his, and stooped and kissed her forehead, with the dark hair cut close all round, like a boy’s. “I know not how it is, but I feel a strange spirit of prophecy creeping over me, thattells me you will serve this poor child, who is, as it were, alone in the world. You have a strong likeness, young sir, to some one I dearly loved; but memory is almost dead within me. You will protect my child, I know you will!”
“On my soul, madame,” returned William Thornton, with his eyes kindling with all the fire and romance of his enthusiastic disposition—“on my soul, madame, I will do all I can; willingly peril life if necessary to be of service to you or this dear little girl.”
The child pressed his hand to her lips, and her eyes full of tears were lifted to his, as she said:—
“And Mabel will always be a sister to you, and love you with all her heart.” Prophetic words to her, which were never forgotten. “I had a brother once,” she added; and shuddering she said in a low broken voice, “but they killed him.”
Madame Coulancourt drew her daughter towards her; she was weeping, but, checking her feelings and her painful remembrances of terrible moments, now passed, she looked up, saying;—
“It is wrong thus to waste valuable time, by giving way to recollections of events that cannot be recalled. This morning I made up my mind how to act, after consulting with Monsieur Jean Plessis. This faithful friend of my unfortunate husband saved my life and my child’s life, risking not only his own existence, but the safety of a wife and child dear to him. He was Monsieur le Duke’s intendant and then mine; but he is a man of good family, and at one time had considerable property; but, like many alas! in this land, stripped of all—of everything—save his noble devotion to me and mine. He procured these garments for my little girl, and agreed with me in my intention of confiding her to the care of the English officer, who was expected from the Admiral’s ship. Dressed thus, she may more easily pass through the town with you and thus gain the boat, and to-night Monsieur Plessis says he is pretty certain he will be able to get me disguised to the beach of the outer harbour, where there is a ruined quay that juts out into the sea; and where, as you row along the shore in your boat, you may be able to take me in without attracting observation. Still I prefer my little girl going with you, because I am sure it will ensure her escape from this land of misery. Whereas a few hours hence—nay, the very result of the meeting now taking place—may rouse a furious bloodthirsty mob into sedition and outrage, for there are a hundred of the followers and spies of the atrocious Collet de Herbois in the town at this moment, leading the easily excited lower order into revolutionary excesses.”
“Your daughter will be quite safe in the boat, madame,” said the midshipman earnestly, “and I know that every protection will be afforded her when we reach the Victory. Perhaps,madame, if you make the attempt you will succeed in getting safely to the boat now, whilst the mass of the people surround the council chamber.”
“No! no!” said the Duchess sadly, “the risk of being recognised in broad daylight by some of the spies of De Herbois would be too great. Ah! young sir, if you only knew a hundredth part of the horrors and sufferings this dear child and I went through whilst in the power of those monsters who rule this once fair land, you would, like us, shudder at the very idea of again falling into their hands. Attired as my child is, she will escape notice walking by your side, whereas should an agent of De Herbois recognise me, we should be both lost.”
Madame Coulancourt then rose and took from a table a casket, closing the lid as she placed it beside our hero, and locking it with a very peculiar key. It was a work of foreign manufacture, and beautifully clasped with silver, chased.
“I wish you, also, Master Thornton,” continued Madame Coulancourt, “to take charge of this casket; for should it be the will of Heaven that I should be unable to rejoin my child—”
“Ah, mamma!” passionately interrupted the young girl, throwing her arms round her mother’s neck, and weeping violently, “what words are those? No! no! I will not leave you; whatever peril you incur, your own Mabel will share it with you, and you shall not hear me murmur.”
“But, my beloved child,” said the mother soothingly, “even Jean Plessis himself says he would not be able to take us both to-night to the beach. You could not surmount the difficulties of the way. Besides, your presence would render us remarkable going through the gates; he has only a pass for two.”
Thus the mother soothed her little girl, showing her how necessary it was for the salvation of both that she should put herself under the care of the young midshipman. After a time Mabel Arden allowed herself to be persuaded.
William Thornton also talked to and soothed the child; and she looked so confidingly on him, and appeared to feel his kindness to her so much, that he vowed in his heart to suffer death sooner than Mabel should be injured whilst under his care.
“I was saying,” said the Duchess, rewarding our hero with a sweet affectionate smile, “that I wish to confide this casket to your charge till we meet again. In it there are important letters and papers respecting my daughter and her relatives in England, who will at once acknowledge and receive her. There are also a few jewels of value, and money; but I trust in God we shall be able to join you to-night in the boats.At what hour do you suppose you will leave the dock basin?”
“Perhaps, after ten o’clock, madame. It was very dark last night, when we passed through the shipping; and, as there is no moon, it will be nearly as dark to-night; or at all events, it will be only star-light. You ought, madame, to be provided with a dark lantern to show a light when your hear the noise of our oars, as we row along shore.”
“No doubt Jean Plessis will provide one,” said Madame de Coulancourt; “but you will remember the ruined quay; he says you cannot mistake the spot, as it is the only erection of the kind on that line of beach. I trust I am not detaining you too long,” said the Duchess; “I have now said all I have to say; so come, my beloved child, embrace me once more, and then I will confide you to the care of your young protector, whom may God prosper and preserve!”
Mabel threw herself into her mother’s arms; again and again she kissed her passionately, whilst the tears streamed down both mother’s and daughter’s cheeks.
William Thornton was considerably affected at witnessing the suffering the separation caused Mabel and the Duchess. He spoke some kind and assuring words to the little girl, and what he said appeared to abate her grief. Madame de Coulancourt then put a boy’s cloak over her shoulders, and a cap on her head, and then summoned Jean Plessis, who kept watch without. This faithful friend of the Duchess de Coulancourt was a tall and highly respectable-looking man, in years, scarcely forty, with a fine and expressive countenance. For several moments he conversed with our hero, respecting the place at which they were to meet that night; he described the inner and outward harbour accurately, and the best way for Lieutenant Cooke to steer on leaving the basin that night, and then covering the casket with a cloth cover, William Thornton took it under his care, remarking to himself that it was, for its size, uncommonly heavy.
“I shall go on before you, monsieur,” said Jean Plessis, “till I bring you in sight of the dock gates. Should you by chance be questioned as to who the boy is with you, say your superior officer ordered you to take him with you, and that he is an English lad; they will not attempt to stop you.”
Madame de Coulancourt was greatly agitated on parting. She embraced William Thornton as she would had he been her son, and, drawing a ring from her finger, begged him to keep it in remembrance of her. Our hero was greatly impressed; he was beginning very early, indeed, to be a protector to a young girl, scarcely three years his junior; but he felt proud of the confidence placed in him, and interested beyond measure.Taking the weeping and trembling Mabel by the hand, they passed out from the house, Jean Plessis going first to see that all was clear; then making a sign to William Thornton, they all three proceeded down the street.
FOOTNOTES:[1]Fact.
[1]Fact.
[1]Fact.