The Lily and the Totem; or, The Huguenots in Florida

by William Gilmore Simms

  CHAPTER IV.

  At the hour appointed that night, for the contest between the chessplayers, Marchand, accompanied by Le Moyne and Challus, made hisappearance in the apartments of Rene Laudonniere. Those of AlphonseD'Erlach were already occupied by four or five trusty fellows; and thearms which filled the apartment were ample for the defence of the party,while in the building, against any number assailing from without. Theforesight of Alphonse had made all the necessary preparations, toencounter any foe, who might, after the explosion, attempt to carrytheir object in a bold way. He had no fear of this, but his habitualforethought led to the precautions. Meanwhile, of the designs againsthim and of the means taken for his safety, Laudonniere had not theslightest suspicion. His thoughts were occupied with one dangeronly--that of being beaten by Marchand. He valued himself upon hisplay--was one of those persons who never suffer themselves to be beatenwhen they can possibly help it--even by a lady. If our captain madeany preparations, that day, it was for the supper that night, and thecontest which was to follow it. His instruction, on the first matter,given to his cook, he retired to his chamber and exercised himselfthroughout the day in a series of studies in the game--planning newcombinations to be brought into play, if possible, in the contest whichwas to follow. His welcome to Marchand declared the opinion which hehimself entertained of his studies.

  "I shall beat you, Marchand."

  "You can't--you shan't," was the ready answer; "you're not my match,captain."

  This answer piqued Laudonniere.

  "We shall see--we shall see; not your match! Well! we shall see."

  We need not waste time upon the preliminaries of the contest. Enoughthat, about ten o'clock at night, we find the rival players placed atthe table; the opposing pieces arrayed in proper order of battle, withLe Moyne and Challus, looking on with faces filled with expectation andcuriosity. The face of Alphonse D'Erlach might also be perceptible, in amomentary glance over the shoulders of one or other of the parties; buthis movements were capricious, and, passing frequently between his ownand the chamber of Laudonniere, he only looked at intervals upon theprogress of the game. Unhappily, the details of this great match, theseveral moves, and the final position of the remaining pieces, at theend of the contest, have not been preserved to us, though it is notimprobable that the painter Le Moyne, as well as Challus, took notes ofit. Enough, that Laudonniere put forth all his skill, exercised all hiscaution, played as slowly and heedfully as possible, and was----but weanticipate. Marchand, on the contrary, seemed never more indifferent. Hescarcely seemed to look at the board--played promptly, even rapidly, andwore one of those cool, almost contemptuous, countenances which seemedto say, "I know myself and my enemy, and feel sure that I have nocause of fear." That his opinions were of this character is beyond allquestion; but, though his countenance expressed as much, Laudonnierereassured himself with the reflection that Marchand was well understoodto be one of those fortunate persons who know admirably how to disguisetheir real emotions, however deeply they may be excited or anxious.Laudonniere's self-esteem was not deficient, in the absence of bettervirtues. He had his vanity at chess, and the game was so played, thatthe issue continued doubtful, except possibly to one of the spectators,almost to the last moment. Leaving the parties at the board, silent andstudious, let us turn to the counsels of the conspirators, whom we mustnot suppose to be idle all this time.

  They had assembled--half a dozen of them at least--and were in closeconference at the quarters of La Roquette, at the opposite extremity ofthe fortress. They were all excited to the highest pitch of expectation.The hour was drawing nigh for the attempt, and all eyes were turned uponLe Genre.

  "It is half past eleven," he exclaimed, "and the thing is to be done.But what is to be done, if those men whom we hold doubtful should takecourage, and, in the moment of uproar take arms against us? We havemade no preparations for this event. Now, this firing the train from mylodgings is but the work of a boy. It may be done by any body. It ismore fitting that, with six or eight select men, well armed, I should bein reserve, ready to encounter resistance should there be any after theexplosion."

  Villemain, a youth of twenty-two, a dark, sinister-looking person,slight and short, promptly volunteered to fire the train. His offer wasat once accepted.

  "It is half-past eleven, you say? I will go at once," said Villemain.

  "We will go with you," cried La Roquette and Stephen Le Genevois in thesame breath.

  "No! no! not so!" said Le Genre. "You have each duties to perform. Youmust scatter yourselves as much as possible, so as to increase the alarmat the proper moment. There will be little danger, I grant you, withLaudonniere, and that imp of the devil, D'Erlach, out of the way; but itmust be prepared for. Once show the rest that these are done for, and weshall do as we think proper."

  "What a fortunate thing for us is this game of chess. It disposes ofthe only persons we could not so easily have managed;" said Fourneaux."Boxes them up, as one may say, so that they only need a mark upon themto be ready for shipment."

  "And yet, somehow, I could wish," said Le Genevois, "that Marchand werenot among them. I like that fellow. He is so bold, so blunt, and playshis game just as if it were his religion."

  "I could wish to save the painter, if any," remarked La Roquette; "butat all events, we shall inherit his pictures."

  "Bah! let the devil take him and them together! Why bother about suchstuff; what's his pictures of the country to us, when the country itselfis our own, to keep or to quit just as it pleases us? We are wastingtime. Where's Villemain?"

  "Here--ready!"

  "Depart, then," said Le Genre; "the sooner you light the match after youreach my quarters, the better. We shall be ready for the blast."

  "He is gone!" said Fourneaux.

  "Let us follow, and each to his task;" cried Le Genre. "Each of youtake care of the flying timbers; find you covers as you may. My men aremustered behind the old granary. _Adieu, my friends_,--the time hascome!"

  With these words, the company dispersed, each seeking his severalposition and duty. Let us adjourn our progress to the chamber ofLaudonniere, where that meditative gamester still sits deliberate, withknotted brow, watching the movements of Marchand.