by Eugène Sue
Angela looked at her husband with growing astonishment. Monmouth had not understood her; he thought that the Gascon had succeeded in removing this emissary of William of Orange from Devil’s Cliff; he did not know he had accompanied him as a prisoner.
“I do not know when the chevalier will return. He will doubtless make this mistake last as long as possible in order to give us time to escape.”
“The chevalier is no longer here, then?” cried the duke.
“No, he has gone as a prisoner, under your name, with this man. Our negro fishermen accompany them to the Cayman’s Creek, where the emissary will embark for the Barbadoes in one of our boats with the chevalier.”
The duke could hardly believe what he heard. “Gone under my name!” cried he. “But this emissary, discovering his mistake, will be capable of killing the chevalier. By heavens! I cannot allow that! Too much blood, oh my God! has already been spilled for me.”
“Blood! oh, do not fear that; the chevalier will run no danger. In spite of my desire to avert the danger that threatened from ourselves, I would never have exposed this generous man to certain destruction.”
“But, unhappy woman,” cried the duke, “you do not know the terrible importance of the secret of state which the chevalier is now possessed of?”
“My God! what do you mean?”
“They are capable of killing him.”
“Oh, what have I done? Where are you going?” cried the young wife, seeing the duke preparing to leave the room.
“I am going to join them and save this unfortunate man. I will take some blacks with me. The Gascon has hardly an hour’s advance of me.”
“James, I implore you, do not expose yourself.”
“What! cowardly abandon this man who has devoted himself to me? I give him up to the resentment of William’s emissary? never! Ah, you do not know, unhappy child, that certain sacrifices impose on one gratitude as dolorous as remorse. Go, I pray you, tell Mirette to order some slaves to be in readiness to follow me at once. Thanks to the tide, the chevalier cannot put to sea before daybreak, I can then overtake him.”
“But this emissary is capable of anything! if he sees you come to the aid of the chevalier, he will understand, perhaps, and then — —”
“That it is not James of Monmouth, but the mulatto filibuster, who is on his track. Beside, I have faced other dangers than these, I believe.”
So saying, the duke entered a small room connected with his apartments. There he found all that was necessary for his disguise. Left alone, Angela gave herself up to the most cruel regrets. She had not supposed that the consequences of the mistake into which the Gascon had led Rutler could be so fatal. She feared also that Monmouth would be recognized in spite of his disguise. In the midst of her distress she heard a sudden violent knock at the outer door of the apartment where she was, apparently rigorously closed to all the servants in the house.
Angela ran to this door and saw Mirette. The mulattress, with a frightened air, said to Angela that Father Griffen sent an imperative request to enter, having the most important matters to confide to her.
The order was given to admit him at once into the reception hall on the ground floor. At the same moment Monmouth came out of his room completely disguised as the mulatto filibuster.
“My love,” said Angela, when the maid had gone, “Father Griffen has just arrived, he has things of the utmost importance to say to us. In the name of heaven, wait and speak to him.”
“Father Griffen!” exclaimed the duke.
“You know he never comes here unless circumstances of the gravest importance brings him. I beg you see him,” said Angela.
“I must; but each minute of delay may risk the life of this unhappy chevalier,” said the duke.
He descended with Angela. Father Griffen, pale, agitated, broken with fatigue, was in the hall.
“In fifteen minutes they will be here,” he cried.
“Who, then, Father,” said Monmouth.
“That miserable Gascon,” said the priest.
“Oh, James! everything is discovered; you are lost!” said Angela, uttering a cry of despair; and she threw herself into the arms of Monmouth. “Fly; there is still time.”
“Fly, and where? there is but one road to Devil’s Cliff, and from it. I tell you that they follow me,” said the priest; “but be calm, nothing is hopeless.”
“Explain yourself, Father, what is it? In mercy speak, speak!” said Angela.
“Father, you alone knew my secret; I would rather believe the impossible than doubt your sacred word,” said the duke gravely.
“And you are right not to doubt it, my son. There is some unaccountable mystery, which will come to light some day, believe me; but the minutes are too precious to seek now for the cause of the misfortune which menaces you. I hurried to you, then I have not betrayed you. Let us think of what is most pressing. Under this disguise it is impossible that you should be recognized,” said the priest. “But that is not all; your situation has become almost inextricable.”
“What do you say?”
“This Gascon is a traitor; a scoundrel. May God pardon me for having been so deceived in him and having made you partake of my error. Cursed be the hypocrite.”
“On the contrary,” said Angela, “he is the most generous of men; he has voluntarily devoted himself for my husband.”
“Yes, he has assumed your name,” said the priest to the prince, “but do you know for what vile purpose?”
“Tell me, oh, tell me! I am dying of fear,” cried Angela.
“Listen, then,” said the priest, “for the moments fly and the danger approaches. This morning I received at Macouba a letter from Captain Morris, of Fort Royal, in compliance with the order he had received from you to warn me of all arrivals of vessels and of those whose appearance seemed unusual. He sent me a special message to inform me that a French frigate had dropped anchor in sight of the harbor, after having sent an unknown passenger ashore. This person, after a long conference with the governor, started at the head of an escort in the direction of Devil’s Cliff. In fact, he comes here.”
“An agent of France,” said Monmouth; “what have I to fear at present, even if my secret was known at Versailles? Is not France at war with England?”
“My God! my God! have pity on us!” cried Angela.
“Listen! I started with all haste,” continued the priest, “in order to warn you, hoping to arrive before this man and his escort, in case he was really coming here, and, unfortunately, or fortunately perhaps, joined him at the foot of the cliff. He recognized my robe; he said to me that he was sent by the King of France; that he came to fulfill a mission of state, and he begged me to be his guide and to introduce him, because I knew the dwellers in this house. I could not refuse to do this without arousing suspicions. I remained near him. He told me his name was De Chemerant. He began to ask me some very embarrassing questions as to you and your wife, my lord, when all at once, at some distance, we heard a loud voice cry, ‘Who goes there?’ ‘An agent of France,’ replied De Chemerant. ‘Treason!’ continued the voice, and a dull groan reached us with these words, ‘I am killed!’ ‘To arms!’ cried De Chemerant, taking his sword in hand, and running after two of our sailors who served as guides. I followed him. We found the Gascon stretched on the side of the road, four blacks kneeling, petrified with fear, while our two sailors had thrown on the ground, and held there with difficulty, a strong man clothed like a mariner.”
“And the chevalier?” exclaimed Monmouth, “was he wounded?”
“No, sir; and although this is a very wicked man, we must return thanks to heaven for the wonderful chance which saved him. The man dressed as a mariner, hearing the noise of our escort, and the words of De Chemerant, who had responded ‘Agent of the King of France,’ believed himself betrayed, and led into ambush; he had then given the Gascon such a furious blow with his dagger that the unhappy adventurer would have been killed if the blade had not broken on his shoulder-belt. N
evertheless, thrown down by the violence of the shock, he fell to the ground, exclaiming, ‘I am killed,’ and remained motionless. It was at this moment we reached the group. Seeing us the assassin of the Gascon cried with a ferocious laugh as he kicked the body of what he supposed his victim, ‘Mr. Agent of France, your designs have been unmasked, they are frustrated. You have come to seek James, Duke of Monmouth, in order to raise a standard for sedition; the standard is broken; take up the corpse, sir. It is I, Rutler, colonel in the service of King William, whom God preserve, who has committed this murder.’”
“‘Unhappy man,’ exclaimed De Chemerant.
“‘I glory in this murder,’ replied the colonel. ‘Thus have I foiled the odious projects of the enemies of my master, the king; thanks to me, the sword of Charles II., which James of Monmouth carried at his side, will no more be drawn against England.’
“‘Colonel, you will be shot in twenty-four hours,’ said De Chemerant. ‘I know my fate,’ replied the colonel; ‘a traitor is dead. Long live the King of England.’”
“But the chevalier?” asked the duke.
“When he heard these words of Rutler’s he made a slight movement, and heaved a sigh; and while some of the escort held the colonel, who yelled with rage at seeing that his victim was not dead, De Chemerant hurried to reach the Gascon, to whom he said, ‘My lord, are you dangerously wounded?’ I understood at once, without knowing why, that the chevalier was playing a rôle and had assumed your name; this error would serve you — I held my tongue. ‘The blow had struck the belt of my father’s sword,’ said the rascal, in a faint voice as they raised him. ‘My lord duke, lean on me,’ replied De Chemerant, ‘I come to you in the name of the King of France, my master. Mystery is now unnecessary. In two words I will tell you, sir, the object of my mission, and you can then judge whether or not you will return as quickly as possible to Fort Royal to embark with us.’ ‘I hear you, sir,’ said the chevalier, feigning a slight English accent, doubtless to better play his part. Then at the end of several moments of thought, the Gascon said in a loud voice, ‘If this be so, sir, I cannot be separated from my wife, and I desire to go and seek her at Devil’s Cliff. She will accompany me; such is the destiny which is reserved for me.’”
“The wretch!” exclaimed Angela.
“Then he continued,” said the priest, “‘I feel giddy from my fall; I will rest here a moment.’ ‘That shall be as you wish, my lord,’ said De Chemerant. Then, turning to me, ‘Will you be so good, Father, as to go and announce to Madame the Duchess of Monmouth that the duke will come to seek her to take her away; and request that she make hasty preparations, for we must be at Fort Royal at daybreak and set sail the same morning.’ Now,” said the priest to Monmouth, “do you understand the plan of this traitor? He abuses the name that he has taken in order to carry off your wife, and you will be compelled either to declare who you are, or to consent to the departure of madame the duchess.”
“Rather a thousand times death!” cried Angela.
“Cursed be the Gascon!” said the priest; “I believed him but a sot and an adventurer, and he is a monster of hypocrisy.”
“Do not let us despair,” said Angela suddenly. “Father, will you return to the outer buildings and order Mirette to open the door to the Gascon and the French agent when they come. I will take care of the rest.”
PART THIRD.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE VICEROY OF IRELAND AND SCOTLAND.
WHILE THE DUKE of Monmouth and his wife, informed by Father Griffen of the infamous treachery of Croustillac, were seeking to escape this new danger, we will return to the adventurer, who, carelessly leaning on the arm of De Chemerant, climbed the steep ascent of Devil’s Cliff.
Colonel Rutler, furious at having been thwarted in his attempt, was led away by a guard of two soldiers.
Chemerant did not know Croustillac; not having the slightest doubt as to the identity of the Gascon with the Duke of Monmouth, the action and words of Rutler confirmed his error. In the colonel’s possession was found an order from William of Orange for the capture of James, Duke of Monmouth. What doubt could he then have when the emissary of King William recognized Croustillac as the duke, so fully that he was ready to pay with his life for his attempt to assassinate this pretended prince.
Seeing the new aspect this adventure was taking, Croustillac felt the necessity of being more guarded, so as to complete the illusion which he desired in order to accomplish his own ends.
He at least knew, now, the name of the person whom he represented and to what country he belonged. These points, however, were not very useful to the adventurer as yet, for he was absolutely ignorant as to contemporaneous history; but at any rate, the knowledge that the man he personated was English led him to endeavor to modify his Gascon pronunciation, and he gave it an English accent so strange that De Chemerant was far from suspecting that he spoke with a Frenchman.
Croustillac, in order not to compromise the part he was playing, deemed it wisest to maintain an extreme reserve; De Chemerant was not surprised; he knew the reserved character of the English.
Some words which were exchanged by the two persons who walked at the head of the escort will give an idea of the new and embarrassing position of the chevalier.
“When we arrive at your house, sir,” said De Chemerant, “I shall communicate to you the full powers which his majesty has charged me to place before the eyes of your highness.”
“Highness — the devil!” thought Croustillac: “this man pleases me better than the other; beside subjecting me to the inconvenience of his everlasting dagger, he called me only my lord or your grace, while this one calls me highness. This is progressive. I go on. I touch the throne.”
Monsieur de Chemerant continued: “I shall also have the honor to hand to you, sir, a number of letters from England which will prove to you that the moment was never more favorable for an insurrection.”
“I know it,” said the Gascon, with effrontery, remembering that this was what Rutler had said to him; “I know it, sir; my partisans are acting, and bestirring themselves greatly.”
“Your highness is better informed of affairs in Europe than I had thought.”
“I have never lost sight of them, sir, never.”
“Your highness fills me with joy in speaking thus. It depends on you to assure to yourself the brilliant position which is your due, and which you will acquire if you obtain a decisive advantage.”
“And how, sir?”
“By putting yourself at the head of the partisans of your royal uncle, James Stuart; forgetting the dissensions which have heretofore separated you, for the king no longer desires to see in you other than his worthy nephew.”
“And, between us, he is right; it is always necessary to turn to one’s family. My God, if each one puts in a little of his own, it will end by arranging itself.”
“Thus, your highness, King James gives you a mark of the highest confidence in intrusting to you the defense of his rights and those of his young son.”[A]
[A] The Pretender, born in 1688.
“My uncle is dethroned; he is unhappy; this makes me overlook much,” said Croustillac gravely. “I will not betray his hopes. I will devote myself to the defense of his rights and those of his young son, if the circumstances permit.”
“Your highness need not have the slightest doubt as to the opportunity to do so when you will have heard, in this respect, the large number of your old companions at arms; of your most enthusiastic followers.”
“In fact, they, better than any one, will be able to give certain information, but alas! before I can see them, these brave men, these loyal and faithful men, much time must, unhappily, elapse.”
“I am going to give your highness a very delightful surprise.”
“A surprise?”
“Yes, your highness. Several of your partisans, having learned by what happy occurrence the life of your highness has been preserved, have asked permission of the king to accompany m
e here.”
“To accompany you?” cried the chevalier. “And where are they, then?”
“They are here, aboard the frigate which brought me, your highness.”
“Aboard your frigate!” exclaimed Croustillac, with an expression of surprise that De Chemerant interpreted in a very favorable manner to affectionate memories of the chevalier.
“Yes, your highness. I understand your astonishment, your happiness, your joy in the prospect of shortly seeing your old companions-in-arms.”
“You have not the slightest idea of the impatience with which I await the moment when I shall again see them, sir,” said Croustillac.
“And their conduct justifies your eagerness, your highness; they will bring you the loyalty of all your English friends; and they will very soon put you in touch with the affairs of that country. Who can better inform you on these subjects than Dudley and Rothsay?”
“Ah! that dear Rothsay, has he also come?” said the Gascon with an easy manner.
“Yes, your highness, but he is suffering so from his old wounds that he can hardly walk, still he said, ‘It is no matter if I die — if I die at the feet of our duke,’ for it is thus they speak of you in the familiarity of their devotion.”
“The poor Rothsay, always the same!” said Croustillac, passing his hand across his eyes, with a touching air. “The dear friends.”
“And Lord Mortimer, then, your highness; he is as if mad. If it were not for the king’s orders, which were of the strictest, it would have been impossible to have prevented his coming on shore with me.”