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Love of Monsieur

<h2>CHAPTER XVI MAROONED</h2></div> Jacquard conducted Mistress Barbara aft to the cabin until the boat could be prepared. And Monsieur silently followed, his eyes dim with tears at the loss of this friend to whose helpful skill both he and Mistress Barbara owed their lives. When they were safe within, Jacquard blurted forth: “It was the best I could do, monsieur, the very best I could do. The danger is not yet past. There is no safety for you or madame upon the same ship with Yan Gratz.” Bras-de-Fer silently wrung his hands. “It is a desperate journey for a lady tried already to the point of breaking, Jacquard. If they would but land us—” “Ah, monsieur. It were madness to try them again. Have you not seen their temper?” [269] “No, no, monsieur, I am strong!” cried Barbara. “See! I am strong. Let us leave this dreadful charnel-ship. If I must die, let it be alone upon the broad ocean. That at least is clean of evil intent.” “Nay, madame,” continued the Frenchman. “If they would but sail us—” “No, no. Let us go at once. I can meet death bravely if need be, but not here.” “Monsieur, it will not be so bad,” broke in Jacquard. “The sea has gone down, and, although a long swell is running, it is low and smooth. A fair breeze draws from the west. The pinnace is stanch. The day is young. By the morrow you should raise the palms of Guanahani above the sea. I shall see you well provided with food, water, and weapons. Upon San Salvador are friendly Caribs, and in due course—” “Mon ami,” said Bras-de-Fer at last, “you are right. Were it not for madame, perhaps, I should yet make some small effort to establish myself upon the Sally. They have beaten me, but I am grieving little. I have no stomach for[270] this life, my friend. The letting of blood in any but honest warfare sickens me and turns me to water. I leave the dogs without regret. But you, you and my gallant Cornbury.” He paused a moment, his hand to his brow, then raised his head with a glad smile. “Jacquard, will you not come with us? If we get safe ashore I can perhaps give you a service which will requite you.” But Jacquard was wagging his head. “No, no, monsieur. It is too late. I am too old a bird. Would ye clip the eagle’s wings? Would ye pen the old falcon in a gilded humming-bird cage? I’ve chosen to fly broadly, and broadly I’ll fly till some stray bullet ends my flapping. And now make ready, madame. A warm cloak against the night air, a pillow—for boat-thwarts are none too soft; and when ye are ready I shall be at the door.” And he vanished, his bullet head, with its round wool cap, scraping at the door-jamb as he passed. When he had gone, Barbara sank upon the bench at the table. Had it not been for the strong arms of Bras-de-Fer she must have[271] fallen to the deck. Tired nature, overwrought nerves, rebellious, refused to obey. “But a little while, Barbara, dear, and we will be alone. Courage, brave one! Courage! We will soon gain the shore. Then, a ship—and—life!” “Ah, monsieur, I am weary. So weary that I fear for this journey in the open boat. God grant we may reach its ending.” Her head fell forward upon his breast and she breathed heavily as one in a deep sleep. He laid her gently so that her arms rested upon the table. Then he quickly prepared a package of articles which would be most necessary for her. Jewels there were and a packet of his own money. He found a flask of eau-de-vie, and when he had aroused her he gently forced her to drink a half-tumbler of it mixed with water. Presently Jacquard and Barthier came with the papers for him to sign. When this was done they all went upon the deck. The Spanish prize lay at a distance of several cables’ lengths, and, from a movement among the spars, was getting[272] under way in charge of the prize crew. Alongside, at the starboard gangway, rode the pinnace. It looked so small, so masterless and helpless, by the side of the larger vessels in that infinity of ocean, that Mistress Barbara shivered as she looked down into it. But one glance around the decks to where the prostrate figures had lain reconciled her to her lot. Between Bras-de-Fer and Jacquard there was but one hearty hand-shake. The very lack of more effusive demonstration between them meant more than many words could have done. And as monsieur passed over the gangway and down into the vessel there was little in his demeanor to show the sting of his defeat at the hands of these devils of the sea, whom he had sought, and unsuccessfully, to bring into the domain of a proper humanity. A scornful laugh broke from among the men as he disappeared over the side, and Yan Gratz, waving a pistol, piped obscene threats and criticism from the quarter-deck. But presently, when Mistress Barbara had been slung over the side in a whip from the main-yard, Jacquard disappeared[273] from the rail, and the falsetto of the Dutchman was no longer heard. The mast in the pinnace had been stepped, and the sail, strong and serviceable, but none too large, flapped impatiently in the breeze. And so when Barbara was seated, white and dark-eyed, showing with a painful effort a last haughty disdain to the rascals at the portholes and bulwarks, Bras-de-Fer shipped his tiller and hauled his sheet aft to the wind. The little vessel bounced in a sprightly, joyous fashion, the brown sail bulged stanchly, and in a moment a patch of green water, ever growing wider, flashed and trembled between the pinnace and the Saucy Sally. Among the row of dark heads along the rail Bras-de-Fer looked for only one, and to him he presently turned and raised his hat in salute. Jacquard replied; and then his long arms went flying and his hoarse voice cried aloud the orders to set the vessel upon her course. Presently the yards flew around, the vessel squared away, and the Saucy Sally was but a memory. A vessel nameless, without[274] identity, was sailing away from them upon the sea, and they were alone. Barbara looked no more. She had seated herself upon the gratings at the bottom of the craft, her arms resting upon the stern thwart. But now that all immediate danger had passed and she sat safe and at peace, the wonderful spirit and courage to which she had nerved herself in a moment failed her. Her head fell forward upon her arms and she sank inert and prone at the feet of the Frenchman. Scarce realizing what had happened, yet fearful that some dreadful fate had intervened to take his love from him, he dropped the tiller and fell upon his knees by her side, his mind shaken by the agony of the moment; for her face had taken a kind of waxen, leaden color more terrifying than mere pallor, and the lips, save for a faint-blue tinge, became under his very eyes of the same deathly hue. He dashed handful after handful of the sea-water into her face and rubbed her chill arms and hands. He poured a draught of the rum between her cold lips. But she moved not. Beseech her as he might, there was no response[275] to his petitions. He sought the pulse; he could feel nothing. The breath had ceased. Oh, God! Had the cup of happiness been placed at their lips only to sip? Was it to be poured out before his very eyes? He cried aloud in his agony and raised the face to his own, kissing it again and again, as if by the warmth of his own passion he could awaken it to life. “My love! my love!” he cried. “Come back to me! Come back to me again! Open thine eyes! Breathe but my name! Come back to me, my love!” He had waited an eternity. At last, as he put his ear to her breast, a sound, ever so faint, but still a sound, told him that the heart was pulsing anew. He forced a generous draught of the rum through her lips and madly renewed his efforts to arouse the blood. Several moments more he struggled in pitiful suspense, and then a gentle color flowed under the marble skin, a touch of pink rose to the blue lips, the eyelids quivered a moment and then opened. He hauled the sail to shield her from the glare of the sun, and held a cup of fresh water to her[276] lips. She looked at him, but no words came from her lips. Instead, she breathed a sigh and with a faint smile relinquished herself and fell back peacefully into his arms. Once or twice she opened her eyes in an effort to speak, but each time he soothed her and bade her rest. He was but a man, and it needed a gentler hand to cope with such an emergency; but now that the danger was past he felt instinctively that nature would seek in her own ways to restore, and he let her lie quiet, pillowed in the curve of his arm against his breast. And so, presently, her breathing was regular, and she slept. He could not know how long it had been since they left the Sally, but by the sun he saw that there was yet an hour or two of the day. The ships were become mere dull blotches upon the sky, and from his position the lower tier of guns seemed just at the line of the sea. Time was precious, for the land lay a full day’s sail, even should the breeze continue to favor them, and he could not tell how long it would blow thus steadily. Fearful of awakening Barbara and yet anxious to take advantage of every favorable[277] opportunity, he reached for the sheet and tiller and set the little vessel upon her course. She heeled gladly to the wind, and the coursing of the water beneath her long keel made a sound grateful to his ears. He had taken the Sally’s position upon the charts before leaving, and steered a course which should surely fetch a sight of the land upon the morrow. If the breeze held and the night were clear, he could steer by the stars. He blessed the habits of his training, in which he had studied the heavens in his night watches, wherever he might be. There was no sign of any disturbance of the elements. The heavy swell now and then shook the wind out of his tiny sail, but not a cloud flecked the sky above him, and the sea which glittered and sprang playfully at the sides of the pinnace seemed to beckon to him gladly in hopeful augury for the hours to come. The apprehensions that he had felt were dissipated in the mellow glow of the southern sun. Had he been alone, this voyage in an open boat over an unknown sea would have filled him with delight. But the slender figure at his side,[278] which lay pale and silent in the shadow of the gunwale, filled him with vague alarms. On, on into the void, the tiny vessel crept. The sun sank low in the sky and dropped, a red ball, behind the disk of sea. The dusk swept up over the ocean like the shadow of a storm, and night drew a purplish curtain across the smiling heaven. The stars twinkled into sudden life, and night fell, clear, warm, spangled, while the soft, stealthy seas crept alongside and leaped and fawned at the shearing prow of the pinnace. An arching moon arose and sailed, a silver boat, high into the heavens. But Bras-de-Fer moved not and Barbara still slept. Continually his keen eyes swept the dark rim of the horizon for a blur of sail or the sign of any portentous movement of the elements. He knew the horrors of this southern ocean, and the catlike purring of the silken seas did not deceive him; for in the swaying deep he could feel the great rhythmical pulse of the heart of the sea, which spoke a continuous, sullen, ominous threat of resistless might, ready at the turn of a mood to rise, engulf, and devour. [279] By midnight the wind fell, and with the flapping of the idle sail Barbara awoke. She lay for some moments, her eyes winking at the swinging stars, then pushed the cloak aside, lifted her head, and looked wide-eyed around and into the face of Bras-de-Fer. “I have slept?” she asked, bewildered—“I have slept in this boat?” He bent forward over her eager delight. “The clock around, Barbara, dear. You were so weary, so weary, I have let you rest.” “Ah, yes, I remember. The Saucy Sally—” “An evil dream, a nightmare. See; we are borne upon a fairy sea. All the world is at peace. This infinity of beauty is ours—it is for us alone.” She shuddered a little and drew closer to him. “Oh, it is so vast, so inscrutable, this treacherous, pitiless water! Have we come nearer to the land?” “Fifteen leagues at least. The wind has failed us but this half-hour. After you have eaten and drunk you shall sleep again, and[280] when you awake I promise you land under the very lid of the eye.” “And you—have you not slept?” “Madame, I am a very owl of birds. But I have the hunger of a lynx.” Then while she took the helm he set before her the food which Jacquard had provided. There were sea-biscuit, boucan, preserved fruits from the store of the San Isidro, and a pannikin of rum-and-water. It was not until she ate that she discovered how hungry she was; Bras-de-Fer had eaten nothing for eight-and-forty hours. And so like two children they sat and supped hungrily. When the meal was done, Bras-de-Fer arranged the bread-bags and the pillow so that she might sleep in greater comfort, but she would not have it so. “No, no,” she insisted, “I am well again and strong. If you do not sleep I shall not.” And so resolute was her tone that he forbore to press her further. But sleep was the furthest from his own eyes. He felt not even the faintest touch of weariness.[281] She leaned back upon his arm again, and so, hand in hand, they sat in their little vessel, mute and spellbound at the completeness of their happiness, which even the presence of grim danger was powerless to steal away from them. The air was sweet and balmy and brushed their cheeks like the breath from an angel’s wing. The first pungent aromatic odor of the land reached their nostrils, mingled delicately with the salt of the sea. In silence they watched the planets burn and glow red like molten iron against the star-bepowdered sky, across which the placid moon sailed down upon its promised course. Flying stars vied with each other in the brightness of their illuminations in their honor. And presently, shaming them into darkness, a giant meteor shot like a flaming brand across the spacious sky, spurning and burying in its splendid pathway a myriad of the lesser embers; which, when it was done, peeped forth again timidly upon the velvet night, ashamed of their small share in its glory. All of this they saw reflected doubly on an ocean of gray satin, which sent the bright reflections in wriggling[282] rays like so many snakes of fire to mingle and play amid the glow of the caressing surges, which gushed languidly at their very feet. To have spoken would have been to break the spell which bound them to the infinite. And so they sat enthroned in these wonderful dominions of which for the nonce they were prince and princess. “Thou art content?” he asked at last. She did not answer him at once. When she did, it was softly and with eyes which sought the distant horizon away from him. “If to be content means to breathe freely, deeply, the pure air of heaven, to thank God for the present, to care not what evil has been or what evil may be, to be engulfed in quiet delight, to be swathed in peace, then, monsieur, I am content.” He flushed warmly, and the arm about her tightened. He sought her lips with his own. She did not resist him. And so before the high, effulgent altar of God’s heaven, with the surges for choristers, the stars for candles, and the[283] voices of the sentient night for company, he plighted her his troth. It was then that she swept away the only shadow that remained upon their love. With head bowed, in deep contrition he told her of his madness that first night upon the Saucy Sally, when he had wildly railed at fate, at all things, and promised to wreak upon her he knew not what dire vengeance. “Our accounts are balanced, then,” she smiled. “We shall begin anew. For I, too, have many times denied you in my heart and on my lips. And I know that I have loved you always.” “Adorée!” he whispered. It was Barbara, as if to belie her own happiness, who first broke the spell of witchery that had fallen upon them. Her eyes, which had aimlessly sought the horizon, stopped and dilated as she fixed her gaze upon one spot which trembled and swam in the light. Bras-de-Fer started up, straining his eyes to where she pointed. “Look!” she cried. “Is it—” [284] There, her rigging and sails clearly drawn in lines of ice, a phantom of the thing that she was, hung a vessel. She had crept up on some flaw of wind, her sail in the shadow, and now upon another tack had thrown her white canvases to the reflection of the sky. “It is no phantom,” cried monsieur, in delight. “A ship, Barbara, chérie! By her build a man-of-war, not two leagues distant.” “Will she have seen us, do you think?” “If she has not, it will be but a matter of moments.” He ran forward to where the provisions and weapons had been put under a piece of pitched canvas. He drew forth a musket, and loaded it with an extra charge of powder. Barbara put her fingers to her ears as the gun roared forth its salute. The silent night was split and riven asunder by the mighty echoes; the robe of enchantment fell, the prince and princess were prince and princess no longer. Barbara sighed. Their throne was but a rugged boat and themselves but castaways wildly seeking a refuge. The[285] dream of an hour was over. But none the less she helped monsieur load the muskets, and cried gladly when a flash and a puff of smoke came from the side of the stranger, and the low reverberation of the echoes of the shot told her that they were rescued. The ship came slowly down. ’Twas evident she brought the wind with her, for about the pinnace all was a dead calm. Barbara’s qualms that she, too, might be a boucanier were speedily set at rest; for as she came nearer they discovered that she sat tall upon the water, and the glint of her ordnance along her larboard streaks proclaimed her trade. No sign of her nationality she gave until she had come within long earshot. Then a round, honest English voice rang heartily: “Ahoy the boat! Who are ye? Whence d’ye come?” To this Bras-de-Fer replied that they were castaways, marooned, and in sore need of help. The ship, they learned, was his Majesty’s Royal Maid, war brig of his excellency the governor of Jamaica. [286] “See, madame,” he murmured as the ship drew near. “’Tis manifest you are my destiny. While you have frowned, Dame Fortune would have none of me. And now she is benignity itself.” He paused, sighing. “And yet I could almost wish she had not smiled so soon.” Her hand under cover of the cloak sought his. “Insatiable man, can you not be content?” “It was too, too sweet an enchantment to be so soon ended.” “Nay,” she whispered. “It is but just begun.” THE END <hr class="chap" /> <div class="adpage"> “The Books You Like to Read at the Price You Like to Pay” <hr class="r30" /> There Are Two Sides to Everything— —including the wrapper which covers every Grosset & Dunlap book. When you feel in the mood for a good romance, refer to the carefully selected list of modern fiction comprising most of the successes by prominent writers of the day which is printed on the back of every Grosset & Dunlap book wrapper. 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ZANE GREY’S BOOKS FOR BOYS <ul class="adtitle"> <li class="hang">KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE</li> <li class="hang">THE YOUNG LION HUNTER</li> <li class="hang">THE YOUNG FORESTER</li> <li class="hang">THE YOUNG PITCHER</li> <li class="hang">THE SHORT STOP</li> <li class="hang">THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES</li> </ul> GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK <hr class="chap" /> KATHLEEN NORRIS’ STORIES May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. SISTERS. Frontispiece by Frank Street. The California Redwoods furnish the background for this beautiful story of sisterly devotion and sacrifice. POOR, DEAR, MARGARET KIRBY. Frontispiece by George Gibbs. A collection of delightful stories, including “Bridging the Years” and “The Tide-Marsh.” This story is now shown in moving pictures. JOSSELYN’S WIFE. Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert. The story of a beautiful woman who fought a bitter fight for happiness and love. MARTIE, THE UNCONQUERED. Illustrated by Charles E. Chambers. The triumph of a dauntless spirit over adverse conditions. THE HEART OF RACHAEL. Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. An interesting story of divorce and the problems that come with a second marriage. THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert. A sympathetic portrayal of the quest of a normal girl, obscure and lonely, for the happiness of life. SATURDAY’S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. Can a girl, born in rather sordid conditions, lift herself through sheer determination to the better things for which her soul hungered? MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. A story of the big mother heart that beats in the background of every girl’s life, and some dreams which came true. Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York <hr class="chap" /> <div class="tnote"> Transcriber’s Notes: Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. The Author’s em-dash style has been retained. Two slightly different advertisement book lists for author Grace Livingston Hill were both retained. </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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