A Romance of the West Indies Part 52

The three-master bore away to the west.

More annoyed than startled at this persistence, because the three-master was not capable of a struggle with a frigate, the officer, by the order of the captain, tacked about and sailed straight down upon the importunate vessel.

The importunate three-master tacked about also, and continued to scrupulously imitate the evolutions of the frigate, and sailed in concert with her, but always beyond reach of her guns.

The captain, irritated by this, veered about and ran straight down upon the three-master. The three-master proved that she was, if not a better sailer, at least as good a one as the frigate, which was never able to shorten the distance between them. The captain, not wishing to lose precious time in this useless chase, resumed his course.

The vexatious three-master also resumed its course.

This mysterious ship was no other than the peaceable Unicorn. Captain Daniel, in spite of the refusal of De Chemerant, had judged it proper to attach himself obstinately to the Thunderer until they reached the open sea.

A new personage appeared on the deck of the frigate. This was a man of about fifty years of age, large, stout, wearing a buff coat with wide scarlet breeches, and boots of sheepskin. His hair and mustache were red, his eyes light blue, the eyeb.a.l.l.s veined with little vessels which the slightest emotion injected with blood, showing a violent and pa.s.sionate temper.

We hasten to inform the reader that this athletic personage was the most fanatical of all the fanatical partisans of Monmouth, and he would have thought himself a thousand times blessed to have shared the fate of Sidney; in a word, this man was Lord Percy Mortimer. His disquietude, his agitation, his impatience, were inexpressible; he could not stay in one place a moment.

Twenty times had Lord Mortimer descended to the door of Croustillac's cabin to know if "my lord the duke" had not asked for him. In vain had he implored the officer to send word to the duke that Mortimer, his best friend, his old companion in arms, wished to throw himself at his feet; his wishes were vain, the orders of the unhappy Croustillac, who regarded each minute gained as a precious conquest, were rigorously carried out.

Chemerant also went upon deck, clothed in a magnificent dress, his air radiant and triumphant; he seemed to say to all: "If the prince is here, that is thanks to my ability, to my courage." Seeing him, Mortimer approached him quickly.

"Well, sir," he said to him, "may we know at last at what hour the duke will receive us?"

"The duke has forbidden any one to enter his apartment without his order."

"I am on red-hot coals," replied Mortimer; "I shall never forgive myself for having gone to bed this night, and not to have been the first to press our James in my arms, to throw myself at his feet--to kiss his royal hand."

"Ah, Lord Mortimer, you love our brave duke well?" said De Chemerant; "partisans such as you are rare!"

"_If_ I love our James!" cried Mortimer, turning a deep and apoplectic red, "_if_ I love him! Hold! I and d.i.c.k Dudley, my best friend, who loves the duke, not as much as I (we fought once because he made this absurd claim)--I and Dudley, I tell you, asked each other just now if we should have the strength to again see our James without giving way--like silly women."

"The duke was right," thought De Chemerant. "What enthusiasm! It is not attachment, it is frenzy." Mortimer resumed with vehemence: "This morning on rising we embraced each other; we committed a thousand extravagances on thinking we should see him again to-day. We could not believe it, and even yet I doubt it. Ah! what a day! what a day! To see again in flesh and blood a friend, a companion in arms whom we had believed dead, whom we had wept for for five years! Ah! you do not know how he was cherished and regretted, our James! How we recalled his bravery, his courage, his gayety! What happiness to say, not _it was_, but _it is_ the heart of a king, a true heart of a king, that of our duke."

"It must be that this is true, my lord, since with the exception of yourself, of Lord Dudley, and this poor Lord Rothsay who, ill as he is from his old wounds, has chosen to accompany you, the other gentlemen who came to offer their arms, their lives and their fortunes to our duke, knew him only by reputation."

"And I should like well to see if, on his renown alone, and on our guarantee, they would not love him as much as we love him. This recalls to me that once I fought my friend d.i.c.k Dudley because he vowed he loved me a little more than our James!"

"The fact is, my lord," said De Chemerant, "that few princes are capable of inspiring such enthusiasm simply by their renown."

"Few princes, sir!" cried Lord Mortimer in a formidable voice, "few princes! Say, then, no other prince--ask Dudley!"

Lord Dudley appeared at this moment on the deck. The hair and mustache of this n.o.bleman were black and beginning to turn gray; in stature, strength, and stoutness there was a great conformity between him and Mortimer; true types (physically speaking) of what are called gentlemen-farmers.

"What's the matter, Percy?" said Lord Dudley familiarly to his friend.

"Is it not true, d.i.c.k, that no prince can be compared with our James?"

"Excepting our worthy friends and allies on this vessel, any dog who dares maintain that James is not the best of men I will beat him till the blood comes, and cut him in quarters," said this robust personage, striking with one of his fists the gunwale of the ship. Then, addressing De Chemerant: "But now you know him as well as we--you, the chosen you, the happy man who saw him first! Your hand, De Chemerant, your brave and loyal hand--more brave and more loyal, if it is possible, since it has touched that of our duke!"

Dudley violently shook the right hand of De Chemerant, while Mortimer shook no less violently the left hand.

There is nothing more contagious than enthusiasm. The partisans of Monmouth had one by one come up on deck and grouped themselves around the two n.o.blemen--all wishing in their turn to press the hand which had touched that of the prince.

"Ah! gentlemen, I suspect that his grace puts off the honor of seeing you. He fears the emotion inseparable from such a moment."

"And we, then!" cried Dudley. "It is now about forty days since we left Roch.e.l.le, is it not? Well, may I die if I have slept more than three or four hours any night, and then the sleep, at once agitated and pleasant, that one sleeps on the eve of a duel--when one is sure of killing one's man. At least, that is the effect of this impatience on me. And you, Percy?" said the robust gladiator to Mortimer.

"On me, d.i.c.k?" responded the latter; "it has a contrary effect on me; every moment I wake with a start. It seems to me that I should sleep thus the eve of the day that I was going to be shot."

"As for me," said another gentleman, "I know the duke only from his portrait."

"I only from his renown."

"I, as soon as I knew that it concerned marching against the Orange faction--I quitted all, friends, wife, child."

"So did we----"

"Ah, sir, it is also for James of Monmouth," said another, "that is a name which is like the sound of a trumpet."

"It suffices to p.r.o.nounce this name in Old England," said another, "to drive all these Holland rats into their marshes."

"Beginning with this William----"

"On my honor, gentlemen," said De Chemerant, "you make me almost proud of having succeeded so well in an enterprise which, I dare to say, is a very delicate one. I do not wish to attribute to my reasoning, to my influence, the resolution of the prince--but believe, at least, gentlemen, that I have known how to make good use with him of the enthusiasm with which his memory has inspired you."

"And so, our friend, we will never forget what you have done! You have brought him here to us--our duke!" cried Mortimer cordially.

"For that alone we owe you eternal grat.i.tude," added Dudley.

"To see him! to see him," cried Mortimer in a new access of feeling, "to see him again whom we believed to be dead--to see him indeed face to face--to again find before our eyes this proud and n.o.ble figure--to see it again in the midst of the fire--the--the--ah, well--yes, I weep--I weep," cried the brave Mortimer, no longer restraining his emotion; "yes, I weep like a child, and a thousand thunderbolts crush those who do not comprehend that an old soldier thus can weep."

Emotion is as contagious as enthusiasm.

d.i.c.k, followed the example of his friend Percy, and the others did as d.i.c.k and his friend Percy did.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

THE JUDGMENT.

A new personage came to augment the number of the pa.s.sionate admirers of Monmouth. There was seen advancing, supported by two servants, a man still young, but condemned to premature infirmity by numerous wounds.

Lord Jocelyn Rothsay, in spite of his sufferings, had wished to join himself to the partisans of the prince, and if not to fight for the cause that Monmouth was going to defend, at least to come before the duke and to be one of the first to felicitate him on his resurrection.

Lord Rothsay's hair was white, although his pale face was still young and his mustache was as black as his bold and brilliant eyes. Enveloped in a long dressing-gown, he advanced with difficulty, supported on the shoulders of the two servants.

"Here is the brave Rothsay who has as many wounds as hairs in his mustache," cried Lord Dudley.