Robert Tournay Part 18

"Is this where I am to remain?" she asked of her new jailer.

The man nodded and withdrew, locking the door after him.

Edme threw herself into a chair. It was intended that she should at least be comfortable while in prison, and this thought helped to keep up her spirits. She rose, took a gla.s.s of wine and some of the biscuit, and then after finishing this refreshment, feeling fatigued, she lay down upon the couch and fell asleep.

It was nearly dark when she awoke. Lying on the couch she could see the dying light of the short December day shining feebly in at the window, reflected by the metal of a swinging lamp over the table. As she lay there she became aware of a noise that had evidently awakened her. It was the sound of wailing and lamentation, accompanied by the creaking of timber and the swash of water.

Rising from the bed she went to the window and looked out over the river.

Going down the stream were two other prison boats. They were scarcely fifty yards away and proceeded slowly with the current, the water lapping against their black sides. They were old vessels, and creaked and groaned as if they were about to fall apart from very rottenness.

From between their decks came the sound of human voices raised in cries of fear, despair, and lamentation; all mingled in a strange, horrible medley, which, borne over the water by the sighing night wind, struck a chill into Edme's heart.

The vessels, stealing down the river with their sailless masts against the evening sky, looked like phantom ships conveying cargoes of unrestful, tortured spirits into darkness. The sight so fascinated Edme that she stood watching them until they drifted out of sight and the cries of those on board grew fainter and fainter in the distance. So absorbed had she been as not to hear the lock click in the door and a man enter the room. She only became aware of his presence on hearing a heavy sigh just behind her, and turning her head she saw Leboeuf's heavy face at her shoulder. She gave a startled cry and stepped nearer the window.

"It is a sad sight, is it not," he remarked, with a look of sympathy ill-suited to the leer in his eyes, "and one that might easily frighten the strongest of us."

"It is your sudden appearance, when I thought I was entirely alone, that startled me," replied Edme, regaining her composure with an effort. "I was so intent upon looking at those boats that I did not hear you come in."

"I see you didn't. I may be bulky, but I'm active and can move quietly,"

and he gave a chuckle.

Edme thought him even more repulsive than at the time of his visit to the prison. His face seemed coa.r.s.er and more inflamed, and his eyes, so dull and heavy before, shone as if animated by drink.

"Where are they taking those poor people?" she asked; "for I presume those are prison boats."

"They are," was the reply in a thick utterance. "Just like this. Are you sure that you want to know where they are being taken?"

"Would I have asked you otherwise?"

"Are you sure you won't faint?"

Edme gave a shrug of contempt. She saw that he was trying to work upon her fears, and felt her spirit rise in antagonism.

The look of admiration that he gave her was more offensive than his pretended sympathy. Leaning forward he whispered, "They are going down the river for about two miles. There they will get rid of their troublesome freight and return empty."

"What do you mean?" asked Edme. "Where do they land the prisoners?"

"They don't land them, they water them," and he gave a low, inward laugh. "They drown every prisoner on board. Tie them together in couples, man and woman, and tumble them overboard by the score."

Edme gave a cry of horror. "It is too horrible to be true. I don't believe it!"

"Why not?" asked Leboeuf; "drowning is an easy death, and every one of them has been fairly and honestly condemned. This boat is to follow in its turn. Every prisoner here has looked upon the sun for the last time, though not one of them knows just when he is to die."

The idea of such wholesale murder seemed so utterly impossible to her that in her mind she set down Leboeuf's whole account as a fiction of his drink-besotted brain, called up to frighten her. Yet at the moment when she turned from him in disgust to look out of the window, she saw that their own vessel had begun to move slowly through the water.

"We have started," said Leboeuf, as if he were mentioning a matter of the smallest consequence.

"You say that every one upon this boat is a condemned person," said Edme quietly, repressing her terror with an effort.

Leboeuf nodded.

"But I am not. I have not even had a hearing."

"No?" exclaimed Leboeuf in a tone of surprise. "Then those jailers have made another mistake."

Edme advanced toward him one step, and in a tone which made the huge man draw back, said:--

"I was brought here by your order!"

"Oh, no, I knew nothing of the change. It was that villain Potin."

"I was brought here by your order," she repeated. "I demand that I be taken where I can have a trial."

"Potin has made another mistake," was all Leboeuf would vouchsafe in reply.

"If there has been any mistake, it is yours. I demand that you set it right."

"It is too late!"

"There must be some one aboard this vessel who has the power to do it, if you have not. I will go and appeal for aid," and she took a step toward the door.

Leboeuf interposed his bulky body between her and the means of exit; closed and locked the door on the inside.

"I will cry aloud. Some one will hear me," she said in desperation.

"Who will hear you above all that noise?" he inquired tersely.

The prisoners on the boat, now fully aware that their time of execution had come, were crying out against their fate,--some praying for mercy, some calling down the maledictions of heaven upon their butchers, while others wept silently.

"Merciful Virgin, protect me. I have lost all hope," cried Edme, turning from Leboeuf and sinking despairingly upon her knees.

"Ah, now you are frightened!" exclaimed Leboeuf, "admit that you are frightened!"

"If it is any satisfaction to have succeeded in terrifying a woman unable to defend herself, I will not rob you of the pleasure, but know that it is not death, but the manner of it, that I fear."

"But you are afraid; you have confessed to it at last, and now Leboeuf will see that they do not harm you." He gave a grim chuckle as if he enjoyed having won his point. Rapidly pushing the table to one side, turning back the rug that covered the floor, he stooped; and to Edme's astonished gaze lifted up a trap door in the floor of the cabin. Edme drew back from the black hole at her feet.

"It is large enough to afford you air for several hours," Leboeuf said. "By that time I will get you out again. Quick, descend the steps."

Edme, fearing further treachery, drew back in alarm. "I prefer to meet my fate here."

Leboeuf struck a light and by the rays of the lamp a ladder was revealed.

"I tell you it is certain death to remain here fifteen minutes longer.

Even I could not save you then. The more they throw into the water the more frenzied they become for other victims. They will ransack the entire boat; but they won't find you down there. Leboeuf alone knows this place. Quick! If you would live to see the sun rise to-morrow, go down the steps of that ladder."

He took her by the shoulder to a.s.sist in the descent. His touch was so distasteful to her that she threw off his hand and went down the ladder unaided. "Make not the slightest sound, whatever you may hear going on up here above you, and wait patiently until I come to release you."