CHAPTER XXXVIII

MÈRE AVANT TOUT

The path was steep and narrow, leading them, moreover, through the most tangled and inaccessible parts of the jungle. Their progress was necessarily tardy and laborious. Fleurette took the lead, supported by Bottle-Jack, whose sea-legs seemed to carry him uphill with difficulty, and who stopped to take breath more than once. The black girl’s wound was painful enough, but she possessed that savage spirit of endurance which successfully resists mere bodily suffering, and walked with an active and elastic, though limping step. Blood, however, was still oozing from her wound, and a sense of faintness, resisted by sheer force of will, threatened at every moment to overpower her. She might just reach the crest of the hill, she thought, and then it would be all over with poor Fleurette; but the rest would need no guide after that point was gained, and the faithful girl struggled on.

Next came Smoke-Jack, in attendance on the ladies, much exhilarated by the dignity of his position, yet ludicrously on his good behaviour, and afraid of committing himself, on the score of manners, by word or deed. The Marquise and her daughter walked hand in hand, wasting few words, and busied each with her own thoughts. They seemed to have exchanged characters with the events of the last few hours. Cerise, ever since her rescue, had displayed an amount of energy and resolution scarcely to be expected from her usual demeanour, making light of present fatigue and coming peril in a true military spirit of gaiety and good-humour; while her mother, on the contrary, betrayed in every word and gesture the languor of subdued emotion, and a certain softened, saddened preoccupation of manner, seldom to be remarked in the self-possessed and brilliant Marquise.

Captain George, with Slap-Jack and the rest of the blue-jackets, brought up the rear. His fighting experience warned him that in no previous campaign had he ever found himself in so critical a position as at present. He was completely surrounded by the enemy. His own force, though well-armed and full of confidence, was ridiculously weak in numbers. He was encumbered with baggage (not to speak it disrespectfully) that must be protected at any sacrifice, and he had to make a forced march, through ground of which he was ignorant, dependent on the guidance of a half-savage girl, who might after all turn out to be a traitress.

Under so many disadvantages, the former captain of musketeers showed that he had not forgotten his early training. All eyes and ears, he seemed to be everywhere at once, anticipating emergencies, multiplying precautions, yet finding a moment every now and then for a word of politeness and encouragement to the ladies, to regret the roughness of the path, to excuse the prospective discomforts of the brigantine, or to assure them of their speedy arrival in a place of safety. On these occasions he invariably directed his speech to the Marquise and his looks to her daughter.

Presently, as they continued to wind up the hill, the ascent grew more precipitous. At length, having crossed the bed of a rivulet that they could hear tumbling into a cascade many hundred feet below, they reached a pass on the mountain side where the path became level, but seemed so narrow as to preclude farther progress. It turned at a sharp angle round the bare face of a cliff, which rose on one side sheer and perpendicular several fathoms above their heads, and on the other shelved as abruptly into a dark abyss, the depth of which, not even one of the seamen, accustomed as they were to giddy heights, dared measure with his eye. Fleurette alone, standing on the brink, peered into it without wavering, and pointing downwards, looked back on the little party with triumph.

“See down there,” said she, in a voice that grew fainter with every syllable. “No road round up above; no road round down below. Once past here all safe, same as in bed at home. Come by, you! take hands one by one—so—small piece more—find white lagoon. All done then. Good-night!”

Holding each other by the hand, the whole party, to use Slap-Jack’s expression, “rounded the point” in safety. They now found themselves in an open and nearly flat space, encircled but unshadowed by the jungle. Below them, over a level of black tree tops, the friendly sea was shining in the moonlight; and nearer yet, a gleam through the dark mass of forest denoted that white lagoon of which Fleurette had spoken.

On any other night it would have been a peaceful and a lovely sight; but now a flickering glare on the sky showed them where the roof-tree of Montmirail West was burning into ashes, and the yells of the rioters could be heard, plainer and plainer, as they scoured the mountain in pursuit of the fugitives, encouraging each other in their search.

Some of these shouts sounded so near in the clear still night, that Captain George was of opinion their track had been already discovered and followed up. If this were indeed the case, no stand could be made so effectually as at the defile they had lately threaded, and he determined to defend it to the last. For this purpose he halted his party and gave them their directions.

“Slap-Jack,” said he, “I’ve got a bit of soldier’s work for you to do. It’s play to a sailor, but you attend to my orders all the same. If these black devils overhaul us, they can only round that corner one at a time. I’ll leave you with a couple of your own foretopmen here to stop _that_ game. But we soldiers never want to fight without a support. Smoke-Jack and the rest of the boat’s crew will remain at your back. What say ye, my lads? It will be something queer if you can’t hold a hundred darkies and more in such a post as this, say, for three-quarters of an hour. I don’t ask ye for a minute longer; but mind ye, I expect _that_, if not a man of you ever comes on board again. When you’ve killed all the niggers, make sail straight away to the beach, fire three shots, and I’ll send a boat off. You won’t want to break your leave after to-night’s work. At all events, I wouldn’t advise you to try, and I shall get the anchor up soon after sunrise. Bottle-Jack comes with me, in case the ladies should want more assistance, and this dark girl—what d’ye call her?—Fleurette, to show us the way. God bless ye, my lads! Keep steady, level low, and don’t pull till you see the whites of their eyes!”

Bottle-Jack, slewing his body about with more than customary oscillation, declared his willingness to accompany the Captain, but pointing to Fleurette, expressed a fear that “this here gal had got a megrim or something, and wanted caulkin’ very bad, if not refittin’ altogether in dry dock.”

The moon shed a strong light upon the little party, and it was obvious that Fleurette, who had now sunk to the ground, with her head supported by Bottle-Jack as tenderly and carefully as if the honest tar had been an experienced nurse of her own sex, was seriously, if not mortally wounded, and certainly unable to proceed. The Marquise and her daughter were at her side in an instant, but she took no heed of the former, fixing her filmy eyes on Cerise, and pressing her young mistress’s hand to her heart.

“You kiss me once again,” said she, faintly, and with a sad smile on her swarthy face, now turning to that wan leaden hue which makes a pale negro so ghastly an object. “Once again, so sweet! ma’amselle, same as before. You go straight on to white lagoon—see! Find canoe tied up. Stop here berry well, missee—Fleurette camp out all night. No fear Jumbo now. Sleep on long after monkeys wake! Good-night!”

It was with difficulty that Cerise could be prevailed on to leave the faithful girl who had sacrificed herself so willingly, and whom, indeed, she could hardly expect to see again; but the emergency admitted of no delay, even on the score of gratitude and womanly compassion. George hurried the ladies forward in the direction of the lagoon, leaving Fleurette, now prostrate and unconscious, to the care of Slap-Jack, who pitied her from the depths of his honest heart.

“It’s a bad job,” said he, taking off his jacket and folding it into a pillow for the poor girl’s head, with as much tender care as if she had been his own Alice, of whom, indeed, he was thinking at the moment. “A real bad job, if ever there was one. Such a heart of oak as this here; an’ a likely lass too, though as black as a nor’-easter. Well, _somebody_’ll have to pay for this night’s work, that’s sartin. Ay! yell away, you black beggars. We’ll give you something to sing out for presently—an’ you shall have it hot and heavy when you _do_ get it, as sure as my name’s Slap-Jack!”

Captain George, in the meantime, led the two ladies swiftly down the open space before them, in the direction of the lagoon, which was now in sight. They had but to thread one more belt of lofty forest-trees, from which the wild vines hung in a profusion of graceful festoons, and they were on the brink of the cool, peaceful water, spread like a sheet of silver at their feet.

“Five minutes more,” said he, “and we are safe. Once across, and if that girl speaks truth, less than a quarter of a league will bring us to the beach. All seems quiet, too, on this side, and there is little chance of our being intercepted from the town. The boat will be in waiting within a cable’s length off shore, and my signal will bring her in at once. Then I shall hope to conduct you safe on board, but both madame and mademoiselle must excuse a sailor’s rough accommodation and a sailor’s unceremonious welcome.”

The Marquise did not immediately answer. She was looking far ahead into the distance, as though she heard not, or at least heeded not, and yet every tone of his voice was music to her ears, every syllable he spoke curdled like some sweet and subtle poison in her blood. Notwithstanding the severe fatigue and fierce excitement of the night, she walked with head erect, and proud imperious step, like a queen amongst her courtiers, or an enchantress in the circle she has drawn. There was a wild brilliancy in her eyes, there was a fixed red spot on either cheek; but for all her assumption of pride, for all her courage and all her self-command, her hand trembled, her breath came quick, and the Marquise knew that she had never yet felt so thoroughly a weak and dependent woman as now, when she turned at last to thank her preserver for his noble efforts, and dared not even raise her eyes to meet his own.

“You have saved us, monsieur,” was all she could stammer out, “and how can we show our gratitude enough? We shall never forget the moment of supreme danger, nor the brave man who came between those ruffians and their prey. Shall we, Cerise?”

But Cerise made no answer, though she managed to convey her thanks in some hidden manner that afforded Captain George a satisfaction quite out of proportion to their value.

They had now reached the edge of the lagoon, to find, as Fleurette had indicated, a shallow rickety canoe, moored to a post half-buried in the water, worm-eaten, rotten, and crumbling to decay. The bark itself was in little better preservation, and on a near inspection they discovered, much to their discomfiture, that it would hold at best but one passenger at a time. It had evidently not been used for a considerable period, and after months of exposure and ill-usage, without repair, was indeed, as a means of crossing the lagoon, little better than so much brown paper. George’s heart sank while he inspected it. There was no paddle, and although such a want might easily be remedied with a knife and the branch of a tree, every moment of delay seemed so dangerous, that the Captain made up his mind to use another mode of propulsion, and cross over at once.

“Madame,” said he to the Marquise, “our only safety is on the other side of this lagoon. Fifty strokes of a strong swimmer would take him there. No paddle has been left in that rickety little craft, nor dare I waste the few minutes it would take to fashion one. Moreover, neither mademoiselle nor yourself could use it, and you need only look at your shallop to be sure that it would never carry two. This, then, is what I propose. I will place one of you in the canoe, and swim across, pushing it before me. Bottle-Jack will remain here to guard the other. For that purpose I will leave him my pistols in addition to his own. When my first trip is safely accomplished, I will return with the canoe and repeat the experiment. The whole can be done in a short quarter of an hour. Excuse me, madame, but for this work I must divest myself of coat, cravat, and waistcoat.”

Thus speaking, Captain George disencumbered himself rapidly of these garments, and assisted by Bottle-Jack, tilted the light vessel on its side, to get rid of its superfluous weight of water. Then standing waist-deep in the lagoon, he prepared it for the reception of its freight; no easy matter with a craft of this description, little more roomy and substantial than a cockle-shell, without the advantage of being water-tight. Spreading his laced coat along the bottom of the canoe, he steadied it carefully against the bank, and signed to the ladies that all was now in readiness for embarkation.

They exchanged wistful looks. Neither seemed disposed to grasp at her own safety and leave the other in danger. Bottle-Jack, leaning over the canoe, continued bailing the water out with his hand. Notwithstanding the Captain’s precautions it leaked fast, and seemed even now little calculated to land a passenger dry on the farther shore.

“Mamma, I _will_ not leave you,” said Cerise, “you shall go first with George. With monsieur, I mean.” She corrected herself, blushing violently. “Monsieur can then return for me, and I shall be quite safe with this good old man, who is, you perceive, armed to the teeth, and as brave as a lion besides.”

“That is why I do not fear to remain,” returned the Marquise. “Child, I could not bear to see this sheet of water between us, and you on the dangerous side. We can neither fly nor swim, alas! though the latter art we _might_ have learned long ago. Cerise, I _insist_ on your crossing first. It may be the last command I shall ever lay upon you.”

But Cerise was still obstinate, and the canoe meanwhile filled fast, in spite of Bottle-Jack’s exertions. That worthy, whose very nose was growing pale, though not with fear, took no heed of their dilemma, but continued his task with a mechanical, half-stupefied persistency, like a man under the influence of opium. The quick eye of the Marquise had detected this peculiarity of manner, and it made her the more determined not to leave her daughter under the old seaman’s charge. Their dispute might have been protracted till even Captain George’s courtesy would have given way; but a loud yell from the defile they had lately quitted, followed by a couple of shots and a round of British cheers, warned them all that not a moment was to be lost, for that their retreat was even now dependent on the handful of brave men left behind to guard the pass.

“My daughter shall go first, monsieur? Is it not so?” exclaimed the Marquise, with an eagerness of eye and excitement of manner she had not betrayed in all the previous horrors of the night.

“It is better,” answered George. “Mademoiselle is perhaps somewhat the lightest.” And although he strove to make his voice utterly unmoved and indifferent, there was in its tone a something of intense relief, of deep, heartfelt joy, that told its own tale.

The Marquise knew it all at last. She saw the past now, not piece by piece, in broken detail as it had gone by, but all at once, as the mariner, sailing out of a fogbank, beholds the sunny sky, and the blue sea, and the purple outlines of the shore. It came upon her as a shot goes through a wild deer. The creature turns sick and faint, and knowing all is over, yet would fain ignore its hurt and keep its place, erect, stately, and uncomplaining, amongst the herd; not the less surely has it got its death-wound.

How carefully he placed Cerise in the frail bark of which she was to be the sole occupant. How tenderly he drew the laced coat between the skirt of her delicate white dress and the flimsy shattered wood-work, worn, splintered, and dripping wet even now. Notwithstanding the haste required, notwithstanding that every moment was of such importance in this life and death voyage, how he seemed to linger over the preparations that brought him into contact with his precious freight. At last they were ready. A farewell embrace between mother and daughter; a husky cheer delivered in a whisper from Bottle-Jack; a hurried thanksgiving for perils left behind; an anxious glance at the opposite shore, and the canoe floated off with its burden, guided by George, who in a few yards was out of his depth and swimming onward in long measured strokes that pushed it steadily before him.

The Marquise, watching their progress with eager restless glance, that betrayed strong passions and feelings kept down by a stronger will, observed that when within a pistol-shot of the opposite shore the bark was propelled swiftly through the water, as if the swimmer exerted himself to the utmost—so much so as to drive it violently against the bank. George’s voice, while his dripping figure emerged into sight, warned her that all was well; but straining her eyes in the uncertain light, the Marquise, though she discerned her daughter’s white dress plainly enough, could see nothing of the boat. Again George shouted, but she failed to make out the purport of what he said; though a gleam of intelligence on the old seaman’s face made her turn to Bottle-Jack. “What is it?” she asked anxiously. “Why does he not come back to us with the canoe?”

“The canoe will make no more voyages, my lady,” answered the old man, with a grim leer that had in it less of mirth than pain. “She’s foundered, that’s wot she’s been an’ done. They’ll send back for us, never fear; so you an’ me will keep watch and watch till they come; an’ if you please, my lady, askin’ your pardon, I’ll keep _my_ watch first.”