Across the Salt Seas
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And then I understood.
Through the dim light cast on the now darkened street by oil lamps, swung across it at intervals, and also by the candles burning in. relicários, set into the walls, as well as by the feeble glare which emerged from curtainless and unshuttered windows, I saw a band of men slowly passing, their drawn swords in their hands, or with musketoons upon their shoulders.
And ahead of all this body, which was composed of perhaps a dozen, there marched two of those with whom we had fought on the road between Chantada and this place-the leader who had addressed us, and another. As they passed along they gazed at each man whom they encountered; halting opposite our window, they looked at an inn which faced ours directly, a little place on which was painted the name, "Pósada Buena Ventura."
"Open the window a crack," I said to Juan-doing so myself, however, as I spoke-"and let us listen. Hear what they say. Softly," and following my words we placed our ears to the inch-wide orifice.
And then we heard every word as it fell from their lips.
"That house opposite," the leader said, "is the last to be examined except this and another" – while Juan whispered: "I cannot catch its name-It sounds like the San Cristobal. Yes. Yes. 'Tis that. Ha! And, see, they enter the house opposite. Yet some remain in the street." And we both peered from behind the side of the window at them as they stood there in the road, a crowd of urchins gathered round.
"We are trapped," I said, "trapped. We can never get out. The horses are in the stables behind-also, the gates are shut."
"God!" exclaimed Juan, suddenly, even as I spoke, "they have finished there already-are coming here. Another five minutes and they will be in this room."
"What shall we do?" he wailed a moment later.
"Escape while there is time-from this room, at least. Loosen your sword in its sheath-follow me," and I drew him back from the window.
"But where? Where to go to?"
"Out of the house, at least. Come. The stairs lead down to the back part of the house; there is the yard and the stables-also a garden. I observed it when the horses were put up. Come. There is a wall at the end of the garden which separates it from another. If we can get over that we can at least escape into the town. By God's grace, there may be some way out of it besides the gates. And we have the cloak of night to help us."
All the time I was speaking I had been drawing Juan toward the door; also I had seen that my papers and money were bestowed about me safely-I doubted if we should ever see our valises again! – or, for the matter of that, our horses. It would be heaven's providence now if we ever got out of this town alive, and even that I deemed unlikely. And at this crisis that was all we had to hope for, if so much.
"Lift your porte epée by the hand," I whispered. "If the scabbard clanks on the stairs we are undone. Follow me."
In another instant we were outside the door of the room. For precaution and as a possible means of gaining time I drew the key from the inside of the lock, then placed it in the keyhole outside, made a turn and, again withdrawing it, dropped it into my pocket. This would take up some moments, while they clamoured without, bidding us open. It would take some few more to break down the door, which they would very probably do. They might be precious moments to us.
It was quite dark outside in the corridor, but at the farther end there glimmered a faint light from an oil lamp set upon a bracket, though its rays scarcely reached here, namely, to the head of the deep oak stairs opposite where the door of the room we had just quitted was. But from below, which was a stone-flagged passage running from the front of the house to the back, there was another light-thank God, 'twas nearer the street than the exit to the yard!
We descended seven steps, then the stairs turned sharply from a small landing-we ourselves did not dare, however, to turn them.
For below, in that cold stone corridor, we heard and recognised the voice of the man who had challenged us in the forest ere the fight began, a night ago.
"Here, are they?" we heard him say. "Here-so the birds are caught. The one, big, stalwart, brown-that is the English demonio-the other, younger, dark, handsome, might play the lover in one of Vega's spectacles. Ha! And the third who joined in the murder-an elder one, swart and grimy, black as the devil himself-is he here, too?"
"Nay," said the woman, whose voice told us she was the landlady, "there are but two, the bronzed one and the youth. You will not hurt him! Nay! Nay! Diôs! he is young and beautiful."
"Have no fear. We will not hurt either, if they do not resist. If they do, we shall cut them down. But-otherwise-no! no!" and he laughed a fierce, hard laugh. "Oh, no. There are others to hurt them-the governor, the Regidórs, the judges. Ho! They will hurt them through the garrote-or-or-the flames. The brasero! The wheel! Now lead up to them. Where is the room they harbour in?"
"I will fetch another lamp," the woman said. "This one is fixed. Wait." And we heard her clatter down the corridor on her Spanish pattens. Yet she paused, too, a moment, and turned back, saying:
"Spare him-the young one. Heavens! his lips and eyes are enough to madden an older woman than I am."
"Quick, then, quick," the other answered. "They sleep in the prison to-night, and our supper waits at the gatehouse. Quick."
"Shall we dash through them?" Juan whispered; and now I noticed that, as before in the hour of danger, his voice was firm and steady. "One might escape even though the other is taken." And I heard him mutter, in even lower tones: "Pray God it is you."
"No," I said. "No. We go together. Together escape or-die."
Then, even as I spoke, I saw what I had not observed before, owing to the dim light in which all was surrounded; saw that opposite to us on the landing-where the stairs turned-there was a door. Closed tight into its frame, 'twas true, yet leading doubtless into some room opening off the stairs which led up to the other one we had quitted.
I was near enough to put my foot out quietly and touch it with my toe and-God be praised! – it yielded, opened inward.
"Into it," I said in Juan's ear, "into it. They will pass it as they go up to where we have come from. When they have done so we may creep down. In!"
A moment later we had entered that room, had quitted the stairs-and the woman had come back and rejoined the men, was leading them up those very stairs, across the very spot where a few instants before we had been standing.
Yet our hearts leapt to our mouths-mine did, I know! – when we who were standing on the other side of the door heard him stop outside it, and, striking the panel with his finger-the rap of his nail upon it was clearly perceptible to our eager ears-say to the woman:
"Is this the room-are they here?"
The woman gave a low laugh in answer; then she said:
"Nay. Nay. 'Tis mine. By the saints! what should they do there! That handsome Inglés, devil though he be! – or that lovely boy? Heavens, no!" and again she laughed, and added: "Come. They are here. Up these stairs."
Even as we heard their heavy, spurred feet clatter on those stairs we were seeking for some mode of escape, and that at once.
Alas! 'twas not to be out of the door again and down into the stone passage, as we had thought.
For one glance through a great crack, and we saw, by peering down below, that these Spanish alguazils had some method in their proceedings. They had left two of their number behind; they stood in the passage waiting for what might happen above; waiting, perhaps, to hew down the two fugitives whom those others were seeking for, should they rush down; waiting for us. There was no way there!
Then, for the room-what did that offer?
It was as dark as a vault-we could distinguish nothing-not even where the bed was-at first. Yet, later, in a few moments-while we heard, above, the rapping of sword hilts upon the door of the chamber we had just quitted-while we heard, too, the leader shouting: "Open. Open-Bandidos! Assassinatóres! Espias! or we will blow the lock off" – we saw at the end of the room a dull murky glimmer, a light that was a light simply in contrast to the denser gloom around-knew there was a window at that end.
Was that our way out?
Swiftly we went toward it-tore aside a curtain drawn across a bar-the noise the rings made as they ran seemed enough to alarm those men above, must have done so but for the infernal din they themselves were making-opened the lattice window-and, heaven help us! – found outside an iron, interlaced grate that would have effectually barred the exit of aught bigger than a cat!
We were trapped! Caught! It seemed as if naught could save us now!
"Lock the door," I whispered to Juan. "They will come here next. The moment they find we are not in the other room! – ha! they know it now, or will directly."
For as I spoke there rang the report of a musketoon through the empty passages of the house. They were blowing the lock off!
Desperately, madly, exerting a force that even I had never yet realized myself as possessing, I seized the cross-bars of that iron grating; I pushed them outward, praying to God for one moment-only one moment-of Samson's strength. And-could do nothing! Nothing, at first. Yet-as still I strained and pushed, as I drew back my arms to thrust more strongly even than before-it seemed as if the framework, as if the whole thing, yielded, as if it were becoming loosened in its stone or brick setting. Inspired by this, I pushed still more, threw the whole weight of my big body into one last despairing effort-and succeeded! The grate was loosened, torn out of the frame; with a clatter of falling chips and small débris it fell into the yard ten feet below.
My prayer was heard!
"Quick, Juan," I said, "quick, come. Out of the window, give me your hands. I will lower you. 'Tis nothing."
From Juan there came in answer a cry, almost a scream of terror.
"Save me! Save me!" he shrieked, "there is another man in the room!" and as he so cried, I heard a thump upon the floor-a thump such as one makes who leaps swiftly from a bed-a rush across that floor. Also a muttered curse in Spanish, a tempest of words, a huge form hurled against mine, two great muscular hands at my throat.
In a moment, however, my own hands were out, too, my thumbs pressing through a coarse beard upon a windpipe. "Curse you," I said in Spanish, as I felt that grasp on me relax. "Curse you, you are doomed," and drawing back, I struck out with my full force to the front of me.
Struck out, to feel my clenched fist stopped by a hairy face-the thud was terrible even to my ears! – to hear a bitter moan and, a moment later, a fall-dull and like a dead weight! – upon the floor.
"Come, Juan, come," I cried. "Come."
CHAPTER XXII.
WHO? GRAMONT?
As he scrambled through the window-as I let him down by his hands, so that, with the length of his arm and mine together, his feet were not more than a yard from the ground-I heard those others outside the door. Heard also the woman shriek:
"There is none in here, I tell you-pigs, idiots! If they have escaped, 'tis to the street or to the roof. Search those rooms first. This is my chamber. Diôs! Are you men to enter thus a woman's apartment!"
"So be it," the leader said. "We will. But, remember, if we find them not we will search this room. Remember!" and we heard him and the others striding off to some other part of the house.
By this time I was myself half out of the window. From the creature I had felled to the floor there came no sound; but from the door outside I heard the woman whisper:
"Renato, come forth. Quick, I say! If they find you here you are lost. You will be taken-sent to the colonies. Come forth!"
Then I waited to hear no more, understanding clearly enough that the woman had herself been sheltering in her own room some malefactor, probably some lover. And, doubtless, he had thought we were seeking for him, had found him in that darkened room-that we were the alguazils. His presence was explained.
Taking Juan by the hand, I passed rapidly by the stables as we went away from the street and up into the garden beyond-a small place, neglected and dirty, in which I had noticed, when we arrived, numbers of enormous turnips growing-vegetables much used in the country.
Then, a moment later, we were close by a low, whitewashed wall-'twas not so high as my head-over which I helped Juan, following instantly myself.
"Heaven knows," I said, "where we are now, except that we have left the inn behind. This may be the garden of some great residéncia, or of another inn. Well, we must get through somehow into the street beyond."
"And afterward?" Juan asked, his face close to mine, as though trying to see me in the dark of the night. "Afterward?"
"God knows what-afterward! We shall never get out of the gates, 'tis certain. There are five-all are doubtless warned by now. Pity 'tis we did not follow our friend's suggestion and disguise ourselves. That way, we might have been safe. I as a monk, you as a woman, we should never have been recognised."
"'Tis too late," said Juan. "Too late now. We must go on; on to the end. Yet I wonder where that friend, Jaime, is. Perhaps taken, his disguise seen through."
We had reached the house to which this garden belonged by now-a different one from the neglected thing we had lately left, well cared for, and with great tubs of oleanders and orange trees placed about it at regular intervals, as we could now see by the rising moon, which was peeping over the chimney tops and casting its rays along a broad path which we had followed; were close up to the house, a great white one, with this, its garden side, full of windows covered with persianas, or jalousies, and from some of them lights streaming.
"'Tis an inn, for sure," I said, "and full of-hark! whose voice is that?"
Yet there was no need to ask; 'twas a voice not easily forgotten which was speaking now; the voice of the man, Señor, or "Father," Jaime.
"Ay," we heard in those rich, sonorous tones, "alive, and here to call you to account."
And following this we heard another voice, supplicating, wailing, screaming, almost: "No! No! No! Mercy! Pardon!"
Beneath the moon's increasing rays we gazed into each other's eyes, then quickly, together-as if reading each other's thoughts also-we moved toward where those sounds proceeded from.
Toward a room in the angle of the great white house, with a door opening on to the garden in which we stood-'twas open now, though half across it hung a heavy curtain of some thick material. It was easy enough to guess how 'twas that curtain was thrown half back and the door stood open.
That way Jaime had come upon his prey.
Standing behind that door, behind that heavy half-fallen curtain, this was what we saw: The man Jaime, with in his hand a drawn sword-doubtless he had hidden it beneath his monk's gown since he returned to the assumption of the latter.
In front of Jaime, upon his knees, his hands clasped, his white hair streaming behind him, was the man whose name I had deemed to be Carstairs, or Cuddiford, but which Juan had averred was in truth James Eaton.
"Alive!" Jaime went on. "Alive. Villain, answer for your treachery ere I slay you. Where is my wealth-my child's wealth. Where is my daughter?"
As he spoke I heard a gasp, a moan beside me, felt a trembling. And, looking down, I saw Juan staring into the room, his eyes distended as though he was fascinated.
"My child," Jaime went on. "My child. Where is she?"
"I-I-do not know," the old man muttered-hissed in a whisper. "I do-not know. She left me-years ago. Yet-I loved her."
"Liar. I have heard of you in the Indies. You stole the wealth I left in your hands for her-you drove her forth. Answer. Is she dead?"
"I lost all in trade," Eaton moaned again, "all, all. I thought to double it-you were dead-they said so-would never come back. I-I-"
"Look," whispered Juan in my ear. "Look behind you."
At his words I turned, and then I knew that we were lost, indeed. Lost forever.
The men from Chantada, accompanied by those of Lugo, were in this garden-had followed us over the wall, had found out our way of escape.
We were doomed! The garrote-the stake-were very near now.
They saw us at once, in an instant-doubtless our forms stood out clearly enough in the beams of the lamp as they poured forth into the garden-and made straight for us, their swords drawn, the unbrowned barrels of their musketoons and pistols gleaming in the moonlight. And the leader shouted, as he ran slightly ahead of the others: "You cannot escape again. Move and we fire on you!"
Yet we heeded him not, but with a bound leapt into the room where those two were-leapt in while I cried: "Jaime, we are undone. Assist us again."
Then swift as lightning I shut the door to, let fall the curtain and drew my sword. "I will never yield to them," I said. "Juan and I escape or die here together."
"Together!" Juan echoed, drawing also his weapon forth.
There was but time to see a still more frightened glance on Eaton's face than before-if added terror could come into a man's eyes more than had been when those eyes had glinted up at Jaime as he stood over him, it came now as Juan sprang to my side, his hat fallen off and his hair dishevelled-while those men were at the door giving on to the garden. And in an instant it was burst open by them-'twas but a poor frail thing! – they were in the room.
"Yield!" the leader cried, "yield, or you die here at once!"
But now Jaime was by our side; three blades were flashing in their faces; we were driving them back, assisted also by a fourth-the negro servant of Eaton, who had sprung into the room from another door. Yet that assistance lasted but a second. Doubtless the unhappy wretch preferred it, thinking it was his master who was in danger! A pistol was fired by some one, and I saw him reel back, falling heavily on the floor, dead, with a bullet between his eyes. And, as he did so, from Eaton there came a scream, while he flung himself over the creature's body.
With those others pistols were now the order of the day, fired ineffectually at first, while still I and the leader fought hand-to-hand around the room. And I had him safe. I knew if I was not cut down from behind that he was mine. My blade was under and over his guard. I prepared for the last lunge, when-curses on the luck! – a bullet took me in the right forearm; there ran through that arm, up to my shoulder, a feeling of numbness, a burning twinge; my sword fell with a clang to the floor.
And in another moment two of them had sprung on and secured me; two others had grasped Juan, and disarmed him, too.
And now there was none on our side to oppose himself to them but Jaime.
"Shoot him down! Kill him!" the leader cried. Then added: "You fool, there is naught against you, yet, if you court fate, receive it."
But, great fighter as he was, what could he do against all those? One hung upon his sword arm, another clasped a leg, a third was dragging at his neck from behind, a fourth holding his monkish gown.
In another moment he, too, was disarmed. We were beaten-prisoners! The lives of all of us were at an end. None could doubt that!
The leader drew a long breath, then turned to where, at the open door of the passage, were gathered the landlord, as I supposed; several facchinos and some trembling women servants, white to the lips, and said:
"Observe, all you. I take these men-these asasinos within your house. I denounce these two," and he indicated Juan and me, "the one as an English spy and a man who fought against us at Vigo, this other one, this boy, as his comrade and accomplice. Bear witness to my words, also to their deeds of blood."
From that crowd in the passage there came murmurs and revilings in reply: "You should have slain them here," some said; "Better the garrote or the flames in the plaza da Mercado," said others.
"As for this monk, this false monk-for such I know him now to be-easy enough to recognise him as one of the brigands we fought with the other night-had he not joined in this fray he had been safe. We sought him not. Now, also, the flames or the garrote for him." Then, breaking off, he exclaimed: "Who is this-and that black slave lying dead there?" and he pointed to Eaton and the other. "Who are they?"
"A gentleman and his servant staying in this, my house," the landlord said, speaking for the first time, "doubtless assaulted by the vagabundos. Oh! 'tis terrible."
"Off with these three," the leader said. "To the prison in the ramparts to-night-the judge to-morrow."
And as he gave his orders his men and the men of Lugo with him formed round us, prepared to obey.
But, now, for the first time Eaton spoke, approaching the leader fawningly, speaking in a soft voice.
"Señor," he said, "ere you take them away, a word. This one," looking at me, "you knew already-at Chantada; I have told you who and what he is. For the boy it matters not. He is but a follower."
Yet as he spoke I noticed he carefully avoided Juan's eyes, fixed full blaze on him as they flamed from out of his now white, marble face.
"These, I say, you know," he went on. "But for this other one-this pretended monk, this brigand of the night-you do not know him; nor who he is and what has been. Let me tell you."
"Viper," Jaime murmured. "Villain. Thief! Yet," he continued, "I stoop not to ask your silence. Speak. Tell all. But, James Eaton, beware. Caged tigers sometimes break their bars and get free."
"Yours will never be broken," the leader said, looking at the same time with a wondering glance from one to the other.
"'Tis true. 'Tis very true," Eaton went on, his voice oily, treacherous as before. "Yet since you might break yours, I give this gentleman a double reason for binding you faster. Sir," turning to him whom he so addressed, "this monk, this brigand as he appears, would be an innocent man were he that alone, in comparison with what he really is."
"Who in the name of all the fiends is he, then? Answer quick."
"A murderer," the old man hissed now, raising his voice, "not four-fold, but four thousand-fold. See," and he pointed his fingers at Jaime, "see in him the man who sacked Maracaibo, Guayaquil, Campeachy; the man who has burnt men and women alive in their houses like pigs in a stye, sunk countless Spanish and French ships, plundered, murdered, ravished-the arch-villain of the Caribbean Sea-not dead, but alive, and trapped at last. The buccaneer, filibuster, pirate-Gramont!"
Amidst their voices-their shouts and cries-for all in Spain had known that awful name, though its owner had long been deemed dead and lost at sea-I heard a cry-it was a scream-from Juan; I saw him reel as he stood by my left side, then stagger heavily against me, supported from falling to the floor only by my unwounded arm around him.
He had fainted.
And, as I held up the drooping form, I learnt the secret hidden from me for so many days. I knew now what it was that Sir George Rooke had earlier learnt. I penetrated the disguise of Juan Belmonte.
CHAPTER XXIII.
SENTENCED TO DEATH
I lay within a darkened cell in the prison which formed part of the ramparts of Lugo. Lay there, a man doomed to death; sentenced to be burnt at the stake, as a spy taken in a country at war with my own. To be burnt at the stake on some Sunday morning, because that day was always a day of festival, because all Lugo would be there to witness, because from all the country round the peasants would come in to see the Englishman expire in the flames.
Doomed to death!
Yet not alone. By my side-his right hand nailed to an upright plank! (so the sentence had run) to which our bodies were to be fastened by chains-was to stand that other man, Gramont-the pirate and buccaneer who, as Eaton had testified, had been called the Shark of the Indies.
I had been tried first by the Alcáide of Lugo and the principal Regidór, assisted by the Bishop of the province, an extremely old man-and had been soon disposed of. Evidence was forthcoming-there was plenty of it in Lugo in the shape of French sea-captains and sailors from the Spanish galleons-that I had fought with the English at Vigo; also, that I had slain men betwixt the border and here. And, again, there was the evidence of Eaton that I had travelled from Rotterdam as the undoubted bearer of the news that the galleons were approaching Spain.