For Love of a Bedouin Maid

A gray-haired, bushy whiskered man of forty-five came up to him the moment that he touched the deck.

"I am Captain Fergusson," he said. "You say you have despatches for me, Sir. You were only just in time; and I must start at once, for I cannot lose the tide."

"I am Captain Anson," replied the other, "—th Hussars." Then he continued, politely, and looking every inch a gentleman, despite his drenched appearance—the water was streaming from him, and making little pools about him—"My orders are to hand over to you, yonder gentleman"—pointing to St. Just, who was standing motionless, gazing absently at the roofs of the little town that seemed, with the motion of the vessel, to be bobbing up and down—"with instructions that he is to be guarded carefully and allowed to hold no communication with anyone but yourself; consistently with that, he is to receive every consideration. These papers will tell you all.

"This," handing the Captain a large, blue, official-looking envelope, "contains your sailing orders; and this, despatches for the Admiral." He passed the various documents to Captain Fergusson, who replied:

"I need scarcely say, Captain Anson, that the instructions here contained will be obeyed to the very letter. And now you must have a glass of Nantz, after your wetting."

"I thank you," replied Anson, "but it is impossible. I dare not detain you; and I, too, must return immediately."

He shook hands with the Captain, and then turned to St. Just, and held out his hand. "Good-bye, Mons. St. Just, and Au revoir. I wish you good luck, I trust you will forgive me for what may have appeared harshness in my manner. It was not in my heart; but merely a necessity of the performance of my duty. I hope in the future we may meet as friends in more congenial circumstances."

He smiled pleasantly, as indeed he might; so far as he was concerned, everything had turned out satisfactorily.

St. Just took the proffered hand and shook it warmly. "No excuse whatever is called for, Captain Anson," he replied; "you performed an uncongenial task with every courtesy."

Then Captain Anson swung himself overboard and lowered himself by a rope into the fishing-boat. She cast off and, at once, began tacking for the shore, St. Just watching her till she disappeared into the harbor.

Captain Fergusson glanced rapidly over his new instructions, and gave the necessary orders; and, not till the little vessel was fairly on her course, did he give his attention to St. Just.

Then he approached him. "For the time it seems I am to be your jailer, Mons. St. Just. I will make things as pleasant and comfortable as I can for you, consistent with your safe custody; but I shall have to confine you to your cabin and place an armed sentry at your door. Except for two hours' exercise daily on the poop, you will have to spend all your time there. If you care to read, I can supply you with some books."

St. Just bowed. "I am in your hands," he said. "I cannot complain; it is the fortune of war. But one thing I should like to ask; how long is my confinement likely to continue?"

"About three weeks, I fancy; but it depends upon wind and weather."

"And my destination?"

Captain Fergusson gave a peculiar laugh. "Ah! that I cannot say," he said. "Sims," to an officer standing near, "conduct this gentleman to the middle cabin on the port side of the upper deck, and place a marine at the door."

He bowed to St. Just, to signify that the interview was ended, and then walked away to his cabin to con more carefully the orders he had received. They were brief and simple, but their very brevity and simplicity gave him food for thought.

The envelope was addressed:—

"To Commander Fergusson H.M.S. La France."

The contents were as follows:—

"Sir,

"We commit to your charge a Buonapartist, Mons. St. Just, taken with the accompanying despatches from the French Government. You will deliver him and them to Admiral Lord Nelson, last heard of in Lat. – Long. –.

"If the Admiral find the information in the papers trustworthy, Mons. St. Just is to be brought back to England. If not, let Lord Nelson deal with him as the bearer of false news in time of war deserves.

Signed: George, Prince Regent.

–—, First Lord of the Admiralty.

W. Pitt, First Lord of the Treasury and Prime Minister.

And this shall be your warrant for what you do."

Meanwhile St. Just had been conducted to his cabin, a narrow room about ten feet long and from six to eight in width; its furniture a bunk, a chair and a seaman's chest, empty except for washing requisites of the commonest description, the lid forming a table in the daytime. The cabin was lighted by a small port hole.

This then was to be his abode for the next three weeks—or more, and then—? The reflection made him shudder. He knew his fate depended on the truthfulness of the despatches taken from him—or rather on their result.

The hours seemed to drag on terribly. For a change, he paced about his little cabin; then he threw himself upon his bunk and tried to sleep; and, at last, succeeded.

How long he slept he did not know, but it was dark when he awoke, aroused by the opening of his door. Someone came in with a lantern, which he hung up on an iron hook in the rafters overhead. Then he laid some books upon the sea chest. It was Sims, the officer who had brought him to the cabin.

Following him was a sailor with a tray, on which were a bottle of rum and a glass, some cold pork, ship's biscuits, butter, and sundry other eatables, as well as knives and forks. He placed the tray upon the sea chest and then withdrew.

"Halloa! hors de combat?" said Sims, thinking St. Just's position due to mal de mer. "You'll get used to the sea in a day or two, and then you'll be all right."

St. Just sat up, his eyes blinking in the lamp light.

"It's not sea sickness I'm suffering from," he laughed, "but cabin sickness. The appointments here can scarcely be called luxurious, and I find my own company the reverse of cheerful."

"Anything else you want?" asked Sims who, St. Just thought, seemed a pleasant, hearty fellow.

St. Just laughed again. "Now what a question to ask a prisoner," he said.

"Well, I'd give you your liberty, old fellow, if I could; but short of that?"

"You are very good. To begin with then, what I most want is a change of clothing and a pipe."

"The last I can manage on the spot; as to the first, I'll talk to the Captain about it, and we'll see what we can do."

He put his hand into his pocket and brought out his own pipe and some tobacco, and these he handed to the captive.

St. Just's eyes glistened at the sight.

He grasped the proffered articles with avidity and thanked the donor with effusion.

After a little further talk, the young officer was obliged to leave him. Then St. Just became conscious that he was hungry; so he fell to upon the pork and biscuits. The fare was coarse, and the biscuits were desperately hard, and he had to hammer them into little pieces with the handle of his knife.

But, on the whole, he made an excellent meal, for what was wanting in the quality of the food was made up by appetite in himself. Then came the crowning luxury of the pipe. He smoked three. Then he turned into his berth, and so finished his first day on board the English cruiser, which was spinning merrily on her way towards Cadiz. She averaged ten knots an hour, for the wind was with them, and the Captain had crowded on her all the sail that she could carry.

For St. Just, one day was much like another, and he found the hours drag slowly, in spite of the companionship of his pipe. The one pleasure he looked forward to was his two hours' daily exercise on deck. The sight of the dancing waves and the blue sky overhead, and the smell of the fresh salt breeze, seemed to instill him with new life, but it made him long for his liberty all the more.

Once the La France had a narrow escape of being captured. A large French brig was sighted in the distance and, at once, gave chase; she began rapidly to overhaul them. When the Frenchman was within gunshot, Captain Fergusson was not long in knowing it; the ball struck the sea only a few yards on their starboard side. The disparity in the size of the two ships was such that the only alternatives of the English one's escaping capture were, either to be able by smarter seamanship to dodge the Frenchman, or that an English ship should come to their assistance. Captain Fergusson knew the importance of his reaching the British Admiral, and this added to his anxiety; it may even be said it was its sole cause. Eagerly he scanned the distance, the compass round, on the chance of sighting a vessel that flew the Union Jack; but not a sail of any sort could he discover, save that which was bringing the Frenchman ever nearer. St. Just was enjoying his interval of exercise while the chase proceeded, and watched with great excitement the distance between the two vessels lessening.

Gradually the brig gained on them, and ever and anon a shot ploughed up the sea all round the gallant little cruiser; but, so far, she had not been struck. Captain Fergusson, for all he knew that a contest could practically have but one result, was resolved to fight before hauling down his flag. So he had the deck cleared for action, and the cannon shotted. Then, with a look of desperate resolve, he calmly waited. Nothing it seemed could save him.

But, all at once, the tension on his face relaxed, and his eye brightened; a chance he had not reckoned in his calculations was to befriend him. Looking southward, in the opposite direction to the brig, he noticed that the air was becoming hazy. His practiced eye informed him what it was—a sea mist. If they could only hold on long enough, they would run into it, and so be lost to the view of their pursuer.

"By God!" he cried excitedly to the First Lieutenant, "if only we can get into that fog we shall give the Frenchman the slip."

At that moment a shot struck the little vessel on the taffrail, but did no serious damage, and no one on board was hit. It was the last, for, soon afterwards, the La France ran into the mist and was lost to sight.

This was the only exciting incident during St. Just's stay on the cruiser. After this, day succeeded day with unvarying monotony, until the morning of the 20th of October in this eventful year of 1805. Then Captain Fergusson sighted in the distance the English fleet. It was bearing down towards them in two lines, one led by Nelson in the Victory, the other by Collingwood in the Redoubtable.

When within signalling distance Captain Fergusson ran up the Union Jack, following it with the private signal. This having been acknowledged, the flags went up to signify that he had despatches and a prisoner.

Gradually the little vessel neared the fleet, and, when she was within hailing distance of the Victory, a voice rang out:

"Captain Fergusson to come on board with prisoner and despatches."

Forthwith he proceeded to St. Just's cabin, where the Frenchman lay asleep. "Sorry to disturb you, Mons. St. Just, but we are in the middle of the English fleet, and I have orders from the Admiral to take you on board at once; so please dress as speedily as you can."

A few minutes' rowing, and they were alongside the Victory, the eyes of every one on deck upon them; for the news had gone about that there were tidings of the allied French and Spanish fleets, and all were longing to be at them. St. Just slowly mounted the gangway. At its head stood an officer in uniform, whom Fergusson addressed as Captain Hardy. Captain Hardy took him apart and told him that he was to go with him at once to the Admiral; so, after giving orders to an officer to watch St. Just, the two proceeded to Lord Nelson's cabin.

Soon afterwards, many captains of other vessels in the fleet were signalled to come on board, and the ship was kept in a continual bustle by their arrival in quick succession. Then long and earnest deliberations went on below. Meanwhile St. Just remained standing on the poop, well guarded, and the object of great curiosity on the sailors' part. It was said that he was a spy who had been captured. He scarcely noticed the glances leveled at him, for he had plenty to occupy his mind. For aught he knew, he was within a few minutes of his death. No wonder he looked pale and anxious.

After some time, a midshipman approached, with instructions that he was to follow him. He was conducted to Lord Nelson's cabin.

At first, to the Frenchman's unaccustomed eyes, the gloom was such—for there was no light, but that which struggled through the port-holes—that he could scarce distinguish the persons gathered in the room; but his sight quickly accommodated itself to the partial light. Then he noticed a long table, down each side of which were seated naval officers in full-dress uniform. In the center, his back supported against a bulkhead, was a small, spare man, with a thin, worn face and a large nose, and grizzled hair. Like the other officers, he was in full uniform, and it was noticeable that his right sleeve was empty and looped up to a button hole of his coat. His left breast glittered with stars and orders. One side of his face was turned to an officer at his left, and he was whispering something to him behind his hand. The eye turned towards St. Just was scarred and sightless. St. Just did not need to be told that the man before him was the redoubted English Admiral, Lord Nelson.

The Admiral turned to St. Just and asked him: "Do you know the contents of the despatches of which you are the bearer?"

The Frenchman drew himself up to an erect position and saluted in military fashion.

"I do not, Sir," he replied promptly.

"Detail how you became possessed of them."

Every eye was turned keenly on St. Just, as though to read how far he spoke the truth.

Calmly and deliberately he related the circumstances; how that, having been imprisoned for so long, he had been offered his liberty, provided he delivered these despatches to a Buonapartist agent in London; how that he had not been given the least inkling of what was in them, nor any oral message for the agent. Then, mindful of Halima's injunctions, he went on to say that he had shown the papers to his wife, who had taken then to the Prime Minister. He could tell the Admiral nothing more.

There was a moment's silence, and then an elderly officer at the end of the table laughed.

The Admiral turned upon him sharply, "Well, Sir?"

The answer came with equal promptness and in a powerful brogue.

"My Lord, 'tis a foine wit the fellow has. But, be jabers, Oi, for one, will not be believing the truth. If the French fleet—bad cess to 'em—meant to sail from Cadiz, wouldn't they have kept it quiet; and would they have let this information fall into our hands, except for the purpose of misleading us as to their rale intentions?"

No one spoke audibly for a moment, but a low murmur went round, and it soon became evident that the old sailor's opinion had several supporters. One or two, indeed growled audibly:—

"Well spoken, Temeraire."

The Admiral raised his empty sleeve and flapped it to and fro, then spoke:

"Fergusson, you have had the best opportunity of judging how far this gentleman is to be believed. What is your opinion?"

Like most jailers, who are not naturally cruel, Fergusson had a protective sentiment towards his late prisoner; so he replied:

"I have had no means of testing his truthfulness, my Lord. On the other hand, I have no cause to doubt it."

"Oi should trice the rascal to the yardarm, Sir," interposed the Irish officer who had previously spoken.

"What say you, Hardy?"

"I say, do nothing till after the battle. It would be murder."

The Admiral smiled pleasantly. His flag-captain's opinion coincided entirely with his own.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I believe these despatches to be genuine; that they were not meant to fall into our hands. At any rate, I intend to act upon the information they contain. I am confident that to-morrow's dawn will witness the defeat of another Armada; that, once more, the brave hearts of English sailors will win a glorious victory for our country."

Further speech on the Admiral's part was prevented by the entrance of a midshipman. The youngster saluted Nelson and then laid before him on the table a pencilled note:

"The enemy's fleet is sighted.

"Collingwood."

The words were read out, and then followed a burst of cheering.

The Admiral reached his hat and moved from his seat. To the midshipman who had just entered he said, "Remove this gentleman to Midshipman P's cabin" (that to which Nelson was afterwards carried when he had received his death wound, and in which he died). Then he addressed St. Just, "If I win to-morrow's battle, Sir, I pledge my word of honor to land you in England, in return for this day's service. If I fail and find that I have been led into a trap by your despatches—Well—" And he threw him a warning look.

Stupefied and with a sinking heart and without a word, St. Just bowed to the Admiral and retired. Then the midshipman took charge of him and conducted him to the cabin indicated, a gloomy hole lighted only by a small window giving on to the alley way. Here he sat for hours in solitude.

Later, towards night, the occupant of the cabin came in, and the prisoner ventured to ask him whether he knew what in the despatches was the information that had been considered so important.

"You don't know?" was the reply. "Well, the report is that an English correspondent of the French Government gave information to Boney of the strength and destination of our fleet; and that the French Admiral undertook to send us to the bottom and then come to the assistance of the invasion army at Boulogne. The despatch you handed to our Government, it is said, acknowledges the receipt of the agent's intelligence and asks for later news, at the same time disclosing the intended movements of the French fleet."

"Phew!" breathed the Frenchman, and began to perspire profusely.

He had little dreamed of the momentous issues involved in the miscarriage of the despatch, and he trembled at the magnitude of the disaster he foresaw.

"I'm for sleep," resumed the midshipman; "perhaps the last I shall enjoy in this life. There will be bloody work to-morrow, and for many of us, both French and English, the coming dawn will be the last."

With that, he turned into his bunk, and was almost immediately asleep. But St. Just sat on in gloomy silence. There was no sleep for him that night.

And the next day was that memorable 21st of October, 1805, when the most glorious of England's many naval victories was won.

St. Just took no share in it, so that its recital forms no part of his history. Cooped up, as he was, all day in the narrow, ill-lighted cabin, except for the deafening booming of the cannon, and the concussion when the shots from the Frenchmen struck the ship, he knew nothing of the progress of the battle; or which side was gaining in the encounter. But in his enforced idleness, expecting every minute to be sent to the bottom of the sea, his misery and suspense were such, that even death itself would almost have been welcome.

But his solitude was broken in upon in a way he had little dreamed of. He heard the sound of shuttling feet outside; then the door was thrown open and some sailors entered, bearing in their arms the dying Admiral.

His eyes fell upon St. Just, and, for all his agony, he was not forgetful of his promise. He turned to one of the officers and pointed to the Frenchman. "I have given my word that that gentleman shall be landed in England safe and sound. See to it that I do not die forsworn."

And, so soon as might be, the promise was performed.

CHAPTER III

Nearly four years had passed since St. Just was present, as an auditor rather than as a spectator, at the battle of Trafalgar; and it was now towards the end of June, 1809. He had landed in England after that battle, in December of the same year, and had thenceforth made it his home, at such times as he was not upon his travels—and they had been fairly numerous.

About midnight on a certain day in this same month of June, a post-chaise was being driven rapidly along the road that led from Paris to St. Cloud.

Seated in it were two persons. One was a venerable looking old man with a white beard; the other a man not much past thirty, but looking almost middle-aged, and with the stamp of care and melancholy on his features. The first was the old man Abdallah, who had accompanied Halima in her journey from the desert to the shores of France, and had since established himself in Paris as a jeweler. His companion was St. Just, but so changed in looks that his former friends would not have known him. It was not hard work—though he had been no sluggard in the interval—that had wrought this transformation, but the preyings of an uneasy mind; disappointment, shame, remorse, self-contempt, and, later, jealousy, had kept him without a moment's peace and added two decades to his looks. Major St. Just, the aide-de-camp of Buonaparte, had been a well-set, muscular young fellow, with a bright brown eye and the glow of health upon his cheek; full of life and ardor, with a springy step, and having the soul of honor. Captain Henri, the English spy, was gray and shriveled, his face all scored with lines, his eyes dull and shifting, shrinking from the glance of his fellow men, his visage shrouded with a veil of gloom and sadness; and he walked with the slow, uncertain gait of a man who seeks to shuffle by without attracting notice. Still, for one on the weather side of fifty, he would have been deemed by those who had not known him in his better days, a handsome man, for his features were well-molded and refined.

During the four years, or nearly so, that had elapsed since he had left Paris, a Buonapartist agent on the mission, which had culminated in his presence, as a prisoner, at the battle of Trafalgar, his life had been a chequered one, and, more than once, he had been in the direst peril.

Halima had sent him here and there and everywhere, according to her whim, and he had not dared refuse. In fact he had been little more than her messenger. The usual relations between wife and husband had in their case been reversed. It had been her part to issue orders, his to execute them. He had seen but little of her, for he had been almost always journeying, and might almost as well have had no wife. Once or twice he had feebly attempted to rebel, but she had quickly cowed him into submission by the threat of breaking off all relations with him.

She had become more masterful than ever, more restless and excitable and more active and determined in her plots against Napoleon; she was, indeed, the moving spirit amongst the conspirators. For all that, in her husband's absence, she found time for her amours, and indulged in them with all the passion and abandon of her nature.

She had despatched her husband—the news of his presence at the battle of Trafalgar had leaked out, and it was confidently reported to the French Government that he had met his death there—on many secret expeditions; for instance, he had gone as the accredited agent of the English Government to Spain and Austria; he had had interviews with persons trusted by the "Man of Destiny," but who had revealed to him secrets of the highest political importance; he had even gone so far afield as the United States.

Many a strange tale could Fouché's agents have narrated of a certain Jules Durand—one of St. Just's pseudonyms—who had had long interviews with their Chief, and had made numerous journeys between France and England, his real character and personality being unsuspected.

And Halima, though her headquarters were in England, had made several flying visits to the Continent, in the prosecution of her schemes. On one occasion, at the very time that the Emperor Alexander was being entertained by Napoleon with imperial magnificence, she, in the person of a certain Mademoiselle de Deauville, interviewed the Russian Emperor, when the subject of his attitude towards England was discussed, and negotiations, that resulted in the subsequent alliance of the two Powers, were begun. Plot after plot was foiled, but still she was not daunted, every failure seeming only to strengthen her resolve and the bitterness of her animosity towards the Emperor of the French.

But to return to the occupants of the post-chaise, which was speeding through the darkness as fast as horses could lay hoof to ground.