De Courval followed the men and women, presuming that they were going to a cafe. If he learned nothing there, he would go back to the ship.

Pushing carelessly by a group of refugees on the outside of the "Cocoanut," the party went in, and one, an official, as he seemed to be, sat down at a table with the woman. De Courval, following, took the nearest table, while the other companion of the woman went to the counter to give an order. The woman sat still, humming a coa.r.s.e Creole love-song, and the vicomte looked about him. The room was dimly lighted, and quite half of it was occupied by the same kind of unhappy people who lay about on the streets, and may have paid for leave to sit in the cafe. The unrestrained, noisy grief of these well-dressed women amazed the young man, used to the courage and self-control of the women of his own cla.s.s. The few tables near by were occupied by small parties of officers, in no way interested in the wretchedness about them. A servant came to De Courval. What would he have? Fried fish there was, and baked yams, but no other dish. He asked for wine, paid for it, and began to be of a sudden curious about the party almost within touch. The woman was a handsome quadroon. Pinned in her high ma.s.ses of black hair were a dozen of the large fireflies of the tropics, a common ornament of a certain cla.s.s of women. From moment to moment their flashing lanterns strangely illuminated her hair and face. As he watched her in wonder, the man who had gone to the counter came back and sat down, facing the crowd.

"Those _sacres enfants_," he said, "they should be turned out; one can hardly hear a word for the bawling. I shall be glad to leave--"

"When do you go, Commissioner?" said the woman.

"In a day or two. I am to return to France as soon as possible and make our report."

De Courval was startled by the voice, and stared at the speaker. The face was no longer clean-shaven, and now wore the mustache, a recent Jacobin fashion. The high-arched eyebrows of the man of the Midi, the sharp voice, decided him. It was Carteaux. For a moment Rene had the slight vertigo of a man to whose intense pa.s.sion is forbidden the relief of physical action. The scene at Avignon was before him, and instantly, too, the sense of need to be careful of himself, and to think solely of his errand. He swallowed his wine in haste, and sat still, losing no word of the talk, as the other man said:

"They will unload the American ship to-morrow, I suppose."

"Yes," said Carteaux; "and pay in good republican _a.s.signats_ and promises. Then I shall sail on her to Philadelphia, and go thence to France. Our work here is over."

De Courval had heard enough. If the ship went to the States, there he would find his enemy. To let him go, thus unpunished, when so near, was obviously all that he could do. He rose and went out. In a few minutes he had left the town behind him and was running along the beach, relieved by rapid action. He hailed the boat, lying in wait off the sh.o.r.e, and had, as he stood, the thought that with his father's murderer within reach, duty had denied him the privilege of retributive justice.

It was like the dreams with which at times he was troubled--when he saw Carteaux smiling and was himself unable to move. Looking back, as the boat ran on to the beach, he saw a red glow far away, and over it the pall of smoke where hundreds of plantations were burning, with everywhere, as he had heard, ruin, ma.s.sacre, and ruthless executions of the revolted slaves set free. Such of the upper cla.s.s as could leave had departed, and long since Blanchelande, ex-governor, had been sent to France, to be remembered only as the first victim of the guillotine.

The captain, uneasy, hurried De Courval into the boat, for he had been gone two hours. There was a light, but increasing wind off sh.o.r.e to help them and before them a mile's pull. As they rowed to the ship, the captain heard De Courval's news. "We must make sure it is our ship,"

said the captain. "I could row in and see. I should know that old tub a hundred yards away--yes, sir, even in the night."

"The town, Captain, is in confusion--full of planters, men, women, and children lying about the streets. There is pretty surely a guard on board that ship. Why not beat in closer without lights, and then, with all the men you can spare, find the ship, and if it is ours, take her out?"

"If we can. A good idea. It might be done."

"It is the only way. It must be done. Give me the mate and ten men."

"What! Give you my men, and sit down and wait for you? No, sir. I shall go with you." He was of a breed which has served the country well on sea and land, and whose burial-places are battle-fields and oceans.

It was soon decided to wait to attack until the town was asleep. In the interval De Courval, in case of accident, wrote to his mother and to Schmidt, but with no word of Carteaux. Then for a while he sat still, reflecting with very mingled feelings that success in carrying the ship would again cut him off from all chance of meeting Carteaux. It did seem to him a malignant fate; but at last dismissing it, he buckled on his sword, took up his pistols, and went on deck.

At midnight the three boats set out with m.u.f.fled oars, and after a hard pull against an off-sh.o.r.e wind, through the warm tropic night, they approached the town.

The captain whistled softly, and the boats came together.

"Speak low," he said to De Courval. "It is the _George Washington_ and no mistake. They are wide-awake, by ill luck, and singing."

"Yes, I hear them."

"But they are not on deck. There are lights in the cabin." The "ca Ira"

rang out in bits across the water. The young n.o.ble heard it with the anguish it always awakened; for unfailingly it gave back to memory the man he longed to meet, and the blood-dabbled mob which came out of the hall at Avignon shouting this Jacobin song.

The captain said: "We will board her on this side, all together. She is low in the water. Pull in with your boat and secure the watch forward and I will shut the after hatches and companionway. Look out for the forecastle. If her own men are on board, they will be there."

De Courval's heart alone told him of the excitement he felt; but he was cool, tranquil, and of the temperament which rises to fullest competence in an hour of danger. A minute later he was on deck, and moving forward in the silence of the night, came upon the watch. "Hush!" he said; "no noise. Two to each man. They are asleep. There--choke hard and gag.

Here, cut up this rope; a good gag." In a moment three scared sailors awoke from dreams of their Breton homes, and were trussed with sailor skill.

"Now, then," he said in French, "a pistol ball for the man who moves.

Stay by them, you Jones, and come, the rest of you. Rouse the crew in the forecastle, mate. Call to them. If the answer is in French, let no man up. Don't shoot, if you can help it."

He turned quickly, and, followed by four men, ran aft, hearing wild cries and oaths. A man looking out of a port-hole had seen two boats and the glint of muskets. As the captain swung over the rail, half a dozen men ran up on deck shouting an alarm. The captain struck with the b.u.t.t of his pistol. A man fell. De Courval grappled with a burly sailor, and falling, rose as the mate hit the guard on the head with a marline-spike. Then an officer fired, and a sailor went down wounded. It was savage enough, but brief, for the American crew and captain released, were now running aft from the forecastle, and the French were tumbled into the companionway and the hatches battened down in haste, but no man killed.

"Get up sail!" cried the captain. "An ax to the cable; she is moored to a buoy. Tumble into the boats, some of you! Get a rope out ahead, and pull her bow round. Now, then, put out the lights, and hurry, too!" As he gave his orders, and men were away up the rigging, shot after shot from the cabin windows drew, as was meant, the attention of the town.

Lights were seen moving on the pier, the sound of oars was heard. There was the red flare of signals on sh.o.r.e; cries and oaths came from below and from the sh.o.r.e not far away.

It was too late. The heavy ship, as the cable parted, swung round. The wind being off the land, sail after sail filled, and picking up his boats in haste, the captain stood by the helm, the ship slowly gathering way, while cannon-shots from the batteries fell harmless in her wake.

"Darn the old sea-barrel!" the captain cried. Two boats were after them.

"Down! All of you, down!" A dozen musket-b.a.l.l.s rattled over them. "Give them a dose, boys!"

"No, no!" cried De Courval. "Shoot over them! Over! Ah, good! Well done!" For at the reply the boats ceased rowing, and, save for a few spent bullets, the affair was ended. The brig, moving more quickly, soon left their pursuers, and guided by lights on the _Marie_, they presently joined her.

"Now, then," said the captain, "get out a boat!" When one by one the disgusted guard came on deck and in the darkness were put in the boat, their officer asked in French who had been their captors.

De Courval, on hearing this, replied, "His Majesty's schooner _St.

George_, privateer of Bristol."

"But, _mon Dieu_," cried the bewildered man, "this ship is American. It is piracy."

"No, monsieur; she was carrying provisions to a French port." The persistent claim of England, known as the "provision order," was well in force, and was to make trouble enough before it was abandoned.

The officer, furious, said: "You speak too well our tongue. Ah, if I had you on sh.o.r.e!"

De Courval laughed. "Adieu, Citizen." The boat put off for the port, and the two ships made all sail.

By and by the captain called to De Courval to come to the cabin. "Well, Mr. Lewis,--if that is to be your name,--we are only at the beginning of our troubles. These seas will swarm with ships of war and English privateers, and we must stay by this old tub. If she is caught, they will go over the manifest and take all they want out of her, and men, too, d.a.m.n 'em."

"I see," said De Courval. "Is there anything to do but take our chance on the sea?"

"I shall run north and get away from the islands out of their cruising grounds."

"What if we run over to Martinique? How long would it take?"

"Three days and a half as we sail, or as that old cask does. But what for?"

"I heard that things are not so bad there. We might sell the old tub's cargo."

"Sell it? They would take it."

"Perhaps. But we might lie off the port if there is no blockade and--well, negotiate. Once rid of the cargo, she would sail better."

"Yes; but Mr. Wynne has said nothing of this. It is only to risk what we have won. I won't risk it."

"I am sorry," said De Courval, "but now I mean to try it. Kindly run your eye over these instructions. This is a matter of business only."

The captain reddened angrily as he said, "And I am to obey a boy like you?"

"Yes, sir."