Front matter (continued 5)

The nurse being unaware that Halima knew Buonaparte, thereupon jumped to the conclusion that St. Just was the man who had robbed her former nurseling of her virtue, having assailed her in a moment when she was off her guard; that the intimacy once begun, Halima had been unable to free herself from her relations with her betrayer, and had thus lapsed to the position of his mistress, a toy he could discard when weary of it. The statement that they were really married with Mahometan rites the old woman regarded as a mere blind to cover Halima's dishonor. The thought worked her into a state of rage and hatred that was uncontrollable, and she resolved to punish the unsuspecting Frenchman, if by any means it could be done.

The course of events now seemed to have brought about her opportunity. The existence of the treasure was known throughout the camp, and it was rumored that it was to be sent to Cairo. When, therefore, the old woman heard that a messenger was to be despatched thither, she guessed what was his errand and laid her plans accordingly. Everything seemed to favor them, for the man selected for the mission was one of those most devoted to the late sheik's nephew, Yusuf, and withal one who deeply resented St. Just's position in the tribe. Naturally, St. Just was not aware of this, or another man would have been chosen. Yusuf had always been a favorite with the nurse; she had been present at his birth and had seen him grow to manhood, and had looked forward to seeing him eventually assume the headship of the tribe; thus his banishment by the old sheik had sorely troubled her. She now saw a chance of his reinstatement.

There were those in Cairo who would know his whereabouts. Accordingly, she sought the messenger who was to go to Cairo and who, it happened, was akin to her, and could be trusted not to betray her confidence, and instructed him to seek out Yusuf, and, should he find him, to tell him of the coming treasure; that, if he could collect a sufficient force and keep a good look out, he would be able to intercept it, and at the same time kill St. Just, who would be with it. That accomplished, there would be nothing to prevent his taking the leadership of the tribe, and making Halima his wife, should he desire it.

Should St. Just's messenger be unable to get speech of Yusuf, he was to forward her instructions to him by some one he could trust. The old woman was satisfied that, if Yusuf lived, he could be found, for many knew him; he had held an important position in the tribe and had many influential friends in Cairo.

She had no doubt that Yusuf would act upon her information, should it arrive in time; her only fear was that it might not reach him until St. Just should have advanced so far on his journey with the treasure, as to preclude Yusuf from making his arrangements for attacking him. However, that, as she piously observed, would be as Allah willed.

In due course, St. Just's messenger returned with letters from his Cairo correspondents. They had expressed delight at hearing of the treasure, and requested him to bring it on at once.

It was now February in the year 1800, and nothing stood in the way of St. Just's making an immediate start. To tell the truth, he was becoming somewhat wearied with desert life, and ready to welcome almost anything that would vary its monotony. So he set about at once to make his preparations. They were simple, including only a sufficiency of camels to transport the treasure, the devising of a ready mode of securing it on their backs, and the selection of the men to tend them; also supplies for the men's consumption by the way. The camels would need no food, for they would be required only to take the treasure to the river bank. St. Just had decided to make the whole journey by the Nile. It would take somewhat longer than by the desert route, but he preferred it as being less tedious and much more interesting. His point of debarkation would be a village five days' journey from Cairo; St. Just had halted there before, and was acquainted with a sheik who was friendly to the tribe and would, he hoped, supply him with camels for the remaining portion of the route.

It was agreed between himself and Halima—for she held firmly to her resolution to proceed to France—that, when he should have transacted the business connected with the treasure, he should write to her, by the returning party, stating where he would await her. Having regard to the condition of the country and the risk he ran of recognition, both felt that, at this stage, no definite fixture for their meeting could be made.

When everything was ready and the moment of departure had arrived, Halima, who thought she had schooled herself to the separation, broke down altogether. She threw her arms about his neck and clung to him with desperation, almost devouring him with kisses.

"Oh! Henri," she sobbed, "I would you were not leaving me, my husband. Oh! I cannot let you go. Stay, my dear one, and let Abdallah take this treasure; he is to be trusted and will see that it be handed over safely. I am sure you need not go. Oh! would we had never seen this cursed gold!"

"Nay, my Halima," he replied sadly, and he stroked the silky head that lay against his breast; "go I must; I pledged my word to your dead father. It is hard enough, God knows, to part from you; don't make it harder for me by your tears. But our parting will not be for long, and, when we meet again, it will be for life. Before six months are passed, we shall be on our way to France."

"Ah! I know not. Once before you left me, promising to return soon; but it was more than twelve months before my eyes again rested on you; and, in the interval, how much had happened. They told me that you were no more, and—but I cannot bear to think of all I went through then; I would blot it from the pages of my life's history. And now it may be the same again. It is not that I do not trust you, Henri, but others may control your movements and keep you from me. Oh! I have an awful foreboding that it will be so; that, when you shall have faded from my sight, it will be years before my eyes will be set on you again. Oh! stay, my husband; do not leave your Halima who loves you so. I cannot live without you!"

"Wife," he replied, "it tears my heart to leave you, but I cannot now draw back; I should be dishonored before all the tribe. Oh! seek not to restrain me, for it but prolongs our sorrow, and avails nothing."

"Oh! you are cruel!" she wailed. "You love me not as I love you."

It was true there was the more fervor in her passion, but whether it would be as enduring as her husband's was a question to be decided by the future. It is not always the fiercest fire that burns the longest; rather is its ardor the soonest spent.

Halima went on much in the same strain, he vainly endeavoring to soothe her, until he could no longer bear it. So, impressing one long, fervent kiss upon her quivering lips, he unclasped her arms from round him and tore himself from her embrace; then handed her over to her old nurse, who received her willingly enough, though she scowled ferociously at him and mumbled words of menace. Then he gave the signal for departure, and the whole party moved away.

Aided by the current and fair winds, they made good progress, and, when a fortnight had elapsed, had performed half their journey, having reached a point hard by the ruined city of Thebes. Up to this moment they had not left the boat, but here was a convenient landing place, and St. Just had a fancy for seeing something of the place. So the boat was moored a little distance from the river bank, and a smaller one they had on board was launched, and in it, St. Just, with Mahmoud and a few of the men took their places and were rowed ashore. His chief follower and the other men were given strict injunctions not to leave the larger boat till his return, which would be on the morrow. So far their journey had been without adventure; they had scarcely even seen a soul; only now and then a solitary horseman had appeared about half a mile away; and then, after looking about him, apparently with no particular object, had galloped off.

After making a cursory inspection of the ruins, while the day-light lasted, St. Just had a fire built up and lighted, for the night was cold and squally, and settled down to camp out till the morning under the shelter of a ruined wall, with Mahmoud close at hand and the others at a little distance.

Wearied just sufficiently to make rest enjoyable, he fell into a half-dreamy state, but still awake, and thought of Halima, picturing her now asleep; wondering whether at that moment he occupied her dreams; and how long it would be before they would meet again. By an easy transition his thoughts reverted to the treasure, and he fell to pondering on the probabilities of a successful issue to his undertaking, and the chances of his being recognized in Cairo by any of his former comrades. At this point he dropped off into a heavy sleep, and in his sleep his mind went back into the past. He dreamed that he was a mere youth and had just joined his regiment. A scene in his campaign in Italy came vividly before him. His company were sleeping in the marshes, when, suddenly, they were attacked. He could hear again the clash of arms, the cries of the alarmed sleepers, and, in the distance the sound of shots. It all seemed so real that, in his excitement, he awoke and, with a cry, sprang to his feet.

In a moment he realized that this was no dream, but that they were in truth attacked. He had no occasion to rouse Mahmoud; the lad was a light sleeper and the noise had waked him. Both drew their swords and rushed on to where the conflict was proceeding. His men were contending against fearful odds, and the result of the encounter could not be doubtful. He saw the hopelessness of their position, and felt that death was staring him in the face; for all that, he did not hesitate an instant, but threw himself upon the nearest foe. Before their swords had crossed, he had recognized him as Yusuf; then he knew there had been treachery; it was impossible the man could have been there by chance. This sudden recognition and the thought it prompted, disconcerted him, and, for the moment, threw him off his guard. Yusuf was a skillful swordsman, and had had more practice with the desert weapon, with which both were armed, than had St. Just. The Arab began to press him sorely, and the young Frenchman found that he had met more than his match. Still desperately he fought on, the personality of his opponent lending fury to his attack. Indeed, both were animated by the same passion, jealousy, for Yusuf had recognized in the other the man who had snatched Halima from his arms and usurped his position in the tribe. His look of malignant triumph was awful to behold, for in his eyes his hated rival was already slain. With a skillful movement of his flexile wrist, he sent St. Just's sword flying, then drew back his arm to make the lunge that should deal the death stroke. The Frenchman felt that in another moment he would have done with life. But that moment did not come. Before the Bedouin could deal the blow, Mahmoud, who had been watching his opportunity, got behind him and ran him through the heart. Yusuf with a groan, threw up his arms and fell heavily to the ground. Before St. Just had had time to realize his respite, a blow on the head felled him also, and he knew no more.

CHAPTER XXIII.

After the description of the affray with which the preceding chapter closed, the reader will scarcely need to be informed that the message from Halima's old nurse to Yusuf duly reached that worthy.

After a few inquiries, St. Just's messenger had discovered him in Cairo, and told him of the treasure which, it was believed, was to be forwarded to the city.

Forthwith Yusuf had set to work to utilize the information. Having no means or followers of his own, it would be necessary to invoke outside assistance. After casting about in his mind for a suitable associate, he had pitched upon a man, with whom he had some acquaintance, who followed the combined callings of pirate and slave dealer; a man who, from his daring, unscrupulousness and ferocity, as well as more than average swarthiness, had earned for himself the sobriquet of Black Ali.

The proposed adventure was quite in Black Ali's line, and he had entered with avidity into Yusuf's scheme. He had grown rich on trading in human flesh, and, accordingly, had found it easy to collect a gang of scoundrels only too ready to place themselves at his disposal for any undertaking, however desperate and lawless. It had been agreed that the treasure they hoped to seize should be scared equally by Yusuf and Black Ali. Arrangements had been quickly made and the filibustering party had set out. It being unknown whether St. Just's party with the treasure would travel by the river or the desert, both routes had been watched. The solitary horsemen St. Just had seen at intervals, from the river, had been Black Ali's scouts, and they had dogged the party all the way, had seen the young Frenchman and some of his followers land at Thebes, and conveyed the news to the slave dealer, who, when night had fallen, had surrounded with his men and set upon the sleepers, with the result already stated. Black Ali had believed that all St. Just's followers had been killed; the attack had been so sudden that they had had no time for their defense; they had hardly been awakened when they had been slaughtered; all but two, who had escaped. No one had been hurt on the side of the marauders, except Yusuf, who, as narrated, had been killed by Mahmoud, a fate no one had regretted, least of all Black Ali, who now saw himself possessed of all the treasure. Mahmoud, like his master, had been struck down, almost as soon as he had run his sword through Yusuf.

Seeing that St. Just and Mahmoud were not seriously injured—only stunned—Black Ali ordered some of his men to carry them to the river bank, whither he, with all his party, made his way. His intention was to capture the large boat with the treasure and to sell as slaves such of the crew as should not be killed, or too seriously maimed in the approaching contest.

The smaller boat, in which St. Just had landed, and another were drawn up on the river bank. These were quickly launched and crowded with as many men as they would hold; then they were rowed softly and silently to the moored boat, one making for the port and the other for the starboard side. So noiseless was their approach that it was not until they were almost alongside that they were discovered. Then an alarm was raised; but it was too late, for all were asleep, except the watch, and, before they had realized what had happened, the pirates were swarming over the gunwales of the boat. St. Just's men did what they could, but the contest was hopeless from the first. Outnumbered and but half awake, some not having time even to seize their weapons, they were in no position to make a stout resistance. One by one they dropped before the savage onslaught of Black Ali's men, who kept ever increasing in numbers, and pressing forward, while St. Just's men fell back fighting, inch by inch. Two of them, to save their lives, sprang overboard, hoping to swim ashore; they feared less the crocodiles than their human foes. Their leader, the man St. Just had left in charge, fought desperately himself, and urged his followers to do the same. Two of the pirates fell before him to rise no more; but his courage was of no avail; a gigantic Arab rushed up and threw himself upon him, and, by sheer force, beat down his guard, then cleft his skull down even to his chin. He dropped with a dull thud, but no sound escaped his lips. And then, above the clash of arms and the shouts and groans, Black Ali's voice rang out, "Yield and I will spare your lives. Your leader is slain; further resistance has become useless."

There was a pause, and each man's hand was stayed. Then one of the crew called out, "Swear that you will not slay us, if we yield."

"I swear, by Allah," was the pirate's answer.

Satisfied that he would keep his oath, the men suffered themselves to be disarmed and bound. The whole affair had lasted but five minutes. Of the defenders, uninjured or only slightly hurt, there were but twelve; about the same number had been either killed outright, or wounded fatally. The losses of the assailants were two killed and three slightly wounded. When those who had surrendered had been secured against escape, Black Ali gave orders for the dead and badly wounded to be thrown overboard. The latter shrieked for mercy—to be allowed to die in such peace as their wounds would suffer; but they might have spared their dying gasps for mercy; as well might they have appealed to the crocodiles, whose food they would shortly be, as to the pitiless Black Ali. "Overboard with them," he cried, and overboard they went, their dying shrieks smothered in the waters of the Nile.

Next the slave dealer sent one of the small boats ashore with six men, to bring St. Just and Mahmoud on board, and with orders for the main body of his band to follow the course of the river towards Cairo, keeping well in sight of the large boat, on which he himself would make the journey; for Black Ali knew better than to entrust his newly gained treasure to the hands of others; he would not lose sight of it, till it should be safely housed.

St. Just and Mahmoud were soon on board, and then the journey, that had been so direly interrupted, was resumed; but in what different circumstances!

The hurt to St. Just's head soon healed; he had received a severe, but not a dangerous scalp wound, but his skull was not fractured, and, after enduring a few days' headache, he was himself again. But only as regards his bodily health; his mental sufferings were terrible. Black Ali had taken a savage delight in informing him and his companions that they were to be sold as slaves, and from this doom there seemed no possibility of escape. The thought of Halima and the prospect of his life-long separation from her well nigh drove him mad. Then he fell to wondering whether any of his men had got away, and whether the news of what had happened would be conveyed to her. In any case, she would be suffering agonies of anxiety, either on account of her knowledge of what had taken place, or at receiving no tidings from him. What would she do when months had passed and she knew not whether her husband was alive or dead? Would she console herself with some other man? He knew her passionate, hot-blooded nature, and remembered her avowal that she could not lead a single life; the reflection was torment to him. Would she make her way to France, as she had always wished to? Most likely, when she had given up hope of seeing him again. He cursed Buonaparte, he cursed himself for the infatuation for her, that had led him to sacrifice his honor and his country and to abandon the career he loved and in which he felt he had had it in him to attain high rank. And what was he now? Disgraced, a captive, soon to be a slave. He put his hands before his face and groaned. In his despair and bitterness of soul, he scarcely noticed the harsh treatment he received; his captors' scoffs and jeers, the occasional cuffs they gave him, the coarseness and scantiness of his rations, his bonds—for, except when food was given him, his hands were tied; all these were nothing in comparison to the desolation of his soul. But for Mahmoud, who preserved his spirits in a manner that was marvelous, and did his best to cheer him by holding out hopes of their effecting their escape, he would have cast himself over the vessel's side and found relief from all his troubles in the Nile.

The days went on, and, in time, they found themselves lying off a village a few miles from Cairo. Here Black Ali sent a messenger ashore with instructions to his lieutenant, who had been proceeding along the river bank with the main body of the band, to procure fifty camels on which the treasure could be loaded.

The next day the camels arrived, and St. Just had the pain of seeing the treasure that was the cause of his terrible predicament, that he had endured so much to grasp, hauled out from the boat and bestowed upon their backs.

When this work was completed, Black Ali placed his lieutenant in command of the boat, with orders to proceed to Damietta. He himself would go with the treasure to Cairo, and, when he had disposed of it safely, would rejoin the party at that port. The prisoners were then to be shipped on a vessel of his own, and taken to Benzert on the coast of Tunis, and there sold. Then the two parties started, the distance between them widening gradually, until the camels bearing the disastrous treasure, passed out of the young Frenchman's sight.

CHAPTER XXIV.

The sun, now at its meridian, was pouring its scorching rays in a vertical flood upon a long, low vessel, lateen rigged, whose sails now filled out for the wind and now flapped idly against the masts, for the breeze, which was from the starboard quarter, came only in light, fitful puffs; so that the ship's progress would have been slow, had she depended solely on her sails; as it was, aided by the impetus of powerful sweeps each worked by two men, she was making about ten knots an hour. Not a cloud was to be seen; far as the eye could reach, above was one deep blue expanse, and the color was reflected in the water, through which the vessel ploughed her way. She was hugging the African shore of the Mediterranean. Not a ship could be discerned to starboard, not a sign of life to port, where on the land naught met the eye but rocks, flat stretches of barren land and sandy dunes, some covered with dense, low scrub. Not even one of those desert scavengers, the vultures, was to be seen. For all that was apparent, those on board the vessel might have comprised the whole of the human race. The stillness and silence were profound.

But not on the ship itself; there was no quiet there; the occasional moans of the captives, stripped to the waist and bending submissively while they labored at the heavy sweeps; the measured plash of these last, in the rippling water; the harsh laughter of the leisured portion of the men; the oaths of those whose turn it was to fill the rôle of taskmasters to the hapless rowers, and who paced unceasingly the vessel's deck, ever on the look-out for any one who failed to put his whole strength into his work, and savagely lashing such a one, his bare shoulders offering a ready mark for the heavy whip they wielded; the cries for mercy of those thus struck; all these combined to form a Babel that effectually banished stillness from the ship.

Among those who manned the sweeps were St. Just and Mahmoud, with others of his men. Besides them, there were on board prisoners of various nationalities, all destined by their captor for the slave market; for no respecter either of persons or of countries was Black Ali.

Stretched on the poop under a protective awning, he now lay in sleepy indolence, even his tawny and well-seasoned skin giving evidence, by its greasy polish, of the sweltering heat.

Suddenly he raised himself upon his elbow and stroked his untrimmed beard reflectively, the while he ran his cold, cruel eye along the line of rowers—from his point of view no longer men, but mere sums of money—scanning carefully each form that met his view, to see that it was doing its full share of work with the heavy oar, to each of which two men were chained.

His glance fell now on a Greek, now on a Moorish figure; then it traveled from a Frenchman to a Negro, each crouched doglike, with his tongue out, his eyes protruding from his head, the muscles of his back and arms standing out in lumps and knots under the strain imposed on them, the sweat pouring from his skin, saturating his linen waist-cloth and causing it to cling the tighter to him.

Black Ali's eye moved down the line, beginning at the bow; at the bench nearest to him it was arrested; only one man was pulling. His fellow, overcome by his exertions, had dropped backwards, so far as his chin allowed, and, regardless of the consequences, was resting; he could work no more.

"Ho! there, you foreign dog," Black Ali shouted; and all started at his voice. "You, you sluggish Frenchman," he went on; "would you delay us by your sloth? Hadji!"—to the stalwart slave driver—"your whip wants exercise, my man; wake up this Christian dog and make him work."

Having to pass along the whole rank of rowers, Hadji thought it well to go one better than his orders. "Quicken your stroke, you dogs," he shouted, and he strode along the line. To emphasize his words, he raised his formidable whip. With a swishing sound it descended on the shoulders of the nearest man, raising a long wheal on the already cruelly scored back. A second time it fell on the devoted back, this time drawing blood. And thus down the whole line the cutting thong was wielded, finally falling upon the resting man and slashing him across the face.

Instinctively, the poor Frenchman made a movement with his arm to protect his bleeding face; but, alas, the arm was chained and could not reach it. Still, for all his pain, he made no attempt to resume his work. Either long ill-usage had made him reckless and deadened his feeling to the lash, or he was too weak to move. In another moment, his eyes closed and he fell forward.

"He is dying," said the slave driver to his master.

"Is he?" said the despot beneath the awning. "We will have no carrion on board. Cut him adrift and tow him astern; he shall feed the sharks."

The order was no sooner given than executed. The dying and almost unconscious Frenchman was unfettered from his sweep; then his wrists were bound together and lashed to a log of wood, to which was attached a rope, one end of which was made fast to the stern; then he was flung overboard, the Arabs jeering as he splashed into the water. Face forwards he was dragged onwards by the vessel. Thus, for some minutes, he floated on. Presently a dark form was seen below the surface of the water, and the wretched man, whom the sea had now restored to consciousness, knew that a shark was making for him. His terror gave him temporary strength, and he splashed and struggled wildly in the vain hope of scaring off the monster, the while he turned a backward glance of agony at the approaching foe.

Nearer and nearer came the shark, swimming leisurely, as though debating on which spot he should first strike his victim. And now his back fin could be plainly seen above the water. The spectators on the vessel, who had gathered on the stern to see the sport, were shouting and screaming in their excitement, some even making bets as to what part of the man's body would be chosen for the shark's first bite. The slaves looked on with apathy, maintaining the while the motions of the sweeps with monotonous regularity.

There was a rush, a splash, then a piercing shriek, the shark made off with a leg and the sea around the mutilated man became dyed a ruddy hue. In his agony the victim writhed and splashed about and cried aloud. At this, the laughter of the inhuman witnesses of the scene grew louder.

But the sufferings of the wretched man were not to be much prolonged. Other sharks came up and soon another shriek was heard. Then there was silence; the hapless Frenchman had been torn limb from limb.

The day wore on, and night succeeded afternoon, and the wearied rowers were relieved by others, and allowed to sleep, in so far as the caprices of their captors would permit.

But an awful horror had fallen on them; the dreadful sight that they had witnessed had filled them with the fear that at any moment a like fate might overtake each one of them. Hurried whispers were exchanged and dark threats muttered against their captors, that boded ill for them, if only they could be put in execution. The slaves' only chance to rise and fall upon Black Ali's men would be when the gangs were changed and, for the moment, their fetters were removed. At such times, however, a careful watch was kept upon them.

Meantime they could only wait and hope.

CHAPTER XV.

In a few days the little seaport town of Benzert came in sight, and, soon afterwards, the Arab dhow was riding at anchor off the mole, about half a mile from the shore. It was the hour of noon, and across the water, in the still, clear air, could be faintly heard the hoarse shout of the muezzin calling the Faithful to the mid-day prayer. At the sound, all the slavers, murderous, thieving ruffians though they were, without a scrap of conscience or humanity, fell on their knees and bent their heads, while they muttered their formula of praise and prayer. It was a curious sight.

This duty performed, a boat was manned and lowered, and Black Ali went ashore to arrange for the sale of his living cargo on the morrow.

The captives had done their last spell at the sweeps, and were no longer fettered to them, but were chained together by the wrists in gangs of from two to half a dozen. They were now lying huddled in groups about the deck, enjoying such repose as their thoughts allowed them. Their seeming hopeless apathy had inspired their callous taskmasters with confidence in their docility and resignation to their fate; so that Black Ali's satellites now paid little heed to them, and would have laughed to scorn the suggestion that they meditated mutiny. They believed their captives so completely cowed by the floggings and other cruelties they had undergone that all their manhood had gone out of them. And almost it had; but, cowed and abject, as they were, there was still some manhood left, and below the even surface of resignation and submission was a seething mass of rage and hatred which, given the opportunity, would find a vent, and, boiling over, would overwhelm their torturers as ruthlessly as does a stream of molten metal that has burst its way from a smelting furnace upon the unsuspecting workers.

So far, whether from the cowardice or the hopelessness of the slaves, or that a favorable opportunity had been wanting, no attempt at a rising had been made. Now there seemed a chance, for the number of their guards had been reduced, many of Black Ali's men having accompanied him ashore. Those who remained behind were lolling lazily about the deck, for the most part gazing at the shore.

St. Just and Mahmoud, chained together, were stretched in the shadow of a boat, apparently asleep. Certainly the carpenter, who was repairing a damaged boat hard by them, thought so. Occasionally he gave a glance at them, then turned his back and resumed his work, unconscious that his tool basket lay within reach of Mahmoud's hand.

But St. Just's eyes were fixed upon it covetously; given time and opportunity, in it he saw the instrument of their enfranchisement. Cautiously inclining his hands towards the apparently sleeping lad, he whispered in his ear, but no sound escaped his lips. Silently, stealthily, first looking around to see that he was not observed, Mahmoud advanced his unchained hand; gradually it neared the basket; over the edge and into it made its way. The next moment it was withdrawn, but it was no longer empty; it held a strong three-sided file. With the speed of lightning the lad thrust it into his waistband out of sight. Then he cast his eyes round furtively, to see whether any one had noticed him. His heart was beating violently, he breathed painfully, the sweat was pouring from him, he was trembling from head to foot. His glance assured him; he was satisfied that no one, but St. Just, whose trepidation was equal to his own, had seen his act. A deep sigh escaped him; it marked his unspeakable relief, and he breathed easily.

Hardly had he concealed the file, when the order was given for the gang to move forward to receive their rations. St. Just and Mahmoud whispered a word to their neighbors, and quickly the news would permeate the band.

The lynx-eyed slave driver, by way of encouraging them to speed their steps, gave each man, in passing, a sharp cut with the whip. But St. Just and Mahmoud received theirs in silence, for both were inwardly rejoicing, and they scarcely felt the pain, so buoyed up were they with the thought that, before another hour should have passed, the inspiring cry would have been whispered through the gang.

"A file, and freedom at the hour of sunset!"

The afternoon wore on, the captives seemingly even more quiet and subdued than usual. No one, to look at them, would have guessed the hope, the impatience, the thirst for blood, that were raging beneath their calm demeanor. But, indolent and listless though they seemed, one by one they were actively employed. The file was furtively at work. Surreptitiously and with infinite caution it was passed from hand to hand, each man filing almost, but not quite through the link that joined him to his neighbor, so that with a slight effort, it could be snapped asunder. This achieved, the file was handed on.

It had been planned that, if the file's work were done in time, the rising should take place at the next call for prayer, for then their custodians would be on their knees and, for the moment, off their guard. St. Just was to give the signal; he was to raise his hand; no sound was to be uttered.

Meanwhile everything was going in their favor. The crew had given themselves up to rest, or sport, or dissipation, according to their respective moods. Some were singing boisterously, some were gaming with cards, some dicing; others were devoting themselves to the bottle; for though followers of the Prophet, these lawless preyers on humanity took no heed of his injunctions to abstain from alcohol; and with this all were more or less inflamed. Some indeed, were so far overcome that they were stretched upon the deck in drunken stupor. Most of them had cast aside their scimitars, which were lying here and there, retaining only their daggers on their persons. The muskets were stacked just below the poop deck. The laughter, the coarse jokes, the quarreling of the gamesters and the singing of the half-drunken men combined to form a Pandemonium that was almost deafening. But for this, the sound of the continued rasping of the file could scarcely have escaped their notice.

St. Just and his companions noted with satisfaction, and almost with a smile, the condition and fancied security of their oppressors; and, even more, the arms that lay about, and that they hoped would soon be in their own hands. The order had silently been passed along that, the moment they had broken their shackles, each man was to pounce upon a weapon, and then throw himself upon a foe. Should there not be arms sufficient to go round, belaying pins and other articles that might serve as substitutes were to be seized; and the places of these had all been marked, that there should be no hunting about when the moment for attack should have arrived.

It was fortunate for the conspirators that a portion of the crew had landed with Black Ali, for their work would be the easier; and St. Just trusted that the others would not return in time to help their comrades. But, even should they, the rising would still take place, for "death before slavery; liberty at any cost," was the motto of one and all.

Hour succeeded hour and, at last, the word was passed along that the file had done its work; every man could now free himself at will; all that was wanting was the auspicious moment, and for this only patience was required.

As the sun sank hour by hour, bringing the Mussulman's prayer time ever nearer, the suspense and mental tension of the slaves became almost insupportable, and anxious eyes were turned in the direction of the shore, on the look-out for any sign of an approaching boat; but nothing intervened between them and the land. There was a strained look on every face, for the sun was now so low that the crisis might arrive at any moment. It sank below the horizon, leaving only its reflected radiance of gold and crimson. Then faintly across the water—so faintly as to be almost inaudible, and but for the land wind it would have been wholly so—came the echo of the muezzin's call. Spite of the din on board the vessel, some one heard it and called out, "The Muezzin!"

The word acted like a spell. Drinking, dicing, card-playing were laid aside; the swearer checked his swearing, the singer ceased his song; two men who had quarrelled over their game, each accusing the other of cheating, and had drawn their daggers to fight it out, replaced their weapons in their waist cloths—they would renew the fight the moment they should have performed their orisons—and even the sleepers roused themselves. Every voice was hushed; then every knee was bent.

The moment the captives had so yearned for had arrived. Every eye was turned upon St. Just.

Silently he raised his hand. Instantly, like one man the mutineers were on their feet; there was a sound of jingling metal, and each man's hands were free; a rush was made for the weapons, but there was no confusion, for each seized the arm marked out for him, those nearest the stern making for the muskets. Had they been drilled soldiers, their movements could not have been better executed. The hope of liberty had lent them discipline.

Then all their pent up fury burst its bonds, and, with a roar more awful than that of a dozen lions sighting prey, their eyes glaring with revenge and thirst for blood, they threw themselves upon their captors.

At the sound of the clanking fetters, Black Ali's men had risen from their knees; at first so bewildered as to be incapable of taking in the situation. But, in a moment, they understood too well, and they rushed to seize their weapons, only to find they were too late. Some tried to gain the firearms, but here also they were foiled. Two or three had swords, but the rest had only daggers. They looked at one another in consternation, and their faces fell; they read their doom in the murderous looks of their assailants; but, merciless scoundrels though they were, courage was the one virtue they possessed; and, resolved to sell their lives as dearly as they could, they did not flinch from the encounter.

Then the murderous work began. The fighting was all hand to hand, for St. Just had given orders not to fire, save in the last resort, for fear of arousing those on shore; but muskets were clubbed and swords were flashed, and soon every member of the crew was hotly pressed by an opponent—some by more than one, for the mutineers now outnumbered their late masters. Having for the most part only knives and daggers, there was scarce a possibility of opposing and guard, and the others gave them little chance of coming to close quarters, whirling their clubbed muskets about until they saw their opportunity, when down with a crash they would come on some devoted head. And it was the same with those who were armed with swords; such was the rapidity of their cuts and passes, as effectually to keep the pirates at arm's length; they seemed to move with lightning speed; then, at the first opening, a dull swishing sound was heard, and the deadly steel was buried in a palpitating body, and another of Black Ali's men was sent to his account. Now and then, one of these, more agile and wary than the rest, would manage to evade the opposing sword or musket, and, rushing in, would strike his knife into his adversary. They fought with the hardihood and courage of despair, but these availed them nothing against the fury and ferocity of their assailants, who, goaded by the memory of their sufferings for the past month, now saw their way to be avenged on their tormentors, and seemed endowed with superhuman strength. What cared they for a few slashes from sword and dagger? They scarcely felt them. Among the whole of them there was not a trace of ruth or pity, no thought of quarter. They were more like raging beasts than men. They did not even think of liberty; they were swayed only by the impetus to kill. They were irresistible.

Some of them were on the poop, shouting. "A moi, mes camarades, à moi!" to those of their compatriots among the slaves. St. Just dashed up the companion leading to it. He was followed by Mahmoud and a Frenchman.

A huge Arab, one of the few who were armed with swords, rushed forward, raised his sword aloft and, putting all his strength into the blow, made a cut at St. Just's head, that, if it had found its mark, would have ended his career. But St. Just guarded himself and the blow fell on his sword. Such was its force, however, that he staggered under it, so that the Arab was the first to recover himself for another onset. He was on the point of delivering a second blow, when, once more Mahmoud saved his master's life. With the agility of a cat, he sprang on the fellow's back and twined his arms around his throat. The next instant St. Just's sword was through his adversary's heart; it even slightly wounded Mahmoud. The Arab fell forward with a groan.

Meantime others of the slaves had gained the poop and, with the help of those already there, they made short work of the remaining members of the crew in that part of the ship.

Then all went down again to the deck. Here the fight was nearly over, for, whenever one of Black Ali's men had fallen, his late adversary had gone to the assistance of a comrade; thus the odds against the ship's defenders kept increasing. Only three of these last now survived; they struggled bravely, desperately, striving not so much to defend themselves—for they knew that this was hopeless—as to inflict injuries on their assailants. But, faint from pain and loss of blood, their efforts were but feeble: one by one, they were struck down, until the last had fallen. Then a yell of frenzied triumph went up from the emancipated slaves.

The ship presented a fearful sight. More than twenty men were strewn about the blood-stained deck, all showing ghastly wounds; some with their skulls smashed in, others with their faces so slashed and bruised as to be unrecognizable; some with their bowels protruding from their bodies, all bleeding from numerous wounds, which showed how desperate had been their fight for life. Their faces were horrible to behold. All but a very few were dead, for, as each had fallen, his antagonists had plunged their swords into him, until he had ceased to move; or had beaten his brains out with the butt ends of their muskets. But some still breathed, and groaned and writhed in agony. Their sufferings would soon be ended. The cry went up, "Stop the music of those howling dogs." It was received with a roar of laughter and shouts of, "Yes, kill them, kill them every one, the man-hunting tigers."

The murderous work was quickly finished. The vessel ran with blood from stem to stern, and a loathsome smell went up, the sickening odor of the slaughter house.

Some of the mutineers had been wounded, in most cases only slightly, some seriously, but none had received fatal injuries. The opposing parties had been too unequally armed for that. Now that their enemies were disposed of, those who were uninjured lent their assistance to their wounded comrades, and bound up their hurts. St. Just was among those who had escaped without a scratch.

At last they had attained their freedom; but, hardly had they begun to congratulate themselves on their success, when a new danger threatened them.

"A boat, a boat!"

The cry came from a man who was leaning over the bows.

All eyes turned shorewards. A boat had just put off; they knew it well. Black Ali and his companions were returning. Swiftly the victors had to decide upon their course. Their ability to cope successfully with the slave dealer and his myrmidons was not in doubt; they were well-armed and out-numbered them in the proportion of three to one. Moreover, their position on the ship gave them, an additional advantage; there would be little risk in the encounter; their danger lay in their nearness to the shore; the fight would be witnessed from the mole, and Black Ali's friends and the authorities of the place would come to his assistance; then all their late efforts would have been in vain. Ardently as they longed to meet their persecutor face to face and to mete out to him the punishment he had so richly earned, they were compelled reluctantly to forego their vengeance.

Their resolve was quickly taken; their only safety lay in flight. St. Just, by tacit consent, assumed, for the nonce, the post of leader. No sooner had they come to this decision, than his voice rang out, "Four men to the windlass and cast loose the anchor."

The minutes were too precious to be spent in weighing it; it would have to go, despite the risk they ran thereby.

Four men instantly ran up, and the next moment the windlass was whirling round; soon the end of the chain was reached and with a rattle was cast overboard.

"A sailor, a steersman," St. Just next shouted.

A tall Greek sprang to his feet.

"I can steer," he cried.

"To the helm, then," rejoined St. Just, "and stand by till the sweeps are out; then bring her round."

The order was obeyed.

"Out with the sweeps, and row for your lives," went on the captain. "Port side only, until you have got her head round to the sea; starboard side back water."

The men dashed to the benches and took their seats, no longer chained to the oars, but free men now. They began to pull as they had never pulled before; harder even than when under the slave-driver's whip, since they were rowing for their lives; for, if attacked, they would die, before they would yield themselves again to slavery.

Slowly and steadily the dhow swung round, until her bows were pointing seawards; then they set to with a will, pulling a long, even stroke that sent them rapidly through the waves.

"Up with the sails!" was the next order.

There was a whirring of ropes, as they traveled through the blocks, and up went the large triangular sails.

"Crowd on all you can—every rag of canvas!" their leader shouted. There was no danger in this, for the wind was light, and, fortunately, from the right quarter.

Soon every sail was set, and the ship, assisted by the rowers' efforts, was bowling merrily before the wind. So promptly had all answered to their new captain's call, that, five minutes after his first order had been given, the ship had been got round, with all sails set, and had begun to move.

While his instructions were being carried out, St. Just, as well as others, was turning anxious glances towards the shore. Nearer and nearer came the approaching boat and, by the time the dhow was under way, it was little more than three hundred yards astern. But, before this, Black Ali had seen, from the activity on board, that something was amiss: and what that was he was not long left in doubt. Then his fury knew no bounds. Just when he had made arrangements to turn his living cargo into money, to see his ship and freight both taking flight certainly was calculated to excite his ire. He jumped up in the boat and cursed and raved and threw his arms about and shook his fist in menace at the retreating ship; his crew also set up a howl of baffled rage. They were answered from the dhow with jeers. Then Black Ali's men fired musket shots, but the bullets only made little splashes in the water and drew more derisive shouts and mocking laughter from the new masters of the ship.

Black Ali saw that pursuit was useless, for the distance between him and the runaway dhow was ever growing greater. He turned his boat's head towards the land and rowed for the harbor with all speed, his intention being to get some swift vessel lying there and overtake and recapture his own. In this he would have no difficulty, for, by the laws of every country, St. Just and his companions were mutineers and pirates.

The ship's crew cheered when they saw their late oppressor give up the chase, but St. Just looked grave; he would have been better satisfied had it been maintained; he guessed what Black Ali meant to do.

"Don't waste your breath in cheers, men," he exclaimed. "You will need it all. Wait till we are clear of him. He has gone for the moment, but he will soon be on our track in a ship that will out-sail us. Row your hardest; your lives and liberty are at stake. Our only chance is that they shall not sight us. In that the coming night will help us. Bend your backs, strain every nerve and muscle until the darkness shrouds us. Meantime, those of us who are now resting will lighten the vessel of this Arab carrion, and swab the deck."

The rowers saw the force of what he said, and their efforts were redoubled. The others set to work on throwing the dead bodies overboard; and, when the last was gone, began to wash the blood-stained deck; it would take many washings and scourings with holy stone to obliterate the last vestiges of crimson.

Meanwhile the breeze had freshened, the sails were stretched almost to bursting, but there was no listing of the ship, for the wind was dead astern; the masts and cordage creaked and groaned and whistled, and the dhow seemed to be going at racing speed, the bows ploughing up the water in a deep furrow and leaving a stream of foam in the vessel's wake.

On, on, she flew, plunging into the trough of the great rollers, now rising over their crests, the water gurgling and lapping against her stern. Gradually the land became more and more indistinct, until, finally, it faded out of sight.

At last night fell; never surely had darkness been so longed for. Then the rowers' exertions slackened, and the heavy sweeps were shipped; it was time, for the men were nearly spent. Soon a fresh gang would take their places; but, before that, a palaver would be held. So far, they had sighted no pursuers, nor, look which way they would, had they seen a sail of any sort; they seemed to have the Mediterranean to themselves.

They had captured the ship; they had slain their persecutors; they had gained their liberty; they had now to consider how to avoid recapture. They would not be safe until they should have made some European port. The English had swept the Mediterranean of all war ships, but their own; and them they did not fear, for capture by them would, at the worst, mean only temporary restraint. On learning the particulars, the English authorities would hold them justified for all that had occurred. The men they feared were the slavers, privateers and pirates, with whom those waters swarmed.

When a lantern had been swung at the mast head and another placed within the binnacle, the whole crew assembled in council on the poop. St. Just opened the proceedings.

"The first thing to be done," he said, "is to appoint a captain. I am wholly ignorant of nautical affairs, so I am out of it. Now, how many practical sailors are there present?"

Half a dozen hands were raised; at the same time several voices called out, "Theodori!"

This was the tall Greek at the tiller.

"Theodori," resumed St. Just, "you seem to be the only candidate, and I am ready to place myself under your orders, till we gain the land. At the same time, I think it would give all greater confidence, if you would state your qualifications."

"I have had ten years' experience in the Mediterranean before the mast," Theodori promptly answered. "And have served for twelve months as first officer in a large coasting vessel. I can navigate the ship and, if we are not captured, can take you safely into port."

There was a mixture of modesty and confidence in his tone and bearing that favorably impressed his hearers. All felt he was the right man for the post.

"I like your answer," said St. Just, "and for my part, am prepared to place implicit trust in you." Then he turned to the men. "What say you, comrades, shall Theodori be our captain?"

"He shall," they shouted with one accord. "Theodori! Theodori!"

St. Just put up his hand for silence, and went on. "Now we must be agreed on one thing, we must yield our captain absolute obedience—and cheerfully and willingly; there must be no questioning his orders. Only so can we hope to plant our feet on land again. So far, we have been successful; let us not jeopardize our success; there is much to be done before our safety will be secured. Captain!" to Theodori, "I await your orders."

"I accept the post," said the new captain, "and thank you all for your confidence. I hope so to sail the vessel as to show that it is not misplaced. But, before I begin my duties, we must decide whither we are bound. What port am I to make for?"

This point had not before occurred to them, and it gave rise to much discussion. The few Frenchmen among them, captured stragglers and couriers from Buonaparte's army, suggested a French port, Marseilles for choice; some, one of the islands in the Levant; others Sicily, or Italy; some wanted to go back to Egypt. St. Just was mute. His mind was so unsettled that he resolved to leave to chance his destination. After all who desired to do so had had their say, the Greek captain spoke.

"What we all want," he said, "is to get to shore as soon as possible. Now the South West corner of Sicily is the nearest land in front of us—almost due North. I shall have to sail the ship by dead reckoning, and from memory, for I hear there are no charts, chronometer or instruments for taking observations. Therefore, the less distance we have to go, the less liability of error in reckoning. I strongly advise Sicily, and the first port there we sight. But, if all agree upon some other quarter, I will do my best to take you there. What say you, men?"

There was a short, murmured conversation, and then one man, acting as spokesman for the rest, addressed the Greek. "We will be guided by you, Captain. Sail the ship to Sicily, and good luck go with us."

The meeting then broke up.

Theodori at once began to issue orders, and in a tone that showed that, once appointed, he meant to be obeyed. He called up the six men who were sailors and, after a few questions, soon learned how to place them. One he sent to the helm with instructions to keep the ship's head North; two others were made first and second officers respectively of the watch; a fourth was to be boatswain. The other two would take their turns at the tiller. He decided to keep the first watch himself.

When he had made all his arrangements, he gave orders for the men to have their rations. Then a man was placed on the look-out, and all turned in for the rest they so well deserved and greatly needed.

The night passed uneventfully and the morning broke bright and clear; then earnestly was the horizon scanned by all, Theodori standing by the helmsman with the telescope to his eye. Presently he started almost imperceptibly; astern of them a little to their port, he had discerned a small white speck—a sail in the far distance; the hull was not yet visible. Probably it was in pursuit of them, and Black Ali was on board. The captain cast his eyes up to the sails; they no longer filled out bravely, as on the night before, but swayed limply in and out, as the wind first came in little puffs, then fell away; sometimes they even flapped against the masts, for the breeze had died away, though still dead aft of them; the dhow was making but little way. For the moment the Greek looked anxious; the vessel in their wake was a much larger one, with greater sailing power; then his face brightened and a smile of triumph passed across it. What had seemed to forecast their destruction might prove the saving of them. The pursuing vessel's progress depended solely on the wind; the dhow had added propulsive power in the strong arms of her men. Even in a dead calm they could keep on their course.

"A sail astern of us," he said, and the cry was repeated by the crew. Then he called the boatswain.

"Man the sweeps," he said, "and change the gang every hour. Every man must do his best, until that ship is out of sight."

The men obeyed the orders with alacrity, St. Just and Mahmoud being the first to seize a sweep between them. Soon, assisted by the little wind there was, the ship had a fair way on her. Gradually the rowers' efforts began to tell; the vessel in their wake grew less and less and, in two hours, not a trace of her could be seen. But still the men rowed on, a fresh set being put on each hour; they required no urging to their work; they had too much at stake for that.

They saw no more of their pursuer, if such she was. Occasionally they sighted other vessels on both sides of them, but far away.

A few days passed, their freedom ever nearing consummation, and, at last, from the look-out man rang out the welcome cry of "Land ahead."

At first there seemed only a long, low, far-off cloud, but to the seaman's practiced eye it was the goal of all his hopes. The rowers were not now at work, for the wind had freshened, and a good stiff breeze was blowing. Rapidly the land grew more distinct, and presently Theodori, who was at the bow, viewing through his glass the line of coast, which he knew well, exclaimed,

"Sicily! Our nearest port will be Marsala: we will make for it."

In a few hours they were off the town; or, to be precise, two miles to the right of it, it being thought advisable to land where they would be little noticed. The sails were lowered; then the vessel was hove to. Next, a few men were put to the sweeps to steady her, there being, as it will be remembered, no anchor to let go. There was only one boat on board—for Black Ali had the other—and this was manned and lowered, and as many took their places in it as it would safely carry. "Give way men," was then the order, and they pushed off, and started for the shore, amid the cheers of those on board. All felt now that their liberty was assured, and they were mad with joy.

The boat had to return four times before all were taken off the vessel. St. Just and Mahmoud were among the final batch. Theodori, who had so ably steered them into safety, was the last to leave the dhow. She was abandoned for any one who chose to seize her. Black Ali might regain his own, should he come up in time.

So far, there had been no mishap in landing. When the boat was run ashore for the last time, those assembled on the beach gave voice to a hearty cheer, which the others answered with a loud hurrah. Then, in their excitement and in all good temper, they began to scramble from the boat, each striving to be the first. In the general scuffle St. Just, who was standing on one of the thwarts, received a violent push, that was not intentional, from behind. He fell headlong forwards, his head striking the boat's edge with fearful force. He rolled over unconscious, with the blood pouring from a terrible gash that extended from the temple to a considerable distance behind the ear.

THE CONSUL BUONAPARTE.

EPOCH II.

THE CONSUL BUONAPARTE.

CHAPTER I.

A few days before the close of November 1803 a small trading vessel was making her way towards the Southern coast of France. A tall, handsome, though careworn-looking man, about thirty years of age, was standing in the forepart of the ship. Despite his civilian garb, there was an air about him that proclaimed a military training. His eyes were fixed with a far-off, dreamy look on the distant haze that heralded their approach to land. But he seemed to take but little interest in the prospect; he showed none of the excitement of a man returning to his country after years of absence; only a dull, leaden curiosity.

At his elbow stood a young fellow with gleaming teeth and smiling face and dark twinkling eyes. His coal-black hair and swarthy skin gave evidence that he hailed from some Southern or Eastern clime.

The older man was St. Just, the younger Mahmoud, who had now broadened and thickened, and become a man of powerful frame.

To explain their presence on a trading vessel a brief retrospect is necessary.

When last before the reader, St. Just lay unconscious in the boat, with a dreadful injury to his head. His companions, seeing that he made no attempt to rise, picked him up and laid him on the beach. Then a cloth was bound tightly round his head to check the bleeding, and they did their best to bring him round. But all their efforts were unavailing; St. Just remained in a state of stupor.

What was to be done? They did not like to leave him, and Theodori and Mahmoud would not hear of it, the latter saying that nothing would induce him to forsake the wounded man. On the other hand, to carry him into the town, would call attention to them and might lead to their arrest. Their intention had been to disperse on landing, and make their way thither by different routes in twos and threes. After some discussion, it was decided that four of them should remain with him, until a place of shelter had been found for him. The main body then separated, taking different directions. Mahmoud, of course, and Theodori were among those left behind.

When the others had cleared off, the latter started in search of help. A little way inland, was a village, and thither Theodori bent his steps. He had gone not far, when he met one whose dress showed him to be a priest. The very man, opined the Greek, and he approached him and told what had occurred. He was familiar with all the tongues in use about the Mediterranean, of which Italian was the most prevalent, and in this language he addressed him. Naturally, all he told him was that, in landing from a boat, a man had been seriously hurt, and was in dire need of surgical assistance. The padre's sympathies were enlisted, and he at once set off with Theodori to the shore and instructed the men to bear the wounded man to his own house. This done, the Greek and the two other men departed, leaving Mahmoud with St. Just. Then the good priest fetched a doctor, a friend of his, and St. Just's injuries were attended to.

He made steady progress towards recovery, so far as concerned the wound, which in a month healed up; when, in bodily health, he was as well and strong as ever.

But the injury to his head had had a strange effect upon his brain. When he regained consciousness, his memory had wholly left him; he was oblivious of everything that had occurred before the accident; the past was an absolute blank to him. Even Mahmoud he did not recognize; had he been asked his own name, or Mahmoud's, he could not have given either. The lad had told the priest that his master's name was St. Just and his own Mahmoud, and St. Just hearing the names so used, accepted them. It was strange that this should not have aroused some memories in his dormant brain; but so it was.

Mahmoud had begged so hard to be allowed to remain and serve St. Just, that the padre could not find it in his heart to say him nay; he was touched by the young man's devotion. The lad was both amazed and shocked at the condition of his master's mind, and, for a long time, tried every means to awake his sleeping memory.

He talked of Halima and the old sheik; of his accident, of Cairo, of Black Ali, of the treasure, of the French Army, and of every circumstance known to St. Just that he thought likely to take his mind back to the past; but, with all his efforts, he failed to strike one responsive chord. St. Just would give him all his attention, looking wonderingly in Mahmoud's face, would seem to be striving hard to dig into the recesses of the past, and then would answer wearily, "It is useless, Mahmoud; my mind in regard to what is in the past is dead. I recollect nothing that occurred before I woke up to find myself in bed in this good man's house. I do not even remember having ever seen you before that moment. I do not doubt the truth of what you tell me, but I remember nothing of it, nothing."

So, seeing its uselessness, and that it even gave his master pain, Mahmoud rarely made any reference to the past, and, after a month, ceased altogether.

Both the padre and the surgeon were much interested in the case, especially the latter; he had never met with such a one before. At first he thought St. Just was shamming, that he had done something that would not bear the light, and had artfully assumed his rôle of ignorance, to shelve unpleasant questions. But he soon abandoned this idea; there was no pretense about his patient's loss of memory. Then he brought other medical men to see St. Just, and all were as puzzled as himself. They talked of depression of the skull, of lesions, and abscesses on the brain; but all agreed that nothing could be done; time only might effect a cure. Should the lesion, or abscess heal, or whatever was the mischief, be removed, most likely his memory would return. They could say and do no more; in those days surgical and medical science had not attained the position it holds to-day.

So desirous was the surgeon to see the outcome of the case, that he cast about for a means to keep his patient under his eye. To this end, St. Just being nothing loth, and also grateful for the surgeon's care, he exerted himself to find him employment in the neighboring town; with the result that, aided by the priest, he obtained for him a post with an important shipping firm. St. Just's mind was active and intelligent enough in all that concerned the present, and he performed his duties with promptitude and assiduity.

With the same firm a subordinate post was found for Mahmoud. The lad's account of who they were and how they came to be where they were found was but a skeleton of the truth. He had all the cunning and shrewdness of the Arab, and, in his master's strange condition, he feared to betray something that might do him injury.

Occasionally a gleam of light from the regions of the past would flash across the Frenchman's brain, but it was only momentary and was extinguished even before it had begun to glow; and it left no trace behind. As time went on, this occurred more frequently, and he told the surgeon of it; whereat the latter argued that time would, indeed, effect the restoration of his patient's memory.

Thus three years and a half went on. Then, one day, St. Just sought the surgeon in great excitement. "Doctor," he said, "to-day there came to me a thought that surely must be a reminiscence of the past. Hitherto, when what I take to be a memory has flashed across me, it has vanished ere I could lay hold of it: I never could remember what it was. But to-day I can recall what passed through my brain an hour ago. It was but confused and faint, but, such as it was, I can remember it. A scene of battle floated before my eyes; I could hear the boom of guns, the call of trumpets; the men were dressed in uniforms that seemed familiar to me; some spoke French and some Italian; the latter gave way before the former. Then the whole scene dissolved away. I can connect this with nothing in my life; still, surely, surely, it means something to me—or is it all hallucination?"

"It is no hallucination," replied the surgeon. "It is clear to me that you have fought in the French army of Italy. Your memory will come back to you; how soon I cannot say. But I can suggest how it may be speeded, and the course you ought to take. Return to France; there you will see so many things that are familiar to you, that I doubt not you will soon recall every incident of your life. Take my advice and go at once. I shall be greatly interested in the result. All I ask is that you let me know it."

And St. Just took his friend's advice. The shipping firm in whose employ he was gave him and Mahmoud a passage in a ship bound for Marseilles. They also handed him, in addition to his salary, five thousand francs; he had served them well, and they gave the sum ungrudgingly.

This was how it had come about that St. Just and Mahmoud were now standing side by side upon the trading vessel that was bearing them to France.

On the good ship sped, and soon the rocky islet on which stands the Chateaux d'If, famous in romance and history, came in view. Past this she flew, like a bird anxious to regain its nest, and, ere long, Marseilles was made. Then the sails were lowered, the rattling of chains was heard, the anchor fell with a plunge into the water, and the vessel was hove to.

St. Just, soon after, went ashore with Mahmoud. He had formed no plans, but, unknown to him, his career was gendering in the future and, ere long, would reach fruition. Meantime he was not without the wherewithal for his support for a few months. He had in gold the equivalent of two hundred pounds in English money.

The first thing to be done was to get shelter for the night; and St. Just asked the skipper to direct him to a respectable hostelry where the fare was good, the beds were clean and the charges moderate.

The skipper knew the very place—the Toison d'or (Golden Fleece); when at Marseilles, he put up there himself. If St. Just would accompany him to the agents of the vessel's owners, he would afterwards go with him to the inn in question, and introduce him to the landlady. The prospect was quite to the Frenchman's mind, and, in due course, they made their way together to the Toison d'or, and Mahmoud with them.

Evidently the skipper was a persona grata to the landlady, for she received him with a smiling face and warm congratulations on his return once more to the Phocean city. Altogether she was most effusive; told St. Just that any friend of Captain Ricci's was always welcome, and would receive her best attention. Then she took him upstairs to a bright, cheerful room, in which were two small beds. Everything was so neat and clean, and the hostess was so pleasant and obliging, that St. Just, who had been prepared to find that Ricci's description of the hostelry had been couched in too glowing terms, was fain to admit that every word of his friend's eulogium was deserved. He engaged the bedroom on the spot, and then sent up Mahmoud with their baggage.

This business done, the skipper suggested a parting glass, that each might wish the other "Bon voyage," and "Au Revoir," if possible.

St. Just was nothing loth, and together they adjourned to the common room; it was pretty full, for work was over for the day. All sorts and conditions of men were gathered there; market porters, dock laborers, sailors, soldiers—mostly pensioners, who had lost a leg or an arm in the numerous wars in which France for the last ten years had been engaged. Besides these, there were town officials, shop-keepers and professional men—the whole constituting a fair sample of the male inhabitants of Marseilles.

All seemed to be babbling at the same time, and in all sorts of tongues, and dense clouds of tobacco smoke filled the room, enough to choke one; the walls and ceiling were thick with it.

At intervals along the sides, stuck into tin sconces, tallow candles flared and guttered, emitting far more smell than light, for they were so sparsely placed, as to do little more than make the darkness visible.

Towards the upper end of this sweltering, reeking, voice-resounding den, Captain Ricci and his companion made their way, and found two vacant places at a table. Casting his eye round through the haze of smoke, the skipper spied a good-looking and neatly, though somewhat smartly, dressed young woman who was moving from table to table, ministering to the requirements of the customers!

"Amélie!" he roared out; and, almost before the name had left his lips, the girl was at his side, all smiles.

They ordered some brandy, which presently Amélie brought. Ricci just then saw a friend across the room; so, after drinking up his brandy, and wishing his companion luck, he shook hands with him and moved away to join his other acquaintance. Left to his own resources, St. Just found himself listening, with a sort of half-awakened interest, to the conversation of two men beside him, who looked as if they had seen service in the wars.

St. Just had listened to their talk in a dreamy sort of way. It was something to take him from himself, but he felt little interest in it, and not all of it reached his ears.

The man who had been the chief talker now got out his pipe and began to smoke; then, bringing his head nearer to his friend he puffed out a great stream of smoke and resumed in a lower tone.

"But there's more to tell; the other day I saw that same Arab girl in Paris—"

"You saw her in Paris?" interposed the other.

"But I am certain of it. I saw her driving in a carriage and pair, dressed like a Parisian; and by her side was Colonel Tremeau, whom I knew well in Egypt; he was a captain then of ours. What it all means I know not, but she is living in great style, and passes as a Frenchwoman. She is well known in Paris, it seems, and goes by the name of Madame Halima de Moncourt."

At the sound of this name, all St. Just's listlessness vanished like a flash; he started, as though some one had struck him an unexpected blow; he felt a sudden whirring in his head, for all the world like that produced by the breaking of a clock spring. Then he experienced a strange sensation of relief; the leaden feeling that had so long oppressed him, was no longer there; his brain felt clear and light.

Halima de Moncourt! Halima! These men were talking of his wife! de Moncourt was her mother's maiden name. So she was in Paris!

Then, like a panorama, his whole past career unfolded itself before him, special incidents in it standing out in strong relief; his first commission, the day on which he had first donned epaulets; his first experience in the battle field. Then his newly-recovered memory took him on to the memorable occasion of his first personal acquaintance with Buonaparte; when he saved his life and was afterwards introduced to Josephine, and all that had followed from it—the Egyptian campaign, his first sight of Halima, and his mad passion for her; his narrow escapes from death; the finding of the treasure and its capture; his sufferings on the slave ship and his subsequent recovery of his liberty. All the incidents of his life, even to the minutest detail, were marshaled in one long procession before his mental vision, and he knew himself at last for what he was. The knowledge gave him little satisfaction. He was a deserter, and, moreover, on the soil of France. Should any one recognize and denounce him, he knew the penalty. To save his life would tax all his inventive power, combined with daring and no little shrewdness.

But, at all risks, he must see his wife; on that he was decided; he must know in what position they were to stand towards one another. Had she once more surrendered herself to Buonaparte—or to some other man? The suggestion maddened him. And what about her oath of vengeance?

His brain was in a whirl. The heat and closeness of the fetid air became unbearable in his present frame of mind, and he went out to cool himself and think out his position in the fresh salt breezes from the harbor.

CHAPTER II.

The next morning, St. Just, accompanied by Mahmoud, began his journey Paris-wards. For the sake of economy, they traveled by stage wagon. It was a cumbersome mode of transit, and the jolting frightful, for the roads were bad. They went the whole distance at a walking pace, and, with the exception of his experience on the slaver, St. Just found it the most wearisome journey he had ever taken; it was not only the time it occupied, but he felt bruised all over; sometimes, when he could no longer bear it, he got out and walked. But, at last, early in December, the spires of Paris came in sight, and never before had he hailed them with such delight.

At once he engaged a cheap lodging for himself and Mahmoud in the Rue de Dauphin. He was familiar with the district, for it was not far from the Luxembourg, in which palace, it will be remembered, St. Just had a post at the time of his introduction to the reader.

This little matter settled, he began his quest for Halima. From the conversation he had overheard between the two men at the Toison d'or, he had thought that this would be a simple matter; he had believed his wife well-known in Paris.

But, from the inquiries he made cautiously, he found it otherwise. From one point of view, this was satisfactory, for, from the men's remarks, he had feared she had an unenviable notoriety—that her charms, in fact, outweighed her virtue.

He began his inquiries with Mons. Gaston, the husband of his landlady, but the worthy man, although shrewd enough and a clerk in a public office, failed to obtain any light as to the whereabouts of Madame de Moncourt.

Day succeeded day, and still St. Just could gain no intelligence of his wife, and he began to think, either that she had quitted Paris, or had assumed another name. Doubtless, he could have learned what he required from the Bureau of Police, but he was unwilling to apply there. He had not reported himself to the military authorities, and thus it would be dangerous to communicate with the Police. His reason for not announcing his return to Paris was that he feared he might be sent to some military depot outside the city, and so checked in his quest of Halima. But he was becoming very anxious; he knew the risk he ran; at any time he might be recognized and denounced as a deserter. For this reason, most of his inquiries were made at night, though sometimes he ventured out by day.

One morning he was wandering about, in a despondent mood, in the neighborhood of the Halles Centrales, when a market cart filled with vegetables, was driven almost over him. To save himself, he stepped back and took shelter under the eave of one of the stalls.

He had scarcely done so, when he heard the sound of two men's voices in a further corner of the covered booth. He could not see the speakers, nor, probably, could they see him.

At first, he paid no attention to what was being said, but presently a name was uttered that caused him to become all ears.

"Is it wise for Monsieur to remain in Paris after the recent occurrence?" said the first voice.

"Of course not," was the reply, "but what would you? I cannot cross the frontier. Buonaparte will not let the de Moncourt go even to Brussels; so the plan of my traveling with her as her servant cannot be carried out."

It was the mention of his wife's name that had riveted St. Just's attention.

"Has the man Garraud been sounded?" resumed the first man.

"Yes, but to no purpose. No boat can either land at Marseilles, or leave it, without his permission; and he will not give it, without knowing all the ins and outs of the application. He is a faithful adherent of the first Consul."

"H'm," thoughtfully, "then we must find a spot near Boulogne. The English smuggler, Wright, may be relied upon, you think?"

"I think so—if he be well paid; and this we are prepared to do."

"Well, look him up, and sound him carefully. I shall see you at Auteuil to-night?"

"Certainly; I shall be at Madame's reception. It is said the Duke is to be there."

No more was said, and the next sound that reached the listener's ear was that of persons moving. Evidently, either the conference was at an end, or they feared they were being overheard. At any rate, the speakers left the booth, though not by the entrance at which stood St. Just, but by some exit at the back. Anxious to see them and, if he thought it wise, to follow them, in the hope of learning Halima's address, he hurried round the corner for the purpose. Not watching whither he was going, he ran into a chestnut roaster, whose chestnuts lay untended, while the man himself was kneeling on one knee and peering earnestly into the booth.

So sudden and forcible was their impact, that both men fell. Quick as thought, the chestnut seller was on his legs again; then, without giving a moment's consideration to his merchandise, he took to his heels.

St. Just, less fortunate, had no sooner risen to his feet than he found himself in the grasp of the two men whose voices he had overheard.

Both were roughly attired; one, whose face was smeared with black, looked like a coal dealer; the other like a laborer.

"A word with you, my friend," said he with the coal dust on his face, and, between them, they led St. Just into the booth. He made no resistance; he was without fear, and besides, it was broad daylight in a crowded neighborhood. He was slightly curious too, to know what they would say to him.

They motioned him to a wooden stool, which he took without a word. Then, when they also had seated themselves, between him and the entrance, the man who had first spoken addressed him roughly:—

"Now then, who the deuce are you, prowling about the stalls and prying into other men's affairs? Some wretched market thief, no doubt. What were you and that other rascal doing—the man that ran away?"

The man's words and manner took St. Just aback. "From my heart (De mon coeur)," he began to stammer apologetically, his pronunciation being by no means clear; so much so, that he was misunderstood. At any rate, his words were magical in their effect. Before he could add another, both men sprang to their feet and looked earnestly into his face.

"Who? What?" demanded the man who had first questioned him. "How came you here? Do you come from her?"

The other man held up a warning finger, and the speaker changed his tone and subject. "Have you any business with us, Sir, any orders for fuel, that we find you about our booth?"

He spoke nervously, and St. Just saw that he was ill at ease. He was more bewildered now than ever.

"Gentlemen," he said, and he could not forbear a smile, "you manners are, to say the least, bizarre; you begin by rating me, suggesting that I am a market thief, and then you ask me whether I bring an order for your wares. I can see that my presence has in some way disconcerted you; but why, I am at a loss to tell. Though I am in no way accountable to you for my actions, I will not emulate your want of courtesy, but will tell you frankly why you find me here. You may be able to assist me; sometimes one gains intelligence from most unlikely quarters."

His hearers looked at him in some surprise; they doubted whether he was not amusing himself at their expense. His bearing puzzled them.

"Anything we can do to assist Monsieur," began the one who had not yet spoken.

St. Just bowed and resumed, "There is little to tell, and that little is soon told. I have been but a few days in Paris, and I came to make inquiries for a person for whom I have an important communication. I was merely strolling about here on the chance of meeting some one who could give me the address of the one I seek. Now, gentlemen, you know my business. There is naught of mystery about it, though something I did or said a while ago seemed to discompose you strangely."

The men seemed now reassured, satisfied that his presence there was an accident and himself no spy upon their actions. His frankness and dauntlessness had disarmed them. They hastened to apologize, and then the man with the swarthy face went on, "It is just possible, but hardly likely, that we might give the information Monsieur seeks. If Monsieur would be at the trouble to state the name of the person he inquires about—"

"But certainly," St. Just interrupted, "the lady's name is Madame de Moncourt."

Again both men started visibly; it was plain that this name was wholly unexpected by them; and that its mention stirred them greatly. In his way St. Just was almost as astonished as themselves; he never thought to get the news he sought from them. Now he was assured that they could give it.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I see that the name is not unknown to you and that you can oblige me with the lady's address. It was a fortunate circumstance that brought me to you."

The next moment he had reason to doubt the truth of this last remark, for, in an instant, he found himself seized, and a dagger pointed at his heart. At the same time, a voice muttered in tones that, though low, were distinct enough, "The first of your myrmidons who enters here shall see this planted in your breast."

For all the suddenness of the attack and his inward trepidation, St. Just showed no outward mark of flinching. He knew his best chance of safety lay in keeping cool and exhibiting no signs of fear.

"Is this a comedy, Gentlemen," he said, "or what? Such rapid changes in demeanor I never saw before; one moment you are all courtesy, the next all menace. I think, if you would explain yourselves, we should the better understand each other. First, for whom or what do you take me?"

"For an agent of Police," was the reply, the poniard still held in unpleasant closeness to his breast.

St. Just laughed scornfully.

"My good sirs," he said, "so far am I from that, that did they but know I am in Paris, they would arrest me. I am unarmed; search me."

Once more he was beginning to regain their confidence; what he said seemed reasonable enough.

"Will you allow us first to bind your hands?" asked the man with the coal-stained face, who seemed to take the lead throughout.

"By all means," was St. Just's answer, and he held out his hands and brought his wrists together.

One of the men took out a handkerchief and with this he tied his hands together; then searched him carefully, the other, meanwhile, still keening the dagger in position.

Finding him unarmed, as he had stated, and that he had nothing about him to connect him with the Police, the men once more became composed, and he who held the weapon lowered it. St. Just was the first to speak.

"Now, gentlemen, I trust that you are satisfied that I had no designs against you. I know nothing whatever of your business, nor do I seek to know it. But I will be frank with you; I am sure you are not what you seem; your speech and manner belie your dress. Further, I believe the man I ran against outside was watching you. You know best whether he had any object and whether you run any risk.

"And now you will confer a favor on me, by giving me the address of Madame de Moncourt."

"Peste! Monsieur," said the leading man, with a gesture of annoyance, "what folly is this? Why do you persist in assuming that we can help you to it?"

"I know you can," was the cool reply.

"You are bold, Monsieur."

"And determined," he retorted.

The men moved to a little distance from him and held a whispered consultation. After a few minutes, the first man again addressed him.

"What is the nature of your business with Madame de Moncourt? Your visit might be unwelcome to her."

"Nay, gentlemen, I have not asked your business. I claim the same consideration."

"Your name?"

"That question also I have not put to you. Thus much, however, I will tell you; that what I have to say to Madame de Moncourt will cause her the utmost satisfaction, and that she will hold him her enemy who obstructs me. If you decline to furnish me with what I ask, I shall soon elsewhere obtain it; you will merely delay, but not restrain me. Still even delay I am desirous to avoid. I have another suggestion to make, if you still doubt me; will you give me your word of honor to convey a letter from me to the lady?"

There was another whispered conversation, and, at the end of it, they advanced to him again.

"We have discussed this matter," said the man who had first addressed him, "and this is our conclusion. We are ready to take you at once to Madame de Moncourt, provided you agree to our conditions. If you are a true man and are as anxious as you say to obtain speech with her, you will show your confidence in us by agreeing to them. If you decline, we, on our part, shall decline to convey any letter from you to her."

A smile of satisfaction lighted up the hearer's face; he was to see Halima; all else mattered nothing. The promptness and decision of his answer were worthy of Buonaparte himself:—

"I accept your conditions in advance."

It was now the others' turn to smile.

"Your trust in us is highly flattering, my friend," said one; "but surely it is somewhat indiscreet. Had you not better hear our stipulations before you commit yourself to their acceptance."

"I care not what they are," St. Just rejoined impetuously; "but name them, we are wasting time."

"In the first place you will have to consent to make the journey blindfold; and, should Madame decline to see you, or fail to recognize you, or, having recognized you, desire your absence; to be brought back here in the same condition."