CHAPTER V.
“What tidings from the camp?”
“Heavy and full of wo, my lady.”
“Speak! does my father live? was he unharmed amid the dread
encounter of opposing hosts?”
“Lady, I grieve to tell the fatal news I bear—your noble sire—”
“Is —?”
“Alas—no more!”
AT SEA—A PIRATE'S CABIN—REMORSE—SOLILOQUY--STATE-ROOM—
CAPTOR AND CAPTIVE.
The pirate's schooner, which had now become
the prison of the hapless Constanza, had long
passed the capes of the bay, into which it had
so gallantly sailed a few hours previous—and the
outline of the mountains of Jamaica, were rapidly
fading in the distance, before the outlaw, assured
that there was no danger of being immediately
pursued, prepared to leave the deck of his vessel.
“Keep her away Ricardo, with every thing she
can bear, for Barritaria,” he said, addressing the
helmsman—“and call me if you see any thing
suspicious; and before descending the companion-way,
he cast one piercing glance around the horizon.
“Ha! a sail, and dead ahead!” he exclaimed,
as his practised eye rested upon a scarcely visible
gray speck upon the horizon, in the direction of his
vessel's course. “Another—two! Keep her away a
point, and let us reconnoitre them,” he added, taking
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his spy-glass, and closely surveying the distant
objects.
The schooner kept steadily on her way, close-hauled
to the wind, while the strangers came down
upon them, with the wind nearly aft.
As they approached nearer, the foremost one
showed the square rig of a large vessel, with royals
and studding-sails set. In less than an hour from
the time they caught the pirate's eye, they were
within half a mile to leeward of the schooner—for
at such a disadvantage had the pirate cautiously
thrown her, by altering his course,—and distinctly
displayed the tall and majestic apparel of a ship
of war.
“A tiger, sir!” said Théodore, his young proteg
é, after gazing at the ship for a moment, from
the top of a gun-carriage, through a focus, formed
by his diminutive fists—“her teeth glisten like
Cudjoe's, here;” and he looked toward the ungainly
figure of the slave, who, with one long arm clinging
to a stay, his head and body bent forward, and his
lips drawn back with an admiring grin, was inspecting
with much curiosity, the noble, and warlike
spectacle which the strange sail exhibited.
“Do you know her, Señor?” inquired the helmsman,
with deference in his manner.
“I think not, Jean,” he replied musingly—“but
she and her little tender seem to walk past us, as if
disdaining to wet their cut-water with the same salt
spray, which our pretty craft throws about her so
merrily. Do you recognize her, Ricardo?”
“She is, I believe, señor, the French frigate Le
Sultan, that we saw going into Carthagena, as we
were getting under weigh off Las Naranjas.”
“Indeed!” said the buccaneer, looking for a moment
steadily at the passing ship. “I suspect you
are right—she was accompanied by a schooner—
her yards are not square enough for an American:
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an Englishman she is not; she is too light rigged,
and carries whiter canvass than John Bull. I suspect
you are right, Ricardo.”
“I know her, captain, by the length between her
mizen and mainmast, and the rake of her mainroyal-mast,
as if it had been sprung,” said the
helmsman.
“You have a seaman's eye, Jean, and you are
right too,” he quickly added, as the stranger showed
two or three lights—“that reads `France!' But we
have no time to dally in returning compliments.
Hold to your course again, sir,” he said, turning to the
helmsman.
The schooner came closer to the wind, and rapidly
held on in the direction from which she had diverged
to avoid the strange ship, which, lowering
her lights, silently and majestically with her companion,
moved onward, apparently standing into the
bay from which the schooner had just taken her
departure.
“Théodore, how is our fair prisoner?” he inquired,
as he descended into his cabin, accompanied
by his young officer.
“She sleeps, sir,” replied he, in a low voice.
“Poor girl, I almost wish she might not wake
again to know her wretchedness,” he said, feelingly.
“It is my fate to bring ruin upon all around
me. Has she spoken, or been conscious of her situation?”
he abruptly inquired of the youth.
“I think not, sir,” he answered. “By the aid
of old Juana, who sympathizes with the misfortunes
of the maiden, she was soon recovered from
her death-like swoon, but directly passed out of it
into a deep sleep. She is very lovely, Señor!” he
added, with sudden animation.
“Poor lady;” said the outlaw, sadly, “I did not
mean to take you from your father's bosom. But
he was already dead!—And who slew him? My
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act, if not my hand! But I will seek to atone for
the father's wrongs, by treating the daughter with
all honour. Leave me, Théodore, I would be
alone,” he added aloud.
The iron swinging lamp, suspended above, cast
a bright light over the cabin, and its furniture.
The sides were pannelled with a dark-coloured,
West Indian wood; the floor was of the same material,
and hard and polished, like marble. The
ceiling was low, and crossed at intervals by beams.
Pistols and cutlasses, arranged in fanciful figures,
were hung around the walls, and stands of muskets
and boarding-pikes lined two sides of the room.
On a case, which stood in one corner, lay two or
three steel caps, for boarders—a blunderbuss with
a muzzle like the mouth of a bugle, stilettoes, and
the various paraphernalia appertaining to a vessel,
whose trade is war. On the side opposite to the companion-way,
a door opened into a state-room situated
farther astern, and now occupied by Constanza.
On a pin near the companion-way, hung the full
dress of a Spanish naval officer. Various dresses
of citizens, soldiers, and seamen, were suspended
near it, constituting a wardrobe well adapted to one,
whose mode of life compelled him, not unfrequently,
to adopt disguises, adapted to his purposes. Rolls
of charts, elegant rapiers, iron-handled broad-swords,
canes, and a rifle, stood in a corner, and several articles
of the ordinary apparel of seamen, lay about
on camp stools; several of which, with an oval table
in the centre, a tall pedestal sustaining a handsome
compass, constituted the only furniture of the apartment.
At the table, in the midst of the cabin, and within
the dark circle cast beneath by the bottom of
the lamp, sat Lafitte, his features so far thrown
into shadow, that their expression was in a great
degree concealed.
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With his forehead resting upon his hand he
leaned upon the table, in an attitude of dejection;
nor had he opened his lips, or moved from that
position which he occupied on entering the cabin
and dismissing Théodore, for more than an hour.
No sound but the gurgling of the water, as the
vessel glided over the moonlit sea, the occasional
song of the labouring seamen, or the hoarse cry of
the helmsman, as he told the watches of the night,
and the monotonous tramp of the officer of the
deck over his head, broke the stillness reigning
around him.
There are times when conscience will wield
her fiery sceptre over the soul, compelling the
guilty to hide their faces in horror! In that short
hour, the whole of his past life passed before his
memory, like some fearful pageant, before the vision
of the fevered sleeper. He thought of his first
crime—against a brother's life! of the blood-stained
marble statue! of his love for his cousin, and the
dark sea of passions into which he plunged in consequence
of that love, and his subsequent jealousy!
He called to mind, while a cold tremour passed
over his frame, and a deep groan escaped him, his
last meeting with that brother---the descending
knife, and fatal blow---then his rapid flight, and his
artful tale to the captain who saved him that night,
as his frail boat was sinking in a storm! His voyage
to the Mediterranean sea---his capture by the Algerines---his
imprisonment and escape, by the aid of a
Moorish maiden, whom he dishonoured and left---
his fatal rencontre in landing---his imprisonment
and escape in an open boat for Ceuti, and second
capture by the rovers---his union with, and subsequent
command of, their vessel---all in their turn,
became the subject of his thoughts. His features
changed, as he thought of the dark sea of crimes,
through which he waded to that command.
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Then came his capture by the Turks—his freedom,
and rapidly rising distinction in their navy—
and he pressed his temples violently, when he remembered
that he had changed the cross of his
religion, for the turban of the Mussulman. He was
now chief of an armed horde, and now a combatant
in the ranks of the Egyptians, against his invading
countrymen. Once more he was on the sea, and an
Algerine rover called him its commander! Then
he was the captive of the Spaniard, and the Moro of
Havanna became his prison. Liberated, again the
quarter-deck of a pirate became his home, and the
flag of Carthagena waved to the breeze above his
head!
“What matters it,” he suddenly exclaimed, “that
I have gained the wealth of princes—that I have
waded through crime and blood to the acquisition of
the guilty fame that makes my name terrible!—
that my hand has been against every man!—I am
at last but a miserable being—penitent, without the
power to repent—remorseful, without hope— a lover
of virtue, without daring to seek it—banned of God—
outlawed of my race—fratricide, murderer!—hundred-fold
murderer! with the mark of Cain branded
upon my brow, and burned deep—deep into my
soul. Oh, God! oh, God!—if there be a God”—
he cried, clasping his hands and lifting his eyes to
heaven—“be merciful unto my iniquities, for they
are very great!” And he fervently pressed to his
lips the hilt of his rapier, shaped like a cross, and
then dropped his head upon his arm, and wept, under
the influence of feelings, which, at some seasons,
will be experienced by the most hardened.
After a few moments silence, he continued, “Oh,
for the days of childhood and innocence! I was
then happy; then we—my brother!—my little
brother and I—kneeled nightly in prayer by our
bedside! How beautiful! We were taught by our
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venerable parent to put up our prayers, first to the
Virgin, and then to our sainted mother. Oh, would
to God I had died then! Mother, you would have
then embraced your son in heaven!—But no!—
no!” as a ray of hope glanced over his mind, he
exclaimed aloud, while his brow grew dark, “No!
too—too deeply dyed in crime. With a brother's
blood I began—and should a brother's murderer
shrink from lesser crimes! Oh, how fatally consistent
has been my life with its outset! Witness!”
and he laughed, but his laugh was hollow and
unearthly, as he spoke; “witness! I call ye to
witness!” he cried, almost fiercely, “ye exulting
demons, who madden me with your hellish triumphs—
Ha! ha! ha! I will yet be your leader! If
I cannot be the last in heaven, I will be the first in
hell!” and he sprung from his seat, and wildly
walked the cabin, under the influence of temporary
insanity, while such tortures as only a fratricide can
feel, harrowed his soul.
His massive forehead, lurid with the glare of the
lamp, and contorted and writhing, as if the mind
within conflicted with the agonies of the doomed,
was lowered darkly over his burning eyes, which
glowed with a fierce, lambent light, as Lucifer's
might have glowed when hurled from heaven.
His finely-curved lip curled with a satanic expression
of hatred and malignity: and his form expanded,
as though under the influence of some
strong passion, uncontrollable by human power.
Suddenly he stopped, and stood with his arm outstretched
in a meancing manner, while his dilated
figure exhibited the attitude a painter would have
seized, to represent Cain standing over the prostrate
body of his murdered brother.
A low exclamation, in the adjoining state-room, of
mingled terror and surprise, recalled him instantly
to his accustomed self-possession, for the moment
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controlled by the intense passions, which, from time to
time, aroused by his guilty conscience, enslaved his
spirit. The dark, scowling brow, resumed its serenity
and beauty—the wild fire of his eye mellowed into
a milder lustre—the impassioned and excited form
became subdued and passive, under a calmer and
happier influence; and approaching the door of the
state-room, with a smile, that might have won a
maiden's love, mantling his lip, and in a voice modulated
to the gentlest tones, he inquired after the welfare
of his lovely captive.
We must now return to the period when Constanza
was first restored to consciousness. The
youthful officer had, with delicate address, given her
up, after his chief had resigned her to his charge
on gaining his vessel, to the care of an old negress,
wife of the steward of the schooner, who, with that
instinctive sympathy which is the characteristic of
woman—even of the old and ugly, for the young
and lovely of their sex—received her charge with
many exclamations of sympathy and regret.
“Sweety lady—ol' Juana hab pity much,” said
she, receiving her lovely charge, and laying her
upon a sofa in the interior state-room of the vessel,
which was fitted up with great taste and elegance.
“How white an' sof' dis pretty han', wid de gol' ring—
but ol' Juana wont steal it off de little slender
finger,” she added, as an habitual disposition to do
so was evident, by the sudden motion of her hand
and eye.
“I wis' de lady would open de eyes,” she continued,
applying strong stimulants, and resorting
to the usual means for restoring suspended animation.
“Hi, massa Théodore, you rub dat lily han',
while I rub dis, an' bave de temple,” she said, with
an air of importance, fully conscious of the
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responsibility with which she was so unexpectedly invested.
The youth, who, at the command of Lafitte, had
remained to assist in the recovery of the maiden,
respectfully bent on one knee by the sofa, and with
tenderness took the unconscious hand, brilliant with
gems; and with the embarrassed manner of one
who felt guilty of sacrilege, endeavoured to restore
warmth and circulation to the lifeless member.
By degrees, the blood returned to fill the blue
veins, her bosom heaved like the snowy breast of a
wearied dove, and opening her dark eyes, she gazed
vacantly about; but there was no soul in their expression—
no intelligence or consciousness of surrounding
objects.
“She look, but she no see,” said the nurse. “Marie!
what big black eyes! dere she clos um' 'gen!
but she get life now—no matter—poor lily 'ooman
go sleep;” and the maiden, again closing her eyes
with a deep sigh, placed her hand under her head,
and on that soft and lovely pillow, rocked by the
gentle motion of the vessel, fell into a sweet and
refreshing slumber.
The kind old nurse watched by her couch with
the anxiety and tenderness of a mother over the
cradle of her infant, occasionally replying in a whisper
to the interrogations of Théodore, as from time
to time he came from the deck to inquire if she still
reposed.
It was long past midnight, and still the lady
slept, while the old negress waved mechanically
over her a plume of the gorgeous feathers of some
tropical bird, the light wind, which the motion
created, gently lifting the raven curls from her blueveined
temples.
“O, hi! dere massa captain,” she said, lifting her
finger in the attitude of listening, as she heard Lafitte,
after giving his orders to the helmsman,
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descend to the cabin; “ol' Juana hope he no harm
de lady—he good man, sometime--and sometime
he bad! but he hab good heart at de bottom—ol'
Juana know he do mos' much good as bad since
she sail in de schooner;” and the old negress continued
habitually waving her plume over the sleeper,
and musing upon the character of the buccaneer
chief, when a deep groan from the adjoining
cabin, where he leaned upon the table, disturbed
her reflections.
“Ah, dere Massa Lafitte in one ob his glooms,”
she said to herself; “de lady no fear noting now.
Tank de saint,” she continued, as she observed the
maiden turn upon her side; “she stir—she wake
up; poor ting, how sorry she be when she hear her
fader dead, and know where she be. If ol' Juana
be bad 'ooman, she no bad to dis pretty chil', she
hab no body to be kin' to her now but ol' Juana!”
and the hideousness of the dark features of the old
negress were redeemed for the moment, by the expression
of kindness and pity which passed over them, as
she thought of her helpless and lonely state. Besides
her natural kindness of heart, retained in spite of her
mode of life, there might have been some emotions
of gratification, in having one of her own sex to
relieve the dreary character of her rude existence.
The lady slightly moved, murmured indistinctly
some name, while a sweet smile came for an instant to
her lips; and before its scarce perceptible reflection
faded from her cheek, she raised her richly-fringed
lids, and like one awaking from a pleasant dream,
looked peacefully around. Surprised, she surveyed
a scene of taste and elegance unfamiliar to her eyes.
The state-room was fitted up in a style of gorgeousness,
to which the wealth of many rich argosies had
contributed. The maiden herself reclined on an
ottoman of crimson velvet, ornamenting one end
of the cabin. An alcove on her right, contained
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a marble laver, supported by the tips of the pinions
of three bronze cupids, each holding in his extended
hands silver vessels, containing various articles for
the toilet. Over this stand was a mirror, set with a
richly-chased frame of ebony, inlaid with pearl. The
front of this recess was draped by curtains of blue
and orange damask, which materials, entwined in
festoons, encircled the state-room. Opposite to the
alcove, under a costly swinging lamp, which cast a
brilliant light through the room, stood an escritoire
with a black marble top, supported by two leopards,
also of marble, but so variegated as to imitate both
in form and colour the spotted skin of those animals,
nearly to the semblance of life. Upon it were strewn,
of the costliest materials and most delicate workmanship,
apparatus for writing; a superb guitar; a
jewelled dagger, sheathed in a gold case; and a few
Spanish and Italian poets, with one or two French
and English authors of celebrity. An Alpine scene,
done by a celebrated Florentine painter, set in an
elaborately-carved frame, hung above it, while paintings
of North American scenery adorned the other
sides of the cabin.
Opposite to the sofa, occupied by the fair Castillian,
stood, in a larger and deeper recess than the one
containing the laver—a couch raised high from the
floor, and fancifully shaped like a sea-shell, covered
with the richest material of intermingled purple and
white. A thick curtain of green velvet, now partly
drawn aside, was made to fall before the recess and
entirely covered it from the eye. Against this couch
leaned an antique German harp, of uncommon size
and beauty, curiously constructed of the blackest
ebony, and adorned with carved ivory-work. The
floor of this luxurious abode was covered with one
of those thick Turkish carpets, whose yielding surface
betrays no footstep.
The maiden gazed upon the splendour surrounding
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her; at first with a wondering eye—pressed her fingers
upon her eyelids, and looked again, and again.
“I must dream!”—said she in a low silvery voice,
“Agata—O, Agata!” and she looked up into the
face of her attendant—“what?—no!—I still dream,”
she cried, placing her hand over her eyes, as
though endeavouring to collect her thoughts—“Oh,
Maria!—what a dream! what a fearful dream I
have had!” and again she removed her hands, and
gazed wildly round the room. She now heard
distinctly the sound of rushing waters, and was conscious
of motion.
“Father,—father! where am I?”—she shrieked
wildly—“this vessel—the dashing waves! Hah!
who is it that calls? Oh God! Oh God!—I know
it all—all!”—she shrieked, as the deepmellow voice
of Lafitte, addressing her from the inner cabin, fell
upon her ear;—and the wretched girl buried her
face in her hands, and shed burning tears.
“Señora, I would speak with you!”
“Ha! that voice again—miserable Constanza!
utterly lost—lost!”—she exclaimed. Suddenly her
eye rested upon the gemmed stiletto lying upon the
escritoire.
“Holy Virgin, forgive me!—but thus I can save
my honour!” and she sprung for the weapon.
“Bon Giu! Help, massa, help, she kill herself!”
cried the terrified Juana.
The pirate threw open the door, but before he
could enter, the unsheathed weapon was grasped in
the elevated hand of the maiden; her eyes were
uplifted, full of a sublime and holy devotion.
“Forgive me, blessed Virgin!” she uttered with
wild and affecting energy, and the glittering dagger
was descending into her breathing bosom, when
her captor sprang forward, and the weapon was
sheathed in his intervening arm.
“My life, lady, rather than thine!” he said, as he
drew it forth.
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“Oh, that it had been thy life!”—she exclaimed,
while her beautiful and excited features expressed
the intensest mortification at her disappointment;
her dark eye kindled with anger, while her colourless
lip showed maidenly apprehension. For a
moment she stood in the attitude in which she had
been arrested, with these several passions agitating
her bosom; but the last overcame all other feelings,
and with clasped fingers, and the uplifted eye of a
Madonna, she said, imploringly and with touching
eloquence.
“O, Señor, I am your captive--but ransom, a
king's ransom shall be yours, only let me go in
peace and honour. I implore you by your mother!
by the blessed virgin! by your hope of heaven! by
your fear of hell! See! I kneel to you! Oh, Señor,
I know I am in your hands, but, as you hope for
mercy, show mercy now!”
“Rise, lady—I swear!”—and Lafitte bared his
brow, and kissed the cross-hilted dagger--“I swear
by my hope of heaven, my fear of hell, by my sainted
mother, and by the Holy Virgin, that you shall remain
in all safety and honour!” The sincere
voice in which he repeated her adjuration—the
solemn eye, and devotional manner, re-assured the
agitated girl.
“Oh, I would believe you, Señor, yet,” she suddenly
exclaimed, “my father! where, oh, where is he?”
And, although the moment before, she had shrunk
from the touch of her captor, as he extended his hand
to raise her from her suppliant posture, while she
kneeled before him, she now clasped him by the arm,
and with a trembling voice, scarcely articulated—
“My—my—father!—Oh tell me--where?”
“Be calm, Señora.—You shall know all, but—”
“You have murdered him!” she shrieked.
“Nay, lady, he has not been murdered--he--”
“He lives not!” she cried, with terrible energy
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in her voice, fixing her eyes upon his face, as
if she would read in its changing expression
what she sought, yet trembled to learn.
“Without violence, he died upon his bed.”
“Died!” she shrieked; but the next moment,
with altered voice and manner, she murmured,
“Died?—died!—he then is dead—dead!”
Mournfully she spoke, and her fixed eye betrayed
the temporary alienation of her reason.---“On his
bed---too---and where was Constanza, to close his
eyes? Dead! dead?---They tell me so---that my
father is dead! and Constanza---living? Oh that
she were dead also! How blessed it must be to
die!---The good old man is happy now; he cannot
see his daughter's shame and misery. They tell
me he died on his bed!—But they tell me false!”
she cried, suddenly changing her abstracted manner,
and low melancholy voice---“Oh, you have
murdered him---” she wildly shrieked, while she
pointed at the wounded arm of Lafitte---“there is
blood upon your hand---my father's blood---Murderer!
murderer! Nay---Lafitte! Lafitte! I can
call you by no other name, that will so express my
detestation, and your crime'—and the look which
accompanied her words, was the more withering,
from the extreme beauty of the features upon which
it dwelt.
“Señora, I beseech you be appeased,” he said,
with a tone indicative of wounded feeling. “Don
Velasquez was not slain; he died naturally:—
there was no hand laid upon his person. Calm
your feelings. You think me guilty---I am, but
not so guilty as you believe. If you will hear me
a few moments”---he proceeded, as he saw she
listened with some attention, and less excitement,
to his words. “I will tell you all.”
The maiden remained silent---but slightly inclined
her head, with the air of one who would
listen.
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“Hebérto Velasquez---” he continued, “you
start!—guided my party to the vault containing
your father's treasure, on condition, that he should
share half the booty—while the whole weight of
the act should fall upon me. You were alarmed,
and, during the removal of the gold, your father,
seizing a pistol, shot Velasquez, who was below
with us, dead.”
“Velasquez dead!—and by my father's hand?”
“Even so, señora.”
“Then, Heaven is just!” she exclaimed.
“The alarm was given,” he continued, “we
were surrounded. I entered the room above”—
here he bowed low, while a deep flush mantled his
dark cheek, which was slightly reflected from the
maiden's, who, with conflicting emotions, listened to
the pirate's relation—“There, I first saw, you, never,
lady, to forget you! I left your presence, and
headed my men; but, pressed on every side, I was
forced to retreat to the villa. I sprung into the room,
and you fainted. The thought flashed upon me,
that I could save my life, and gain my vessel, by
protecting—pardon me, lady,—by protecting my
body with your sacred person. I caught up your
lifeless form, and, holding you before me, retreated,
step by step, till I gained my vessel:—and, to this
protection, lady, I owe my life!”—he added, with
feeling.
“But, my father?”
“Worn out and feeble, during the tumult around
him, he expired.”
“Alas! he was ready to die!” she said, calmly,
“I have long schooled my heart to part with him—
but not thus—oh! not thus!” and, leaning her head
upon the table, the lovely orphan gave way to her
filial grief.
Lafitte left her to the indulgence of her sorrows,
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and after delaying, in his own cabin, to attend to
his slightly-wounded arm, ascended to the deck.
A faint titnge along the eastern horizon, announced
the coming dawn—the night breeze had
lulled—and the sails, at every lift of the vessel,
upon some larger sea, flapped heavily against the
masts. The watch were sitting, or standing, with
their hands thrust into their bosoms, around the
windlass—the officer of the deck paced his lonely
round—the helmsman stood at the helm—and, like
its master-spirit, directed the course of the yielding
vessel, steadily towards the invisible point of her destination.
The land had disappeared, save an irregular
waving blue line along the horizon, which
might be mistaken by the unpractised eye for
the edges of a distant cloud, but in which, Lafitte
recognized the fast disappearing mountains of Jamaica.
All else was the broad heaving ocean, and
the bending blue sky, in which, here and there,
twinkled a solitary star, and the pale western moon,
like a timid novice, modestly veiling her face, at the
approach of the morning sun.
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Ingraham, J. H. (Joseph Holt), 1809-1860 [1836], The pirate of the gulf volume 1 (Harper & Brothers, New York) [word count] [eaf156v1].
