Chapter Twenty Five.

“All’s well that ends well.”

Leaving Woodford to attend to the securing of the prisoners, I hastened aft to see how Tompion and his little party were faring in the cabins. I found them in the saloon under the poop, with four prisoners who had been discovered ransacking the cabins, and in one of these prisoners, a fine handsome middle-aged man of swarthy complexion, with dark hair clustering in close ringlets all over his shapely head, dark piercing eyes, small ears, from the lobes of which depended a pair of plain gold ear-rings, and a somewhat slim yet wiry and athletic-looking figure clad in a picturesque but somewhat showy costume, I thought I identified the man I was so anxious to meet, Giuseppe Merlani. The man was badly wounded, having been run through the body by Tompion, who had been compelled to inflict the wound in order to save his own life. The fellow looked hard, almost wildly at me, and muttered something which I could not catch, as I was at the moment speaking to the gunner; and when, a minute afterwards, I found myself at liberty to interrogate him, I discovered that he had swooned from loss of blood. I directed Tompion to have him taken below, undressed, and placed in a hammock, despatching one of our men, meanwhile, to hunt up the surgeon of the Santa Catalina, and then made my way below to the spot where I had left Don Luis. I found him still in charge of the man Collins, who had managed in an effectual if somewhat clumsy way, to stanch the bleeding of his wound; and it is scarcely necessary to say that he was overjoyed when I informed him that we had succeeded in recapturing the ship. He at once staggered to his feet, and upon my assuring him that there was nothing further to fear from the pirates, announced his intention of going immediately to his daughter’s hiding-place, begging me to accompany him thither. We accordingly started on our way to the main-deck, Collins supporting Don Luis by placing his arm round the latter’s waist. But we were barely half-way up the ladder when a sudden hubbub and confusion arose on the upper deck, and I was compelled to hasten away to see what it meant. I found that it was caused by the discovery, suddenly made, that the pirate schooner was sinking alongside, and I reached the poop only just in time to see her heel over and founder stern first, the broadside of shot which had been fired into her when she ranged alongside having passed through her deck and out through her bottom, thus occasioning so fatal a leak that the only wonder was that she had floated so long.

The excitement and confusion attending this incident had not subsided when the surviving Spanish officers and crew made their reappearance on deck. The former were very profuse in their compliments and thanks for what they termed our invaluable assistance; having tendered which they manifested a disposition to resume their former status on board. But I was quite determined not to allow this. The ship had passed completely out of their possession into that of the pirates, and had been recaptured by us. She was therefore our lawful prize, and I was resolved to retain possession of her, as I had informed Don Felix I would. I pointed this out to the Spanish officers, and requested them to surrender their swords, which, very sensibly, they did. Don Felix, however, who had hidden himself away below somewhere, and who did not reappear until some time after the others, stormed and blustered and reviled us, calling us everything but gentlemen, and demanding to know whether we considered we were making him a proper return for his kindness in having rescued us. This, of course, was all very well; but he had refused our offer of assistance, as I pointed out to him, and had had his ship taken from him, not by us, but by the pirates. He was, of course, obliged to deliver up his sword; but he would not listen to reason, retiring to his cabin and sulking there until our arrival in Port Royal harbour, for which, on gaining possession of the ship, I had at once shaped a course. Previous to this, however, I had secured his despatch-box and had put it in a place of safety, otherwise I have no doubt he would have promptly dropped it overboard out of the stern windows.

I was anxious to treat my prisoners with the same generosity and consideration which they had accorded to me; and I hastened to set their minds at rest upon this point. But whilst the officers were perfectly willing to give their own parole, they reluctantly admitted that they felt it quite impossible to guarantee the good behaviour of their men; I was therefore compelled, in self-defence, to confine the latter below. All this took up a great deal of time; it was consequently not until after the men had had their dinner that I was able to set the watches and start the carpenter upon the task of getting new spars ready for sending aloft. I had been informed by the Spanish surgeon, when we all sat down to luncheon together, that Don Luis’ hurt was not of a serious character, and that he was likely to do well enough if the fever resulting from his wound could be kept under; but with regard to the pirate captain the case was different: his wound, I was assured, was mortal, and whilst the man might possibly linger for several days, he might, on the other hand, expire at any moment. The surgeon further informed me that Merlani—for he it really proved to be—had manifested quite an extraordinary inquisitiveness respecting me, and had at last requested that I might be informed he would like to speak to me.

As soon, therefore, as I found myself at liberty, I, without delaying even to wait upon Don Luis and Inez, made my way below to the sick-bay, where, in a little corner which had been separated by a screen from the part occupied by the other injured men, lay Merlani in a hammock, with one of my men to attend upon and at the same time stand sentry over him.

He was ghastly pale, and evidently suffering great pain, as I could see by the occasional twitching of his facial muscles, as well as by the perspiration which bedewed his forehead and trickled down upon the pillow; but he seemed to be quite free from fever, and he was perfectly steady and collected in his mind.

He looked long and eagerly in my face as I stood beside his hammock, and his countenance brightened up with pleasure. At length he said in Spanish:

“This is kind of you, Señor Lascelles. I wanted to see you, because in the moment that I first looked upon your face I was reminded of one who in my younger days I almost worshipped; and when, during the dressing of my wound, I learned your name, I could not resist the temptation of believing that you must be related to her—that you must, in fact, be her son. Tell me, am I not right? Are you not the son of Maria Bisaccia?”

“That was indeed my mother’s name,” I said, greatly disconcerted. “But I find it difficult to understand how it could possibly have happened that you and my mother should have—”

“Known anything of each other?” he interrupted. “Yes; and well you may. But it is easily explained. I have not always been the blood-stained villain that I now am; when I knew your mother I was, I need scarcely say, wholly innocent of crime. Idle, perhaps; wayward; and a trifle wild I undoubtedly was; but crime and I were strangers, and strangers we should have continued to be,” he added somewhat wildly, “if I had but listened to and heeded the warnings and pleadings of my sweet foster-sister.”

“Your foster-sister!” I ejaculated, a great light bursting in upon me in a moment. “Was my mother your foster-sister?”

“Ay was she,” replied Merlani. “Her mother died half an hour after giving her birth; and my mother—who was at that time nursing my sister Bianca, now dead, woe is me!—was summoned in all haste to the chateau to take the place of a mother to the new-born infant. I was at that time a youngster of seven years old, and as my mother became a permanent inmate of the chateau for the first four years of your mother’s life, I saw a great deal of the dear child, and have played for hours with her and my sweet Bianca on the sunny terrace in front of the chateau, ay, and have dragged them in a little chariot, made by my father, many a weary mile up and down the rough steep road leading to Amalfi.”

“So, then, you and my mother were friends?” I remarked, in the hope of leading him on to talk further upon the subject. “Friends!” ejaculated Merlani; “well, yes, we were; but that expression is hardly the right one. She was the guardian angel; I the poor, weak, erring mortal over whom she watched. Always listening to her advice and admonitions with the profoundest and most respectful attention, and always anxious to do right, whilst I was in her presence, I had no sooner withdrawn myself and mingled once more with my usual associates, than my natural weakness prevailed, and I found myself involved in some scrape or other, from the consequences of which your mother, with a patience more than mortal, rescued me as often as she could. Had I but heeded her counsels I should never have been what I now am.”

“I can readily believe that,” said I, “little as I know of my mother. But do you intend me to accept that remark as literally true, or—”

“It is literally true,” answered Merlani. “You must know, señor, that at the time to which I refer, like many more young men of my own age, I became greatly interested in politics; so much so that after a time I united myself to a secret society, the object of which was to compass the freedom of our beloved Italy. I was on sufficiently intimate terms with your mother to confide freely to her all my hopes and aspirations, this among the rest; but, whilst she thoroughly sympathised with me in the particular matter to which I have referred, she had penetration enough to be fully sensible of the danger to which I was exposing myself; and she earnestly sought to dissuade me from having anything to do with active politics. But I was proud of being looked upon as a patriot, and blind to the fact that my country was not then ripe for the freedom which I, among others, burned to give her; I, therefore, as usual, went my own headstrong way, and eventually got into very serious trouble. I was obliged to fly; and learning that your mother—by this time married—was in Rome, I resolved to seek her in the first instance, and beg of her that pecuniary assistance which my other friends were incapable of affording me. I did so, found her, and, after considerable difficulty, succeeded in obtaining a private interview with her. I represented to her the danger of the position in which—”

“One moment,” I interrupted. “What, may I ask, was your object in making the interview private?”

“It was on your father’s account,” answered Merlani. “I know not what he may be now, if he still lives, but he was then an exceedingly proud, haughty, and overbearing man, very impatient and hasty of temper, as I had had many opportunities of noticing; and he had, moreover, no sympathy with the movement with which I had associated myself. I happened to know, also, that though he was unaware of the relationship—if I may so term it—which existed between your mother and myself, I had been unfortunate enough to attract his unfavourable attention whilst he was prosecuting his love suit with your mother. I was therefore anxious, above all things, to avoid compromising the wife in the eyes of her husband by letting him know that she possessed so disreputable an acquaintance; and finally, I felt convinced that if he became acquainted with the facts of my case he would consider it his duty to deliver me into the hands of the authorities. Hence my desire for secrecy.

“Well, as I have said, I found your mother, represented to her the peril of my position, pointed out to her the imperative necessity for absolute secrecy, and besought her, by all she held dearest, to help me once more and for the last time. She was deeply distressed when I told her in how serious a scrape I had involved myself, the more so as she could see no way of helping me without appealing to her husband for the necessary funds, which I bound her not to do, assuring her that such a step would inevitably bring about my ruin. At length she promised to think the matter over and do what she could for me, promising to meet me again the next evening.

“It so happened, however, that the pursuit after me was so hot that I was compelled to be closely hidden for nearly a fortnight, during which I have reason to believe that your mother suffered the keenest anxiety on my account. When at length I dared venture out again I found your mother’s distress more keen than ever because she had been unable to obtain even the modest sum of money I had named as necessary to secure my safety. She bade me meet her again. I did so, only to find her still in the same pitiable state of helplessness and distress. I met her again, and yet again—seven times in all; and at our last meeting your mother pressed into my hand a small package of money—the proceeds of the sale of her own private jewels, as a hastily-written tear-blotted note inside informed me. The assistance, however, came just too late. I was arrested that very night and cast into prison, where, without even the pretence of a trial, I was confined for seven long years among the vilest of the vile. I should probably have been there still had I not succeeded in effecting my escape. But those seven years of misery unutterable had done their work upon me; I entered the prison a harmless enough young fellow, save that I was the victim of a mistaken enthusiasm; I emerged from it a fiend, my heart full to overflowing of hatred for the entire human race, with which I have warred, in one way or another, from that day to this.

“Such, Señor Lascelles, is my story; my only excuse for telling you which is the tender memories of your sainted mother, evoked by your extraordinary personal resemblance to her. You have listened to me with a patient kindness which you must surely have inherited from her, and I thank you; the thought of her has made me once more human; I feel the better for having been permitted to take her honoured name once more upon my lips; but now, señor, with your permission I will rest a little; I am weary, and oh, so very weak.”

I withdrew, and making my way to Albuquerque’s berth, begged permission of the owner to occupy it for an hour or two; which permission being obtained, I sat down then and there, and, whilst Merlani’s story was still fresh in my memory, put the whole of it in black and white.

This done, I thought it high time to look in upon Don Luis, who would, perhaps, otherwise think I was slighting him. I accordingly made my way to his private cabin and knocked softly. The door was opened by Inez, who no sooner saw me than she flung herself into my arms—full in view of her father, who was reclining upon a couch—kissed me rapturously, and exclaimed:

“Oh, Leo, my dearest, how glad I am to see you once more, and unhurt, after all the dreadful occurrences of to-day; come in, mio, and sit down; papa and I have both been longing to see you, have we not, you dear, proud, good-natured darling of a father?”

“Yes,” said Don Luis smiling, much to my astonishment, for I quite expected that his displeasure would have been kindled by his daughter’s demonstrative reception of me—“yes, we have; but not from precisely the same motives, I fancy. However, let that pass. Come in, Leo, my boy, come in; why, you look as frightened as if it were you, and not that wilful headstrong daughter of mine, that I ought to be angry with. Sit down, and let Inez pour you out a glass of wine whilst you tell me how affairs have been progressing since I saw you last. But first,” he continued, offering me his left hand—his injured limb being tightly swathed in bandages, and therefore unavailable—“let me express to you my heartfelt gratitude for the prompt and effective response you made to my appeal for help and deliverance at the moment that we were about to fall irretrievably into the hands of those piratical desperados. You and your gallant followers have saved us all from death—and, in my daughter’s case, from a fate so much worse than death that I shall never be able to think of it without a shudder. You will find that I am not ungrateful—but I will speak of that anon. Now tell me, how have you managed with that miserable poltroon, Don Felix, and his officers and crew! Tell me in detail all that happened from the moment you were obliged to leave me.”

Seating myself by his side, with Inez close to us both, I gave my friends a full and detailed account of everything that had transpired, omitting, of course, the particulars of my interview with Merlani; and I wound up by saying:

“Of course, Don Luis, I cannot say how the admiral may deal with the matter of my seizure of the ship, or how he will dispose of her officers and crew; but in any case I think that, as you and Dona Inez are civilians, he will not attempt to detain you; and even should he think of doing so, I do not believe I am overrating my influence with him when I say that I think he would, at my intercession, restore you your freedom.”

“Thank you, Leo,” said Don Luis heartily; “this is good news. I have been feeling a little anxious on that point since I have found time to think about it; for detention, at the present crisis in my affairs, might affect me most seriously. But if I can only succeed in making my way back to La Guayra, I have no doubt that, in a fortnight at most, I can collect evidence enough to completely frustrate the machinations of my enemies and set myself perfectly right again with the authorities in Spain.

“Now, with respect to yourself and this foolish—well, no, I will withdraw the word ‘foolish’—this love affair between you and Inez. There is no doubt but you and your brave fellows have been the means of preserving us both from a very terrible fate; and, as I have said, you shall not find me ungrateful. I am not going to give my unconditional consent to Inez’s marriage with you—not yet at least, that would be rather too absurd. You are both—and you, especially, Leo—far too young to seriously contemplate marriage for some years to come; moreover, you are at present merely a midshipman; you still have your way to make in the noble profession you have chosen to follow. I have not the slightest doubt that you will make it in due time; you have already established something more than a merely local reputation as a most gallant officer and seaman; you have distinguished yourself in a most remarkable manner for so young a man, and your superiors would be worse than ungrateful were they to fail to duly acknowledge and reward such distinguished merit. I have no doubt they will reward it, and I fully expect that when once you have ‘served your time’—I believe that is the correct expression, is it not?—your rise in your profession will be rapid, and that it will not be very many years before you gain your post rank. When that day arrives, if your present regard for Inez remains unchanged, come to me, and you shall find me perfectly willing to incline a favourable ear to your proposals. In the meantime I completely withdraw my veto as to your intercourse with her; you may have as much of each other’s society as you wish during the short time you are likely to be together, and you may afterwards correspond as voluminously as you please; but—understand me clearly—I will not accede to or in any way countenance anything approaching to a betrothal, or, as you English term it, an engagement! And now, my dear children, I hope you are both satisfied.”

My story is ended. Is there any need that I should say more? Well, perhaps some of my readers may object to so abrupt a termination to this veracious history; and, to please them, it may be as well, perhaps, to briefly state a few additional facts.

I will add, then, that we succeeded in carrying the Santa Catalina safely into Port Royal, after a fine but somewhat slow passage, though I suppose I need scarcely say that to Inez and myself the days sped only too fast. I duly reported myself to the admiral, and was by him received most favourably, notwithstanding the deplorable contre-temps of the loss of the Dolphin. The Santa Catalina was duly declared a lawful prize; and though objections to this proceeding were raised by the Spanish government, and her surrender was formally demanded of us, she was never given up; and after even more than the usual delays, all concerned in her capture duly touched the prize-money due on her account—a very considerable sum, as in addition to a valuable cargo she had on board a large quantity of bullion. I do not know what became of her officers and crew, as I was almost immediately appointed to a dashing frigate fresh out from England; but no objection was raised to the departure from the island of Don Luis and his daughter, who managed, after some delay and difficulty, to secure a passage to La Guayra in a neutral vessel; and once there, he soon found means to set himself right with his government. Contrary to all expectation, Merlani survived long enough to be able to tell my father all he had told me, and more; thus completely and for ever setting at rest those harassing doubts and suspicions as to the sincerity of my mother’s affection which had gone so far towards making a wreck of my father’s life. My father’s remorse and regret for his cruel treatment of my mother were keen in the extreme, and most painful to witness; but he faithfully strove to make what compensation he could by lavishing upon me all the love of his really warm and affectionate nature.

I remained on the West Indian station long enough to complete my time as a midshipman; and my old friend, the admiral, lived long enough to bestow upon me my post rank, which he did with almost indecent haste—at least, so said some of those who chose to feel jealous at my rapid advancement, which, however, the admiral stoutly maintained I had faithfully earned.

I presume it is scarcely necessary to add that, this coveted rank once gained, I lost no time in pressing my suit for Dona Inez’s hand, which was then yielded to me with a very good grace—and with it a handsome fortune—by Don Luis, who only stipulated that we should live with him, he shortly afterwards resigning his post and removing to England to enable us to do so.