CHAPTER XIII.
"DANGERS WORSE THAN SHOT OR STEEL--OR DEATH."
Now I return to the beach at Viana, on which I stood after having quitted the fleet--yet still, ere I go on, I must put you in the way of knowing how it comes about that for companion I have Señor Juan Belmonte, who at this moment is making his way into what proved to be a very filthy town in search of lodgings for us for the night. And this is how it came about:
When it was decided finally that I should part from the British squadron on the day they cleared out--they intending to anchor over night outside of Vigo bay and to send forward some frigates scouting ere going on their way to England--I made mention to Belmonte that such was my intention. Also I asked him--I finding of him in his cabin, where he was reading a Spanish book of love verses--what he meant to do with himself, since, if he did not leave the ship when, or before, I did, he would be forced to accept Sir George's invitation to proceed to England with him.
"Oh, my friend!" he said, with ever the soft, gentle smile upon his handsome features, "my friend and conqueror"--for so he had taken to terming me--"I want no terrible journey to England in these great fierce ships of war. Tell me, tell me, amígo mio, what you are going to do yourself. Your plans! Your plans!"
"My plans," I said, seeing no reason why I should not divulge them to him, since it was impossible he could do me any hurt, even if so inclined, which I thought not very likely, "are simple ones. I go ashore at Viana, find a horse--one will carry me part of the journey, then I can get another--and so, by God's will, get to the end, to my destination."
"But the destination. The destination. Where is it? Tell me that."
"The destination is Flanders, the seat of the present war. I am a soldier. My place is there."
"Aye, aye," he replied. "I know. You have told me. Your service is not with these ships nor their soldiers, but with others--a great army, far north."
"That is it," I said.
"And you will travel all that way--mean to travel--alone!"
"I must," I said, "if I intend to get there. There is no other way."
"Take me with you!" he exclaimed, suddenly, springing impetuously to his feet from the chair in which he sat. "Take me with you! I will be a good companion--amuse you, sing to you, wile away the long hours, stand by your side. If necessary," yet he said this a little slower, and with more hesitation, as I thought, "fight with you."
Now, putting all other objections which rose to my mind away for the moment, this last utterance of his did not recommend him very strongly to me. "Fight for me, indeed!" I thought. "A fine fighter this would be!--a youth who had turned pale at seeing a dead man or two floating by in the water after the battle, or at hearing the shriek of a wounded one as we rowed past him on our way to the Royal Sovereign!"
However, aloud I said:
"Señor Belmonte, I fear it cannot be as you desire. The road will be hard and rough, the journey long; there will be little opportunity for singing and jiggettings. Moreover, death will always be more or less in the air. If, in Spain or France, I am discovered--nay, even suspected of being what I am, an English soldier--'twill be short shrift for me. I shall be deemed a spy, and shot, or hung to the nearest tree. Take, therefore, my counsel at once, and follow it. Go you to England in this ship, as the admiral invites you. That way you will be safe and easy."
"No, no, no," he answered. "I will not; I will not. I will go with you. I like you," he said, with a most friendly glance. "If--if you go alone--if we part here--we shall never meet again. That shall not be. I am resolved. And--and--only let me go, and I will be so good! I promise. Will not sing a note--will--see there!" and, like a petulant boy as he was, he seized his viol d'amore, which hung on a nail in the cabin, and dashed it to the floor, while, a moment later, he would have stamped his foot into it had I not stopped him. "Yes, I will break it all to pieces. Since it offends you, I will never strike another note on it, nor will I ever sing again--not in your hearing, at least--though I have known some who liked well enough to hear me play--and sing, too."
"Juan," I said, not knowing in the least why his impassioned grief moved me so much as to address him thus familiarly, which I had never done before, "it offends me not at all; instead, I have often listened gratefully to the music of your voice and viol. But now--now--on such a journey as I go it would be out of place, even if you were there, which you must not be."
"I must. I must. I must," he answered. "I will. You called me Juan just now--ah! you are my friend, or you would not speak thus. Oh!" he went on, and now he clutched my arm and gazed fervently into my face, "do not refuse. And see, think, Mervan," pronouncing my name thus, and in a tone that would have moved a marble heart, "I shall be no trouble to you. I can ride, oh! like a devil when I choose--I have ridden with the Mestizos and natives in the isles--and I can use a pistol or petronel, also a sword. See," and he whipped his rapier off the bed where it was a-lying, drew it from its sheath impetuously, as he did everything, and began making pass after pass through the open door of the cabin into the gangway. "I know what to do. Also, remember, I can speak Spanish when we are in Spain--pass for a Spaniard if 'tis necessary--and--and--and----" he broke off, "if you will not take me with you, why, then, I will follow you; track you like a shadow, sleep like a dog outside the inn in which you lie warm and snug; ay! even though you beat me and drive me away for doing so."
Again and still again I resisted, yet 'twas hard to do; for, though I had spoken against his singings and playings, and kept ever before my eyes the stern remembrance of my duty, which was to make my way straight to my goal and crash through all impediments, I could not but reflect that this bright, joyous lad by my side would help to cheer many a lonely hour and many a gloomy mile. Yet again I spoke against the project, putting such thoughts aside.
"Child," I said, "you do not know, do not understand. Our--my--path will be beset with dangers. I know what I am doing, what lies before me. Listen, Juan. 'Tis more than like that I shall never reach Flanders, never ride with my old troops again, never more feel a comrade's hand clasped in mine; may perish by the wayside, have my throat cut in some lonely inn, be shot in the back, taken as a spy. Yet 'tis my duty. I am a soldier and a man; you are----"
"Yes?" with an inward catching of the breath, a flash from the dark eyes.
"A boy; a lad; also, you say, well enough to do, with a long and happy life before you, no call upon you to fling that life away. Juan, it must not be."
"It shall," he said, leaning forward toward me. "It shall; I swear it by my dead mother's memory. Boy! Lad, you say. So be it. Yet with the will and determination of a hundred men. To-morrow, Mervan, to-night, to-day, if I can get a boat to the great ship out there, I visit the admiral and ask him to put me ashore with you. And he will do it. Great as he is, in command over all you English here, I have a power within," and he struck his breast with his hands, "a power over him which will force him to do as I wish. Do you dare me--challenge me?"
"No," I answered quietly, though in truth somewhat amazed at his words, while still remembering the strange deference Sir George had shown all along to the youth. "I dare to say you may prevail--with him."
"Aye--with him!" and now he laughed a little, showing the small pearly white teeth, somewhat. "With him! I understand. But you mean not with you also. Yet, with you, too, I shall prevail. I will follow you till you give me leave to keep ever by your side. Remember, if I am not Spanish, I have lived in Spain's dependencies. I can be very Spanish when I choose," and again he laughed, and again the white teeth glistened beneath the scarlet lips.
"If," I said, scarce knowing or understanding what power was influencing me, making me a puppet in this youth's hands--yet still a yielding one!--"the admiral gives his consent to put you ashore, then I----"
"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes, Mervan?" he interposed quickly.
"Then I will not withhold mine. Come with me if you choose--remember, 'tis at your own risk."
In a moment his whole face was transfigured with joy. Seeing that joy, I deemed myself almost a brute to have ever tried to drive him away from me, although I had endeavoured to do so as much for his own safety as my own. He laughed and muttered little pleased expressions in Spanish which I neither understood nor am capable of setting down here; almost I thought he would Have flung his arms around my neck and embraced me. Indeed, it seemed as though he were about to do so, but, suddenly recollecting himself, desisted--perhaps because he knew that to us English such demonstrations were not palatable.
And now I have to tell how Sir George placed no obstruction in the way, allowing him to go ashore with me; yet, when he heard that we were to travel together the look upon his face was one of extreme gravity, almost of sternness. Also, he maintained a deep silence for a moment or two after I had told him such was to be the case, and sat with his eyes fixed on me as though he were endeavouring to read my very inmost thoughts. But at last he said quietly, and with even more than usual of that reserve which characterised him:
"You have found out nothing about this young man yet, Mr. Crespin, then?--know nothing more about him than you have known from the first? Um?"
"I know nothing more, sir."
Again he paused awhile, then spoke once more, with the slightest perceptible shrug of his shoulders as he did so:
"Very well. 'Tis your affair, not mine. You are not under my command, but that of the Earl of Marlborough. You must do as seems best to you. Yet have a care what you are about." Then he leant forward toward me, and said: "Mr. Crespin, you have done extremely well--have gained a high place in our esteem. When his Lordship reads what the Duke of Ormond and myself have to say about you, you will find your promotion very rapid, I think. Do not, I beseech of you--do not imperil it in any way; do not be led away into jeopardising the bright future, the brilliant career, that is before you. Run on no rock, avoid every shoal that may avert your successful course."
"Sir," said, "I am a soldier with many unknown dangers before me. This boy can add nothing to their number. Yet, sir, for your gracious consideration for me I am deeply grateful."
Still he regarded me, saying nothing for a moment or so, then spoke again:
"Dangers!" he said--"the dangers every honest soldier or sailor encounters in his calling are nothing; they are our portion; must be avoided, if may be; if not, must be accepted. And he who falls in the battle has naught to repine at--at least he falls honourably, leaves a clean memory behind."
"Sir!"
"But there are other dangers that are worse than shot, or steel--or death! Many a brave soldier and sailor has gone under from other causes than these. Mr. Crespin, I say no more--have, perhaps, said too much, were it not that you have strangely interested me." Then, abruptly, he went on, and as though with the intention of forbidding any more remarks on that subject: "Captain Hardy shall be instructed to send you both ashore on the morning after we go out. Here are some papers from the duke and myself to the Earl of Marlborough. Be careful of them; they relate to you alone. I--we--hope they will assist you to go far."
I bowed and murmured my thanks, for which he observed there was no necessity whatever, then gave me his hand and said:
"Farewell, Mr. Crespin; we may not meet again. I wish you all you can desire for yourself. Farewell."
But he uttered no further word of warning of any kind, and so let me go away from him wondering blindly what it was he knew of this young man; wondering above all what it was against which he covertly put me on my guard.
Later on--though not for some time to come--I knew and understood.
* * * * * * * * *
I found Juan--after the sails of the boat from the Pembroke had faded into little white specks upon the surface of the water, until they looked no bigger than the flash made by seagull's wing--found him outside the one and only inn of this small town, lolling against the doorpost--made dirty and greasy with the shoulders of countless Algarvian peasants--and amusing himself by trying to make a group of ragged children understand the pure Spanish he was speaking to them.
Then, as he saw me crossing the filthy street, he came over to meet me--never heeding the splashing of mud administered to the handsome long boots which he had now upon his legs, though he was dainty, too, in his ways--and began telling me of what arrangements he had already made for our journey.
"First, mío amigo," he said, joyously, "about the horses. Two are already in command. One, a big bony creature which is for you, Mervan, because you also are big and stalwart, and require something grand to carry you--while for me there is a jennet with, oh! such a fiery eye and a way of biting at everything near it. But have no fear! Once I am on its back, and por Diôs! it will do as I want, not as it wants."
I laughed, then asked if these animals were to be our own.
"Oh, yes, our own," he said. "Our very own. I have bought them--they are ours. And, if they break down--yours, I think, must surely do so--why, we will turn them loose into the nearest wood, and--buy some more."
"At this rate we shall spend some money ere we strike Flanders," I said.
"Ho! Ho! Money--who cares for money! I have plenty, enough for you and me, too. We will travel comfortably, mon ami; have the best of everything. Plenty of money, and--and, Mervan, do you know, if it was not for one of the most accursed villains who ever trod the face of the earth, I should be so rich that--that--oh! it is impossible to say. Mervan," catching at my arm with that boyish impetuosity of his which ever fascinated me; "you are English, therefore you know all the English, I suppose. In Jamaica and Hispaniola and all the other islands we know everybody. Mervan, who is, or where is, James Eaton?"
"James Eaton!" I exclaimed, with a laugh at his innocent supposition that we were all acquainted with each other in England as they are in the Indies; yet 'tis true that he could not know that our capital city alone had so vast and incredible a population as half a million souls! "James Eaton! Who and what is he? An officer? If so, I might, perhaps, know, or get to know, something of him."
"An officer? Oh! yes, por Diôs! he is an officer--has been once. But not such as you or those brave ones we have just parted from. An officer. Corpo di Bacco! A villain, vagamundo, Mervan--a filibustier--what the English call in the islands a damned pirate."
"Humph!" I said. "A friend of yours? Eh, Juan?"
"A friend of mine? Ho! Yes. Mon Dieu! He is a friend. Wait--when we are in England you shall see how much I love my friend. Oh, yes! You shall see. When I take him by his beard and thrust this through his black heart," and he touched the quillon of the sword by his side as he spoke.
"And is he the villain who has stolen your wealth?" I asked, as we entered now the door of the inn, I nearly falling backward from the horrible odours which greeted my nostrils when we did so.
"He is the villain. Oh! 'tis a story. Such a story. You shall hear. But not now--not now. Now we will eat and drink and be gay."
"But," I said, my curiosity much aroused, "if he has stolen your wealth how comes it you are rich, as you say? Have you two fortunes--two sources of wealth?"
"Yes," he replied, with his bright, sweet smile. "Two fortunes--the one he stole, the other--but no matter for fortunes now. I have enough and plenty for myself--and, Mervan, for you if you want it. Plenty."
"I, too, have enough for present wants," I said. "Quite enough."
"Bueno. Bueno," he said. "Then all is well. And now to eat, drink and be gay until to-morrow. Then away, away, away to Flanders--anywhere, so long as we are together. Joy to-day, work and travel to-morrow. But, Mervan," and once more he placed his hand supplicatingly on my arm. "Forgive. Forgive me. I--I have brought the viol d'amore."