The Love of Monsieur

by George Gibbs

Alone with the swaying lantern, the beams and bulkheads, the boxes and chests, she gave herself over to her own turbulent reflections. There was a swish and hollow gurgle at her very ear as the seas alongside washed astern, a creaking and a groaning of the timbers, which made her tremble for the stanchness of the vessel. The boxes and chests resolved themselves into great square patches of light which thrust their staring presence forward obtrusively; and the vagrant diagonal shadow took a new direction and meaning in the misty darkness beyond the sphere of light at each new posture of the vessel. Strange odors—musty, dry, and evil-smelling—afflicted her nostrils; and the air, hot and fetid, hung about her and upon her offensively. Breathing became a muscular exertion and an effort of the will. She bit her lip and clenched her hands upon the chest where she was seated, to keep from crying aloud her misery and terror. Suddenly there was a sound of rending and tearing among the complaining timbers, and the guns above renewed their angry threats. One, two, three, four single discharges she heard, a scattering broadside, and then silence. Again that chorus of unfamiliar sounds, each one of which spoke to her in a different way of danger in some new and dreadful form. Presently the clamorous sea sang a louder, wilder note, the timbers cried aloud in their distress, the lantern swung sharply in abrupt and shortening circles, and the shadows, like arms, thrust out at her from the unseen and filled her with a new and nameless terror. The motion of the vessel was sickening. And the black, noisome air, from which there was no escape, seemed to fill her very brain and poison her faculties.

With a blind effort she arose, and in affright at she knew not what crept up the ladder to the hatch. It were better to die the death at once than to be poisoned by inches. She drank gratefully of the purer air above her and listened to the sounds of shouting from the deck. There was a shock and a crash as the ships came together, and then all sounds, save at intervals, were lost in the grinding of the vessels and the roar of the sea between. She heard several shots as though at a great distance, but these were as nothing after the noise of the great guns, and she almost smiled as she thought how easily the victory was accomplished.

And he—had monsieur come off free of harm? She trembled a little at the thought of it, and yet even the trembling had in it something of a new and singular delight. With her eyes free to roam in the gray of the half-deck, where there was air, if ever so faint, and the sweet smell of the sea, she thought no more of herself. The silence above boded no ill. She heard nothing but the wash of the sea alongside, the creaking and clatter of blocks on the deck, and the craunch of the ships to the roll of the sea. At last the sound of voices was nearer and louder, whether in anger, fear, or pleasure she could not discover; then the tramping of heavy boots and the rushing of men forward and aft; but no sound of shot or clash of steel, to remind her of her continued jeopardy. Five, ten minutes she listened, all her faculties alert for the sound of his voice. The grinding of the vessels ceased, and when the main-deck hatch was removed she could hear quite plainly the sounds upon the deck. The voices of men in fierce disputation fell hollowly down through a crack in the narrow aperture. One was thin and small, like that of a child. Another was heavy and gruff, and cursed volubly in French. Sharper tones rang between and through it all, the roar or continuous murmur of a crowd. Something had fallen amiss, she was sure. Suddenly, as though a spell had fallen upon their tongues, the clamor was hushed, and in the brief second of desperation the sea noises about her sang loudly in her ears, which strained to catch every sound.

At last a single voice, slow, calm, dispassionate, began to speak; it was his. She emerged upon the half-deck in order that nothing of what was passing might escape her, and leaned upon the ladder, looking to where the daylight flickered down.

“Your humor is changed wondrously, mes amis. You ask many things, not the least of which is this Spaniard’s death. You, Yan Gratz, and you, Barthier, Troc, and Duquesnoy, you, Craik and Goetz, stand aside. I grant nothing—nothing—where I see the gleam of a weapon naked. Sheathe your cutlasses and stand aside. Then, maybe, we shall see.”

There was an ominous movement of scraping feet, a clatter of weapons, and then a hoarse turmoil, a very bedlam of sounds, a wild scratching and scuffling upon the deck, and hoarse, dreadful cries, savage and fierce, like the bark of hungry dogs, yet, with its ringing accompaniment of clanging steel, infinitely more terrible. Half mad with the terror at this struggle, of which she could see nothing, faint and weak with the accumulation of her distresses, she hung more dead than alive to the companion-ladder, in one moment shutting her ears to the mad din above her, in another listening eagerly for the broken fragments of sound, fearful that the end of all things might come in one of those merciful moments in which she heard nothing. She thrust her hand into her breast and pulled forth the slender petronel which she had brought from the San Isidro. She looked at the shining barrel and saw to the flint and charge. There should be no hesitation. If monsieur—

But no! no! He was there yet. She heard his voice, strong, valiant, ringing like a clarion above the medley: “Aha, Cornbury!” it cried. “Point and edge, mon ami!... Your pupils are too apt, Monsieur le Maître d’Armes.... Ah, Craik, would you?... Voilà ... touché, Duquesnoy ... touché, mais ... ce n’est rien!... Well struck, Cornbury!... Jacquard, help us, coquin!... To the rail ... back to back ... we will drive them ... into the sea!”

The rushing feet clattered over her head and she heard the sound of his voice no more. She wondered whether it was because it rang no more that she did not hear it, or whether her terror and her weakness had deprived her of her senses. The seconds grew into hours. Broken cries and curses in strange, harsh voices came to her again, and she knew that she heard aright; the sound of blows, the hard breathing of men, all swallowed in the many noises of the combat, and at the last the fall of something muffled, heavy, and resistless upon the deck came with a new and dreadful portent to her ears. She stifled the shriek which rose to her lips and pressed her hands to her bosom to still its tremors. That dull, echoless sound could have but one meaning.

She stood inert, her mind and body things apart. She could not bring herself into accord with the too obtrusive fact, and wondered aimlessly that her ear caught at the cries of the complaining timbers and rush of water alongside, rather than at the vortex of her life’s tragedy which whirled just at her elbow. And thus, in a merciful tempering of her spirit to the occasion she hung swaying to the ladder, her mind gaining a cool and purposeful self-possession which was to nerve her frail body to further efforts. If monsieur were dead, then she had but to die also. She knew that she must keep her strength, for if she lost consciousness they would come below and find her; and when she awoke—alive and alone upon this horrible ship— The thought gave a new life to her energies, and she determined to put an end at once to the uncertainty. Anything were better than the suspense which each moment made the danger of weakness more imminent. Step by step she crept up the staggering ladder until her head had reached the level of the hatch above. Then she pushed aside the covering, and, the pistolet in her nerveless fingers, peered forth upon deck.

Joy gave her new strength and energy. There against the bulwarks, pale and breathless, but erect and strong, with the light of battle still undiminished in his eyes, was Bras-de-Fer; while around him in a wide, snarling circle were a dozen of the wolves of the Saucy Sally, ready to spring in upon him, and yet each fearful to be the first to bite. There was a smell of rum in the air, and a broken cask told a part of the cause of the difficulty. Upon the deck curious loose distortions made a ghastly parody of the flesh which they had been. All these things she noted in a glance, but her eyes fell instinctively upon the figure of a tall man, the one who had lighted her below, who was brandishing his arms, not at monsieur, but towards a stout man in baggy breeches, who stood defiantly blinking at him, raising first a pistol and then a sword towards Bras-de-Fer in a manner not to be misinterpreted. Here was the key to the situation. He was not then quite alone. But as she looked a thrill of horror came over her. Two men fell upon the tall man from behind and seized his arms. Then the fat man leaned forward towards monsieur, with an oily, vicious smile. He said nothing at all, but, keeping his sword in front of him, with his left hand, slowly and with a grim deliberation, raised his pistol into a line.