Just then the eyes of the two lads met, and as Rodd darted an angry indignant look at Morny, the latter made a deprecating gesture, while he seemed to say, Be merciful; you do not know all.
The Count went on, taking the whole blame of the proceedings upon himself, and asking for mercy for his son, who had acted entirely under his orders and had been perfectly obedient, as a son should be. As he spoke these words he looked hard at Rodd, and then at his uncle, who stood frowning there.
“I failed in my enterprise,” continued the Count, “for I was growing desperate at the difficulties which surrounded me. Certain signals should have answered mine, and the lights which were shown from the direction of the shore were not exactly those which I anticipated. But, as I have said, I was growing desperate at my want of success, and in the hope that after all these signals might mean that my august master would be brought off in a fishing-boat, I risked all and allowed myself to be deluded, as it were, into what proved to be a trap. I have no more to say, gentlemen, save this, that I ask no mercy for myself. Whatever the English laws award to one who has acted as I have done, I accept. But my son, as I have said, was entirely under my orders, and as for my crew, they have only been my faithful servants, and tried to carry out my will. England must be too brave to wish to punish such as these. As to the doctor, his nephew, and the crew of the schooner, it would be absurd for England after my explanation to say more to them than ‘Go in peace.’”
There was perfect silence for a minute or so, and then the Governor, one of his staff, an officer of foot who was the commander of the military force stationed in the island, and the captain of the sloop, held a short consultation together, after which the officers drew back into their places and left the Governor to speak.
“Dr Robson,” he said, “Captain Ellison, in command of the sloop of war, has told me of his previous meeting with you at the mouth of one of the West African rivers, and the way in which your vessel was fitted out, and of the state of your papers. Everything, in fact, goes to prove the perfect truth of your story and the fact of your ignorance of the plan for the escape of the prisoner. I can offer you no apology for your being made prisoner and brought here, for I think that due consideration will prove to you that you were somewhat imprudent in your action and choice of friend. You and yours, sir, are perfectly at liberty to leave the island at once. As for you, Count Des Saix,” he continued, “as the Governor of this island I have certain duties to perform, and after such an important and daring attempt as yours, I must tell you that in spite of peculiar circumstances which I will refer to shortly, this matter cannot end here. It is an affair of diplomacy in which others are concerned as well as England. For the present you and your people must consider yourselves prisoners pending the arrival of the dispatches that I must send to the British Government. Yours, sir, was a daring and extremely hazardous plot, designed in extravagance and I may say in ignorance of the impossibility of its execution. The prisoner was too closely guarded and watched, and, as you have seen, it was quite impossible for your vessel to approach this island without being seized. I gather that you have been a naval officer in the service of the late Government of France, and I presume that it was from a feeling of devotion to the Emperor Napoleon—I should say, our prisoner here—that you and your friends devoted yourselves to this task, which has proved so signal a failure. Sir, I can only admire your act and the devotion of the followers of the late Emperor.”
“Sir, to us,” cried the Count, “your way of speaking of our august master is little better than an insult. With us there is no late Emperor; he is still the ruler of the French Empire, our august master while he lives.”
“Sir,” said the Governor, slowly and gravely, “mine is the painful duty to announce to you that my words were well chosen and correct, that your designs were as hopeless as they were vain; the late Emperor Napoleon died two nights since.”
The Count gave a violent start, gazing wildly in the Governor’s eyes, as if asking whether his words were true. Then turning to his son he took off his cap and stood in silence with his head bowed down, before saying in a low broken voice that reached no farther than the ears of Uncle Paul and Rodd—
“Morny, my son, we were faithful to the end, even though we failed. Our august master is free at last. But our country lives, and in the future there is always for us la France.”
There were several meetings between Uncle Paul, Rodd, and the prisoners—if prisoners they could be deemed, for their captivity was of the easiest kind—before the schooner set sail for England and home, and during one of these, when all seemed once more the best of friends, the doctor was heard to say—