“Meanwhile,” said Barré, “our poor comrade must not starve!”
This was said to certain of his associates when they met that night in secret. When two or three get together to complain of a tyranny, resistance is already begun. They echoed his sentiments, and arrangements were at once made for transmitting provisions to the exile. A canoe was procured for this purpose, and Barré, with one other comrade, set forth secretly at midnight on their generous and perilous mission.
The night was calm and beautiful—the sea, unruffled by a breeze, lay smooth as a mirror between the lonely island and the main. Though barren, and without shrub or tree, the island looked lovely also—a very realm of faery, in the silver smiling of the moon. With active and sinewy limbs, cheered by the sight, our adventurous comrades pulled towards it, reaching it with little effort, the current favoring their course. What, however, was their surprise and consternation, when, on reaching the islet, there was no answer to their summons. Drawing their boat upon the shore, they soon compassed the little empire with hasty footsteps; but they found nothing of the exile. The islet lay bare and bright in the unshadowed moonlight, so that, whether asleep or dead, his prostrate form must still have been perceptible. What bewildering imaginations seized upon the seekers? What had become of their comrade? Had he been carried off by the savages, by a foreign vessel, or, in his desperation, had he cast himself into the devouring sea? What more probable? Yet, as there was no answer to their questioning, there was no solution of their doubts. Hopeless of his fate, after a frequent and a weary search, and dreading the worst, they re-entered their canoe, and re-crossed the bay in safety—their hearts more than ever filled with disgust and indignation at the cruelty and malice of their commander.
But their quest was not wholly hopeless. When they had reached the main, and while approaching the garrison, they were greatly surprised by the sudden appearance of a human form between the fortress and the river. They remembered the poor Guernache, and, for a moment, a fearful superstition fastened upon their hearts. At first, the fugitive seemed to be approaching them; but, in an instant, wheeling about, as if in panic, he darted into the woods, and sought concealment in the thicket. This re-inspired them. They gave chase instantly. The efforts of the pursued were feebly made, and they soon overtook him. To their great relief and surprise, they found him to be the person they had been seeking—the banished and half-starved Lachane!
His story was soon told. He was nearly perished of hunger. Beyond the crude berries and bitter roots which he had gathered in the woods, he had not eaten for three days. The food which had been furnished him from the garrison had been partly carried from him by birds or beasts—he knew not which—while he slept; and, in the failure of his promised supplies, he had become desperate.
“For that matter,” said the wretched exile, “I had become desperate before. Food was not my only or my chief want. I wanted shade from the desolating sun. I wanted rescue from the heavy hand of fire upon my brain; and, by day, I could scarcely keep from quenching the furnace that seemed boiling in my blood, by plunging deep down into the bowels of the sea. By night, when the fiery feeling passed away, then I yearned, above all, for the face and voice of man. It was this craving which made me resolve to brave the death which threatened me which-ever way I turned—that, if I perished, it should still be in the struggle once more to behold the people of my love.”
How closely did they press the poor fellow to their hearts!
“You should not have perished,” said Nicholas Barré, boldly. “I, for one, have become tired of this tyranny, under which we no longer breathe in safety. I am resolved to bear it no longer than I can. There are others who have resolved like me. But of this hereafter. Tell us, Lachane, how you contrived to swim across this great stretch of sea?”
“By the mercy of God which made me desperate—which made the seas calm—which gave me a favoring current, and which threw yon fragment of a ship’s spar within my reach. But I nearly sunk. Twice did I feel the waters going over me; but I thought of France, and all, and the strength came back to me. I can say no more. I am weak—very weak. Give me to eat.”