“By my life, Lieutenant Barré,”—such was the rank of this conspirator—“but that I know thee better, I should hold thee to be one of those unhappy wretches to whom all merriment is a hateful thing—to whom a clever jest gives offence only, and whom a cheerful laugh sends off sullenly to bed. Pray, if it be not too serious a humor, tell us the cause of thy present dullness.”
“Verily, Captain Albert,” replied the person addressed, fixing his eyes steadily upon him, and speaking in the most deliberate accents, “I was thinking of the deer that we shall strike to-day. Doubtless, he is even now making as merry as thyself among his comrades—little dreaming that the hunter hath his thoughts already fixed upon the choice morsels of his flanks, which, a few hours hence, shall be smoking above the fire. Truly, are we but little wiser than the thoughtless deer. The merriest of us may be struck as soon. The man hath as few securities from the morrow as the beast that runs.”
Captain Albert was not the most sagacious tyrant in the world, or the moral reflections of our conspirator might have tended to his disquiet. He saw no peculiar significance in the remark, though the matter of it was all well remembered, when the subsequent events came to be known. Little, indeed, did the victim then dream of the fate which lay in wait for him. He laughed at the shallow reflection of Barré, which seemed so equally mistimed and unmeaning, and his merriment increased with every stroke of the oar which sent the pinnace towards the scene chosen for the tragedy. All his severities were thrown aside; never had he shown himself more gracious; and, though his good humor was rather the condescension of one who is secure in his authority, and can resume his functions at any moment, than the proof of any sympathy with his comrades, yet he seemed willing for once that it should not lose any of its pleasant quality by any frequent exhibition of his usual caprice. But for an occasional sarcasm in which he sometimes indulged, and by which he continued to keep alive the antipathies of the conspirators, the gentler mood in which he now suffered them to behold him, might have rendered them reluctant to prosecute their purpose. They might have relented, even at the last moment, had they been prepared to believe that his present good humor was the fruit of any sincere relentings in him. But he did not succeed to this extent, and, with a single significant look to his comrades, the stern Nicholas Barré showed to them that he, at least, was firm in the secret purpose which they had in view. His silence and gravity for a time served to amuse his superior, who exercised his wit at the expense of the sullen soldier, little dreaming, all the while, at what a price he should be required to pay for his temporary indulgence. But as Barré continued in his mood, the pride of the haughty superior was at length hurt; and, when they reached the shore, the insolence of Albert had resumed much of its old ascendancy.
Albert was the first to spring to land. He was impatient to begin the chase, of which he was passionately fond. The sport, as conducted in that day and region, was after a very simple fashion. It consisted rather in a judicious distribution of the hunters, at various places of watch, than in the possession of any particular skill of weapon or speed of foot. The island was small—the woods not very dense or intricate, and the only outlet of escape was across the little arm of the sea which separated the island from the main. The hunters were required to watch this passage, with a few other avenues from the forest. We need not observe their order or arrangement. It will be enough to note that Barré chose as the sentinel left in charge of the boat one of the firmest of the conspirators. This was a person named Lamotte—a small but fiery spirit—a man of equal passion and vindictiveness, who had suffered frequent indignities from Albert, which his own inferior position as a common soldier had compelled him to endure without complaint. But he was not the less sensible of his hurts, because not suffered to complain of them; and his hatred only assumed a more intense and unforgiving character, because it seemed cut off from all the outlets to revenge.
The arrangements of the hunters all completed, they began to skirt slowly the woody region by which the centre of the island was chiefly occupied. Gradually separating as they advanced, they finally, one by one, found their way into its recesses. A single dog which they carried with them, was now unleashed, and his eager tongue very soon gave notice to the hunters that their victim was afoot. As the bay of the hound became more frequent, the blood of Albert became more and more excited, and, pressing forward, in advance of all his companions, the sinuosities of the route pursued soon scattered the whole party. But this he did not heed. The one consciousness,—that which appealed to his love of sport,—led to a forgetfulness of all others; and it was no disquiet to our captain to find himself alone in forests where he had never trod before, particularly when his eager eye caught a glimpse of a fine herd of the sleek-skinned foresters, well-limbed, and nobly-headed, darting suddenly from cover into the occasional openings before him. A good shot was Captain Albert. He fired, and had the joy to see tumbled, headlong, sprawling, in his tracks, one of the largest bucks of the herd. He shouted his delight aloud;—shouted twice and clapped his hands!
His shouts were echoed, near at hand, by a voice at once strange and familiar! His instinct divined a sudden danger in this strange echo. He stopped short, even as he was about to bound forward to the spot in which the deer had fallen. Another shout!—but this was to his companions! He was now confounded at the new echo and the fearful vision which this summons conjured up. At his side, and in his very ears, rose another shout—a shriek rather—much louder than his own—a wild, indescribable yell,—which sent a thrill of horror through his soul. At the same instant, a gaunt, wild man—a half-naked, half-famished form—darted from the thicket and stood directly before him in his path!
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” howled the stranger.
“Guernache!” was the single word, forced from the guilty soul of the criminal!
“Guernache! Yes! Guernache, in his friend Lachane! Both are here! See you not? Look! Ho! Captain Albert,—look and see, and make yourself ready. Your time is short. You will hang and banish no longer!”
Wild with exulting fury was the face of the speaker—terrible the language of his eyes—threatening the action of the uplifted arm. A keen blade flashed in his grasp, and the discovery which Albert made, that, in the wild man before him, he saw the person whom he had so wantonly and cruelly decreed to perish, sufficed to make him nerveless. The surprise deprived him of resource, while his guilty conscience enfeebled his arm, and took all courage from his soul. His match-lock was already discharged. The couteau de chasse was at his side; but, before this could be drawn, he must be hewn down by the already uplifted weapon of his foe. Besides, even if drawn, what could he hope, by its employment, against the superior muscle and vigor of Lachane? These thoughts passed with a lightning-like rapidity through the brain of Albert. He felt that he had met his fate! He shrunk back from its encounter, and sent up a feeble but a painful cry for his creature,—“Pierre Renaud!”