"And chiefly thou, O spirit, that dust prefer,
Before all temples, the upright heart and pure,
Instruct me; for thou know'st!"
MILTON
The spot in which Carlo Giuntotardi had taken refuge is well known on
the Sorrentine shore, as the water-cavern at the ruins of Queen Joan's
country-house. Cavern it is not, though the entrance is beneath a low,
natural arch--the basin within being open to the heavens, and the place
resembling an artificial excavation made to shelter boats. Let the
origin of this little haven be what it may, art could not have devised a
more convenient or a more perfect refuge than it afforded to our
fugitives. Once through the arch, they would have been effectually
concealed from their pursuers under a noonday sun; nor would any, who
were unacquainted with the peculiarities of the entrance, dream of a
boat's lying, as it might be, buried in the rocks of the little
promontory. Neither Ghita nor her uncle any longer felt concern; but the
former announced her intention to land here, assuring Raoul that she
could easily find her way into the bridle-path which leads to St. Agata.
The desperate character of the recent chase, aided by his late almost
miraculous escape from death, joined to the necessity of parting from
his mistress, rendered our hero melancholy, if not moody. He could not
ask Ghita to share his dangers any longer; yet he felt, if he permitted
her now to quit him, the separation might be for ever. Still he made no
objection; but, leaving Ithuel in charge of the boat, he assisted Ghita
up the funnel-like side of the basin, and prepared to accompany her on
her way to the road. Carlo preceded the pair, telling his niece that she
would find him at a cottage on the way that was well known to both.
The obscurity was not so great as to render the walking very difficult,
and Raoul and Ghita pursued their course slowly along the rocks, each
oppressed with the same sensation of regret at parting, though
influenced by nearly opposing views for the future. The girl took the
young man's arm without hesitation; and there was a tenderness in the
tones of her voice, as well as in her general manner, that betrayed how
nearly her heart was interested in what was passing. Still, principle
was ever uppermost in her thoughts, and she determined now to speak
plainly, and to the purpose.
"Raoul," she said, after listening to some one of those fervent
declarations of love that were peculiarly agreeable to one of her
affectionate and sincere nature, even when she most felt the necessity
of repelling the insinuating suit; "there must be an end of this. I can
never go through again the scenes I have lately witnessed, nor allow you
to run such fearful risks. The sooner we understand each other, and, I
may say, the sooner we part, it will be the wiser, and the better for
the interests of both. I blame myself for suffering the intimacy to last
so long, and for proceeding so far."
"And this is said by a fervent-souled Italian girl! One of eighteen
years;--who comes of a region in which it is the boast that the heart is
even warmer than the sun; of a race, among whom it is hard to find
_one--oui,_ even a poor _one_--who is not ready to sacrifice home,
country, hopes, fortune, nay, life itself, to give happiness to the man
who has chosen her from all the rest of her sex."
"It _would_ seem to _me_ easy to do all this, Raoul. _Si_--I think I
could sacrifice everything you have named, to make _you_ happy! Home I
have not, unless the Prince's Towers can thus be called; country, since
the sad event of this week, I feel as if I had altogether lost; of
hopes, I have few in this world, with which your image has not been
connected; but those which were once so precious to me are now, I fear,
lost; you know I have no fortune, to tempt me to stay, or you to
follow; as for my life, I fear it will soon be very valueless--an sure
it will be miserable."
"Then why not decide at once, dearest Ghita, to throw the weight of your
sorrows on the shoulders of one strong enough to bear them? You care not
for dress or gay appearances, and can take a bridegroom even with the
miserable aspect of a lazzarone, when you know the heart is right. You
will not despise me because I am not decked as I might be for the
bridal. Nothing is easier than to find an altar and a priest among these
monasteries; and the hour for saying mass is not very distant. Give me a
right to claim you, and I will appoint a place of rendezvous, bring in
the lugger to-morrow night, and carry you off in triumph to our gay
Provence; where you will find hearts gentle as your own, to welcome you
with joy, and call you sister."
Raoul was earnest in his manner, and it was not possible to doubt his
sincerity. Though an air of self-satisfaction gleamed in his face, when
he alluded to his present personal appearance, for he well knew all his
advantages in that way, in spite of the dress of a lazzarone.
"Urge me not, dear Raoul," Ghita answered, though, unconsciously to
herself, she pressed closer to his side, and both sadness and love were
in the very tones of her voice; "urge me not, dear Raoul; this can never
be. I have already told you the gulf that lies between us; you _will_
not cross it, to join _me_, and I _cannot_ cross it, to join _you_.
Nothing but _that_ could separate us; but that, to my eyes, grows
broader and deeper every hour."
"Ah, Ghita, thou deceivest me, and thyself. Were thy feelings as thou
fanciest, no human inducement could lead thee to reject me."
"It is not a human inducement, Raoul; it is one above earth, and all it
holds."
"_Peste_! These priests are scourges sent to torment men in every shape!
They inflict hard lessons in childhood, teach asperity in youth, and
make us superstitious and silly in age. I do not wonder that my brave
compatriots drove them from France; they did nothing but devour like
locusts, and deface the beauties of providence."
"Raoul, thou art speaking of the ministers of God!" Ghita observed
meekly, but in sorrow.
"Pardon me, dearest Ghita; I have no patience when I remember what a
trifle, after all, threatens to tear us asunder. Thou pretendest to
love me?"
"It is not pretence, Raoul, but a deep and, I fear, a painful reality."
"To think that a girl so frank, with a heart so tender, and a soul so
true, will allow any secondary thing to divide her from the man of
her choice!"
"It is not a secondary, but a primary thing, Raoul; oh! that I could
make thee think so. The question is between thee and God--were it aught
else, thou might'st indeed prevail."
"Why trouble thyself about my religion at all? Are there not thousands
of wives who tell their beads, and repeat their aves, while their
husbands think of anything but heaven? Thou and I can overlook this
difference; others overlook them, and keep but one heart between them
still. I never would molest thee, Ghita, in thy gentle worship."
"It is not thou that I dread, Raoul, but myself," answered the girl,
with streaming eyes, though she succeeded in suppressing the sobs that
struggled for utterance. "'A house divided against itself cannot stand,'
they say; how could a heart that was filled with thee find a place for
the love it ought to bear the Author of its being? When the husband
lives only for the world, it is hard for the wife to think of heaven as
she ought."
Raoul was deeply touched with the feeling Ghita betrayed, while he was
ready to adore her for the confiding sincerity with which she confessed
his power over her heart. His answer was given with seductive tenderness
of manner, which proved that he was not altogether unworthy of the
strange conflict he had created in so gentle a breast.
"Thy God will never desert _thee_, Ghita," he said; "thou hast nothing
to fear as my wife, or that of any other man. None but a brute could
ever think of molesting thee in thy worship, or in doing aught that thy
opinions render necessary or proper. I would tear the tongue from my
mouth, before reproach, sneer, or argument should be used to bring thee
pain, after I once felt that thou leanedst on me for support. All that I
_have_ said has come from the wish that thou would'st not misunderstand
me in a matter that I know thou think'st important."
"Ah, Raoul, little dost thou understand the hearts of women. If thy
power is so great over me to-day as almost to incline me from the most
solemn of all my duties, what would it become when the love of a girl
should turn into the absorbing affection of a wife! I find it hard, even
now, to reconcile the love I bear to God with the strong feeling thou
hast created in my heart. A year of wedded life would endanger more than
I can express to you in words."
"And then the fear of losing thy salvation is stronger than thy earthly
attachments?"
"Nay, Raoul, it is not _that_. I am not selfish or cowardly, as respects
myself, I hope; nor do I think at all of any _punishment_ that might
follow from a marriage with an unbeliever; what I most apprehend is
being taught to love my God less than I feel I now do, or than, as the
creature of his mercy, I ought."
"Thou speakest as if man could rival the being whom thou worshippest. I
have always understood, that the love we bear the Deity, and that we
bear each other, are of a very different quality. I can see no necessity
for their interfering with each other."
"Nothing can be less alike, Raoul; yet one may impair, if not destroy,
the other. Oh! if thou would'st but believe that thy Saviour was thy
God--if thou could'st but be dead to his love, and not active against
him, I might hope for better things; but I _dare_ not pledge all my
earthly duties to one who is openly an enemy of my own great Master and
Redeemer."
"I will not, cannot deceive thee, Ghita--_that_ I leave to the priests.
Thou know'st my opinions, and must take me as I am, or wholly reject me.
This I say, though I feel that disappointment, if you persist in your
cruelty, will drive me to some desperate act, by means of which I shall
yet taste of the mercies of these English."
"Say not so, Raoul; be prudent for the sake of your country--"
"But not for thine, Ghita?"
"Yes, Raoul, and for mine also. I wish not to conceal how much happier I
shall be in hearing of your welfare and peace of mind. I fear, though an
enemy, it will ever give me pleasure to learn that thou art victorious.
But here is the road, yonder the cottage where my uncle waits for me,
and we must part. Heaven bless thee,--Raoul; my prayers will be full of
thee. Do not--do not risk more to see me; but, if--" The heart of the
girl was so full, that emotion choked her. Raoul listened intently for
the next word, but he listened in vain.
"If what, dear Ghita? Thou wert about to utter something that I feel is
encouraging."
"Oh! how I hope it may be so, my poor Raoul! I was going to add, if God
ever touches thy heart, and thou would'st stand before his altar, a
believer, with one at thy side who is ready and anxious to devote all to
thee but her love of the Being who created her, and her treasures of
future happiness, seek Ghita; thou will find _her_ thou would'st have."
Raoul stretched forth his arms, to clasp the tender girl to his bosom;
but, fearful of herself, she avoided him, and fled along the path, like
one terrified with the apprehension of pursuit. The young man paused a
moment, half inclined to follow; then prudence regained its influence,
and he bethought him of the necessity of getting to a place of safety
while it was yet night. The future was still before him, in hope, and
that hope led him to look forward to other occasions to press his suit.
Little, however, did Raoul Yvard, much as he prized her, know Ghita
Caraccioli. Her nature was full of womanly sensibilities, it is true,
and her heart replete with tenderness for him in particular; but the
adoration she paid to God was of that lasting character which endures to
the end. In all she said and felt, she was truth itself; and while no
false shame interposed to cause her to conceal her attachment, there was
a moral armor thrown about her purposes that rendered them impregnable
to the assaults of the world.
Our hero found Ithuel sleeping in the boat, in perfect security. The
Granite man thoroughly understood his situation, and foreseeing a long
row before him, he had quietly lain down in the stern-sheet of the yawl,
and was taking his rest as tranquilly as he had ever done in his berth
on board le Feu-Follet. He was even aroused with difficulty, and he
resumed the oar with reluctance. Before descending the funnel, Raoul had
taken a survey of the water from the rocks above. He listened intently,
to catch any sounds that might arise from the English boats. But nothing
was visible in the obscurity, while distance or caution prevented
anything from being audible. Satisfied that all was safe outside, he
determined to row out into the bay, and, making a circuit to avoid his
enemies, push to the westward, in the expectation of finding his lugger
in the offing. As there was now a considerable land-breeze, and the yawl
was lightened of so much of her freight, there was little doubt of his
being able to effect his purpose, so far as getting out of sight was
concerned, at least, long ere the return of light.
"_Pardie_, Etooelle!" Raoul exclaimed, after he had given the American
jog the third, "you sleep like a friar who is paid for saying masses at
midnight. Come, _mon ami_; no is our time to move; all is
clear outside."
"Well, natur' they say is a good workman, Captain Rule," answered
Ithuel, gasping and rubbing his eyes; "and never did she turn off a
prettier hiding-place than this. One sleeps so quietly in it! Heigho! I
suppose the ash must be kept moving, or we may yet miss our passage back
to France. Shove her bows round, Captain Rule; here is the hole, which
is almost as hard to find as it is to thread a needle with a cable. A
good shove, and she will shoot out into the open water."
Raoul did as desired. Ithuel touching the tiller, the yawl glided
through the opening, and felt the long ground-swell of the glorious Bay.
The two adventurers looked about them with some concern, as they issued
from their hiding-place, but the obscurity was too deep to bring
anything in view on the face of the waters. The flashing that
occasionally illuminated the summit of Vesuvius resembled
heat-lightning, and would have plainly indicated the position of that
celebrated mountain, had not its dark outlines been visible, exposing a
black mass at the head of the Bay. The ragged mountain-tops, behind and
above Castel à Mare, were also to be traced, as was the whole range of
the nearest coast, though that opposite was only discoverable by the
faint glimmerings of a thousand lights, that were appearing and
disappearing, like stars eclipsed, on the other side of the broad sheet
of placid water. On the Bay itself, little could be discerned; under the
near coast, nothing, the shadows of the rocks obscuring its borders with
a wide belt of darkness.
After looking around them quite a minute in silence, the men dropped
their oars and began to pull from under the point, with the intention of
making an offing before they set their little lugs.
As they came out, the heavy flap of canvas, quite near, startled their
ears, and both turned instinctively to look ahead. There, indeed, was a
vessel, standing directly in, threatening even to cross their very
track. She was close on a wind, with her larboard tacks aboard, and had
evidently just shaken everything, in the expectation of luffing past the
point without tacking. Could she succeed in this, it would be in her
power to stand on, until compelled to go about beneath the very cliffs
of the town of Sorrento. This was, in truth, her aim; for again she
shook all her sails.
"_Peste_!" muttered Raoul; "this is a bold pilot--he hugs the rocks as
if they were his mistress! We must lie quiet, Etooelle, and let him
pass; else he may trouble us."
"'Twill be the wisest, Captain Rule; though I do not think him an
Englishman. Hark! The ripple under his bow is like that of a knife going
through a ripe watermelon."
"Mon Feu-Follet!" exclaimed Raoul, rising and actually extending his
arms as if to embrace the beloved craft. "Etooelle, they seek us, for we
are much behind our time!"
The stranger drew near fast; when his outlines became visible, there was
no mistaking them. The two enormous lugs, the little jigger, the hull
almost awash, and the whole of the fairy form, came mistily into view,
as the swift bird assumes color and proportion, while it advances out of
the depth of the void. The vessel was but a hundred yards distant; in
another minute she would be past.
"_Vive la République!_" said Raoul, distinctly, though he feared to
trust his voice with a loud hail.
Again the canvas flapped, and the trampling of feet was heard on the
lugger's deck; then she came sweeping into the wind, within fifty feet
of the yawl. Raoul watched the movement; and by the time her way was
nearly lost, he was alongside, and had caught a rope. At the next
instant, he was on board her.
Raoul trod the deck of his lugger again with the pride of a monarch as
he ascends his throne. Certain of her sailing qualities, and confident
of his own skill, this gallant seaman was perfectly indifferent to the
circumstance that he was environed by powerful enemies. The wind and
the hour were propitious, and no sensation of alarm disturbed the
exultation of that happy moment. The explanations that passed between
him and his first lieutenant, Pintard, were brief but distinct. Le
Feu-Follet had kept off the land, with her sails lowered, a trim in
which a vessel of her rig and lowness in the water would not be visible
more than five or six miles, until sufficient time had elapsed, when she
was taken into the Gulf of Salerno, to look for signals from the heights
of St. Agata. Finding none, she went to sea again, as has been stated,
sweeping along the coast, in the hope of falling in with intelligence.
Although she could not be seen by her enemies, she saw the three
cruisers who were on the lookout, and great uneasiness prevailed on
board concerning the fates of the absentees. On the afternoon of that
day, the lugger was carried close in with the northwest side of Ischia,
which island she rounded at dusk, seemingly intending to anchor at
Baiae, a harbor seldom without allied cruisers. As the wind came off the
land, however, she kept away, and, passing between Procida and Mysenum,
she came out into the Bay of Naples, about three hours before meeting
with Raoul, with the intention of examining the whole of the opposite
coast, in search of the yawl. She had seen the light at the gaff of the
Proserpine, and, at first, supposed it might be a signal from the
missing boat. With a view to make sure of it, the lugger had been kept
away until the night-glasses announced a ship; when she was hauled up on
a wind, and had made two or three successive half-boards, to weather the
point where her captain lay concealed; the Marina Grande of Sorrento
being one of the places of rendezvous mentioned by our hero, in his last
instructions.
There was a scene of lively congratulation, and of even pleasing
emotion, on the deck of the lugger, when Raoul so unexpectedly appeared.
He had every quality to make himself beloved by his men. Brave,
adventurous, active, generous, and kind-hearted, his character rendered
him a favorite to a degree that was not common even among the people of
that chivalrous nation. The French mariner will bear familiarity better
than his great rival and neighbor, the Englishman; and it was natural
with our hero to be frank and free with all, whether above him or below
him in condition. The temperaments to be brought into subjection were
not as rude and intractable as those of the Anglo-Saxon, and the
off-hand, dashing character of Raoul was admirably adapted to win both
the admiration and the affections of his people. They now thronged about
him without hesitation or reserve, each man anxious to make his good
wishes known, his felicitations heard.
"I have kept you playing about the fire, _camarades_," said Raoul,
affected by the proofs of attachment he received; "but we will now take
our revenge. There are English boats in chase of me, at this moment,
under the land; we will try to pick up one or two of them, by way of
letting them know there is still such a vessel as le Feu-Follet."
An exclamation of pleasure followed; then an old quartermaster, who had
actually taught his commander his first lessons in seamanship, shoved
through the crowd, and put his questions with a sort of authority.
"_Mon capitaine_" he said, "have you been near these English?"
"Aye, Benoit; somewhat nearer than I could wish. To own the truth, the
reason you have not sooner seen me was, that I was passing my time on
board our old friend, la Proserpine. Her officers and crew would not
lose my company, when they had once begun to enjoy it."
"_Peste!--mon cher capitaine_--were you a prisoner?"
"Something of that sort, Benoit. At least, they had me on a grating,
with a rope round the neck, and were about to make me swing off, as a
spy, when a happy gun or two from Nelson, up above there, at the town,
ordered them to let me go below. As I had no taste for such amusements,
and wanted to see _mon cher_ Feu-Follet, Etooelle and I got into the
yawl, and left them; intending to return and be hanged when we can find
nothing better to do."
This account required an explanation, which Raoul gave in a very few
words, and then the crew were directed to go to their stations, in order
that the lugger might be properly worked. The next minute the sails were
filled on the larboard tack, as before, and le Feu-Follet again drew
ahead, standing in for the cliffs.
"There is a light in motion near Capri, _man capitaine_" observed the
first lieutenant; "I suppose it to be on board some enemy. They are
plenty as gulls about this bay."
"You are very right, Monsieur. 'Tis la Proserpine; she shows the light
for her boats. She is too far to leeward to meddle with us, however, and
we are pretty certain there is nothing between her and the ships off the
town that can do us any harm. Are all our lights concealed? Let them be
well looked to, monsieur."
"All safe, _man-capitaine._ Le Feu-Follet never shows her lantern until
she wishes to lead an enemy into the mire!"
Raoul laughed, and pronounced the word "_bon_" in the emphatic manner
peculiar to a Frenchman. Then, as the lugger was drawing swiftly in
toward the rocks, he went on the forecastle himself, to keep a proper
lookout ahead; Ithuel, as usual, standing at his side.
The piano or plain of Sorrento terminates, on the side of the bay, in
perpendicular cliffs of tufa, that vary from one to near two hundred
feet in height. Those near the town are among the highest, and are lined
with villas, convents, and other dwellings, of which the foundations are
frequently placed upon shelves of rock fifty feet below the adjacent
streets. Raoul had been often here during the short reign of the Rufo
faction, and was familiar with most of the coast. He knew that his
little lugger might brush against the very rocks, in most places, and
was satisfied that if he fell in with the Proserpine's boats at all, it
must be quite near the land. As the night wind blew directly down the
play, sighing across the campagna, between Vesuvius and Castel à Mare,
it became necessary to tack off-shore, as soon as le Feu-Follet got
close to the cliffs where the obscurity was greatest, and her
proportions and rig were not discernible at any distance. While in the
very act of going round, and before the head-sheets were drawn, Raoul
was startled by a sudden hail.
"Felucca, ahoy!" cried one, in English, from a boat that was close on
the lugger's bow.
"Halloo!" answered Ithuel, raising an arm, for all near him to be quiet.
"What craft's that?" resumed he in the boat.
"A felucca sent down by the admiral to look for the Proserpine--not
finding her at Capri, we are turning up to the anchorage of the
fleet again."
"Hold on a moment, sir, if you please; I'll come on board you. Perhaps I
can help you out of your difficulty; for I happen to know something of
that ship."
"Aye, aye--bear a hand, if you please; for we want to make the most of
this wind while it stands."
It is singular how easily we are deceived, when the mind commences by
taking a wrong direction. Such was now the fact with him in the boat,
for he had imbibed the notion that he could trace the outlines of a
felucca, of which so many navigate those waters, and the idea that it
was the very lugger he had been seeking never crossed his mind. Acting
under the delusion, he was soon alongside, and on the deck of his enemy.
"Do you know this gentleman, Etooelle?" demanded Raoul, who had gone to
the gangway to receive his visitor.
"It is Mr. Clinch, the master's-mate of the accursed Proserpine; he who
spoke us in the yawl, off the point yonder."
"How!" exclaimed Clinch, his alarm being sufficiently apparent in his
voice; "have I fallen into the hands of Frenchmen?"
"You have, Monsieur," answered Raoul, courteously, "but not into the
hands of enemies. This is le Feu-Follet, and I am Raoul Yvard."
"Then all hope for Jane is gone forever! I have passed a happy day,
though a busy one, for I did begin to think there was some chance for
me. A man cannot see Nelson without pulling up, and wishing to be
something like him; but a prison is no place for promotion."
"Let us go into my cabin, Monsieur. There we can converse more at our
ease; and we shall have a light."
Clinch was in despair; it mattered not to him whither he was taken. In
the cabin he sat the picture of a helpless man, and a bottle of brandy
happening to stand on the table, he eyed it with something like the
ferocity with which the hungry wolf may be supposed to gaze at the lamb
ere he leaps the fold.
"Is this the gentleman you mean, Etooelle?" demanded Raoul, when the
cabin-lamp shone on the prisoner's face; "he who was so much rejoiced to
hear that his enemy was _not_ hanged?"
"'Tis the same, Captain Rule; in the main, he is a good-natured
officer--one that does more harm to himself than to any one else. They
said in the ship, that he went up to Naples to do you some good turn
or other."
"_Bon_!--you have been long in your boat, Mr. Clinch--we will give you a
warm supper and a glass of wine--after which, you are at liberty to seek
your frigate, and to return to your own flag."
Clinch stared as if he did not, or could not, believe what he
heard--then the truth flashed on his mind, and he burst into tears.
Throughout that day his feelings had been in extremes, hope once more
opening a long vista of happiness for the future, through the renewed
confidence and advice of his captain. Thus far he had done well, and it
was by striving to do still better that he had fallen into the hands of
the enemy. For a single moment the beautiful fabric which revived hopes
had been industriously weaving throughout the day was torn into tatters.
The kindness of Raoul's manner, however, his words, and the explanations
of Ithuel, removed a mountain from his breast, and he became quite
unmanned. There is none so debased as not to retain glimmerings of the
bright spirit that is associated with the grosser particles of their
material nature, Clinch had in him the living consciousness that he was
capable of better things, and he endured moments of deep anguish--as the
image of the patient, self-devoting, and constant Jane rose before his
mind's eye to reproach him with his weaknesses.
It is true that she never made these reproaches in terms; so far from
that, she would not even believe the slanders of those she mistook for
his enemies; but Clinch could not always quiet the spirit within him,
and he often felt degraded as he remembered with how much more firmness
Jane supported the load of hope deferred than he did himself. The recent
interview with Cuffe had aroused all that remained of ambition and
self-respect, and he had left the ship that morning with a full and
manly determination to reform, and to make one continued and persevering
effort to obtain a commission, and with it Jane. Then followed capture
and the moment of deep despair. But Raoul's generosity removed the load,
and again the prospect brightened.