CHAPTER IV
THE PILOT
For the last few moments, the plunging of the yacht had become worse and worse. I could hear a continuous roaring, which became constantly more violent. Very soon there were flashes of lightning, followed by the deep rolling of distant thunder.
Sometimes I heard the hurried steps of the sailors overhead, then again the sound was hushed, and I heard the loud voice of Williams, giving orders.
I could no longer doubt of it; we were overtaken by a tempest. I could no longer remain inactive.
Feeble as I was, I tried to get up, hoping that the fresh air would do me good. I rang the bell, and, with the aid of my valet de chambre, succeeded in dressing.
I had almost completely lost the use of my left arm.
I went up on deck. Falmouth was not there.
The waves were furious.
Though it was only four o'clock, it was so dark that I could scarcely see.
On the horizon, the immense undulations of the waves were outlined against a band of gleaming light, the colour of red-hot iron.
Above this strip of blazing sky, the clouds were piled in heavy masses of ochre and black; the vault of the firmament was reflected in the sea, and the waves seemed to have lost their azure or emerald transparency, and looked like solid mountains streaked with foam.
The wind whistled through the ropes loudly and furiously. Though blowing a gale, the wind was hot, and the water that it raised up in solid sheets, and dashed over the deck of the yacht, was warm.
Very soon the doctor came up on deck. "You are very imprudent," said he to me, "to leave your cabin."
"I was stifling down there, doctor, the motion of the ship made me almost crazy. I feel better up here."
"What frightful weather!" said the doctor. "If we can only get to Malta to anchor before night!"
"Are we not some distance off yet from that island?"
"We are very near, but that heavy cloud prevents our seeing land. In about an hour the yacht will put up a signal for a pilot, provided that in such a storm they can hear our cannon and see our signal."
An hour afterwards the sky became more clear.
We saw ahead of us, on the horizon, high hills, which were still covered with clouds; Williams said this was Cape Harrach, the northern point of the island of Malta, on the height of which was built the tower of Espinasse, which was used as a lookout. Williams then brought the yacht to, and fired several shots to call for a pilot.
"The wind is so strong," said the doctor, "that the pilots of Harrach don't dare to put out to sea."
In spite of which, after several salvos from the ship, we saw appear and disappear on the crest and in the trough of the waves a little lateen sail which was skilfully managed.
"Those Maltese must be intrepid sailors," said the doctor, "for, in spite of this tremendous sea, they are coming right out in the teeth of the wind."
The pilot-boat approached nearer and nearer, but as it was sometimes hidden by the high waves, and only reappeared after a long interval, at each one of its progressive appearances on the wave's crest it would seem to become unaccountably larger. This was a very natural circumstance, but it struck me as unnatural and ominous. At length the boat was only about a gunshot off from the yacht.
By Williams's orders, a rope was thrown to it.
I leaned over the rail to get a better view of these hardy mariners.
There were five of them; four were busy managing the sails, while one held the rudder. After having very cleverly run alongside the yacht to catch the rope that had been thrown to them, the man who was steering, profiting by the moment when a great wave lifted up his boat almost to the deck of the yacht, leaped on board and clung to the shrouds.
The pilot, after saluting Williams, walked along the deck with a perfectly sure footing, in spite of the plunging of the yacht. One could see that he was an experienced navigator. Very soon he stopped, raised his head, and gave a connoisseur's look at the appointments of the yacht; they seemed to please him, for he gave a mute sign of approbation.
In spite of the tempest, and the dangers that the yacht was in, for night was coming on and the wind showed no signs of going down, this man was so calm and secure that the sailors of the yacht, who were beginning to show signs of anxiety, brightened up and were quite cheerful again. It was as if the pilot had brought with him this sudden sense of security, as the arrival of the family physician brings confidence and hope to an anxious mother.
As I stood near the bulwarks on which I had been leaning so as not to be thrown down by the plunging of the ship, I had not yet had a good look at the pilot, but he soon came near me.
The man was apparently about forty. He was tall, thin, and bony; his face very sunburnt, his cheeks hollow; his eyes were green, and his hair black and very thick. He wore a Scotch cap of red and blue plaid woollen stuff, which was pulled down to his eyebrows. A cape of heavy brown cloth, dripping with salt water, hung down to the tops of his great fisherman's boots, and completed his costume.
It seemed to me that I had met this man before. I had a vague remembrance of just such a sinister face, though I found it impossible to recall the circumstances or place of our meeting; but there came over me an uncomfortable feeling which I attributed to my feverish condition.
"Can we get in to anchor at Malta to-night, pilot?" said Williams to him.
After having looked at the compass and questioned the state of the sky, the sea, and the wind, the pilot answered in very good English: "We might get to an island to-night, but not to the island of Malta, sir."
"No!" cried Williams; "and why not?"
"Because you can't, it is impossible," said the pilot, carelessly.
"But," continued Williams, "though the wind is very strong, and blowing from the north, it is not strong enough to send us ashore. The yacht sails beautifully, she rises with every wave."
"Could she resist a current that runs seven or eight knots an hour, sir, and that driving us right ashore the same way the wind is doing?"
"I tell you, pilot," replied Williams, "that two years ago I ran into the harbour of Malta in a worse storm than this."
"But not worse than what we are to have to-night," said the pilot.
"To-night?" replied Williams, incredulously.
"Yes, to-night," replied the pilot, firmly.
"How do you know that we will have a bad night, pilot?"
"The point of Tamea and the rocks of Kamich are all under water at sundown, and that is the sign of a terrible storm."
"That is all superstition and old women's tales!" exclaimed Williams.
The pilot gave him a look out of his piercing green eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. When the man smiled, I felt as though I had the nightmare, or an oppressive dream, for I recognised the sharp, white, pointed teeth of the pirate with whom I had struggled hand to hand when the yacht had been attacked.
My astonishment was so great, that I strode forward and stared at the pilot in a state of stupefaction; but he withstood my gaze with perfect indifference, and it was I who lowered my eyes, all abashed by the calm, unconcerned look he gave me.
Williams, who was impatient at the pilot's silence, and had noticed my astonishment, said to him, "But then, what do you propose to do?"
"If the weather continues to grow heavier, which I have no doubt of, sir, instead of running the risk of having your yacht driven ashore by the wind and the currents before it gets into the port of Malta, I advise you to double Point Harrach, and, instead of going ashore on the northern side of the island, to land on the southern coast in the little harbour of Marsa-Siroco, where you will find good anchorage. If, as you say, your yacht rises well to the wind, there will be nothing to prevent her manœuvring when she is once under shelter of the island, and, in case the storm grows worse, she will run no risk of being dashed ashore, because she will have before her the hundred leagues that separate Malta from the north coast of Africa."
"That proposition is a cowardly one, pilot," cried out Williams; "a Flemish tub would do better than that. My lord wishes positively to anchor in the port of Malta to-night, and I say it can be done."
"Then you must take the wheel yourself, sir," replied the pilot, with his independent air; then going astern, he called in English to the sailors who had remained in his sailboat, "Hello! Hello, there; get ready to cast off, we are going back to Harrach."
When I heard the clear and penetrating voice of the pilot, except the different language, it surely sounded like the voice and accent of the man in the black hood, who, a moment before the boarding of the yacht, cried out to his pirate crew, "Don't fire! Board her!"
Williams, seeing that the pilot was really getting ready to leave, told him to wait a moment, and he would go and consult with my lord; then he disappeared.
I remained on deck in a state of the greatest perplexity.
I was almost sure that I recognised the voice and the peculiar teeth of this man, but could not this be a remarkable case of similarity? What chance was there that a man who had been wounded and thrown into the sea, barely eight days ago, should be this Maltese pilot, so vigorous and strong?
I continued to watch the pilot steadily; he never changed countenance. Tired, no doubt, of being so fixedly stared at, he advanced towards me, and said, boldly:
"What have you got to say to me, monsieur?"
"Have you been a pilot at Malta any length of time?" I asked him.
"For the last seven years, monsieur," and he showed me his large silver medal, hung on a long chain of the same metal, which he wore under his cape.
On the medal I read the name Joseph Belmont, royal pilot, No. 18. On the other side of the medal were the royal arms of England.
"But you are a Frenchman," said I to him, speaking French.
"Oui, monsieur," he replied.
I was more astonished even than before.
Williams now appeared on deck, and, addressing the pilot, said:
"Go ahead, do as you think best. My lord has given his consent."
"The sea is getting so rough," said the pilot to Williams, "that I am going to tell my sailors to heave off the tow-rope, and follow us a little ways off." So the sailboat, abandoning the tow-rope, continued to follow in our wake.
Night was coming on.
According to the usual custom, Williams handed his speaking-trumpet, the sign of command, to the pilot.
The predictions of the latter as to the weather were soon realised, for though the new direction we had taken put us, in a short time, under the lee of the island, and in a sheltered position, the tempest augmented in violence.
The pilot, standing at the helm, gave his orders with perfect calmness, and Williams admitted that he managed the ship with rare ability and coolness.
While waiting for the moon to rise, which would facilitate our coming to anchor, we were skirting along the coast, parallel to the southern shore of the island of Malta.
The night was very dark.
The lamps of the compasses, shut up in their copper boxes, shone in a pale circle on the deck, at the foot of the mainmast.
This light shone only on the pilot and the helmsman, while the rest of the yacht remained plunged in an obscurity that the contrasting luminous circle only made darker. Lit up from below, as actors are by the footlights of the theatre, the features of the pilot had a peculiar expression of audacity, deceit, and wickedness.
Although the sea was tremendous, so that the prow of the yacht was almost constantly covered by the furious waves, from time to time I could see the pilot rub his hands with savage satisfaction, and laugh in a way that showed his white, sharp, and wide apart teeth.
In these moments I believed thoroughly that I recognised the pirate with whom I had fought. This idea became so fixed in my mind that, in spite of my resolve to say nothing on the subject, I could not help asking Williams if he was perfectly sure of the man.
"As sure as one can be of anything! Our marine council of the port of Malta never gives a pilot's commission except to reliable and experienced men. This man showed me his patent, it is according to the regulations. Besides, you can see for yourself what a skilful sailor he is, and I begin to believe he was right. Though we are sheltered by the land, you see how the ship is straining under the violence of the wind. Such a storm, with a strong current setting in towards the coast, would have easily wrecked the yacht."
"You may think I am out of my mind," said I to Williams, after some hesitation, "but I am sure I know who this pilot is."
"Who is he, monsieur?"
"The pirate captain that I fought with, and that I thought was at the bottom of the sea."
"It is so dark that I can't see your face, monsieur," said Williams, "but I am sure you are laughing at me."
"No; I swear I am speaking very seriously."
"But, monsieur, remember that is quite impossible. I tell you that the position of a pilot is only given to trustworthy men; they cannot leave their posts except to pilot ships that wish to enter the harbour. Remember that the mysterious pirate had already been anchored for more than a month off Porquerolles before my lord's yacht got to the island of Hyères. Remember that—but," said Williams, interrupting himself, and leaving me, "there is the moon rising, and the clouds are clearing away; the moonlight will help us to get to the anchorage. Excuse me, monsieur, but I am going to get out the anchors."
The reasons Williams gave me were not at all convincing, though they seemed sensible. However, seeing that the hour of debarkation was approaching, and that experienced sailors considered that the pilot had managed the ship very skilfully and prudently, I was forced to suspend my judgment, for, so far, no one had a word of reproach for the man I suspected.
The doctor came up on deck, gave me the news of Falmouth, and asked how I was feeling.
"The fresh air has done me good," said I, "and my wound pains me less."
"Thanks be to God for that," said he. "My lord is feeling better also; his contusion was a bad one, but the effect will soon go off. Just now he was able to walk by himself. The pilot was right," added the doctor, as he pointed to the waves; "see how calm the sea is growing, now that we are getting near the shore of the island."
In fact, sheltered from the violence of the wind by the circle of high rocky hills that form the southern shore of Malta, the waves were going down more and more. Soon the moon, coming entirely out from the clouds that had hidden her until now, shone brightly on an immense wall of rocks which was stretched out before us, the waves dashing against their base.
The yacht was then a cannon's shot distant from the shore we were sailing past; the pilot-boat was a little way behind us.
"Are we almost to the harbour of Marsa-Siroco?" said Williams, who knew the different anchorages of the island.
"We will very soon be there; but, as we have to pass between the Black Rocks and the Point de la Wardi, and as the passage is very dangerous on account of the breakers, I will, if you please, monsieur, take the rudder," said the pilot to Williams. On a sign from the latter, the helmsman left the bar.
I remember all this as though it happened yesterday.
I was seated on the bulwarks.
Before me stood Williams, very near the pilot who had taken the helm, looking attentively at the compass, the shore, and the sails of the yacht.
The doctor, leaning over the stern, watched the sea in our wake. At some distance we could see the pilot-boat; she did not appear to be following us any more, but was going in another direction. This was very singular, I thought.
In front of us, and very close at hand, rose an enormous mass of perpendicular rocks.
Though the sea had become much more calm, it was still raised by a tremendous swell whose waves crashed against the shore with a formidable noise.
The pilot had ordered another sail to be put up, no doubt to augment the speed of the yacht. This was scarcely done when a frightful cry was heard from the bow, "Helm aport! We are on the breakers!"
I never knew how the pilot obeyed this order, or how he managed the yacht; for, at the instant the cry of warning was heard, a horrible crash, followed by a loud, cracking sound, stopped the yacht short.
The shock was so violent that I, Williams, and two of the sailors, were thrown on the deck.
"The yacht is ashore!" cried Williams, as he got up. "Damn the pilot!"
My wound prevented me from rising as quickly as Williams. I was still lying on the deck, when some one rushed past me rapidly, a heavy body fell into the sea, and the pilot was no longer to be seen at the helm or on the deck.
Remembering my suspicion of the man, and forgetting the danger we were in, I rose up, and saw, at a gunshot's distance from us, the pilot-boat; its sailors were rowing hard towards a black spot, surrounded by foam, that I could easily see in the moonlight.
It was the pilot, who was swimming to get back to his boat.
"A gun! Give me a gun!" I cried out. "I knew it was he!"
At this moment the yacht struck for the second time on the rocks, and the mainmast fell, with a terrific crash.
Following the crash, there was a moment of silence and stupefaction, in which I heard these words in French, "Remember the mystic of Porquerolles!"
It was the pirate,—the yacht was a wreck.
The last scene of this drama was so confused, so hurried that I can scarcely recall it. Everything was confusion and chaos, frightful scenes followed one another, as thunder-claps succeed one another in a storm. At the third shock the yacht was raised up by an immense wave, and fell with all its weight on a ledge of sharp rocks. Already split in two, the keel went to pieces. I heard the water rushing into the ship's hold with a horrible sound.
The ship had filled with water!
In spite of my wound, which kept one of my hands bound to my side, I was about to jump into the sea, when I saw Falmouth come up from below; he was assisted by Williams.
At this moment another great wave took the ship sideways, and completely engulfed it.
I felt myself rolling to the edge of the ship, then I was lifted up and stunned by a crushing weight of water which passed over me roaring like thunder.
From that moment I lost all perception of what was happening to me.
All that I can remember is that I felt a frightful weight. I stifled when I opened my mouth for breath. I swallowed great mouthfuls of warm salt water, my ears were bursting with pain, a great weight prevented me from seeing. I felt that I was drowning. With all this, I continued my desperate efforts to swim. Then I seemed to breathe more freely. I saw the sky, and near me a mass of reddish rocks. I felt a strong hand raise me by my hair, and I heard the voice of Falmouth, who said, "Now we are quits! Good-bye."
I remembered nothing more, for I very soon fell into a painful numbness, and then became insensible.