Antony Waymouth: or, The Gentlemen Adventurers

“Of course it would be unwise not to exert your authority when you have him in your power,” said Pedro. “Better put him out of the way altogether.”

“He has friends – I must have an excuse,” said the governor.

“He has been plotting or will be plotting to make his escape,” observed Pedro. “To effect this he would not scruple to murder all in the castle. He and his companions have shown what daring rogues they are by going out to the rescue of Donna Isabel and the rest when none of our heroic countrymen would attempt the exploit. Ah, those English are terrible fellows!”

“Proof must be brought to me of their abominable intentions, and then we shall have this officer and his men in our poorer,” observed the governor savagely.

“Proof, your excellency! there will be no want of that, considering that our garrison consists of the very scum of the streets of Lisbon,” answered the confidant. “Why, we have men here who for a peço have sworn away the lives of their most intimate acquaintances. Of course, in so admirable a cause they would have no scruple in swearing whatever we may dictate, even should it not be absolutely correct.”

“What you may dictate, honest Pacheco, not we, understand,” said the governor. “They may bungle when brought into court as witnesses, and though under ordinary circumstances that would not matter, some of these shipwrecked persons are likely to be favourable to them, and might report unfavourably of me if matters did not go smoothly. As to the means I am indifferent when so important a result is to be attained.”

“Ah, most noble governor, I understand all about your wishes in the matter, and will take care that the affair is carried out in a satisfactory way,” answered the honest Pedro, making his master an obsequious bow as he left the room.

Don Lobo clinched his fist, and, grinding his teeth, struck out as if he had got his prisoner’s face directly in front of him. The performance of this act seemed to afford him infinite satisfaction, for he walked up and down the room with a grin which might in courtesy have been called a smile on his countenance for some time till his legs grew weary of the exercise.

Not long after this, Edward was one evening pacing the terrace facing the sea, casting many a longing glance over the glass-like water of the ocean, on which the rays of the setting sun had spread a sheet of golden hue, and he was considering by what means he could possibly with his companions make his escape, when rough hands were laid on his shoulders and he found his arms suddenly pinioned from behind. His first impulse was to endeavour to shake them off, and having by a violent effort done so, his next was to double his fists and to strike at them right and left, knocking two of them down at the instant in a true British fashion. At that instant, Dick Lizard, coming on the terrace and seeing his officer assailed, rushed forward to his assistance, and quickly sent two more Portugals tumbling head over heels right and left of him.

“To the rescue! to the rescue!” he shouted out, and his voice quickly collected all the English prisoners who were within hearing. Of course more Portugals hurried up to the spot, who at once joined in the fray. Swords and daggers were drawn, which the Englishmen quickly wrenched from the hands of their assailants, though not till several of the prisoners had been wounded; and now the clash of steel was heard and fire-arms were discharged, and the skirmish became general. In the midst of it Pedro Pacheco rushed out of his quarters, crying out —

“Treason! treason! the English are rising and murdering every one of us,” and at the same moment he levelled a pistol at Raymond’s head. The bullet would probably have, ended the life of the gallant adventurer had not Dick Lizard struck up the Portugal’s arm, for he had no time in the first instance to do more, but a second blow from his fist sent Senhor Pedro sprawling on the ground among several others of his party who had been placed in the same horizontal position by the sturdy Englishmen.

In spite of the superior numbers of the Portugals, the fate of so many of their party made the rest unwilling to close with the prisoners, who, not knowing what was intended, stood boldly at bay, resolved to sell their lives dearly, Dick Lizard singing out —

“Come on – come on, ye varlets! we don’t fear ye. One Spaniard lick two Portugee, one Englishman lick all three!”

This state of things could not, however, last long. Trumpets were sounding, drums were beating, and soldiers from all quarters were collecting, who now with Don Lobo at their head surrounded the Englishmen. At the command of the governor they were levelling their matchlocks (fortunately the matter of discharging them was not a speedy operation), when Don Joao d’Almeida and his daughter Donna Isabel made their appearance on the scene with most of those who had been preserved from the wreck.

“Hold, hold, countrymen!” cried Don Joao. “What! are you about to slaughter those who so gallantly risked their lives to save ours? Hold, I say; I am sure that you, Don Edoardo, have done nothing intentionally to deserve this treatment.”

Donna Isabel joined her entreaties with those of her father.

“Certainly I have no wish to break the peace,” answered Raymond. “The arms we hold were taken from those who assailed us, and we are ready to lay them down instantly at the command of the governor, in whose lawful custody we consider ourselves.”

Thus appealed to, Don Lobo could not, without outraging all law, order the destruction of his prisoners. Those who had possessed themselves of weapons put them down, when they were immediately seized each by not less than six Portugals, and marched off to the cells in which they had at first been confined.

“I must inquire into the cause of this outbreak, when punishment will be awarded to the guilty,” said Don Lobo, as he stalked back to his quarters.

The unpleasant look which the governor cast on him made Edward feel that evil was intended. His suspicions were speedily confirmed, for instead of being taken to the chamber he had lately occupied, he was marched off to the prison in which he and his companions had at first been confined, and was thrust alone into a dark, close, foul dungeon, at a distance, he feared, from Lizard and his other men. He knew nothing of the jealous feelings which had sprung up in the bosom of Don Lobo, or his apprehensions would naturally have been greatly increased. The air of the dungeon was noxious and oppressive, and he had not been in it many hours before he began to feel its ill effects.

“A week or two in such a hole as this will bring my days to a close,” he said to himself as he surveyed, as far as the obscurity would allow, the narrow confines of his prison-house. “Alas! alas! my adventure has turned out ill indeed. My own Beatrice, for thy sake I left my native land, and thou wilt have, ere long, to mourn me dead. For thy sake, sweet girl, I pray that I may escape.”

In this strain he soliloquised for some time, as people in his circumstances are apt to do, and then he set to work to consider how, by his own exertions, he might be able to get free. He was fain to confess, that, unaided, he had not the slightest chance of escape. Of one thing, however, he was certain – that Dick Lizard would not rest day or night till he had made an attempt to help him. And he knew that Dick, with all a sailor’s bluntness and thoughtlessness, had a considerable amount of ready wit, and of caution too, where it was necessary for the accomplishment of an important object. Edward hoped also that his friends would prove true, and exert themselves in his favour.

All this time Don Lobo had resolved on his destruction, and only waited the best opportunity of accomplishing it. Knowing the character of the dungeon in which his prisoner was confined, he believed that he should have very little trouble about the matter. Edward’s constitution was, however, very sound, and though he certainly suffered in health, he did not break down altogether, as the governor expected would be the case. Don Lobo, therefore, announced publicly that he intended to bring the prisoners engaged in the late outbreak to a trial. This every one knew well would result in their being shot. Day after day passed by. Edward found his imprisonment more and more irksome, while he had not yet succeeded in communicating with Lizard, nor could he ascertain even where the honest fellow was shut up. His jailers were only conversable when they had any disagreeable news to communicate, and it is extraordinary how loquacious they became when the day of his trial was fixed, and the opinion as to his fate was formed. They seemed to take especial delight in taunting him and in annoying him in every way.

“Ah, senhor, many an honest man has been hung before now, and many a rogue, and neither seems to think it a pleasant operation,” remarked one of the fellows, imitating the contortions of countenance of a strangled person.

“To which class does the noble senhor belong, I wonder?” said another.

“Maybe to the last, if he will pardon me saying so,” observed a third with a grin.

“But, ah me! rogue or honest, there will be some fair ladies mourning for him in more ports than one,” cried another, who was considered the wit of the gang. “Permit me, senhor, to convey your last dying message to some or all of them. Maybe in your own land there is some fair young dame from whom you would not willingly be parted, eh? I thought that I should hit the right nail on the head.”

“Peace – peace, men!” exclaimed Edward. “For your own sakes, lest you should ever be in a like condition, allow me to be alone.”

His appeal, made with dignity and calmness, had more effect than he expected, and the men shrank back, for a time, at least, abashed. Their last remarks did not, however, affect his feelings as might have been supposed, the fact being that his Beatrice was never out of his thoughts, and night and day his prayers had been for blessings on her head.

The day of the Englishmen’s trial approached. Of the result there could not be a shadow of doubt. Numerous witnesses were able to prove that they had been found in open insurrection with arms in their hands, while there was no one to speak in their favour. Any thing, also, like justice was unknown in the land. Still, Don Lobo, having resolved to get rid of his supposed rival, wished to give as great an air of formality and legality to his proceedings as he possibly could.

Edward, from all he could ascertain, felt convinced that he had not many days to live. The night before his trial arrived he had thrown himself on the heap of straw which served as his bed by night and his only seat by day, that he might obtain some repose, the better to go through his ordeal on the morrow, when he heard his prison-door open gently, without the usual creaking noise which announced the appearance of his jailers, and a bright light streamed on his closed eyes. He fancied that he must be dreaming, till he unclosed them and discovered that the light was held by a being habited in a white robe, beautiful in appearance, whether celestial or human he could not at first decide. If the latter, she was young and of the fair sex. He looked again. Yes – Donna Isabel d’Almeida stood before him. She put her finger to her lips to impose silence, and kneeling down by his side whispered for some time into his ears. She then produced a couple of files and other instruments for forcing off shackles, which she and the prisoner plied so assiduously that scarcely half an hour had passed before he stood up free from his chains.

“Take off your shoes and put on these woollen slippers, and follow me, senhor,” whispered Donna Isabel. “The guards are asleep, and if no noise is made we need not fear being stopped.”

Edward could scarcely believe his senses, and fancied that he must be asleep, but still he wisely did as he was bid. He, however, felt scarcely able to walk after being shut up for so long in that pestiferous dungeon. Donna Isabel, shrouding part of the lantern, glided towards the door, which opening noiselessly she passed out, he following. She led the way up a narrow, dark, winding staircase. It had not many steps, and Edward, to his surprise, found himself pacing a long passage, the end of which he could not distinguish. He had never before been in that part of the fort. Not a sound was heard, nor did his own nor his guide’s footfall make the slightest noise. He conjectured that the guard had just before made the rounds, and that the warders had settled themselves into their nooks and corners and gone to sleep. Donna Isabel seemed to have perfect confidence that all was right, though he could not help expecting every instant to come on one of these nooks, and to find a warder prepared to dispute their onward progress.

He had been aware that his dungeon was at a considerable depth, but, judging from the number of steps he had to ascend, he found that it was even deeper down than he had supposed. The gallery was low and arched – hewn out of the rock it appeared, or built of rough stones, though, as may be supposed, he made no very exact observations as he hurried on. Suddenly Donna Isabel stopped, and taking his arm led him round a corner into another corridor or gallery. It was a side passage, or, probably, rather a passage which had been commenced but not finished. Covering up her lantern, they were in total darkness. Edward had, however, time to ascertain that they were behind a buttress or projecting part of the wall, which would conceal them partially from any one passing along the main gallery they had quitted. Donna Isabel had not sought the place of concealment a moment too soon, for scarcely was the light shrouded than footsteps were heard and a glare of light appeared. The light proceeded from a couple of torches held by two men, and directly behind them stalked no less a person than the governor himself, followed closely by Pedro Pacheco. The glare penetrated to the recess in which the fugitives stood, and Edward expected every moment to be discovered by Don Lobo. The don was, however, near-sighted, or so occupied in earnest conversation, that he did not turn his eyes in that direction. Edward could hear his companion’s heart beat. Discovery would have been destruction to both of them probably – to him certainly. The governor, also – as was his habit – walked along with his eyes on the ground, but those of the worthy Pedro had the custom of continually casting furtive glances here and there, as if he expected some one to jump suddenly upon him and give him a stab in the ribs or a kick in a less noble part, or as if he thought a person was about to creep behind him to listen to what he was saying. Edward had remarked this peculiarity in the governor’s confidant, and had very natural apprehensions that it would lead to their detection. The eyes went up and down, here and there, as usual – now, by a turn of the head, looking over one shoulder, now over the other, now into the governor’s face to ascertain what effect his remarks were producing. Donna Isabel crouched down, really now trembling with fear, for, as far as her gentle nature would allow, she loathed Senhor Pedro even more than his master. Edward stood bolt upright, with his arms by his side and his eyes fixed, to occupy as little space as possible. Round and round went Pedro’s lynx-like orbs. By what possibility could they escape falling on the spot where Edward was endeavouring to hide?

A small matter often produces an important result. A little stone, which hundreds of feet had passed by without touching, lay on the ground. The governor struck his toe against it, on which toe a painful callosity existed. Uttering an oath at the pain he was caused, he stumbled forward, and would have proved the hardness of the rock with the tip of his nose had not Pedro caught him as he fell. So assiduous were the attentions of the confidant, that, though Don Lobo limped on slowly, they had both passed beyond the spot from which they could see the fugitives before Pedro’s eyes turned again towards the quarter where they stood. It might be possible that other persons were following, but no one else appeared.

It occurred to Edward that the governor might be on his way to see him in his cell, and if so their flight would speedily be discovered. At all events, not a moment was to be lost. Donna Isabel must have thought the same, for, taking his hand, she again led him along the chief gallery in the direction in which they were before going.

“The stumble of the governor might be fortunate for more reasons than one,” thought Edward. “If he is going towards my cell, it may delay him and give us a little longer start.”

Distances appear much greater to persons walking in the dark and in an unknown path, and thus Edward believed that they must be close on some outlet long before one was reached. More steps were ascended and others descended, and long passages traversed, when Donna Isabel led the way through a narrow one which turned off at right angles to a main gallery, and hurrying along it for some way, they suddenly came to a door. The cool night air came through an iron grating, showing that it was an outlet, if not to the fort itself, to that portion where the prison was placed. Iron bars secured it, and a strong lock, apparently. The lady beckoned to Edward to undertake the task which her weaker arms were unable to perform, throwing the light of the lantern for the purpose on the door. The bolts having been without much difficulty withdrawn, she produced a key, which she handed to Edward. In vain he attempted to fit it in the lock. It was clearly the wrong key, or they had come to the wrong door. There was a latch, but though he pulled at it and shook it, the door would not open.

“Alas! I trust the error is not fatal. We should have turned to the right instead of to the left,” whispered Donna Isabel. “It was the only point about which I had any doubt.”

Leaving the door with the bolts withdrawn, they retraced their steps for some distance.

“Here! here!” whispered Donna Isabel. “This is the right way.”

Going on, they stood before a door similar to the one they had before attempted. The bolts were withdrawn with ease; they had evidently lately been oiled. Passing through the gateway, Edward and the lady found themselves in the open air. Edward expected to be outside the fort, but he soon discovered that they were still within the outer works. The heavy footsteps of a sentry as he paced the ramparts could be distinctly heard, the bark of a dog in the distance, and the steady lash of the restless sea on the beach. A wide open space had to be crossed. The attempt must be made, and yet they might be seen by the sentry. Fortunately the night was dark. Donna Isabel held Edward back till the man had turned, and then whispering, “Quick, quick!” led the way, running rapidly across the open space. So quickly she ran, that Edward could scarcely keep up with her. Breathless she reached the parapet of the outer works. At the spot where they stood an angle sheltered them from the sight of the sentry above. Edward looked over, and found that it was directly above the shore, and, as far as he could judge in the darkness, the ditch seemed to have been almost filled with sand. Donna Isabel, stooping down, produced a strong rope from under a gun-carriage, to which the end was secured.

“I doubt not its strength,” she whispered; “but I will lead the way.”

And before Edward could prevent her grasping the rope, she had flung herself off the wall, and was descending rapidly. Believing that she had reached the bottom, he imitated her example. The rope stretched and cracked as his weight was thrown on it. Every moment he expected it to break, and he was unable to tell the height he might have to fall, or the nature of the ground which he should reach. It was with inexpressible satisfaction that his feet touched some hard, rugged rocks.

“We have yet farther to go,” said Donna Isabel. “Then, Don Edoardo, I must leave you with those better able than a weak girl to render you assistance.”

Along the rough sea-beat rocks Donna Isabel, with unfaltering steps, held her way. The softer sand was gained, and now faster even than before she fled along, urging Edward to still greater speed.

“Go before me, brave Englishman,” she exclaimed. “Even now we may be pursued, and my failing strength will not bear me on as fast as you can run. On, on; care not for me; I will follow.”

This, however, Edward could not bring himself to do. It was contrary to all his manly feelings, his ideas of chivalry. Half lifting and half supporting the young lady, he bore her on towards the harbour. As they went, the idea occurred to him, “What could be Donna Isabel’s intentions? Did she propose flying with him?” The question was perplexing. “I’ll tell her at once the truth, and return to prison rather than place her in a wrong position.”

While thus hurrying on, however, he found it impossible to express his sentiments.

The beach which formed the inner side of the little harbour was at length reached, but no boat could Edward discern.

“It is farther out, concealed under the rocks,” said Donna Isabel. “We must endeavour to reach it by walking along them.”

The undertaking appeared very hazardous to Edward, who remembered that there were numerous crevices, and smooth, slippery places, down which it would be difficult to avoid falling. Donna Isabel, however, assured him that she was acquainted with a secure path which had been cut in the rocks.

After searching for a short time the path was found, and cautiously she led the way along it. It was necessary in the dark to feel every step in advance, lest a false one might precipitate her into the water. The delay was very trying. Neither of them had once looked behind; there would have been no use in so doing. Even if pursued, they could not have fled faster than they had done. Suddenly Donna Isabel stopped.

“I cannot find the path,” she exclaimed, after searching round for some time.

In vain Edward tried to discover it.

While stopping in consequence of this, their eyes were directed for the first time towards the castle. In front of it appeared several bright lights; they were those of torches and lanterns. After flitting about for some time, the lights began to move towards the harbour. They were pursued. If the boat could not be found, they would inevitably be captured.

“I will go first and search for the boat, at all hazards,” exclaimed Edward.

He walked on. Donna Isabel in her alarm had fancied that they were out of the path, though it was but some roughness of the rock that had misled her. They were soon again in it. With renewed spirits Edward pushed on. He fancied that he saw the boat close under a projecting part of the rock. He hailed.

“All right, huzza!” answered a voice. He recognised it as that of Dick Lizard. “We are here, most of us. The Portugals have got three still, but they’ll be out soon and come on here.”

Dick, being low down, had not seen the lights near the castle. Edward told him of the circumstance.

“Then the poor fellows will be caught,” cried Dick. “If we had a chance we’d go back and help them; but we’ve none. It’s the chance of war. If the scoundrel Portugals kill them, we’ll avenge them some day. But step in, sir, and we’ll shove off. We are sadly short-handed, that’s the worst of it, if we are chased. However, it can’t be helped.”

Edward had not spoken to Donna Isabel for some seconds, or it might be a minute or two; certainly not since he had heard Lizard’s voice. Now came the perplexing point, what would she do? Don Joao was not in the boat, nor any of her countrymen. Would she desire to accompany him? He turned to address her, to express his deep gratitude for her noble exertions, and the arrangements she had made thus far so successfully to enable him to escape. Great and painful was his astonishment, however, when, on turning, Donna Isabel was nowhere to be seen. Lizard had not perceived her.

“When I first caught sight of you, Master Raymond, you were alone; that I’ll swear, sir,” he replied.

Edward sprang back horrified.

“Donna Isabel! Donna Isabel!” he shouted. He felt as grieved and alarmed as he would have done had she been a beloved sister. The dreadful idea seized him that she must have slipped off the rock and been drowned; for calm as was the sea, the swell sent a constant current into the harbour, which would instantly have drawn her away from the spot where she had fallen.

“Donna Isabel! Donna Isabel!” he again shouted.

No answer was given. To delay longer would have been useless. Dick and the other men had joined in the fruitless search. They now literally forced him into the boat, and, shoving off, began to pull down the harbour. As they did so, one of the men declared he saw an object floating by – an uplifted hand. On they pulled; it was ahead. Again it was seen. At that moment lights appeared on the beach, and advancing along the rocks. The fugitives were, however, on the element they loved. They were free. A few strokes more and they would be out of the harbour, when, alas! the stem of the boat struck against a chain drawn tightly across the mouth, and the loud cries and derisive shouts of the Portugals told them that their hopes of escape were vain.