Cord and Creese

J >> James de Mille >> Cord and Creese

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"All our friends and acquaintances stood aloof. My father's oldest
friends never came near him. Old Langhetti was dead. His son knew
nothing about this. I will tell you more of him presently.

"Colonel Lionel Despard was dead. His son, Courtenay, was ignorant of
all this, and was away in the North of England. There was Thornton, and
I can't account for his inaction. He married Langhetti's daughter too.
That is a mystery."

"They are all false, Frank."

Frank looked up with something like it smile.

"No, not all; wait till you hear me through."

Frank drew a long breath. "We got sick there, and Potts had us taken to
the alms-house. There we all prayed for death, but only my father's
prayer was heard. He died of a broken heart. The rest of us lived on.

"Scarcely had my father been buried when Potts came to take us away. He
insisted that we should leave the country, and offered to pay our way to
America. We were all indifferent: we were paralyzed by grief. The alms-
house was not a place that we could cling to, so we let ourselves drift,
and allowed Potts to send us wherever he wished. We did not even hope
for any thing better. We only hoped that somewhere or other we might all
die. What else could we do? What else could I do? There was no friend to
whom I could look: and if I ever thought of any thing, it was that
America might possibly afford us a chance to get a living till death
came.

"So we allowed ourselves to be sent wherever Potts chose, since it could
not possibly make things worse than they were. He availed himself of our
stolid indifference, put us as passengers in the steerage on board of a
crowded emigrant ship, the _Tecumseh_, and gave us for our
provisions some mouldy bread.

"We simply lived and suffered, and were all waiting for death, till one
day an angel appeared who gave us a short respite, and saved us for a
while from misery. This angel, Louis, was Paolo, the son of Langhetti.

"You look amazed. It was certainly an amazing thing that he should be on
board the same ship with us. He was in the cabin. He noticed our misery
without knowing who we were. He came to give us pity and help us. When
at last he found out our names he fell on our necks, kissed us, and wept
aloud.

"He gave up his room in the cabin to my mother and sister, and slept and
lived with me. Most of all he cheered us by the lofty, spiritual words
with which he bade us look with contempt upon the troubles of life and
aspire after immortal happiness. Yes, Louis; Langhetti gave us peace.

"There were six hundred passengers. The plague broke out among us. The
deaths every day increased, and all were filled with despair. At last
the sailors themselves began to die.

"I believe there was only one in all that ship who preserved calm reason
and stood without fear during those awful weeks. That one was Langhetti.
He found the officers of the ship panic-stricken, so he took charge of
the steerage, organized nurses, watched over every thing, encouraged
every body, and labored night and day. In the midst of all I fell sick,
and he nursed me back to life. Most of all, that man inspired fortitude
by the hope that beamed in his eyes, and by the radiancy of his smile.
'Never mind, Brandon,' said he as I lay, I thought doomed. 'Death is
nothing. Life goes on. You will leave this pest-ship for a realm of
light. Keep up your heart, my brother immortal, and praise God with your
latest breath.'

"I recovered, and then stood by his side as best I might. I found that
he had never told my mother of my sickness. At last my mother and sister
in the cabin fell sick. I heard of it some days after, and was
prostrated again. I grew better after a time; but just as we reached
quarantine, Langhetti, who had kept himself up thus far, gave out
completely, and fell before the plague."

"Did he die?" asked Louis, in a faltering voice.

"Not on ship-board. He was carried ashore senseless. My mother and
sister were very low, and were also carried on shore. I, though weak,
was able to nurse them all. My mother died first."

There was a long pause. At last Frank resumed:

"My sister gradually recovered: and then, through grief and fatigue, I
fell sick for the third time. I felt it coming on. My sister nursed me;
for a time I thought I was going to die. 'Oh, Edith,' I said, 'when I
die, devote your life while it lasts to Langhetti, whom God sent to us
in our despair. Save his life even if you give up your own.'

"After that I became delirious, and remained so for a long time. Weeks
passed; and when at last I revived the plague was stayed, and but few
sick were on the island. My case was a lingering one, for this was the
third attack of the fever. Why I didn't die I can't understand. There
was no attendance. All was confusion, horror, and death.

"When I revived the first question was after Langhetti and Edith. No one
knew any thing about them. In the confusion we had been separated, and
Edith had died alone."

"Who told you that she died?" asked Louis, with a troubled look.

Frank looked at him with a face of horror.

"Can you bear what I am going to say?"

"Yes."

"When I was able to move about I went to see if any one could tell me
about Edith and Langhetti. I heard an awful story; that the
superintendent had gone mad and had been found trying to dig open a
grave, saying that some one was _buried alive_. Who do you think?
oh, my brother!"

"Speak!"

"Edith Brandon was the name he named."

"Be calm, Frank: I made inquiries myself at the island registry-office.
The clerk told me this story, but said that the woman who had charge of
the dead asserted that the grave was opened, and it was ascertained that
absolute death had taken place.

"Alas!" said Frank, in a voice of despair, "I saw that woman--the keeper
of the dead-house--the grave-digger's wife. She told me this story, but
it was with a troubled eye. I swore vengeance on her unless she told me
the truth. She was alarmed, and said she would reveal all she knew if I
swore to keep it to myself. I swore it. Can you bear to hear it, Louis?"

"Speak!"

"She said only this: 'When the grave was opened it was found that Edith
Brandon had not been dead when she was buried.'"

Louis groaned, and, falling forward, buried his head in both his hands.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. At last Louis, without
lifting his head, said:

"Go on."

"When I left the island I went to Quebec, but could not stay there. It
was too near the place of horror. I went up the river, working my way as
a laborer, to Montreal. I then sought for work, and obtained employment
as porter in a warehouse. What mattered it? What was rank or station to
me? I only wanted to keep myself from starvation and get a bed to sleep
on at night.

"I had no hope or thought of any thing. The horrors through which I had
passed were enough to fill my mind. Yet above them all one horror was
predominant, and never through the days and nights that have since
elapsed has my soul ceased to quiver at the echo of two terrible words
which have never ceased to ring through my brain--'Buried alive!'

"I lived on in Montreal, under an assumed name, as a common porter, and
might have been living there yet; but one day as I came in I heard the
name of 'Brandon.' Two of the clerks who were discussing the news in the
morning paper happened to speak of an advertisement which had long been
in the papers in all parts of Canada. It was for information about the
Brandon family.

"I read the notice. It seemed to me at first that Potts was still trying
to get control of us, but a moment's reflection showed that to be
improbable. Then the mention of 'the friends of the family' made me
think of Langhetti. I concluded that he had escaped death and was trying
to find me out.

"I went to Toronto, and found that you had gone to New York. I had saved
much of my wages, and was able to come here. I expected Langhetti, but
found you."

"Why did you not think that it might be me?"

"Because I heard a threat of Potts about you, and took it for granted
that he would succeed in carrying it out."

"What was the threat?"

"He found out somehow that my father had written a letter to you. I
suppose they told him so at the village post-office. One day when he was
in the room he said, with a laugh, alluding to the letter, 'I'll uncork
that young Brandy-flask before long.'"

"Well--the notice of my death appeared in the English papers."

Frank looked earnestly at him.

"And I accept it, and go under an assumed name."

"So do I. It is better."

"You thought Langhetti alive. Do you think he is?"

"I do not think so now."

"Why not?"

"The efforts which he made were enough to kill any man without the
plague. He must have died."

After hearing Frank's story Louis gave a full account of his own
adventures, omitting, however, all mention of Beatrice. That was
something for his own heart, and not for another's ear.

"Have you the letter and MS.?"

"Yes."

"Let me read them."

Louis took the treasures and handed them to Frank. He read them in
silence.

"Is Cato with you yet?"

"Yes."

"It is well."

"And now, Frank," said Louis, "you have something at last to live for."

"What is that?"

"Vengeance!" cried Louis, with burning eyes.

"Vengeance!" repeated Frank, without emotion--"Vengeance! What is that
to me? Do you hope to give peace to your own heart by inflicting
suffering on our enemies? What can they possibly suffer that can atone
for what they have inflicted? All that they can feel is as nothing
compared with what we have felt. Vengeance!" he repeated, musingly; "and
what sort of vengeance? Would you kill them? What would that effect?
Would he be more miserable than he is? Or would you feel any greater
happiness? Or do you mean something more far-reaching than death?"

"Death," said Louis, "is nothing for such crimes as his."

"You want to inflict suffering, then, and you ask me. Well, after all,
do I want him to suffer? Do I care for this man's sufferings? What are
they or what can they be to me? He stands on his own plane, far beneath
me; he is a coarse animal, who can, perhaps, suffer from nothing but
physical pain. Should I inflict that on him, what good would it be to
me? And yet there is none other that I can inflict."

"Langhetti must have transformed you," said Louis, "with his spiritual
ideas."

"Langhetti; or perhaps the fact that I three times gazed upon the face
of death and stood upon the threshold of that place where dwells the
Infinite Mystery. So when you speak of mere vengeance my heart does not
respond. But there is still something which may make a purpose as strong
as vengeance."

"Name it."

"The sense of intolerable wrong!" cried Frank, in vehement tones; "the
presence of that foul pair in the home of our ancestors, our own exile,
and all the sufferings of the past! Do you think that I can endure
this?"

"No--you must have vengeance."

"No; not vengeance."

"What then?"

"Justice!" cried Frank, starting to his feet. "Justice--strict, stern,
merciless; and that justice means to me all that you mean by vengeance.
Let us make war against him from this time forth while life lasts; let
us cast him out and get back our own; let us put him into the power of
the law, and let that take satisfaction on him for his crimes; let us
cast him out and fling him from us to that power which can fittingly
condemn. I despise him, and despise his sufferings. His agony will give
me no gratification. The anguish that a base nature can suffer is only
disgusting to me--he suffers only out of his baseness. To me, and with a
thing like that, vengeance is impossible, and justice is enough."

"At any rate you will have a purpose, and your purpose points to the
same result as mine."

"But how is this possible?" said Frank. "He is strong, and we are weak.
What can we do?"

"We can try," said Louis. "You are ready to undertake any thing. You do
not value your life. There is one thing which is before us. It is
desperate--it is almost hopeless; but we are both ready to try it."

"What is that?"

"The message from the dead," said Louis, spreading before Frank that
letter from the treasure-ship which he himself had so often read.

"And are you going to try this?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I don't know. I must first find out the resources of science."

"Have you Cato yet?"

"Yes."

"Can he dive?"

"He was brought up on the Malabar coast, among the pearl-fishers, and
can remain under water for an incredible space of time. But I hope to
find means which will enable me myself to go down under the ocean
depths. This will be our object now. If it succeeds, then we can gain
our purpose; if not, we must think of something else."

CHAPTER XXI.

THE DIVING BUSINESS.

In a little street that runs from Broadway, not far from Wall Street,
there was a low doorway with dingy panes of glass, over which was a sign
which bore the following letters, somewhat faded:

BROCKET & CO.,
CONTRACTORS

About a month after his arrival at New York Brandon entered this place
and walked up to the desk, where a stout, thick-set man was sitting,
with his chin on his hands and his elbows on the desk before him.

"Mr. Brocket?" said Brandon, inquiringly.

"Yes, Sir," answered the other, descending from his stool and stepping
forward toward Brandon, behind a low table which stood by the desk.

"I am told that you undertake contracts for raising sunken vessels?"

"We are in that line of business."

"You have to make use of diving apparatus?"

"Yes."

"I understand that you have gone into this business to a larger extent
than any one in America?"

"Yes, Sir," said Brocket, modestly. "I think we do the leading business
in that line."

"I will tell you frankly my object in calling upon you. I have just come
from the East Indies for the purpose of organizing a systematic plan for
the pearl fisheries. You are aware that out there they still cling to
the old fashion of diving, which was begun three thousand years ago. I
wish to see if I can not bring science to bear upon it, so as to raise
the pearl-oysters in larger quantities."

"That's a good idea of yours," remarked Mr. Brocket, thoughtfully.

"I came to you to see if you could inform me whether it would be
practicable or not."

"Perfectly so," said Brocket.

"Do you work with the diving-bell in your business or with armor?"

"With both. We use the diving-bell for stationary purposes; but when it
is necessary to move about we employ armor."

"Is the armor adapted to give a man any freedom of movement?"

"The armor is far better than the bell. The armor is so perfect now that
a practiced hand can move about under water with a freedom that is
surprising. My men go down to examine sunken ships. They go in and out
and all through them. Sometimes this is the most profitable part of our
business."

"Why so?"

"Why, because there is often money or valuable articles on board, and
these always are ours. See," said Brocket, opening a drawer and taking
out some silver coin, "here is some money that we found in an old Dutch
vessel that was sunk up the Hudson a hundred years ago. Our men walked
about the bed of the river till they found her, and in her cabin they
obtained a sum of money that would surprise you--all old coin."

"An old Dutch vessel! Do you often find vessels that have been sunk so
long ago?"

"Not often. But we are always on the lookout for them," said Brocket,
who had now grown quite communicative. "You see, those old ships always
carried ready cash--they didn't use bank-notes and bills of exchange. So
if you can only find one you're sure of money."

"Then this would be a good thing to bear in mind in our pearl
enterprise?"

"Of course. I should think that out there some reefs must be full of
sunken ships. They've been sinking about those coasts ever since the
first ship was built."

"How far down can a diver go in armor?

"Oh, any reasonable depth, when the pressure of the water is not too
great. Some pain in the ears is felt at first from the compressed air,
but that is temporary. Men can easily go down as far as fifteen or
sixteen fathoms."

"How long can they stay down?"

"In the bells, you know, they go down and are pulled up only in the
middle of the day and at evening, when their work is done."

"How with the men in armor?"

"Oh, they can stand it almost as well. They come up oftener, though.
There is one advantage in the armor: a man can fling off his weight and
come up whenever he likes."

"Have you ever been down yourself?"

"Oh yes--oftener than any of my men. I'm the oldest diver in the
country, I think. But I don't go down often now. It's hard work, and I'm
getting old."

"Is it much harder than other work?"

"Well, you see, it's unnatural sort of work, and is hard on the lungs.
Still, I always was healthy. The real reason why I stopped was a
circumstance that happened two years ago."

"What was that?"

Brocket drew a long breath, looked for a moment meditatively at the
floor, and then went on:

"Well, there happened to be a wreck of a steamer called the
_Saladin_ down off the North Carolina coast, and I thought I would
try her as a speculation, for I supposed that there might he
considerable money on board one way or another. It was a very singular
affair. Only two men had escaped; it was so sudden. They said the vessel
struck a rock at night when the water was perfectly still, and went down
in a few minutes, before the passengers could even be awakened. It may
seem horrid to you, but you must know that a ship-load of passengers is
very profitable, for they all carry money. Besides, there are their
trunks, and the clerk's desk, and so on. So, this time, I went down
myself. The ship lay on one side of the rock which had pierced her,
having floated off just before sinking; and I had no difficulty in
getting on board. After walking about the deck I went at once into the
saloon. Sir," said Brocket, with an awful look at Brandon, "if I should
live for a hundred years I should never forget the sight that I saw. A
hundred passengers or more had been on board, and most of them had
rushed out of their state-rooms as the vessel began to sink. Very many
of them lay on the floor, a frightful multitude of dead.

"But there were others," continued Brocket, in a lower tone, "who had
clutched at pieces of furniture, at the doors, and at the chairs, and
many of these had held on with such a rigid clutch that death itself had
not unlocked it. Some were still upright, with distorted features, and
staring eyes, clinging, with frantic faces, to the nearest object that
they had seen. Several of them stood around the table. The most
frightful thing was this: that they were all staring at the door.

"But the worst one of all was a corpse that was on the saloon table. The
wretch had leaped there in his first mad impulse, and his hands had
clutched a brass bar that ran across. He was facing the door; his hands
were still clinging, his eyes glared at me, his jaw had fallen, The
hideous face seemed grimacing at and threatening me. As I entered the
water was disturbed by my motion. An undulation set in movement by my
entrance passed through the length of the saloon. All the corpses swayed
for a moment. I stopped in horror. Scarcely had I stopped when the
corpses, agitated by the motion of the water and swaying, lost their
hold; their fingers slipped, and they fell forward simultaneously. Above
all, that hideous figure on the table, as its fingers were loosened, in
falling forward, seemed to take steps, with his demon face still staring
at me. My blood ran cold. It seemed to me as though these devils were
all rushing at me, led on by that fiend on the table. For the first time
in my life, Sir, I felt fear under the sea. I started back, and rushed
out quaking as though all hell was behind me. When I got up to the
surface I could not speak. I instantly left the _Saladin_, came
home with my men, and have never been down myself since."

A long conversation followed about the general condition of sunken
ships. Brocket had no fear of rivals in business, and as his
interlocutor did not pretend to be one he was exceedingly communicative.
He described to him the exact depth to which a diver in armor might
safely go, the longest time that he could safely remain under water, the
rate of travel in walking along a smooth bottom, and the distance which
one could walk. He told him how to go on board of a wrecked ship with
the least risk or difficulty, and the best mode by which to secure any
valuables which he might find. At last he became so exceedingly friendly
that Brandon asked him if he would be willing to give personal
instructions to himself, hinting that money was no object, and that any
price would be paid.

At this Brocket laughed. "My dear Sir, you take my fancy, for I think I
see in you a man of the right sort. I should be very glad to show any
one like you how to go to work. Don't mention money; I have actually got
more now than I know what to do with, and I'm thinking of founding an
asylum for the poor. I'll sell you any number of suits of armor, if you
want them, merely in the way of business; but if I give you instructions
it will be merely because I like to oblige a man like you."

Brandon of course expressed all the gratitude that so generous an offer
could excite.

"But there's no use trying just yet; wait till the month of May, and
then you can begin. You have nerve, and I have no doubt that you'll
learn fast."

After this interview Brandon had many others. To give credibility to his
pretended plan for the pearl fisheries, he bought a dozen suits of
diving armor and various articles which Brocket assured him that he
would need. He also brought Cato with him one day, and the Hindu
described the plan which the pearl-divers pursued on the Malabar coast.
According to Cato each diver had a stone which weighed about thirty
pounds tied to his foot, and a sponge filled with oil fastened around
his neck. On plunging into the water, the weight carried him down. When
the diver reached the bottom the oiled sponge was used from time to time
to enable him to breathe by inhaling the air through the sponge applied
to his mouth. All this was new to Brocket. It excited his ardor.

The month of May at last came. Brocket showed them a place in the
Hudson, about twenty miles above the city, where they could practice.
Under his direction Brandon put on the armor and went down. Frank worked
the pumps which supplied him with air, and Cato managed the boat. The
two Brandons learned their parts rapidly, and Louis, who had the hardest
task, improved so quickly, and caught the idea of the work so readily,
that Brocket enthusiastically assured him that he was a natural-born
diver.

All this time Brandon was quietly making arrangements for a voyage. He
gradually obtained every thing which might by any possibility be
required, and which he found out by long deliberations with Frank and by
hints which he gained by well-managed questions to Brocket.

Thus the months of May and June passed until at length they were ready
to start.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE ISLET OF SANTA CRUZ.

It was July when Brandon left New York for San Salvador.

He had purchased a beautiful little schooner, which he had fitted up
like a gentleman's yacht, and stored with all the articles which might
be needed. In cruising about the Bahama Isles he intended to let it be
supposed that he was traveling for pleasure. True, the month of July was
not the time of the year which pleasure-seekers would choose for sailing
in the West Indies, but of this he did not take much thought.

The way to the Bahama Isles was easy. They stopped for a while at
Nassau, and then went to San Salvador.

The first part of the New World which Columbus discovered is now but
seldom visited, and few inhabitants are found there. Only six hundred
people dwell upon it, and these have in general but little intelligence.
On reaching this place Brandon sailed to the harbor which Columbus
entered, and made many inquiries about that immortal landing. Traditions
still survived among the people, and all were glad to show the rich
Englishman the lions of the place.

He was thus enabled to make inquiries without exciting suspicion about
the islands lying to the north. He was informed that about four leagues
north there was an island named Guahi, and as there was no island known
in that direction named Santa Cruz, Brandon thought that this might be
the one. He asked if there were any small islets or sand-banks near
there, but no one could tell him. Having gained all the information that
he could he pursued his voyage.

In that hot season there was but little wind. The seas were visited by
profound calms which continued long and rendered navigation slow and
tedious. Sometimes, to prevent themselves from being swept away by the
currents, they had to cast anchor. At other times they were forced to
keep in close by the shore. They waited till the night came on, and
then, putting out the sweeps, they rowed the yacht slowly along.

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