The Wing and Wing by J. Fenimore Cooper

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"There she is, sir!" shouted a midshipman from a cathead--for everybody
who dared had crowded forward to get an early look at the chase.

There she was, sure enough, wing-and-wing, as before, the dulness of
the lugger's lookouts has never been explained, as a matter of course;
but it was supposed, when all the circumstances came to be known, that
most of her people were asleep, to recover from the recent extraordinary
fatigue, and a night in which all hands had been, kept on deck in
readiness to make sail; the vessel having but some thirty souls in her.
At length the frigate was seen, the weather lighting, and it was not an
instant too soon. The two vessels, at that critical instant, were about
half a mile apart, le Feu-Follet bearing directly off the Proserpine's
weather-bow. In the twinkling of an eye, the former jibed; then she was
seen coming to the wind, losing sufficient ground in doing so to bring
her just in a range with the two weather chase-guns. Cuffe instantly
gave the order to open a fire.

"What the d--l has got into her?" exclaimed the captain; "she topples
like a mock mandarin; she used to be as stiff as a church! What can it
mean, sir?"

The master did not know, but we may say that the lugger was flying
light, too much so for the canvas she carried, for, in such heavy
weather, there was not time to shorten sail. She lurched heavily under
the sea that was now getting up, and, a squall striking her, her lee
guns were completely buried. Just at this moment the Proserpine belched
forth her flame and smoke. The shot could not be followed, and no one
knew where they struck. Four had been fired, when a squall succeeded
that shut in the chase, and of course the firing was suspended. So
severe was this momentary effort of the African gales, hot, drowsy, and
deadening as they are, that the Proserpine started her mizzentop-sail
sheets, and clewed up her main-course, to save the spar. But the tack
was instantly boarded again, and the topsail set. A gleam of sunshine
succeeded, but the lugger had disappeared!

The sun did not remain visible, and that faintly, more than a minute;
still, the eye could range several miles, for thrice that period. After
this the horizon became more limited, but no squall occurred for
quarter of an hour. When the lugger was missed, the Proserpine was
heading up within half a point of the spot at which she was supposed to
be. In a short time she drove past this point, perhaps a hundred fathoms
to leeward of it. Here she tacked, and, stretching off a sufficient
distance to the southward and westward, came round again, and, heading
up east-southeast, was thought to sweep along over the empty track. Not
a sign of the missing vessel was discovered. The sea had swallowed all,
lugger, people, and hamper. It was supposed that, owing to the fact that
so many light articles had been left on the rocks, nothing remained to
float. All had accompanied le Feu-Follet to the bottom. Of boats there
were none, these being at the islet of the ruins, and, if any seaman
swam off in the desperate attempt to save his life in the midst of the
cauldron of waters, he did not succeed, or was overlooked by the English
in their search. The latter, indeed, may have miscalculated their
distances, and not have passed within a cable's-length of the place
where the victims, if any such there were, still struggled for
existence.

Cuffe, and all around him, were forcibly struck with so unlooked-for and
so dire a calamity. The loss of a vessel, under such circumstances,
produces an effect like a sudden death among companions. It is a fate
all may meet with, and it induces reflection and sadness. Still, the
English did not give up the hope of rescuing some unfortunate wretch,
clinging to a spar, or supporting himself by supernatural efforts, for
several hours. At noon, however, the ship squared away and ran for
Naples before the wind, being drawn aside from her course by another
chase, in which she succeeded better, capturing a sloop-of-war, which
she carried in several days later.

The first act of Cuffe, on anchoring in the fleet, was to go on board
the Foudroyant, and report himself and his proceedings to the
rear-admiral. Nelson had heard nothing of the result, beyond what had
occurred at the islets, and the separation of the ships.

"Well, Cuffe," he said, reaching out his remaining hand kindly to his
old Agamemnon, as the other entered the cabin--"the fellow has got off,
after all! It has been a bad business altogether, but we must make the
best of it. Where do you fancy the lugger to be?"

Cuffe explained what had happened, and put into the admiral's hand an
official letter, explaining his recent success. With the last Nelson was
pleased--at the first surprised. After a long, thoughtful pause, he went
into the after-cabin, and returned, throwing a small, jack-like flag on
the floor.

"As Lyon was cruising about," he said, "and his sloop was pitching her
catheads under, this thing was washed upon a spare anchor, where it
stuck. It's a queer flag. Can it have had any connection with
the lugger?"

Cuffe looked, and he immediately recognized the little _ala e ala_ jack,
that the Italians had described to him in their many conversations. It
was the only vestige that was ever found of the Wing-and-Wing.

CHAPTER XXX.

"How beautiful is sorrow, when 'tis drest
By virgin innocence! It makes
Felicity in others, seem deformed."

DAVENANT.

We must return to the rocks, and the melancholy scene they offered. Our
purposes will be answered, however, by advancing the time into the
evening, omitting many things that the reader can imagine without our
relating them.

It is scarcely necessary to say that Andrea Barrofaldi and Vito Viti
took no part in the bloody transactions we have related. When all was
over, however, they drew near to the rocks, and, sitting in their boat,
contemplating the sad spectacle presented within the narrow compass of
the islet of the ruins, the following short dialogue occurred
between them;

"Vice-governatore," demanded the podesta, pointing to the place where
Sir Frederick lay, a motionless corpse, Raoul bleeding, and others were
writhing under their wounds--"do you call this reality, or is it a part
of that damnable doctrine which is enough to set the whole earth by the
ears, and to turn men into tigers and hawks?"

"I fear, neighbor Vito, this will only prove too true. I see the bodies
of Sir Dashwood and Sir Smees; and God knows how many more have this day
departed for the world of spirits."

"Leaving behind them only a world of shadows," muttered Vito Viti, even
that melancholy spectacle failing to draw his thoughts altogether from a
discussion that had now lasted near four-and-twenty hours. But the
moment was not propitious to argument, and the two Italians landed. This
was within half an hour after the struggle had ceased; and our
intentions are to advance the time to the moment mentioned in the
opening of this chapter.

We must give here, however, a rapid sketch of the proceedings that
narrowed down the view to that we intend shortly to lay before the
reader. As soon as there was leisure, Winchester made a survey of the
field of battle. He found many of his own men slain, and more wounded.
Of the French on the islet, quite half were hurt; but the mortal wound
received by their leader was the blow that all lamented. The surgeon
soon pronounced Raoul's case to be hopeless; and this declaration was
heard with regret even by generous enemies. The defence had been
desperate; it would have succeeded, had it been within the scope of
possibility for so few courageous men to repel double their numbers of
those who were equally brave. Both sides had fought for honor; and, when
this is the case, victory generally awaits the strongest.

As soon as it was perceived that all the ships were likely to be led
far to leeward in chase, the English officers felt the necessity of
acting for themselves. The medical men had been busy from the first, and
in the course of a couple of hours all had been done for the wounded
that present circumstances would allow. The amputations were few, and,
each vessel having sent a surgeon, these were all made, while the other
appliances had been successfully used in such cases as would be
benefited by them. The day was drawing near a close, and the distance
from the fleet was so great as to call for exertion.

As soon, therefore, as the uninjured men were refreshed and the wounded
cared for, the latter were put into the launches, in the best manner
they might be, and the cutters took them in tow. One had no sooner
received its melancholy freight, than it left the islets, on its way to
the hospital-ship of the fleet. The others succeeded, in turn; the
unhurt French willingly offering to assist in the performance of this
pious duty. At length but three boats remained. One was Sir Frederick's
gig, which Winchester had kept for his own particular use; another was
the yawl of Andrea Barrofaldi; and the third, the little craft in which
Carlo Giuntotardi had come from the shore. Of the French, no one
remained but the surgeon of the lugger, Raoul's steward and personal
attendant, and Raoul himself. If to these be added the two Italians and
their oarsmen, Carlo and his niece, with Winchester and his boat's crew,
we enumerate all who now remained at the rocks.

By this time the sun had sunk below the adjacent hills, and it was
necessary to decide on some course. Winchester consulted the surgeon as
to the expediency of removing his patient. Could it be done, it had
better be done soon.

"_Mon lieutenant_," answered this personage a little dryly, "_mon brave
capitaine_ has but a short time to live. He has entreated to be left
here, on the scene of his glory, and in the company of that female whom
he so well loved--_mais_--you are the victors"--shrugging his
shoulders--"and you will do your own pleasure."

Winchester colored and bit his lips. The idea of torturing Raoul, either
in body or mind, was the last intention of one so humane, but he felt
indignant at the implied suspicion. Commanding himself, notwithstanding,
he bowed courteously, and intimated that he would remain himself with
his prisoner, until all were over. The Frenchman was surprised, and when
he read the sympathy of the other in the expression of his countenance,
he felt regret for his own distrust, and still more at having
expressed it.

"_Mais, Monsieur_" he answered, "night will soon come--you may have to
pass it on the rocks."

"And if we do, doctor, it is no more than we seamen are used to.
Boat-service is common duty with us. I have only to wrap myself in my
cloak, to enjoy a seaman's comfort."

This settled the matter, and no more was said. The surgeon, a man
accustomed to the exercise of such resources, soon managed to make his
dispositions for the final scene. In clearing the lugger, a hundred
light articles had been thrown on the islet on which she had touched,
and among Others were several rude mattresses of the seamen. Two or
three of these were procured, placed on the smoothest surface of the
rock, and a bed formed for Raoul. The medical man and the seamen would
have erected a tent with a sail, but this the wounded man forbade.

"Let me breathe the free air," he said--"I shall use but little of
it;--let that little be free."

It was useless to oppose such a wish; nor was there any motive for it.
The air was pure, and little need be apprehended from the night, in
behalf of Ghita, surrounded as they were by the pure waters of the
ocean. Even when the Tramontana came, although it was cool, its coolness
was not unpleasant, the adjacent hill sheltering the islets from its
immediate influence.

The English seamen collected some fuel from the spare spars of the
lugger, and lighted a fire on the rock where they had been found. Food
of all sorts was abundant, and several casks of water had been struck
out whole, as provision against a siege. Here they made coffee, and
cooked enough food for the wants of all the party. The distance
prevented their disturbing those who remained near Raoul; while the
light of the fire, which was kept in a cheerful blaze, cast a
picturesque glow upon the group around the dying man, as soon as the
night had fairly set in. It superseded, too, the necessity of any lamps
or torches.

We pass over all the first outpourings of Ghita's anguish, when she
learned the wound of Raoul, her many and fervent prayers, and the scenes
that took place during the time that the islet was still crowded with
the combatants. More quiet hours succeeded when these last were gone;
and as the night advanced, something like the fixed tranquillity of
settled despair followed the first emotions. When ten o'clock arrived,
we reach the moment at which we wish to raise the curtain once more, in
order to present the principal actors in the scene.

Raoul lay on the summit of the islet, where his eye could range over the
mild waters that washed the rock, and his ear listen to the murmurings
of his own element. The Tramontana, as usual, had driven all perceptible
vapor from the atmosphere, and the vault of heaven, in its cerulean
blue, and spangled with thousands of stars, stretched itself above him,
a glorious harbinger for the future to one who died in hope. The care of
Ghita and the attendants had collected around the spot so many little
comforts, as to give it the air of a room suddenly divested of sides and
ceiling, but habitable and useful. Winchester, fatigued with his day's
work, and mindful of the wish that Raoul might so naturally feel to be
alone with Ghita, had lain down on a mattress, leaving orders to be
called should anything occur; while the surgeon, conscious that he could
do no more, had imitated his example, making a similar request. As for
Carlo Giuntotardi, he seldom slept, he was at this prayers in the ruins.
Andrea and the podesta paced the rock to keep themselves warm, slightly
regretting the sudden burst of humanity which had induced them
to remain.

Raoul and Ghita were alone. The former lay on his back, his head
bolstered, and his face upturned toward the vault of heaven. The pain
was over, and life was ebbing fast. Still, the mind was unshackled, and
thought busy as ever. His heart was still full of Ghita; though his
extraordinary situation, and more especially the glorious view before
his eyes, blended certain pictures of the future with his feelings, that
were as novel as he found them powerful.

With the girl it was different. As a woman, she felt the force of this
sudden blow in a manner that she found difficult to bear. Still, she
blessed God that what had occurred happened in her presence, as it might
be; leaving her the means of acting, and the efficacy of prayer. To say
that she did not yet feel the liveliest love for Raoul, all that
tenderness which constitutes so large a portion of woman's nature, would
be untrue; but her mind was made up to the worst, and her thoughts were
of another state of being.

A long pause occurred, in which Raoul remained stead-fastly gazing at
the starry canopy above.

"It is remarkable, Ghita," he said, at length, "that I--Raoul Yvard--the
corsair--the man of wars and tempests combats and hairbreadth
escapes--should be dying here, on this rock, with all those stars
looking down upon me, as it might be, from your heaven, seeming to
smile upon me!"

"Why not _your_ heaven, as well as mine, Raoul?" Ghita answered
tremulously. "It is as vast as He who dwells in it--whose throne it
is--and can contain all who love Him, and seek his mercy."

"Dost thou think one like me would be received into his presence,
Ghita?"

"Do not doubt it--free from all error and weakness Himself, his Holy
Spirit delights in the penitent and the sorrowful. Oh! dearest, dearest
Raoul, if thou _wouldst_ but pray!"

A gleam like that of triumph glowed on the face of the wounded man; and
Ghita, in the intensity of her expectation, rose and stood over him, her
own features filled with a momentary hope.

"Mon Feu-Follet!" exclaimed Raoul, letting the tongue reveal the
transient thought which brought the gleam of triumph to his countenance.
"Thou, at least, hast escaped! These English will not count thee among
their victims, and glut their eyes on thy charming proportions!"

Ghita felt a chill at her heart. She fell back on her seat, and
continued watching her lover's countenance with a feeling of despair,
though inextinguishable tenderness was still crowding around her soul.
Raoul heard the movement; and turning his head he gazed at the girl for
quite a minute, with a portion of that intense admiration that used to
gleam from his eyes in happier moments.

"It is better as it is, Ghita," he said, "than that I should live
without thee. Fate has been kind in thus ending my misery."

"Oh, Raoul I there is no fate but the holy will of God. Deceive not
thyself at this awful moment; bow down thy proud spirit in humility, and
turn to Him for succor!"

"Poor Ghita!--Well, thine is not the only innocent mind by millions that
hath been trammelled by priests; and, I suppose, what hath commenced
with the beginning will last till the end."

"The beginning and the end are both with God, Raoul. Since the
commencement of time hath he established laws which have brought about
the trials of thy life--the sadness of this very hour."

"And dost thou think he will pardon all thy care of one so unworthy?"

Ghita bowed her head to the mattress over which she leaned, and buried
her face in her hands. When the minute of prayer that succeeded was
over, and her face was again raised with the flush of feeling tempered
by innocence on it, Raoul was lying on his back, his eyes riveted again
on the vault of heaven. His professional pursuits had led him further
into the study of astronomy than comported with his general education;
and, addicted to speculation, its facts had often seized upon his fancy,
though they had failed to touch his heart. Hitherto, indeed, he had
fallen into the common error of limited research, and found a
confirmation of his suspicions in the assumed grasp of his own reason.
The dread moment that was so near could not fail of its influence,
however; and that unknown future over which he hung, as it might be,
suspended by a hair, inevitably led his mind into an inquiry after the
unknown God.

"Dost thou know, Ghita," he asked, "that the learned of France tell us
that all yonder bright stars are worlds, peopled most probably like this
of our own, and to which the earth appears but as a star itself, and
that, too, of no great magnitude?"

"And what is this, Raoul, to the power and majesty of Him who created
the universe? Ah! think not of the things of his hand, but of Him who
made them!"

"Hast thou ever heard, my poor Ghita, that the mind of man hath been
able to invent instruments to trace the movements of all these worlds,
and hath power even to calculate their wanderings with accuracy, for
ages to come?"

"And dost _thou_ know, my poor Raoul, what this mind of man is?"

"A part of his nature--the highest quality; that which maketh him the
lord of earth."

"His highest quality--and that which maketh him lord of earth, in one
sense, truly; but, after all, a mere fragment--a spot on the width of
the heavens--of the spirit of God himself. It is in this sense that he
hath been made in the image of his Creator."

"Thou thinkst then, Ghita, that man is God, after all."

"Raoul!--Raoul! if thou wouldst not see me die with thee, interpret not
my words in this manner!"

"Would it, then, be so hard to quit life in my company, Ghita? To me it
would seem supreme felicity were our places to be changed."

"To go whither? Hast thou bethought thee of this, my beloved?"

Raoul answered not for some time. His eyes were fastened on a bright
star, and a tumult of thoughts began to crowd upon his brain. There are
moments in the life of every man when the mental vision obtains clearer
views of remote conclusions, equally in connection with the past and the
future, as there are days when an atmosphere purer than common more
readily gives up its objects to the physical organs--leaving the mind
momentarily the master, almost without control. One of these gleams of
truth passed over the faculties of the dying man, and it could not be
altogether without its fruits. Raoul's soul was agitated by novel
sensations.

"Do thy priests fancy that they who have known and loved each other in
this life," he asked, "will know and love each other in that which they
fancy is to come?"

"The life that is to come, Raoul, is one all love, or one all hatred.
That we may know each other I try to hope; nor do I see any reason for
disbelieving it. My uncle is of opinion it must be so."

"Thy uncle, Ghita? What, Carlo Giuntotardi--he who seemeth never to
think of things around him--doth a mind like his dwell on thoughts as
remote and sublime as this?"

"Little dost thou know or understand him, Raoul. His mind seldom ceases
to dwell on thoughts like these; this is the reason why earth, and all
it contains, seem so indifferent."

Raoul made no answer, but appearing to suffer under the pain of his
wound, the feelings of woman so far prevailed over Ghita's tender nature
that she had not the heart to press even his salvation on him at such a
moment. She offered him soothing drinks, and nursed him with unabated
care; and when there seemed to be a cessation to his sufferings, she
again passed minutes on her knees, her whole soul absorbed in his future
welfare. An hour passed in this manner, all on or near the rock
sleeping, overcome by fatigue, but Ghita and the dying man.

"That star haunts me, Ghita!" Raoul at length muttered, "If it be really
a world, some all-powerful hand must have created it. Chance never made
a world, more than chance made a ship. Thought--mind--intelligence must
have governed at the formation of one as well as of the other."

For months Ghita had not known an instant as happy as that. It appeared
as if the mind of Raoul were about to extricate itself from the shallow
philosophy so much in fashion, and which had hitherto deadened a nature
so kind, an intellect ordinarily so clear. Could his thoughts but once
take the right direction, she had strong confidence in the distinctness
of their views, but most of all in the goodness of the Deity.

"Raoul," she whispered, "God is there, as he is with us, on this rock.
His spirit is everywhere. Bless him!--bless him in thy soul, my beloved,
and be forever happy!"

Raoul answered not. His face was upturned, and his eye still remained
riveted on that particular star. Ghita would not disturb him, but,
taking his hand in hers, she once more knelt and resumed her prayers.
Minute passed after minute, and neither seemed disposed to speak. At
length Ghita became woman again, and bethought her of her patient's
bodily wants. It was time to administer the liquids of the surgeon, and
she advanced to hold them to his lips. The eye was still fastened on the
star, but the lips did not meet her with the customary smile of love.
They were compressed, as when the body was about to mingle in the
strife of a battle, a sort of stern resolution being settled on them.
Raoul Yvard was dead.

The discovery of the truth was a fearful moment to Ghita. Not a living
being near her had the consciousness of her situation, all being bound
in the sleep of the weary. The first feeling was that which belonged to
her sex. She threw herself on the body, and embraced it wildly, giving
way to those pent-up emotions which her lover, in his moody humors, was
wont to accuse her of not possessing. She kissed the forehead, the
cheeks, the pallid, stern lips of the dead; and, for a time, there was
the danger that her own spirit might pass away in the paroxysm of her
grief. But it was morally impossible for Ghita to remain long under the
influence of despair. Her gentle spirit had communed too long and too
closely with her Heavenly Father, not to resort to his support in all
the critical moments of life. She prayed, for the tenth time that night,
and arose from her knees calm, if not absolutely resigned.

The situation of Ghita was now as wildly picturesque as it was moving to
her inmost spirit. All around her still slept, and that, to the eye, as
profoundly as he who was only to rise again when the sea and the land
give up their dead. The excitement and exertions of the past day
produced their reaction, and seldom did sleep exercise a more profound
influence. The fire was still burning bright on the islet of the
gig-men, casting its rays fairly athwart the ruins, the different
sleepers in them, and the immovable body of the dead. At moments, gusts
of the Tramontana, which was now blowing fresh, descended so low as to
fan the flames, when the glare that succeeded seemed to give a startling
reality to all that surrounded the place.

Still the girl was too highly sustained to be moved with anything but
her loss, and her restless inquietude for the departed spirit. She saw
that even her uncle slept, leaving her truly alone with Raoul. Once a
feeling of desertion came over her, and she was inclined to arouse some
of the sleepers. She did approach the spot where the surgeon lay, and
her hand was raised to stir him, when a flash of light shot athwart the
pallid countenance of Raoul, and she perceived that his eyes were still
open. Drawing near, she bent over the body, gazing long and wistfully
into those windows of the soul that had so often beamed on her in manly
tenderness, and she felt like a miser with his hoarded gold, unwilling
to share it with any other.

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