Mathias Sandorf

The passenger who had not been told whither the ship was bound that carried him would hardly guess in what part of the world he had set foot if he landed at Gibraltar.

First there is a quay, cut up into little docks for ships to be moored along, then a bastion and a wall with an insignificant gate, then an irregular square, bordered by high barracks, which rise one behind the other up a hill, then the long, narrow, winding thoroughfare known as Main Street.

At the end of this road, which is always sloppy and dirty, among the porters, smugglers, bootblacks, and sellers of cigar lights, among the trucks, trollies, and carts of vegetables and fruits, all on the move, there crowds a cosmopolitan mixture of Maltese and Moors, Spaniards and Italians, Arabs and Frenchmen, Portuguese and Germans—a little of everything, in fact, even of citizens of the United Kingdom, who are specially represented by infantrymen in red coats, and artillerymen in blue tunics, with their caps only kept above their ears by a miracle of equilibrium.

Main Street runs right through the town, from the Sea Gate to the Alameda Gate. Thence it runs on toward Europe, by the side of many-colored villas and verdant squares, shaded by large trees, through beds of flowers, green parks, batteries of cannons of all designs, and masses of plants of all countries for a length of four miles and three hundred yards. Such is the rock of Gibraltar, a sort of headless dromedary that crouches on the sands of San Roque, with its tail dragging in the Mediterranean Sea.

This enormous rock is nearly 1400 feet above the shore of the continent that it menaces with its guns—“the teeth of the old woman,” as the Spaniards call them—more than 700 pieces of artillery, whose throats stretch forth from the embrasures of its casements. Twenty thousand inhabitants and 6000 men of the garrison are housed on the lower spurs of the hill, without counting the quadrumana, the famous “monos,” the tailless apes, the descendants of the earlier families of the place, the real proprietors of the soil, who now occupy the heights of the ancient Calpe. From the summit of the rock the view extends across the straits; the Moorish coast can be seen; the Mediterranean is looked down upon from one side, the Atlantic from the other; and the English telescopes have a range of 124 miles, of which they can keep watch over every foot—and they do keep watch.

If happily the “Ferrato” had arrived two days sooner in the roadstead of Gibraltar, if between the rising and the setting of the sun Dr. Antekirtt and Pierre Bathory had landed on the little quay, entered by the Sea Gate, walked along Main Street, passed the Alameda Gate, and reached the lovely gardens that are planted half-way up the hill to the left, perhaps the events reported in this narrative would have advanced more rapidly, and had a different result. For on the afternoon of the 19th of September, on one of the wooden benches under the shade of the trees with their backs turned to the batteries commanding the roadstead, two persons were talking together, and carefully avoiding being overheard by the people around. They were Sarcany and Namir.

It may be remembered that Sarcany was to rejoin Namir in Sicily when the expedition took place against the Casa degli Inglesi, which resulted in Zirone’s death. Warned in time Sarcany changed his plan of campaign; and consequently the doctor waited a week in vain at his moorings off Catania. Acting on the orders she received, Namir immediately left Sicily to return to Tetuan where she then lived. From Tetuan she returned to Gibraltar, where Sarcany had appointed to meet her. He had arrived the night before and intended to leave next day.

Sarcany’s companion was devoted to him body and soul. She it was who had brought him up in the douars of Tripoli, as if she had been his mother. She had never left him, even when he was living as a broker in the Regency, where through his secret acquaintances he became one of the formidable sectaries of Senousism, whose schemes, as we have said above, were being directed against Antekirtta.

Namir in thought and deed treated Sarcany with almost maternal affection, and was even more attached to him than Zirone, the companion of his pleasures and miseries. At a sign from him she would have committed any crime; at a sign from him she would have walked to death without hesitation. Sarcany could thus have absolute confidence in Namir, and when he sent for her to Gibraltar it was to talk to her about Carpena, from whom he had now much to fear.

This interview was the first that had taken place between them since Sarcany’s arrival at Gibraltar; it was to be the only one, and the conversation was carried on in Arabic.

Sarcany began with a question and received an answer which both probably regarded as of the utmost importance, for their future depended on it.

“Sava?” asked Sarcany.

“She is safe at Tetuan,” replied Namir, “and you can feel quite easy concerning her.”

“But during your absence?”

“During my absence the house is in charge of an old Jewess, who will not leave it for an instant! It is like a prison to which nobody goes or can go! Sava does not know she is at Tetuan, she does not know who I am, and she does not even know that she is in your power.”

“You are always talking to her about the wedding?”

“Yes, Sarcany,” replied Namir, “I never allow her to be free from the idea that she is to be your wife and she will be!”

“She must, Namir, she must; and all the more because Toronthal’s money has nearly gone! Gambling does not agree with poor Silas!”

“You have no need of him, Sarcany; without him you can become richer than you have ever been.”

“I know it Namir, but tho latest date at which my marriage with Sava must take place is approaching! I must have a voluntary consent on her part, and if she refuses—”

“I will make her!” replied Namir. “Yes! I will tear her consent from her! You can trust me, Sarcany!”

And it would be difficult to imagine a more savage, determined-looking face than that of the Moor as she thus expressed herself.

“Good, Namir!” answered Sarcany. “Continue to keep good watch over her! and I will soon be with you.”

“Do you intend us to leave Tetuan soon?” asked the Moor.

“No, not till I am obliged, for no one there knows, or can know, Sava! If events oblige me to send you away, you will get notice in time.”

“And now, Sarcany,” continued Namir, “tell me why you have sent for me to Gibraltar.”

“Because I have certain things to say to you that are better said than written.”

“Say on then, Sarcany, and if it is in order I will obey it.”

“This is now the position,” answered Sarcany. “Madame Bathory has disappeared and her son is dead. From that family I have nothing further to fear. Madame Toronthal is dead and Sava is in my power! On that side I am also safe! Of the others who know my secret, one—Silas Toronthal, my accomplice—is under my thumb; the other, Zirone, died in Sicily. Of all those I have mentioned none can speak, and none will speak.”

“What are you afraid of, then?”

“I am afraid only of the interference of two individuals: one knows a part of my past life, and the other seems to mix himself up with my present more than is convenient.”

“One is Carpena?” asked Namir.

“Yes,” answered Sarcany; “and the other is that Dr. Antekirtt, whose communications with the Bathory family at Rugusa always seemed to me to be suspicious! Besides, I have heard from Benito, the innkeeper at Santa Grotta, that this personage, who is a millionaire, laid a trap for Zirone by introducing a certain Pescador into his service. If that is so, it was certainly to get possession of him—in default of me—and get my secret out of him!”

“Nothing can be clearer,” answered Namir, “than that you should be more careful than ever of Dr. Antekirtt.”

“And as much as possible we should know what he is doing, and above all things where he is.”

“That is not easy, Sarcany,” answered Namir, “for when I was at Ragusa, for instance, I heard that to-day he would be at one end of the Mediterranean and to-morrow at the other.”

“Yes. The man seems to have the gift of ubiquity,” growled Sarcany. “But it shall not be said that I let him interfere with my game without making a fight for it, and when I go to his home in his island of Antekirtta I know well—”

“That the wedding will have taken place,” answered Namir, “and you will have nothing to fear from him or any one.”

“That is so, Namir, and till then—”

“Till then we must mind what we are about! One way we shall always have the best of it, for we shall know where he is without his knowing where we are! Now about Carpena, Sarcany; what have you to fear from him?”

“Carpena knows my connection with Zirone! For many years he took part in expeditions in which I had a hand, and he might talk—”

“Agreed; but Carpena is now imprisoned for life at Ceuta.”

“And that is what makes me anxious, Namir! Carpena, to improve his position, may say something. If we know he has been sent to Ceuta, others know it as well; others know him personally. There is that Pescador that found him out at Malta. And through that man Dr. Antekirtt may be able to get at him. He can buy his secrets from him! He may even try to help him to escape. In fact, Namir, it is all so very obvious that I wonder why it has not yet happened.”

Sarcany, wide awake and keen-sighted, had thus guessed at the doctor’s plans with regard to the Spaniard, and perceived the danger. Namir agreed that there was considerable cause for anxiety.

“Why,” said Sarcany, “why did we not lose him instead of Zirone?”

“But what did not happen in Sicily might happen in Ceuta,” said Namir coolly.

That, in short, was what the interview meant. Namir then explained to Sarcany that nothing could be easier than for her to go from Tetuan to Ceuta as often as she liked. It was only twenty miles from one town to the other. Tetuan was a little to the south of the penitentiary colony. As the convicts worked on the roads leading to the town, it would be easy to enter into communication with Carpena, whom she knew, to make him think that Sarcany was anxious for him to escape, and to give him a little money or even a little extra food. And if it did happen that one of the pieces of bread or fruit was poisoned, who would trouble himself about the death of the convict Carpena? Who would make any inquiries?

One scoundrel less would not seriously inconvenience the Governor of Ceuta. And Sarcany would have nothing further to fear from the Spaniard, nor from the attempts of Dr. Antekirtt to fathom his secrets.

And from this interview it resulted that while one side was busy scheming the escape of Carpena, the other was endeavoring to render it impossible by sending him prematurely to the penal colony in the other world from which there is no escape!

Having agreed on their plans, Sarcany and Namir returned to the town and separated. That evening Sarcany left Spain to join Silas Toronthal, and the next morning Namir, after crossing the Bay of Gibraltar, embarked at Algesiras on the steamer that runs regularly between Europe and Africa. As she left the harhor the steamer ran past a yacht which was steaming into the bay.

It was the “Ferrato.” Namir, who had seen her while she lay at Catania, recognized her immediately.

“Dr. Antekirtt here?” she murmured. “Sarcany was right. There is danger, and the danger is close at hand.”

A few hours afterward the Moor landed at Ceuta. But before returning to Tetuan she had taken steps to enter into communication with the Spaniard. Her plan was simple, and it was almost sure to succeed if she had sufficient time.

But a complication had arisen which Namir did not expect. Carpena, owing to the doctor’s intervention at his first visit to Ceuta, had been put on the sick-list and been obliged to go into hospital for some days. Namir could only loiter round the hospital without being able to get at him. One thing she contented herself with, and that was, that if she could not see Carpena, neither could the doctor nor his agents. There was therefore no danger, she thought, and no fear of escape until the convict got back to his work on the roads. Namir was mistaken. Carpena’s entrance into the hospitable favored the doctor’s plans and would probably bring about their success.

The “Ferrato” anchored on the evening of September 22 in the Bay of Gibraltar, which is so frequently swept by the easterly and south-easterly winds. But she was only to remain there during the 23d. The doctor and Pierre landed on the Saturday morning and went for their letters to the post-office in Main Street.

One of these, addressed to the doctor from his Sicilian agent, informed him that since the departure of the “Ferrato” Sarcany had not appeared at Catania, Syracuse, or Messina. Another, addressed to Pierre, was from Point Pescade, and informed him that he was much better and felt none the worse for his wound; that Dr. Antekirtt could command his services as soon as he pleased, in addition to those of Cape Matifou, who also presented his respects. There was a third letter to Luigi from Maria. It was more than the letter of a sister—it was the letter of a mother.

If the doctor and Pierre had taken their walk in the gardens of Gibraltar thirty-six hours before, they would have come across Sarcany and Namir.

The day was spent in coaling the “Ferrato” from the lighters which carry the coals from the floating stores moored in the harbor. Fresh-water tanks were also replenished, and everything was in trim when the doctor and Pierre, who had dined at the hotel in Commercial Square, returned on board at gun-fire.

The “Ferrato” did not weigh anchor that evening. As it would only take her a couple of hours to cross the straits, she did not start till eight o’clock the next morning. Then, passing the English batteries, she went out under full steam toward Ceuta. At half past nine she was under Mount Hacho, but as the breeze was blowing from the north-west she could not bring up in the same position she had occupied three days before. The captain therefore took her to the other side of the town and anchored about two cable-lengths from the shore in a small well-sheltered creek.

A quarter of an hour later the doctor landed at the wharf. Namir was on the watch, and had followed all the yacht’s maneuvers. The doctor did not recognize the Moor, whom he had only seen in the shadow of the bazaar at Cattaro. But she had often met him at Gravosa and Ragusa, and recognized him immediately; and she resolved to be more on her guard than ever during his stay at Ceuta.

As he landed the doctor found the governor and an aid-de-camp waiting for him on the wharf.

“Good morning, my dear friend, and welcome!” said the governor. “You are a man of your word, and now you belong to me for the rest of the day at least—”

“I do not belong to your excellency until you have been my guest! Don’t forget that breakfast is waiting for you on board the ‘Ferrato.’”

“And if it is waiting, Dr. Antekirtt, it would not be polite to keep it waiting any longer.”

The gig took the doctor and his guests out to the yacht. The breakfast was luxuriously served, and all did it honor.

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