Chapter 5
CHAPTER V. A Duel With a Dastard John reaches Havre after a long dreary tramp in midwinter. Fails to find a ship going to the east and turns south along the coast. Falls exhausted by the roadside and is picked up by a good farmer. Regains his strength and resumes his journey.
Encounters Corsell, one of the Frenchmen who had robbed him. They draw swords and fall too. John completely overcomes his antagonist, punishes him and leaves him repentant. an unlooked-for meeting with an old friend. John is set upon his feet again,
goes to Marseilles and takes ship for Italy, is thrown overboard in a storm by the fanatical passengers, swims to a desert island. It must not be supposed that John had abandoned his project of going to fight the Turks. His was not the temperament to be easily discouraged or diverted from a purpose.
He was not now in a position to pursue any very definite plan, but he walked coastward in the hope that some favorable opportunity for going further might present himself. If he should find some ship of war or large merchantman bound for a Mediterranean port, he would be willing to work his way on her in any capacity. Enfleur and Havre, being the most likely places thereabouts in which to find such a vessel as he sought, he made his way northward and visited each of these ports in turn without success. It was winter, and peace prevailed in Western Europe for the time being. There was little
movement among the large ships, but smaller vessels, in considerable numbers, were plying between the continent and England. John might readily have secured passage to England, and no doubt his wisest course would have been to return home and procure a fresh supply of clothing and money. But John could not brook the thought of appearing at home tattered and torn, and confessing to his guardian that he had been duped and robbed. The shipping men of Havre advised the anxious
inquirer to try St. Malo, and so he turned back over the ground he had already twice traversed, and faced several more weeks of weary travel with a purse now nearly empty and clothing almost reduced to rags. Coming up from Mortan, he had selected the poorest inns for resting places. Now even those were beyond his means, and he had to depend upon the charity of the country people for a night's lodging or a meal. Occasionally his way led past a monastery, when he was always sure
of simple hospitality for, to their credit be it said, the fact that John was an Englishman and a heretic never caused the good monks to turn him from their doors. When at length he arrived in the neighborhood of Ponterson in Brittany, it was in a condition bordering on collapse from the effects of the exposure and hardship of the preceding weeks. St. Mallow was but a short two days' journey away, but it did not seem possible that he could hold out until that port should be
reached. He staggered on for a few more miles, but at last his strength utterly gave out and he sank unconscious to the ground by the roadside. Here John Smith's career well nigh wound up in an inglorious end, for had he lain neglected for a few hours, he must have frozen to death. Fate directed otherwise, however. A kind farmer, chancing by his wagon, picked up the exhausted lad and carried him to his house. There he was nursed and fed, and some weeks later,
when he resumed his journey, it was with a show of his natural vigor. John left the farmhouse with a wallet sufficiently stocked to stay his stomach until he should arrive at St. Malo, money he had refused to accept from the good farmer. The air was mild. It was one of those sunny days in late winter that give early promise of spring.
Under the influence of the cheery weather, our hero's spirits rose, and he had a feeling that the tide in his affairs was about to turn. This presentiment was strengthened. by an adventure that immediately befell him and which will not so greatly surprise us if we remember that he was once again in the vicinity of Mortagne, having gone forth and back in his long
tramp. John had been following a shortcut through a wood and had just emerged into the open when he came suddenly face to face with a traveler who was pursuing the same path in opposite direction. Each recognized the other immediately, and on the instant their swords flashed from the scabbard. They flung aside their cloaks and engaged without a word. Furious anger surged in John's breast as he confronted Corsell, one of the four French robbers to whose perfidy he owed his present
plight and all the misery of the past months. For a moment he was tempted to rush upon the rascal and run him through. But that caution and coolness that ever characterized our hero in the presence of danger soon took possession of his reason and prompted him to assume the defensive. Corsell was no mean swordsman, and he saw before him a bare-faced boy whom he could not suppose to be a master of fence. Moreover, he was moved by the hatred which mean souls so often feel for
those whom they have wronged. He made a furious attack upon the stripling, intending to end the affair in short order. John calmly maintained his guard under the onslaught with his weapon presented constantly at the other's breast. With a slight movement of the wrist, he turned aside Corsell's thrusts and stepped back nimbly when the Frenchman lunged. The latter, meeting with no counterattack, became more confident and pressed his adversary hard. But the skill with
which his assault was met soon dawned upon Corsell. He checked the impetuosity that had already told him his nerves and muscles had resorted to the many tricks of fence of which, like most French swordsmen, he was an adept. He changed the engagement. He fainted and feigned to fumble his weapon. He shifted his guard suddenly. He pretended to slip and lose his footing. He endeavored to disengage, but John could not be tempted from his attitude of alert
defense. Corsell beat the appell with his foot, but John's eyes remained steadfastly fixed upon his and the firm blade was ever there lightly but surely feeling his. Corsell tapped the other's sword sharply, but John only smiled with grim satisfaction as he remembered how Signor Polologa had schooled him to meet such disconcerting maneuvers as these. Corsell was growing desperate,
and determined as at a last hope of overcoming his antagonist to try the coup de Marsac. This consisted in beating up the adversary's weapon by sheer force and lunging under his up-thrown arm. Gathering himself together for the effort,
the Frenchman struck John's sword with all the strength he could command, but the act was anticipated by our hero, whose rapier yielded but a few inches to the blow. The next instant, the point of it had rapidly described a semicircle around and under Corsell's blade, throwing it out of the line of his opponent's body.
It was a last effort. Chill fear seized the Frenchman's heart as with the waning of his strength he realized that he was at the mercy of the youth he had so heartlessly robbed. With difficulty he maintained a feeble guard whilst he felt a menacing pressure from the other's weapon.
John advanced leisurely upon the older man, whose eyes plainly betrayed his growing terror. He was as helpless as a child and might have been spitted like a fowl without resistance, but although our hero was made of stern stuff, there was nothing cruel in his composition and he began to pity the cringing wretch who retreated before him. He had no thought, however, of letting the rascal off without a reminder that might furnish a lesson to him. With that thought
he pricked Corsell upon the breast, accompanying the thrust with the remark, That for your friend Nelly, if you please. Almost immediately he repeated the action, saying, and that for your friend Montferrat. For your master, the Lord de Proulx, I beg your acceptance of that, continued John, running his rapier through the fleshy part of the other's shoulder. The terrified Frenchman dropped his sword and fell upon his knees with upraised hands.
Mercy for the love of heaven, he cried. Slay me not unshriven with my sins upon my head. Maybe we can find a priest to prepare thee for the journey to a better land, replied John, not unwilling that the robber should suffer a little bit more. Ho there! to a group of rustics who had been attracted by the sounds of the conflict. Knost any holy father confessor living in these parts?
The peasants declared that a priest resided within a mile of the spot, and one of them departed in haste to fetch him to the scene. As we know, John had no intention of killing Corsell, nor did he desire to wait the return of the Shriver, so finding that the Frenchman had no means of making restitution for the theft of his goods, he left him. But before doing so, he extorted from the apparently repentant man
a promise to live an honest life in future. The encounter with Corsell had a stimulating effect upon John, and he entered St. Malo the following morning, feeling better pleased with himself than he had for many a day. He at once set about making inquiries as to the vessels in port, and was engaged in conversation with a sailor on the quay when he became aware of the scrutiny of a well-dressed young man standing nearby. The face of the inquisitive stranger seemed to awake
a dim memory in John's mind, but he could not remember to have met him before. The other soon put an end to his perplexity by coming forward with outstretched hands. Certs, it is my old playmate Jack Smith of Willoughby. Thou hast not so soon forgot Philip, Jack. John instantly recollected the young son of Count Ployer, who, as you will recall, had passed several months at the castle as the guest of Lady Willoughby. The young men
repaired to a neighborhood tavern where, over a grateful draught of wine, John recounted his adventures. When John spoke of his wanderings in Brittany, Philip listened with a puzzled expression, and when his friend had finished said, But why didst thou shun me in my father's house? Surely not in doubt of a welcome. It was known to you that the Count Ployer possesses the castle and estates of Tonkadec. Truly, replied John, but where is Tonkadec? Philip lay back in his chair
and laughed long and heartily. When his merriment had somewhat subsided, he silently beckoned his new-found friend to the window. St. Marlow lies at the entrance of a long, narrow inlet. Extending a finger, Philip pointed across this bay. Upon the opposite shore, John saw the gray walls of a large, battlemented castle. Behold Tonkadek, said Philip with a quizzical smile. By the count, John was received at the castle with the most hearty welcome. That nobleman was,
as his son had been, moved to immoderate amusement at the thought of Jack, as Philip persisted in calling him, having been in the neighborhood of the castle so long without knowing it. Your friend is doubtless a gallant soldier, he said to his son, but a sorry geographer, I fear. John spent a pleasant week at Tonkadek Castle, but declined to prolong his stay, being anxious to pursue his journey to Hungary, now that the means of doing so expeditiously lay
at his command, for the Count generously supplied all his immediate needs and lent him a considerable sum of money on the security of his estate. Thus equipped, our hero set out for Marseilles, whence he proposed taking ship for Italy. In after years, John proved his grateful remembrance of the kindness of the Count and his son by naming one of the headlands of Chesapeake Bay Point Ployer. John arrived in Marseilles just in time to take passage on a small vessel filled
with pilgrims bound for Rome. They encountered foul weather from the moment of leaving port, and day by day the storm increased in fury until the danger of going down became hourly more imminent. At this critical juncture both seamen and passengers abandoned hope and sank upon their knees, loudly calling upon the saints for succor. John stood for a while watching this proceeding which revolted his common sense. At length his patience gave out, and he soundly berated the
sailors for their cowardice and imbecility. Their saints, he declined, would much more readily aid men than cravens, and if they turned to and helped themselves, God would surely help them. This ill-advised interference drew the attention of the mixed crowd of passengers to the Englishman. Half mad with terror and despair, they turned upon him a shower of abuse couched in the foulest terms and voiced in a dozen different dialects. They cursed his country and his queen.
Then someone announced the discovery that he was the only heretic on board, and the superstitious peasants at once became convinced that the storm was attributable to his presence and that the ship could only be saved on condition of getting rid of him. Cries of, Overboard with the heretic! Throw the renegade into the sea! Rose on every side, and many approached him menacingly flourishing their staves.
John set his back against the mast and drew his sword, determined, if he must, to sell his life dearly. For a while the threatening weapon held the crowd at bay, but one crept up from behind and knocked it from our hero's hand. immediately a rush was made upon him. He was seized by many hands and dragged to the side of the vessel. With their curses still ringing in his ears, John sank beneath the waves.
All this occupied some time during which the master had, with the assistance of two of the seamen, contrived to run his vessel under the lee of a small island. When John, who was a strong swimmer, came to the surface he made for the islet which was scarce a mile distance. A few strokes satisfied him that he must rid himself of his heavy cloak, which was easily done since it fastened only at the neck. He next kicked off his shoes and cast away his belt and scabbard, but it was
still doubtful if he could make the goal in the rough sea. Every ounce of dead weight would count, and at last he reluctantly took his heavy purse from his pocket and allowed it to sink. When at length his feet touched bottom and he staggered out of the water, our adventurer was completely exhausted. John threw himself behind a large rock which gave shelter from the chill wind
and there he lay for more than an hour or more before he could gather sufficient strength to walk. When he arose, the night was falling, and a driving rain had set in. A brief survey of the little island satisfied him that it was uninhabited. With that knowledge, he faced the prospect of a night in the open air under the beating rain. What might lie beyond that he did not care to surmise.
End of chapter 5 Read by Charles Hamilton Mosier, Oregon, January 2023 3.
