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The Dark Road: Further Adventures of Chéri-Bibi

<h4>CHAPTER IV</h4> <h4>IN THE NIGHT</h4> Chéri-Bibi, as we have seen, left the dormitory and slipped into his opening under the floor. The underground passage, which he had dug out with a patience and cunning which is only to be found in a convict settlement, was a tremendous piece of work, given the extreme simplicity of the tools at his command, which consisted of a knife, a piece of sharp-pointed iron, and a few sardine tins. Nevertheless he achieved his purpose with them single-handed, for he refused to allow anyone else to have a finger in the pie. The passage was over three hundred feet long, running forward as far as possible through the loamy earth, but keeping clear of the sand and emerging between two precipitous rocks, at a spot which was almost entirely deserted, especially at night. Moreover, this outlet was on the beach along which Chéri-Bibi had to make his way in order to reach the jetty where the motor launch lay moored. When he appeared at the opening of the cavity it was about nine o'clock in the evening. The night was cloudless with the brightness peculiar to tropical countries. Thus he had to take the greatest precaution to avoid being observed by the guards on duty or those going their rounds. But apart from these patrols which covered the same ground, at fixed hours, the guards' duty was reduced to the simplest proportions. It was the dinner hour for the officials, and of rest for the convicts locked up in their dormitories. A warder, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, was usually seated on a bench placed against a hut at the far end of the jetty, acting in a vague sort of way as sentry, and smoking and yawning and waiting for the moment when his relief would come. That evening, as Chéri-Bibi crept along the jetty on all fours, he perceived that the warder was not in his place. Where was he? Had he fallen asleep in the hut? Was he dodging his sentry duty and having a tot of rum with some of his mates? "A good thing for him," muttered Chéri-Bibi, as he dropped into the launch. And he added, still to himself, "And all the better for me!" He shrank, as a rule, from acts of violence. He could only make up his mind to them when circumstances were too strong for him, and he had had sufficient occasion in the past in this respect to upbraid fate; and thus he could be grateful to Providence, which for once in a way had spared him from taking the life of a man! * * * * * Half an hour after Chéri-Bibi's departure a curious silence fell in the dormitory. Every game was stopped and every eye turned in one direction. The cavity made by Chéri-Bibi was almost directly under the Nut's hammock, and his legs had just reached the floor when he stopped short, taken aback by the sudden hush. The convicts rushed up to him. "Where are you going?" The Nut saw by their threatening attitude that they would stick at nothing to prevent him from leaving the dormitory. He sought to argue with them. "I'm going to meet Chéri-Bibi. He has asked me to lend him a hand. What is there in that to annoy you?" The Nut never used prison slang. That also had helped to excite their animosity against him, and they could not forgive him for holding aloof from them now as he did in the first days. "Rot, humbug, swanker . . . liar! It's not true. Chéri-Bibi won't let anyone help him in the job. There's no need for you to work for him." "He asked me to join him." "You lie. You've got to stay here. Take my advice. It'll be all the better for you if you put your feet up and do a snore." It was the Parisian who did the talking. For that matter he kept a safe distance from the Nut. The Burglar, for his part, was leading his confederates somewhat craftily, pushing as near the Nut as possible, thinking to himself that there could not be too many of them, and there would be a row. The fight was begun by a violent movement from the Caid, who seized the Nut by the legs and threw him into the hammock. The Nut sprang out after the Caid, who managed to slip away. A score of men made for the Nut and the thud of heads striking the flagstones was heard. The dormitory in which these wild beasts were tearing each other to pieces was rent with hollow groans and hoarse cries. Feeling that his fellow-prisoners' hatred of him was such that they would never allow him to get away, the Nut, whose last hope was in death, determined to sell his life dearly. But before he died he would recompense himself for all his sufferings, all that he had undergone from those hideous jailers who were more odious than the warders, and fiercer than the sharks themselves who lay in wait for their prey behind the rocks in the Île Royale. He fought like a lion. Many of the men who came up against him were to bear for some time the marks of the desperate encounter. Nevertheless he was soon felled to the ground, in the narrow space, by weight of numbers. Almost smothered, reduced to helplessness, twenty convicts lay heavily on his limbs and he was tightly and strongly bound with a rope which appeared as if by magic. Then he was flung into his corner, gasping for breath, worsted. He closed his eyes so that they should not behold his distress. Thus at the moment when he was thinking of making good his escape, the purgatory was to begin all over again. Continue to live this life! He would rather die! Why had they not killed him a few minutes before? Why had not the iron grip of those murderous fingers round his throat set him free from his terrible existence? He had suffered torment for ten years; ten long years during which he had never ceased to hope for his deliverance by flight and for the miracle which would establish his innocence. Now he no longer hoped for anything. He thought only of how to end his life. . . . And in the meantime Chéri-Bibi was waiting for him . . . Chéri-Bibi who had prepared everything, who had done wonders. . . . To what end? Among the hideous faces bending over the Nut, he would have looked in vain now for the Parisian, the Burglar, the Caid and the Joker. The four men, during the fight, had slipped into the underground passage dug out by the most terrible man among the "lifers." Suddenly a shot rang out in the stillness. They all gave a start. And "Monsieur Désiré" who for a tin of sardines and a packet of cigarettes usually acted as assistant to Pernambouc, the prison executioner, whispered to the Nut: "Did you hear that? They're playing with the shooters not far from the coast. Chéri-Bibi may have been hit. He won't get you away to-night. Mind the Inspector doesn't find out that you are chums with him. It'll be a bad look out for the convicts. Take it from me, the finish of it will be that I shall have your noddle." And he added with a hideous laugh, "You know I shan't say no to that, because I'm out of tobacco. I've given it all away to pals. 'Monsieur Désiré' has a good heart." They heard the gallop of the patrols, and a voice in the distance shouted: "Chéri-Bibi's done for." The Parisian, the Burglar, the Caid and the Joker, after getting away through the underground passage, reached the outlet without hindrance. "Congratulations to Chéri-Bibi," said the Joker as he inhaled the cool night air. "He ought to have been born a mole!" "Shut up and let's get on with it," interjected the Burglar. "It won't be long before Chéri-Bibi comes back for news of the Nut. . . . Look out how we go." They followed the high rocks which skirted the sea, and at times the waves buried them up to the knees. "Halt!" cried the Parisian. "Thanks for the foot-bath," grunted the Joker. "Me always satisfied, never ill, never die," babbled the Caid. "If we go a step farther Chéri-Bibi will see us," exclaimed the Parisian. The four men stood stock still. They had caught sight of Chéri-Bibi's head rising cautiously above the gunwale with the purpose, obviously, of scrutinizing the immediate precincts. What the four bandits anticipated did in fact happen. Failing to understand why the Nut kept him waiting so long, Chéri-Bibi, in a state of some uneasiness, made up his mind to go back the way he had come and see for himself the reason of the delay. The Parisian and his confederates saw him get out of the launch and crawl along the jetty, moving with the greatest precaution, and stopping to listen for any suspicious sounds that might disturb the silence of the night. Thus he reached the beach. As had been already stated, it was easy to keep out of sight because of the great mass of high rocks which overhung the sea shore. It was entirely different from the beach at Kourou and the mainland. That part of the island is flat and devoid of vegetation. Thus Chéri-Bibi, who was well screened by the rocks, continued his way without obstacle; but, on the other hand, he could not see the four runaways, who were less than thirty feet away from him, because of those very rocks. After he had disappeared in the semi-darkness, the four men, in their turn, crawled on to the jetty and thence dropped into the launch. It did not take them long, but they were no sooner settled in her than the Burglar gave the alarm. Chéri-Bibi was coming back. They concealed themselves in the deck-house, hardly daring to breathe, waiting for what would come next. Why had Chéri-Bibi returned so quickly? Had his suspicions been aroused? The Nut's redoubtable friend filled them with such terror that they were afraid of his shadow like children who, passing through the forest at night, fear the were-wolf. They were unarmed. Chéri-Bibi must have weapons, and even if it were not so, they would make very little, the four of them, in his huge paws. Moreover, they knew that certain persons who had a fancy to thwart his plans paid for it with their lives. They had abundant reasons for keeping quiet. But what was Chéri-Bibi doing? They no longer had him in view. He had disappeared behind the engine. Soon, however, they saw him stand up and make off once more with the same degree of caution as before. When he had vanished from sight the Burglar, who had been an engine driver in his time, whispered: "Hurry up, you fellows. Break the padlocks of the mooring chains." The three men were applying themselves to the work when a frightful oath uttered by the Burglar made them turn round: "Chéri-Bibi has taken away his part of the engine," he cried. "Nothing more can be done. It's all up with us," groaned the Joker, flung into consternation, and he stopped the Caid, who with an iron grip, was continuing to pull at the padlocks. "That's why he came back, the traitor," growled the Parisian. "Listen to me. We've got to make up our minds to it, and go to bed in the deck-house. There's just a chance that he won't see us when he comes back with the Nut. They'll make tracks for the mainland. When they've landed we'll hop out after them. If they twig us on the way, I don't think they'll waste time taking us back to the settlement. It's a good idea—let's lie low." In the meantime Chéri-Bibi continued his way to the opening of the underground passage. He glided over the ground with the suppleness of a great stag. Suddenly he pulled himself up. He heard voices. And almost at once he caught a glimpse of the silhouettes of the Inspecting Officer and the Commandant of the Penitentiary Administration. They were taking a stroll after dinner, smoking their cigars and talking strategy. The startling events of the war engrossed them to such an extent that, having stopped to discuss Joffre's retreat, the position of Sarrail at Verdun and Castelnau at Nancy, they remained stationary for a quarter of an hour; thus preventing Chéri-Bibi from making a step. Fatalitas! His guns were spiked! Greatly perturbed at first by the Nut's failure to arrive, Chéri-Bibi now dreaded to see him emerge from the underground passage, for he would be bound to attract the attention of the two officers. Time went on. And an accident might happen to destroy, in its entirety, the plan which he had so laboriously constructed. At that moment a tremor passed through him from head to foot. It was seldom that he shuddered, but he saw before him a terrible sight. Coming towards him was a huge dog, a veritable sleuth-hound, whose business it was, also to keep guard, and the dog was charging straight at him. "Hullo!" said the Commandant. "Here's Tarasque going his rounds. Here! Tarasque! Come here!" But the huge brute instead of answering the officer's call continued to make for Chéri-Bibi, who, with a feeling of unutterable anguish, saw him rushing up to him. Strange to say Tarasque did not give tongue. Thus the two officers continued to discuss their ideas of strategy without paying any further attention to the dog. They entertained no suspicion that ten paces away from them a fierce drama was being enacted. Tarasque was friends with Chéri-Bibi. How had this thing arisen between man and dog? They had taken to each other at their first meeting. Had this monster of a dog scented a brother in this monster of a man? Their two jaws had more than a passing resemblance, and their instincts for destruction were such that they were bound to understand each other. One thing was certain—Tarasque, who had for the wastrels of the penal settlement but his canine teeth, had a tongue with which to lick Chéri-Bibi's hands whenever he met him. The reader who is familiar with the early adventures of Chéri-Bibi, and knows what a peculiar wealth of affection lay hidden in the heart of the great criminal—the victim of fate—will comprehend the attachment which he felt for the huge brute who was then making so much of him. But coming at that moment, that exhibition of friendship would destroy him no less utterly than the most infuriated attack, and at the same time, be the undoing of the Nut. Chéri-Bibi loved the dog, but he had promised the Nut his liberty. If those friendly demonstrations continued for a few seconds longer, the two officers, put on their guard, would come upon the dog and Chéri-Bibi. He held the dog's head under his arm, and feeling in his pocket with his other hand, took out a knife, the blade of which was open. It was a question of killing the brute in such a way that it would drop dead at his feet. Chéri-Bibi felt a clutch at his heart. He had killed many persons in the course of his life, as the result, as it seemed to him, of inexorable circumstances, and he had suffered for it, but never before had he been filled with such horror. He patted the dog and the dog licked his face. And during this dire caress the sharp and unerring point of his knife penetrated Tarasque's throat and cut it at a single blow, "without working back in the cut," as butchers say in their particular jargon. Chéri-Bibi had been a journeyman butcher in the days of his youth. He knew his business. Alas, he had proved it many a time since. He knew how to kill effectively. The dog gave a prolonged and terrible gasp and fell dead, deluging Chéri-Bibi with blood. "Fatalitas!" he groaned under his breath. And that ghastly moment was set down in his memory as among the most frightful in his frightful career. "It's very strange," said the Commandant. "What's the matter with Tarasque, gasping like that? Tarasque, here! Come here!" As Tarasque did not answer the call, the two officers started up greatly perplexed. They went to the rock behind which they had seen him disappear and found him lying on the ground. "What's the matter with him? Is he ill? Tarasque! . . . Tarasque!" They leaned forward. The dog was still warm. Suddenly the Lieutenant rose from his stooping posture with an oath and shook his hand, which was covered with blood. He had thrust it into the dog's throat. Someone had cut the dog's throat! The Commandant uttered an oath in his turn. The thing was past all belief. They had seen nothing, heard nothing. It must have been the work of a "lifer" who had escaped. He at once raised the alarm by firing his revolver in the air; and a patrol which was passing along the beach came hurrying up. In order that the reader may understand what is about to happen, it may be as well to give an approximate idea of the general formation and aspect of this part of the world. The Îles du Salut are divided one from the other by channels of some hundreds of yards in width. There is a sheltered roadstead in which the largest ships may ride at anchor. The mail boat belonging to the Compagnie Transatlantique which sails in the ordinary way between Martinique and Guiana, touches the islands both on her inward and outward journeys. The full strength of the Penitentiary is very considerable. The islands, in fact, are used as a depot, and convicts condemned to transportation remain there some time before they are classified, registered, and distributed. The Commandant and the various administrative services are lodged on the Île Royale, as also are the victualling departments and a large hospital to which sick convicts from the Penitentiaries and Wood-cutting establishments at Cayenne and St Laurent are removed. In this island also are workshops for the manufacture of clothing, boots, and caps required for the use of the convicts. The difficulty of escape, together with the possibility of maintaining a most rigorous discipline, caused Île Royale to be selected as the Penitentiary for hardened criminals and notorious outlaws. There is a brick manufactory, and near the hospital, at the western end, stands a lighthouse with a fixed light which is visible at a distance of nearly twenty miles. The islands can be observed and recognized from afar, for they are of some height. Île Royale is the highest, and rises to about two hundred feet above the sea level. From the mainland it has the appearance, in shape, of an irregular sugar-loaf. But to return to Chéri-Bibi, whose position was extremely precarious. He had been able to retreat without being observed, but in order to reach his tunnel he would have to cross an open space in which it would be impossible for him to conceal himself. On the other hand, he could not remain where he was, twenty paces from the dog's body, hiding behind a great overhanging rock where the convict guards were bound to discover him. He heard one of the men who answered the Commandant's call for assistance say: "There's been a great stir among the convicts since yesterday. The rumor goes that the Parisian Intends to skedaddle." Now a "deputy-warder" filled the night with his resounding imprecations. . . . Someone had killed his dog, his Tarasque. . . . It must have been Chéri-Bibi who did the deed. Tarasque never allowed anyone to come near him but Chéri-Bibi. . . . When they heard that he had escaped, or at any rate was attempting to escape, and was at large in the island, the warders began to lose their heads. His escapes were so sensational, and were accompanied by such amazing incidents, that the very thought of it was enough to rob them of their self-control. They must warn the guard; put the whole garrison on the alert. The Commandant and the Lieutenant pulled them up. Chéri-Bibi could not be far away. He had killed the dog a few spaces from the spot where they were standing. That spot was open ground. The scoundrel could not cross it without being detected. And as a logical consequence the Commandant took a step towards the rock which hid Chéri-Bibi from view. The latter was thinking things out. "Shall I let them lay hold of me, give myself up now, content to begin the whole thing over again?" He was in a quandary because of the formidable and unforeseen difficulties which loomed up before him. . . . And then the very agglomeration of difficulties was a temptation to that demoniacal mind. He thought, too, that he would never be able to renew a scheme which had once miscarried. He would have to devise something else; start another plan, which would take him endless time. He would be sent to solitary confinement for months; his tunnel would be discovered; and perhaps his "fake" for the motor launch would no longer be possible. Finally, he had given his word of honor to the Nut. When Chéri-Bibi had given his word of honor there was no instance in which he had not kept it to the uttermost, whether for good or evil, though he had wandered so long between the two, knife in hand, that he had not always very clearly distinguished the difference between them. Well, once again he would conquer or lose his reputation together with his life. The Commandant was approaching the rock. He was about to discover him. It was a crucial moment for the convict. He could only save the situation by a surprise and some marvelous effort. The rock projected over a sort of sloping bank, and a number of guards had just reached the foot of it. Chéri-Bibi, during the last minute, had propped himself up against the rock, and was quietly exercising his tremendous strength. Suddenly the rock, forced from its bed of clay, swung over and fell on to the warders. They set up a terrible outcry. Some of them were seriously injured. The Commandant and his brother officer barely had time to fling themselves on one side. Availing himself of the confusion which ensued, Chéri-Bibi rushed into the darkness. He fled in the direction of the forest. The guards who were unhurt followed closely upon his heels. At the moment when he was about to elude them by jumping over a bank lined with tall bamboo-canes, his eyes encountered above him a warder who was leveling his rifle at him. He had no time even to duck his head. The shot rang out, and Chéri-Bibi fell in a mass, crushing the branches with his enormous weight like a giant utterly overwhelmed. An immense shout of joy greeted the well-directed shot: "Chéri-Bibi is dead!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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