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Updated: May 13, 2025
Father Griffen, at the head of his two negroes, armed with their guns, and preceded by his mastiff, sought for the enemy; unfortunately, the door of the dining room opened upon a trellised orchard; the night was dark; doubtless the person who had sped the arrow was already far away, or well hidden in the top of some thick tree. Snog bounded hither and thither in the eagerness of his search.
After speaking at some length on the subject with the chevalier, the priest was almost certain that Croustillac had not spoken other than by presumption and vanity. "It matters not," said Father Griffen, "I'll not lose sight of this adventurer; he has the appearance of an empty-headed fool, but traitors know how to assume all guises.
"Which you had with Father Griffen, baron, this religious man confirmed to you what De Crussol had stated in his last letter, and you made him, in form, a promise not to disturb the aforesaid widow?" The governor, unable to fathom his being so well informed, gazed at De Chemerant in bewilderment.
One must imagine the exaggeration and Gascon accent of the chevalier to have an idea of this scene. Father Griffen hardly knew whether to laugh or to be appalled at the opinionated resolve of the chevalier. The secret of the confessional forbade his speaking, from entering into any details concerning Devil's Cliff; he knew not how to induce the chevalier to renounce his fatal intention.
France was at that time at war with England, and the Spanish pirates would often cross to the windward of the Antilles, in spite of the frequent pursuit of filibusters. Among the passengers of the Unicorn, few in number, was the Reverend Father Griffen, of the Order of the Preaching Brothers.
"A mulatto from Fort Royal," said Father Griffen, springing from his hammock. "Let him come in quickly. What do you want, my child?" continued he, addressing the young slave; "have you come by direction of Monsieur Morris?" "Yes, Father. Here is a letter from him.
"I must; but each minute of delay may risk the life of this unhappy chevalier," said the duke. He descended with Angela. Father Griffen, pale, agitated, broken with fatigue, was in the hall. "In fifteen minutes they will be here," he cried. "Who, then, Father," said Monmouth. "That miserable Gascon," said the priest.
"It is also because I am raging at having done what I did with your two hundred thousand crowns; but could I then imagine that I should find again, as a farmer, the son of a king who handled his diamonds by the shovelful? Ah, it is no use to philosophize here; but to find Father Griffen again if he is still living!" "And how to find him again?" said Monmouth. "By seeking him, my lord.
A number of creole women, white or of mixed blood, dressed in long robes of Indian and madras cloth, in striking colors, ran to the doors; recognizing Father Griffen, they testified to their surprise and joy; young and old hastened to respectfully kiss his hand, and to say in creole, "Blessed is your return, good Father; you have been missed in Macouba."
Deeply occupied with his thoughts, Monmouth had not heard Angela. He walked up and down with long strides, repeating to himself, "There is no doubt, they know I am living; but how has William of Orange penetrated this secret which was known only to Father Griffen and myself, because the holy martyr who carried this secret to the tomb, and De Crussol, last governor of this island, are dead.
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