Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 443 | Page 6

quite quietly:
'To-morrow, at the Cap Verd!' and seated himself again with the most
perfect composure.
The young man expressed his determination to take the matter on
himself; that he alone would settle the quarrel, and promised to appear
on the morrow at the appointed time. They then all departed noisily.
The old man rose quietly, and turning to me, said: 'Sir, you have been
witness to the insult; be witness also to the satisfaction. Here is my
address: I shall expect you at five o'clock. Good-night, Monsieur l'Abbé!
To-morrow, there will be one Jacobin less, and one lost soul the more.
Good-night!' and taking his hat and stick, he departed. His companion
the abbé followed soon after.
I now learned the history of this singular man. He was descended from
a good family of Marseilles. Destined for the navy while still young, he
was sent on board ship before the Revolution, and while yet of tender
years. Later, he was taken prisoner; and after many strange adventures,
returned in 1793 to France: was about to marry, but having been mixed
up with the disturbances of Toulon, managed to escape by a miracle to
England; and learned before long that his father, mother, one brother, a
sister of sixteen years of age, and his betrothed, had all been led to the
guillotine to the tune of the Marseillaise. Thirst for revenge, revenge on
the detested Jacobins, was now his sole aim. For a long time he roved
about in the Indian seas, sometimes as a privateer, at others as a
slave-dealer; and was said to have caused the tricoloured flag much
damage, while he acquired a considerable fortune for himself. With the
return of the Bourbons, he came back to France, and settled at
Marseilles. He lived, however, very retired, and employed his large

fortune solely for the poor, for distressed seamen, and for the clergy.
Alms and masses were his only objects of expense. It may easily be
believed, that he acquired no small degree of popularity among the
lower classes and the clergy. But, strangely enough, when not at church,
he spent his time with the most celebrated fencing-masters, and had
acquired in the use of the pistol and the sword a dexterity that was
hardly to be paralleled. In the year 1815, when the royalist reaction
broke out in La Vendée, he roved about for a long time at the head of a
band of followers. When at last this opportunity of cooling his rage was
taken from him by the return of order, he looked out for some victim
who was known to him by his revolutionary principles, and sought to
provoke him to combat. The younger, the richer, the happier the chosen
victim was, the more desirable did he seem. The landlord told me he
himself knew of seven young persons who had fallen before his
redoubted sword.
The next morning at five o'clock, I was at the house of this singular
character. He lived on the ground-floor, in a small simple room, where,
excepting a large crucifix, and a picture covered with black crape, with
the date, 1794, under it, the only ornaments were some nautical
instruments, a trombone, and a human skull. The picture was the
portrait of his guillotined bride; it remained always veiled, excepting
only when he had slaked his revenge with blood; then he uncovered it
for eight days, and indulged himself in the sight. The skull was that of
his mother. His bed consisted of the usual hammock slung from the
ceiling. When I entered, he was at his devotions, and a little negro
brought me meanwhile a cup of chocolate and a cigar. When he had
risen from his knees, he saluted me in a friendly manner, as if we were
merely going for a morning walk together; afterwards he opened a
closet, took out of it a case with a pair of English pistols, and a couple
of excellent swords, which I put under my arm; and thus provided, we
proceeded along the quay towards the port. The boatmen seemed all to
know him. 'Peter, your boat!' He seated himself in the stern.
'You will have the goodness to row,' he said; 'I will take the tiller, so
that my hand may not become unsteady.'

I took off my coat, rowed away briskly, and as the wind was favourable,
we hoisted a sail, and soon reached Cap Verd. We could remark from
afar our three young men, who were sitting at breakfast in a garden not
far from the shore. This was the garden of a restaurateur, and was the
favourite resort of the inhabitants of Marseilles. Here you find excellent
fish; and also, in high perfection, the famous bollenbresse, a national
dish in Provence, as celebrated as the