The moon was well up when, striking out from the gloom of the woods, I reached a wall very high and strong, whereon moss and lichens grew; skirting this, I presently espied that I sought—a place where the coping was gone with sundry of the bricks, making here a gap very apt to escalade; and here, years agone, I had been wont to climb this wall to the furtherance of some boyish prank on many a night such as this. Awhile stood I staring up at this gap, then, seizing hold of massy brickwork, I drew myself up and dropped into a walled garden. Here were beds of herbs well tended and orderly, and, as I went, I breathed an air sweet with the smell of thyme and lavender and a thousand other scents, an air fraught with memories of sunny days and joyous youth, insomuch that I clenched my hands and hasted from the place. Past sombre trees, mighty of girth and branch, I hurried; past still pools, full of a moony radiance, where lilies floated; past marble fauns and dryads that peeped ghost-like from leafy solitudes; past sundial and carven bench, by clipped yew-hedges and winding walks until, screened in shadow, I paused to look upon a great and goodly house; and as I stood there viewing it over from terrace-walk to gabled roof, I heard a distant clock chime ten.
The great house lay very silent and dark, not a light showed save in one lower chamber. So I waited patiently, my gaze on this light, while, ever and anon, the leaves about me stirred in the soft night-wind with a sound like one that sighed mournfully.
Thus stayed I some while; howbeit, the light yet aglow and my patience waning, I stole forward, keeping ever in the shadows, and, ascending the terrace, came where grew ivy, very thick and gnarled, overspreading this wing of the house. Groping amid the leaves I found that I sought—a stout staple deep-driven between the bricks with above this another and yet other again, the which formed a sort of ladder whereby, as a boy, I had been wont to come and go by night or day as I listed.
Forthwith I began to climb by means of these staples and the ivy, until at last my fingers grasped the stone sill of a window; and now, the lattice being open, I contrived (albeit it with much ado) to clamber into the room. It was a fair-sized chamber, and the moonlight, falling athwart the floor, lit upon a great carven bed brave with tapestried hangings. Just now the silken curtains were up-drawn and upon the bed I saw a bundle of garments all ribands, laces and the like, the which, of themselves, gave me sudden pause. From these my gaze wandered to where, against the panelling, hung a goodly rapier complete with girdle and slings, its silver hilt, its guards and curling quillons bright in the moonbeams. So came I and, reaching it down, drew it from the scabbard and saw the blade very bright as it had been well cared for. And graven on the forte of the blade was the Conisby blazon and the legend:
Now as I stood watching the moonbeams play up and down the long blade, I heard the light, quick tread of feet ascending the stairs without and a voice (very rich and sweetly melodious) that brake out a-singing, and the words it sang these:
"A poor soul sat sighing by a green willow treeWith hand on his bosom, his head on his knee,Sighing Willow, willow, willow!O willow, willow, willow!And O the green willow my garland shall be!"
Nearer came the singing while I stood, sword in hand, waiting; the song ended suddenly and the sweet voice called:
"O Marjorie, wake me betimes, I must be abroad with the sun to-morrow—good-night, sweet wench!"
I crouched in the curtains of the great bed as the latch clicked and the room filled with the soft glow of a candle; a moment's silence, then:
"O Marjorie, I'll wear the green taffety in the morning. Nay indeed, I'll be my own tirewoman to-night."
The light was borne across the room; then coming softly to the door I closed it and, setting my back against it, leaned there. At the small sound I made she turned and, beholding me, shrank back, and I saw the candlestick shaking in her hand ere she set it down upon the carved press beside her.
"Who is it—who is it?" she questioned breathlessly, staring at my bruised and swollen features.
"A rogue you had dragged lifeless to the pillory!"
"You?" she breathed. "You! And they set you in the pillory? 'Twas by no order of me."
"'Tis no matter, lady, here was just reward for a rogue," says I. "But now I seek Sir Richard—"
"Nay indeed—indeed you shall not find him here."
"That will I prove for myself!" says I, and laid hand on latch.
"Sir," says she in the same breathless fashion, "why will you not believe me? Seek him an you will, but I tell you Sir Richard sailed into the Spanish Main two years since and was lost."
"Lost?" says I, feeling a tremor of apprehension shake me as I met her truthful eyes. "Lost, say you—how lost?"
"He and his ship were taken by the Spaniards off Hispaniola."
"Taken?" I repeated, like one sore mazed. "Taken—off—Hispaniola?" And here, bethinking me of the cruel mockery of it all (should this indeed be so) black anger seized me. "You lie to me!" I cried. "Ha, by God, you lie! An there be aught of justice in heaven then Richard Brandon must be here."
"Who are you?" she questioned, viewing me with the same wide-eyed stare. "Who are you—so fierce, so young, yet with whitened hair, and that trembles at the truth? Who are you—speak?"
"You have lied to save him from me!" I cried. "You lie—ha, confess!" And I strode towards her, the long blade a-glitter in my quivering grasp.
"Would you kill me?" says she, all unflinching and with eyes that never wavered. "Would you murder a helpless maid—Martin Conisby?" The rapier fell to the rug at my feet and lay there, my breath caught, and thus we stood awhile, staring into each other's eyes.
"Martin Conisby is dead!" says I at last.
For answer she pointed to the wall above my head and, looking thither, I saw the picture of a young cavalier, richly habited, who smiled down grey-eyed and gentle-lipped, all care-free youth and gaiety; and beneath this portrait ran the words:
"Madam," quoth I at last, turning my back on the picture, "Yon innocent was whipped to death aboard a Spanish galleass years since, wherefore I, a poor rogue, come seeking his destroyer."
"Sir," says she, clasping her hands and viewing me with troubled eyes, "O sir—whom mean you?"
"One who, having slain the father, sold the son into slavery, to the hell of Spanish dungeon and rowing-bench, to stripes and shame and torment, one the just God hath promised to my vengeance—I mean Richard Brandon."
"Ah—mercy of God—my father! Ah no, no—it cannot be! My father? Sure here is some black mistake."
"Being his daughter you should know 'tis very truth! Being a Brandon you must know of the feud hath cursed and rent our families time out of mind, the bitter faction and bloodshed!"
"Aye!" she murmured, "This I do know."
"Well, madam, five years agone, or thereabouts, my father falsely attainted of treason, died in his prison and I, drugged and trepanned aboard ship, was sold into the plantations, whence few return—and Richard Brandon, enriched by our loss and great at court, dreamed he had made an end o' the Conisbys and that the feud was ended once and for all."
"My lord," says she, proud head upflung, "I deny all this! Such suspicion, so base and unfounded, shameth but yourself. You have dared force your way into my house at dead of night, and now—O now you would traduce my absent father, charging him with shameful crimes—and this to me, his daughter! Enough, I'll hear no more, begone ere I summon my servants and have you driven forth!" and, seizing the bell-rope that hung against the panelling, she faced me, her deep bosom heaving tempestuous, white hands clenched and scorning me with her eyes.
"Ring!" says I, and seated myself in a chair beside her great bed.
"Have you no shame?"
"None, madam, 'twas all whipped out o' me aboard the 'Esmeralda' galleass. Ring, madam! But I go not till I learn, once and for all, if Sir Richard be here or no."
Now at this she loosed the bell-rope very suddenly and, covering her face with her hands, stood thus awhile:
"God pity me!" says she at last in weeping voice. "I may not forget how you saved me from—" Here a tremor seemed to shake her; then she spake again, yet now scarce above a whisper. "Your face hath looked upon me night and morn these two years, and now—O Martin Conisby, were you but the man I dreamed you!"
"I'm a rogue new-broke from slavery!" says I.
"Aye," she cried suddenly, lifting her head and viewing me with new and bitter scorn, "and one that speaketh lies of an absent man!"
"Lies!" quoth I, choking on the word. "Lies, madam? Why then, how cometh my picture here—my coat of arms above the mantel yonder, the Conisby 'scutcheon on your gates? What do you at Conisby Shene?"
Now in her look I saw a sudden doubt, a growing dread, her breath caught and she shrank back to the panelled wall and leaned there, and ever the trouble in her eyes grew. "Well, my lady?" I questioned, "Have ye no answer?"
"'Twas said ... I have heard ... the Conisbys were no more."
"Even so, how came Sir Richard by this, our house?"
"Nay—nay, I—I know little of my father's business—he was ever a silent man and I—have passed my days in London or abroad. But you—ah, tell me—why seek you my father?"
"That is betwixt him and me!"
"Was it—murder? Was it vengeance, my lord?" Here, as I made no answer, she crosses over to me and lays one slender hand on my shoulder; whereat I would have risen but her touch stayed me. "Speak!" says she in a whisper. "Was it his life you sought?" Meeting the look in her deep, soft eyes, I was silent for a while, finding no word, then dumbly I nodded. And now I felt her hand trembling on my shoulder ere it was withdrawn and, looking up, I saw she had clasped her hands and stood with head bowed like one in prayer: "O Martin Conisby," she whispered, "now thank God that in His mercy He hath stayed thee from murder!" So she stood awhile, then, crossing to the carven press, took thence divers papers and set them before me. "Read!" she commanded.
So I examined these papers and found therein indisputable evidence that my journey here was vain indeed, that Sir Richard, sailing westward, had been taken by Spaniards off Hispaniola and carried away prisoner, none knew whither.
And in a while, having read these papers, I laid them by and rising, stumbled towards the open casement.
"Well, my lord?" says she in strange, breathless fashion, "And what now?"
"Why now," says I, wearily, "it seems my vengeance is yet to seek."
"Vengeance?" she cried, "Ah, God pity thee! Doth life hold for thee nought better?"
"Nought!"
"Vengeance is a consuming fire!"
"So seek I vengeance!"
"O Martin Conisby, bethink you! Vengeance is but a sickness of the mind—a wasting disease—"
"So seek I vengeance!"
"For him that questeth after vengeance this fair world can hold nought beside."
"So give me vengeance, nought else seek I of this world!"
"Ah, poor soul—poor man that might be, so do I pity thee!"
"I seek no man's pity."
"But I am a woman, so shall I pity thee alway!"
Now as I prepared to climb through the lattice she, beholding the sword where it yet lay, stooped and, taking it up, sheathed it. "This was thine own once, I've heard," says she. "Take it, Martin Conisby, keep it clean, free from dishonour and leave thy vengeance to God."
"Not so!" says I, shaking my head. "I have my knife, 'tis weapon better suited to my rags!" So saying, I clambered out through the lattice even as I had come. Being upon the terrace, I glanced up to find her leaning to watch me and with the moon bright on her face.
"Live you for nought but vengeance?" she questioned softly.
"So aid me God!" says I.
"So shall I pity thee alway, Martin Conisby!" she repeated, and sighed, and so was gone.
Then I turned, slow of foot, and went my solitary way.
I remember the moon was very bright as, reaching the end of a grassy lane (or rather cart-track) I saw before me a small, snug-seeming tavern with a board over the door, whereon were the words:
And looking the place over, from trim, white steps before the door to trim thatched roof, I marvelled at its air of prosperity; for here it stood, so far removed from road and bye-road, so apparently away from all habitation, and so lost and hid by trees (it standing within a little copse) that it was great wonder any customer should ever find his way hither.
The place was very quiet, not a light showed anywhere and the door was fast shut, which was nothing strange, for the hour was late. Stepping up to the door I knocked loudly thereon with my cudgel, at first without effect, but having repeated the summons, a voice from within hailed me gruffly:
"Who knocks?"
"'The Faithful Friend!'" says I. At this, the door swung suddenly open and a lanthorn was thrust into my face, whereupon I fell back a step, dazzled; then gradually, beyond this glare, I made out a dark shape blocking the doorway, a great fellow, so prodigiously hairy of head and face that little was there to see of features, save two round eyes and a great, hooked nose.
"And who d'ye seek, Faithful Friend?" says he.
"Master Adam Penfeather."
"Why then, Faithful Friend, heave ahead!" says he, and, making way for me to enter, closed the door (the which I noticed was mighty stout and strong) and, having locked and bolted it, barred it with a stout iron set into massy sockets in either wall.
"You go mighty secure!" says I.
"Cock," quoth the giant, eyeing me over slowly, "Cock, be ye a cackler—because if so be you do cackle overly here's we as won't love ye no whit, my cock."
"Good!" says I, returning his look. "I seek no man's love!"
"Cock," quoth he, plunging huge fist into his beard and giving it a tug, "I begin to love ye better nor I thought! This way, cock!" Herewith he led me along a wide, flagged passage and up a broad stair with massy, carven handrail; and as I went I saw the place was much bigger than I had deemed it, the walls, too, were panelled, and I judged it had once formed part of a noble house. At last we reached a door whereon the fellow knocked softly, and so presently ushered me into a fair chamber lit by wax candles; and here, seated at a table with papers before him and a pen in his fingers, sat Master Adam Penfeather.
"Ha, shipmate," says he, motioning to a chair, "you be something earlier than I expected. Suffer me to make an end o' this business—sit ye, comrade, sit! As for you, Bo'sun, have up a flask o' the Spanish wine—the black seal!"
"Aye, cap'n!" says he, and seizing a fistful of hair above his eyebrow, strode away, closing the door behind him.
Now beholding Penfeather as he bent to his writing—the lean, aquiline face of him so smooth and youthful in contrast to his silver hair—I was struck by his changed look; indeed he seemed some bookish student rather than the lawless rover I had thought him, despite the pistols at his elbow and the long rapier that dangled at his chair-back; moreover there was about him also an air of latent power I had not noticed ere this.
At length, having made an end of his writing, he got up and stretched himself:
"So, shipmate, art ready to swear the blood-fellowship wi' me?"
"Aye!" says I. "When do we sail?" At this he glanced at me swiftly from the corners of his eyes:
"So ho!" he murmured, pinching his chin. "The wind's changed it seems, you grow eager—and wherefore?"
"'Tis no matter!"
"Shipmate," says he, shaking his head, "an we sail as brothers and comrades there must be never a secret betwixt us—speak!"
"As ye will!" quoth I, leaning back in my chair. "I learn then you are sailing as master in a ship bound for the Main in quest of Sir Richard Brandon lost off Hispaniola two years agone. Sir Richard Brandon is the man I have sought ever since I broke out of the hell he sold me into. Now look'ee, Adam Penfeather," says I, springing to my feet and grasping his arm, "look'ee now—put me in the way of meeting this man, aid me to get my hand on this man and I am yours—aye, body and soul—to the end o' things, and this I swear!"
While I spake thus, my voice hoarse with passion, my fingers clutching his arm, Penfeather stood pinching his chin and watching me beneath his black brows; when I had ended he turned and falls a-pacing to and fro across the room as it had been the narrow poop of a ship.
"Ah—I know you now, my lord!" says he, pausing suddenly before me. "As the sailor-man who watched you as you lay a-groaning in your sleep outside the Conisby Arms, I guessed you one o' the Conisby breed by your ring, and as one born and bred here in Kent I mind well the adage, 'To hate like a Brandon and revenge like a Conisby,' and by God, my lord, you are a true Conisby, it seemeth! Vengeance!" says he, his thin features grown sharp and austere, "Ah! I have seen much and overmuch of it aboard lawless craft and among the wild islands of the Caribbees. I have seen the devilish cruelties of Spaniard, Portugal, and the red horrors of Indian vengeance—but, for cold, merciless ferocity, for the vengeance that dieth not, biding its time and battening on poisonous hate, it needeth your man o' noble birth, your gentleman o' quality!" Here he turned his back and paced slowly to the end of the room; when he faced me again his austere look was gone, in its stead was the grimly whimsical expression of the mariner, as I had seen him first.
"Damme!" says I, scowling, "Was it to read me homilies that you had me here?"
"Aha, shipmate," says he with rueful smile, "there spake the young divine, the excellent divinity student who committed a peccadillo long years agone and, sailing to the Golden West, gave place to one Adam Penfeather a sailor-man—as you shall hear tell of at St. Kitt's, Tortuga, Santa Catalina and a score o' places along the Main. As to yourself, shipmate, if 'tis only vengeance ye seek, vengeance let it be, though, when all's done, 'tis but wind—hist! Here cometh the Bo'sun—come in, Jo lad, come in! 'Twas trusty Joel Bym here gave me my first lesson in navigation—eh, Jo?"
"Aye, Cap'n," growled the hairy giant, "by cock, them was the days, a fair wind, a quick eye an' no favour, aye, them was the days, by cock's-body!" So saying, he placed a flask of wine on the table, together with a curious silver cup, and (at a sign from Penfeather) left us together.
"And now, comrade," says Penfeather, filling the goblet, "draw up your chair and do as I do."
And now as we sat facing each other (across the table) Penfeather turns back his left sleeve and, whipping out a knife, nicked himself therewith on the wrist and squeezed thence a few drops of blood into the wine; which done, he passed the knife to me and I (though misliking the extravagance of the thing) nevertheless did the same.
"Martin," says he, "give me your hand—so! Now swear as I do!" And thus, clasping each other's hands, we swore the oath of brotherhood; and this as followeth, viz."
(1) To keep ever each other's counsel.
(2) To aid each other in all things against all men soever.
(3) To cherish and comfort each other in every adversity.
(4) To be faithful each to each unto the death.
Thereafter, at his command, I drank of the wine wherein our blood was mingled and he did the like.
"And now," says he, leaning back in his chair and viewing me with his pensive smile, "since we be brothers and comrades sworn, how d'ye like me now?"
"Better than I did," says I, speaking on impulse, "for sure you are the strangest picaroon that ever cheated the gallows."
"Ah," says he, pinching his chin, "an I am neither hanged nor murdered you shall one day find me a worshipful magistrate, Martin, Justice o' the Peace and quorum—custos rotulorum and the rest on't, there my ambition lies. As for you, Martin, Lord Wendover, there is your enemy, ha?—bloody vengeance and murder and what beside?"
"That is mine own concern!" I retorted angrily. "And look 'ee, since comrades we are, you will forget who and what I am!"
"Why so I have, Martin, so I have. Art a poor, destitute rogue that might be a man and rich but for this vengeful maggot i' thy brain. Howbeit thou'rt my comrade sworn and brother-in-arms and as such I shall trust thee—to the death, Martin."
"And shall find me worthy, Adam—despite thy curst tongue."
"Death is an ill thing, Martin!"
"Is it?" says I, and laughed.
"Aye," he nodded, "an ill thing to him that hath ambitions above the brute. See here!" Unbuttoning his doublet he showed me a shirt of fine chain-mail beneath his linen. "'Twill turn any point ever forged and stop a bullet handsomely, as I do know."
"Why, sure," says I, a little scornful, "you avowed yourself a cautious man—"
"True, Martin, I have another shirt the like o' this for you. And as for caution, I have need, d'ye see, comrade. The arrow that flieth by day is an ill enough thing, but the knife that stabbeth i' the dark is worse. This shirt hath turned death thrice already—once i' the breast here and twice 'twixt the shoulders. I am a man marked for death, Martin, murder creepeth at my heels, it hath dogged me overseas and found me here in Kent at last, it seems. And, comrade, henceforth the steel that smiteth me shall smite you also, belike."
"And why is your life sought thus?"
"By reason of a secret I bear about me; wherefore (saving only my good friend Nicholas Frant who ... perished) I have ever been a solitary man walking alone and distrustful of my fellows. For, Martin, I have here the secret of a treasure that hath been the dream and hope of roving adventurers along the Main this many a year—a treasure beyond price. Men have sought it vainly, have striven and fought, suffered and died for it, have endured plague, battle, shipwreck, famine, have died screaming 'neath Indian tortures, languished in Spanish dungeon and slaveship, and all for sake of Bartlemy's Treasure. And of all that ever sought it, but one man hath ever seen this treasure, and I am that man, Martin. And this treasure is so marvellous well hid that without me it shall lie unfound till the trump of doom. But now, since we are brethren and comrades, needs must I share with thee the treasure and the secret of it."
"No, no, Adam!" says I. "Keep it to yourself, I'll none of it."
"Share and share!" says he. "'Tis the law of the Coast."
"None the less I want nought of it."
"'Tis the law," he repeated, "and moreover with such vast wealth a man shall buy anything in this world—even vengeance, Martin. Look'ee now, here's the secret of our treasure." Hereupon he thrust his hand into his breast and drew out a small oilskin packet or bag, suspended about his lean throat by a thin steel chain, and from this he drew forth a small roll of parchment.
"Here 'tis, Martin," says he softly, "here's that so many lusty men have perished for—not much to look at, shipmate, torn, d'ye see and stained, but here's wealth, Martin, fame, honours, all the vices and all the evils, and chief among 'em—vengeance!"
So saying, he unrolled the small scrap of parchment, and holding it before me, I saw it was a rough chart.
"Take it, Martin, and study it the while I tell you my story."
"Mine is a strange, wild story, Martin, but needs must I tell it and in few words as may be. Fifteen years agone (or thereabouts) I became one of that league known as the Brotherhood of the Coast and swore comradeship with one Nicholas Frant, a Kent man, even as I. Now though I was full young and a cautious man, yet, having a natural hatred of Spaniards and their ways, I wrought right well against them, and was mighty diligent in many desperate affrays against their ships and along the Coast. 'Twas I (and my good comrade Nick Frant) with sixteen lusty lads took sea in an open pinnace and captured the great treasure galleon 'Dolores del Principe' off Carthagena, and what with all this, Martin, and my being blessed with some education and a gift of adding two and two together, I got me rapid advancement in the Brotherhood until—well, shipmate, I that am poor and solitary was once rich and with nigh a thousand bully fellows at command. And then it was that I fell in with that arch-devil, that master rogue whose deeds had long been a terror throughout the Main, a fellow more bloody than any Spaniard, more treacherous than any Portugal, and more cruel than any Indian—Inca, Mosquito, Maya or Aztec, and this man an Englishman, and one of birth and breeding, who hid his identity under the name of Bartlemy. I met him first in Tortuga where we o' the Brotherhood lay, six stout ships and nigh four hundred men convened for an expedition against Santa Catalina, and this for two reasons, first, because 'twas a notable rich city, and second, to rescue certain of the Brotherhood that lay there waiting to be burnt at the next auto-de-fe. Well, Martin, 'tis upon a certain evening that this Bartlemy comes aboard my ship and with him his mate, by name Tressady. And never was greater difference than 'twixt these two, Tressady being a great, wild fellow with a steel hook in place of his left hand, d'ye see, and Bartlemy a slender, dainty-seeming, fiendly-smiling gentleman, very nice as to speech and deportment and clad in the latest mode, from curling periwig to jewelled shoe-buckles.
"'Captain Penfeather,' says he, 'Your most dutiful, humble—ha, let me parish but here is curst reek o' tar!' with which, Martin, he claps a jewelled pomander to the delicate nose of him. 'You've heard of me, I think, Captain,' says he, 'and of my ship, yonder, the "Ladies' Delight?"' I told him I had, Martin, bluntly and to the point, whereat he laughs and bows and forthwith proffers to aid us against Santa Catalina, the which I refused forthwith. But my council of captains, seeing his ship was larger than any we possessed and exceeding well armed and manned, overruled me, and the end of it was we sailed, six ships of the Brotherhood and this accursed pirate.
"Well, Martin, Santa Catalina fell according to my plans, and the Governor and Council agreeing to pay ransom, I drew off my companies, and camped outside the walls of the town till they should collect the money. Now the women of this place were exceeding comely, Martin, in especial the Governor's lady, and upon the second night was sudden outcry and uproar within the city, whereupon I marched into the place forthwith and found this curst Bartlemy and his rogues, grown impatient, were at their devil's work. Hastening to the Governor's house I found it gutted and him dragged from his bed and with the life gashed out of him—aye, Martin, torn body and throat, d'ye see, as by the fangs of some great beast! That was the first time I saw what a steel hook may do! As for this poor gentleman's lady, she was gone. Hereupon, we o' the Brotherhood fell upon these pirate rogues and fought them by light o' the blazing houses (for they had fired the city), and I, thus espying the devil Bartlemy, met him point to point. He was very full o' rapier tricks, but so was I, Martin (also I was younger), and winged him sore and had surely ended him, but that Tressady and divers others got him away, and what with the dark night and the woods that lie shorewards he, together with some few of his crew, got them back aboard his ship, the "Ladies' Delight," and so away; but twelve of his rogues we took (beyond divers we slew in fight) and those twelve I saw hanged that same hour. A week later we sailed for Tortuga with no less than ninety and one thousand pieces of eight for our labour, but I and those with me never had the spending of a single piece, Martin, for we ran into a storm such as I never saw the like of even in those seas. Well, we ran afore it for three days and its fury nothing abating all this time I never quit the deck, but I had been wounded, and on the third night, being fevered and outworn, turned in below. I was awakened by Nick Frant roaring in my ear, for the tempest was very loud and fierce:
"'Adam!' cried he, 'We're lost, every soul and the good money! we've struck a reef, Adam, and 'tis the end and O the good money!' Hereupon I climbed 'bove deck, the vessel on her beam ends and in desperate plight and nought to be seen i' the dark save the white spume as the seas broke over us. None the less I set the crew to cutting away her masts and heaving the ordnance overboard (to lighten her thereby), but while this was doing comes a great wave roaring out of the dark and dashing aboard us whirled me up and away, and I, borne aloft on that mighty, hissing sea, strove no more, doubting not my course was run. So, blinded, choking, I was borne aloft and then, Martin, found myself adrift in water calm as any millpond—a small lagoon, and spying through the dark a grove of palmetto trees presently managed to climb ashore, more dead than alive; and, lying there, I prayed—a thing I had not done for many a year. As the dawn came I saw the great wave had hurled me over the barrier reef into this small lagoon, and beyond the reef lay all that remained of my good ship. I was yet viewing this dolorous sight (and much cast down for the loss of my companions, in especial my sworn friend Nicholas Frant) when I heard a sound behind me and turning about, espied a woman, and in this woman's face (fair though it was) I read horror and sadness beyond tears, and yet I knew her for the same had been wife to the murdered governor of Santa Catalina.
"'Go back!' says she in Spanish, pointing to the surf that thundered beyond the reef. 'Go back! Here is the devil—the sea hath more mercy—go back whiles ye may!' And now she checked all at once and falls a-shivering, for a voice reached us, a man's voice a-singing fair to hear, and the song he sang was this,
'Hey cheerly O and cheerly OAnd cheerly come sing O!While at the mainyard to and fro—
and knowing this voice (to my cost) I looked around for some weapon, since I had none and was all but naked, and whipping up a jagged and serviceable stone, stood awaiting him with this in my fist. And down the beach he comes, jocund and debonair in his finery, albeit something pale by reason of excess and my rapier work. And now I come to look at you, Martin, he was just such another as you as to face and feature, though lacking your beef and bone. Now he beholding me where I stood, flourishes off his belaced hat and, making me a bow, comes on smiling.
"'Ah,' says he gaily, ''tis Captain Penfeather of the Brotherhood, a-collogueing with my latest wife! Is she not a pearl o' dainty woman-ware, Captain, a sweet and luscious piece, a passionate, proud beauty worth the taming—ha, Captain? And she is tamed, see you. To your dainty knees, wench—down!' Now though he smiled yet and spake her gentle, she, bowing proud head, sank to her knees, crouching on the ground before him, while he looked down on her, the devil in his eyes and his jewelled fingers toying with the dagger in his girdle, a strange dagger with a hilt wrought very artificially in the shape of a naked woman—"
"How," says I, leaning across the table, "A woman, Penfeather?"
"Aye, shipmate! So I stood mighty alert, my eyes on this dagger, being minded to whip it into his rogue's heart as chance might offer. 'I wonder,' says he to this poor lady, 'I wonder how long I shall keep thee, madonna, a week—a month—a year? Venus knoweth, for you amuse me, sweet. Rise, rise, dear my lady, my Dolores of Joy, rise and aid me with thy counsel, for here hath this misfortunate clumsy Captain fool blundered into our amorous paradise, this tender Cyprian isle sacred to our passion. Yet here is he profaning our joys with his base material presence. How then shall we rid ourselves of this offence? The knife—this lover o' men of mine? The bullet? Yet 'tis a poor small naked rogue and in two days cometh my 'Ladies' Delight' and Tressady with his hook. See, my Dolores, for two days he shall be our slave and thereafter, for thy joy, shall show thee how to die, my sweet—torn 'twixt pimento trees or Tressady's hook—thou shalt choose the manner of't. And now, unveil, unveil, my goddess of the isle—so shall—' Ha, Martin! My stone took him 'neath the ear, and as he swayed reeling to the blow, lithe and swift as any panther this tortured woman sprang, and I saw the flash of steel ere it was buried in his breast. Even then he didn't fall, but, staggering to a pimento tree, leans him there and falls a-laughing, a strange, high-pitched, gasping laugh, and as he laughed thus, I saw the silver haft of the dagger that was a woman leap and quiver in his breast. Then, laughing yet, he, never heeding me, plucked and levelled sudden pistol, and when the smoke cleared the brave Spanish lady lay dead upon the sands.
"'A noble piece, Captain!' says he, gasping for breath, and then to her, 'Art gone, my goddess—I—follow thee!' And now he sinks to his knees and begins to crawl where she lay, but getting no further than her feet (by reason of his faintness) he clasps her feet and kisses them, and laying his head upon them—closes his eyes. 'Penfeather!' he groans, 'my treasure—hidden—dagger—'
"Then I came very hastily and raised his head (for I had oft heard talk o' this treasure), and in that moment he died. So I left them lying and coming to the seaboard sat there a great while watching the break o' the seas on what was left o' the wreck, yet seeing it not. I sat there till noon, Martin, until, driven by thirst and hunger and heat of sun, I set off to seek their habitation, for by their looks I judged them well-fed and housed. But, and here was the marvel, Martin, seek how I might I found no sign of any hut or shelter save that afforded by nature (as caves and trees), and was forced to satisfy my cravings with such fruits as flourished in profusion, for this island, Martin, is a very earthly paradise. That night, the moon being high and bright, I came to that stretch of silver sand beside the lagoon where they lay together rigid and pale and, though I had no other tool but his dagger and a piece o' driftwood, made shift to bury them 'neath the great pimento tree that stood beside the rock, and both in the same grave. Which done, I betook me to a dry cave hard by a notable fall of water that plungeth into a lake, and there passed the night. Next day, having explored the island very thoroughly, and dined as best I might on shell-fish that do abound, I sat me down where I might behold the sea and fell to viewing of this silver-hilted dagger."
"The which was shaped like to a woman!" says I.
"Aye, Martin. And now, bethinking me of Bartlemy's dying words anent this same dagger, and of the tales I had heard full oft along the Main regarding this same Bartlemy and his hidden treasure, I fell to handling this dagger, turning and twisting it this way and that. And suddenly, shipmate, I felt the head turn upon the shoulders 'twixt the clasping hands; turn and turn until it came away and showed a cavity, and in this cavity a roll of parchment, and that parchment none other than this map with the cryptogram, the which I could make nought of.
"Now as I sat thus, studying this meaningless jumble of words, I of a sudden espied a man below me on the reef, a wild, storm-tossed figure, his scanty clothing all shreds and tatters, and as he went seeking of shell-fish that were plenteous enough, I knew him for my sworn comrade, Nick Frant. And then, Martin, I did strange thing, for blood-brothers though we were, I made haste (and all of a tremble) to slip back this map into its hiding-place, which done, I arose, hailing my comrade and went to meet him joyously enough. And no two men in the world more rejoiced than we as we clasped hands and embraced each other as only comrades may. It seemed the hugeous sea that had caught me had caught him likewise and hurled him, sore bruised, some mile to the south of the reef. So now I told him of the deaths of Bartlemy and the poor lady, yet Martin (and this was strange) I spoke nothing of knife or treasure; I told him of the expectation I had of the pirate's ship return, and yet I never once spake o' the map and chart. And methinks the secret cast a shadow betwixt us that grew ever deeper, for as the days passed and no sail appeared, there came a strangeness, an unlove betwixt us that grew until one day we fell to open quarrel, disputation and deadly strife, and the matter no more than a dead man's shirt (and that ragged) that had come ashore. And we (being in rags and the sun scorching) each claimed this shirt, and from words came blows. He had his seaman's knife and I Bartlemy's accursed dagger, and so we fought after the manner of the buccaneers, his leg bound fast to mine, and Martin, though he was a great fellow and strong and wounded me sore, in the end I got in a thrust under the armpit and he fell a-dying, and I with him. Then I (seeing death in his eyes, Martin) clasped him in my arms and kissed him and besought him not to die, whereat he smiled. 'Adam!' says he, 'Why Adam, lad—' and so died.
"Then I took that accursed dagger, wet with my comrade's life-blood, and hurled it from me, and so with many tears and lamentations I presently buried poor Nick Frant in the sands, and lay there face down upon his grave wetting it with my tears and groaning there till nightfall. But all next day, Martin (though my heart yearned to my slain friend) all next day I spent seeking and searching for the dagger had killed him. And as the sun set, I found it. Thereafter I passed my days (since the pirate ship came not, doubtless owing to the late tempest) studying the writing on the chart here, yet came no nearer a solution, though my imagination was inflamed by mention of diamonds, rubies and pearls, as ye may see written here for yourself. So the time passed till one day at dawn I beheld a great ship, her mizzen and fore-topmasts gone, standing in for my island, and as she drew nearer, I knew her at last for that accursed pirate ship called "Ladies' Delight." Being come to anchor within some half-mile or so, I saw a boat put off for the reef, and lying well hid I watched this boat, steered by a knowing hand, pass through the reef by a narrow channel and so enter the lagoon. Now in this boat were six men and at the rudder sat Tressady, and I saw his hook flash in the sun as he sprang ashore. Having beached their boat, they fell to letting off their calivers and pistols and hallooing:
"'Oho, Captain!' they roared, 'Bartlemy, ahoy!' And this outcry maintained they for some while. But none appearing to answer, they seemed to take counsel together, and thereafter set off three and three, shouting as they went. And now it seemed they knew no more of Bartlemy's hiding-place than I, whereat I rejoiced greatly. So lay I all that forenoon watching their motions and hearing their outcries now here, now there, until, marvelling at the absence of Bartlemy, they sat down all six upon the spit of sand whereby I lay hid and fell to eating and drinking, talking the while, though too low for me to hear what passed. But all at once they seemed to fall to disputation, Tressady and a small, dark fellow against the four, and thereafter to brawl and fight, though this was more butchery than fight, Martin, for Tressady shoots down two ere they can rise, and leaping up falls on the other two with his hook! So with aid from the small, dark fellow they soon have made an end o' their four companions, and leaving them lying, come up the beach and sitting below the ledge of rock whereon I lay snug hidden, fell to talk.
"'So, Ben, camarado mio, we be committed to it now! Since these four be dead and all men well-loved by Bartlemy, needs must Bartlemy follow 'em!'
"'Aye!' says the man Ben, 'when we have found him. Though Bartlemy's a fighting man!'
"'And being a man can die, Ben. And he once dead we stand his heirs—you and I, Ben, I and you!'
"'Well and good!' says Ben. 'But for this treasure where lieth it, and for that matter, Roger, where is Bartlemy?'
"'Both to find, Ben, so let us set about it forthwith.' The which they did, Martin; for three days they sought the island over and I watching 'em. On the third day, as they are sitting 'neath the great pimento tree I have mentioned (and I watching close by) Tressady sits up all at once.
"'Ben!' says he, 'What be yon?' and he pointed to a mound of sand hard by.
"'Lord knoweth!' says Ben.
"'Yon's been digging!' says Tressady, 'and none so long since!'
"'Aye,' said Ben, 'and now what?'
"'Now,' says Tressady, 'let us dig likewise.'
"'Aye, but what with?' says Ben.
"'Our fingers!' says Tressady. So there and then they fell to digging, casting up the loose sand with their two hands, dog-fashion, and I, watching, turned my head that I might not see.
"'Ha!' says Tressady, in a while, 'Here is foul reek, Ben, foul reek.'
"'Right curst!' says Ben, and then uttered a great, hoarse cry. And I, knowing what they had come upon, kept my face turned away. ''Tis she!' says Ben in a whisper.
"'Aye, and him!' says Tressady. 'Faugh! Man, 'tis ill thing but needs must—his dagger, Ben, his dagger.'
"'Here's no dagger,' says Ben. 'Here's empty sheath but no steel in't!'
"''Tis fallen out!' says Tressady in a strangled voice. 'Seek, Ben, seek!' So despite the horror of the thing, they sought, Martin, violating death and careless of corruption they sought, and all the time the thing they sought was quivering in this right hand.
"'Ben,' says Tressady, when they were done. 'Ben—how came he dead—how?'
"'Who shall say, Roger? Mayhap they did each other's business.'
"'Why then—where's the dagger o' the woman—the silver goddess—where? And how came they buried?'
"'Aye, there's the rub, Roger!'
"'Why,' says Tressady, 'look'ee, Ben, 'tis in my mind we're not alone on this island—'
"'And who should be here, Roger?'
"'The man that slew our Captain!' Here there was silence awhile, then the man Ben arose and spat.
"'Faugh!' says he. 'Come away, Roger, ere I stifle—come, i' the devil's name!' So they went and I, lying hid secure, watched them out of sight.
"Now when they were gone I took counsel with myself, for here were two desperate, bloody rogues, very well armed, and here was I, a solitary man with nought to my defence save for Nick's knife and the silver-hilted dagger, which was heavy odds, Martin, as you'll agree. Now I have ever accounted myself a something timid man, wherefore in cases of desperate need and danger I have been wont to rely on my wit rather than weapons, on head rather than hands. So now as I looked upon this cursed dagger wherewith I had slain my poor friend, beholding this evil silver woman whose smile seemed verily to allure men to strife and bloodshed—the end of it was I stole from my lurking-place and set the dagger amid the gnarled roots of the great pimento tree, where it might have slipped from dying fingers, and so got me back into hiding. And sure enough in a while comes the big man Tressady a-stealing furtive-fashion and falls to hunting both in the open grave and round about it but, finding nothing, steals him off again. Scarce was he out of eye-shot, Martin, than cometh the little dark fellow Ben, who likewise fell to stealthy search, grubbing here and there on hands and knees, yet with none better fortune than his comrade. But of a sudden he gives a spring and, stooping, stands erect with Bartlemy's dagger in his hand. Now scarce had he found it than comes Tressady creeping from where he had lain watching.
"'Ha, Ben!' says he jovially. 'How then, lad, how then? Hast found what we sought? Here's luck, Ben, here's luck! Aye, by cock, 'tis your fortune to find it and your fortune's my fortune, eh, Ben—us being comrades, Ben?'
"'Aye,' says Ben, turning the dagger this way and that.
"'Ha' ye come on the chart, Ben, ha' ye found the luck in't Ben?'
"'Stay, Roger, I've but just picked it up—'
"'And was coming to your comrade with it, eh, Ben—share and share—eh, Benno—Bennie?'
"'Aye,' says Ben, staring down at the thing, 'but 'twas me as found it, Roger!'
"'And what then, lad, what then?'
"'Why then, Roger, since I found it, 'tis mine,' says he gripping the dagger in quivering fist and glancing up sideways.
"'Hilt and blade, Ben!'
"'And the chart, Roger?'
"'Aye, and the chart, Ben!' says Tressady, coming a pace nearer, and I saw his hook glitter.
"'And the treasure, Roger!' says Ben, making little passes in the air to see the blue gleam of the steel.
"'All yours, Ben all yours, and what's yours is mine, according to oath, Ben, to oath! But come, Ben, you hold the secret o' the treasure in your fist—the silver goddess. Come, the chart, lad, out wi' the chart and Bartlemy's jewels are ours—pearls, Ben—diamonds, rubies—aha, come, find the chart—let your comrade aid ye, lad—'
"'Stand back!' says Ben and whips a pistol from his belt. 'Look'ee, Roger, says he, 'I found the dagger without ye and I'll find the chart—stand back!'
"'Why here's ill manners to a comrade, Ben ill manners, sink me—but as ye will. Only out wi' the chart and let's go seek the treasure, Ben.'
"'D'ye know the secret o' this thing, Roger?'
"'Not I, Ben!'
"'Why then must I break it asunder. Hand me yon piece o' of rock,' says Ben, pointing to a heavy stone that chanced to be near.
"'Stay, Ben lad, 'twere pity to crush the silver woman, but if you will, you will Ben—take a hold!' So saying, Tressady picked up the stone, but, as his comrade reached to take it, let it fall, whereupon Ben stooped for it and in that moment Tressady was on him. And then—ha, Martin, I heard the man Ben scream, and as he writhed, saw Tressady's hook at work ... the man screamed but once ... and then, wiping the hook on his dead comrade's coat he took up the dagger and began to unscrew the head. But now, Martin, methought 'twas time for me to act if I meant to save my life, for I had nought but Nick Frant's knife, while within Tressady's reach lay the dead man's pistols and divers musquetoons and fusees on the beach behind him, which put me to no small panic lest he shoot me ere I could come at him with my knife. Thus, as I lay watching, I took counsel with myself how I might lure him away from these firearms wherewith he might hunt me down and destroy me at his ease; and the end of it was I started up all at once and, leaning down towards him, shook the parchment in his face. 'Ha, Tressady!' says I, 'Is this the thing you've murdered your comrade for?' Now at this Tressady sprang back, to stare from me to the thing in my hand, Martin, and then—ha, then with a wild-beast roar he sprang straight at me with his hook—even as I had judged he would. As for me, I turned and ran, making for a rocky ledge I knew, with Tressady panting behind me, his hook ringing on the rocks as he scrambled in pursuit. So at last we reached the place I sought—a shelf of rock, the cliff on one side, Martin, and on the other a void with the sea thundering far below—a narrow ledge where his great bulk hampered him and his strength availed little. And there we fought, his dagger and hook against my dead comrade's knife, and thus as he sprang I, falling on my knee, smote up beneath raised arm, heard him roar and saw him go whirling over and down and splash into the sea—"
"And he had the dagger with him, Adam!" says I in eager question.
"Aye, Martin, which was the end of an ill rogue and an evil thing."
"The end," says I, "the end, Adam? Why then—what o' this?"
So saying I whipped the strange dagger from my wallet and held it towards him balanced upon my palm. Now, beholding this, Penfeather's eyes opened suddenly wide, then narrowed to slits as, viewing this deadly thing, he drew back and back, and so sat huddled in his chair utterly still, only I heard his breath hiss softly 'twixt clenched teeth.
"Martin," says he in the same hushed voice, "when a man's dead he's dead, and the dead can never come back, can they, shipmate?"
But now, as we sat thus, eyeing the evil thing on the table betwixt us, my answer died on my lips, for there came a sharp, quick rapping of fingers on the lattice.