CHAPTERCXX.DEATH OF MAT MURDOCK—THE LAST BEQUEST.The extraordinary and unaccountable manner in which the prisoner in cellNo.43 had contrived to get clear of the prison walls was, of course, a matter of surprise to everyone, and a considerable amount of blame and censure fell upon persons who were not in any way concerned in it.The two female warders underwent a rigid cross-examination, but they both declared that they were as much in the dark as the governor himself.The turnkeys were next questioned; they could throw no light on the subject. There was a great hubbub for the next few days, but not the faintest scrap of information could be obtained whereby the real culprit might be traced.The governor was very irate; the warders were sulky, and everybody seemed to be discontented. Nevertheless, Laura Stanbridge had succeeded in her purpose.She had cleverly given her janitors the go-by, and once more she experienced the inestimable blessing of liberty, and she was far too clever a woman to run the risk of being recaptured by any act of imprudence on her own part.Meanwhile Mat Murdock remained in a precarious position. He was closely tended by Walter Knoulton, whose kindness and attention were duly appreciated by the pirate, who soon began to lend an attentive ear to the exhortations of the prison chaplain.A change for the worse took place in the condition of the injured mariner some three or four days after the departure of Laura Stanbridge. Murdock was stricken with fever, and at times he was light-headed.The night nurse who had been deputed to relieve Knoulton, worn out with fatigue and weary watching, was overcome with sleep, and, while in this condition, the pirate in one of his paroxysms leaped out of bed, wounded and wearied as he was, and caught hold of the iron bars which ran in front of the small window of his apartment and vainly strove to remove them.He fell to the floor, exhausted and senseless, and it was not possible to say how long he had remained in that condition.An alarm was given by his attendant when the discovery was made, and Murdock was placed again in bed, but his ultimate death may be attributable to this accident.But he appeared to have but one dominant idea, this being the desire of escape.Walter Knoulton returned to his duty, and after this he never left the pirate till the end came.He found Murdock by this time quite an altered man. He was no longer the dissatisfied, impetuous, unreasonable being, as heretofore; on the contrary, he was passive, resigned, and at times even gentle in his manner—and now and then he would make use of his old nautical phraseology.“I’m nearly done for,” said he to Knoulton, when they were closed in for the night. “It was a bad business your leaving me in the hands of that lubber. He went fast asleep, and it appears I jumped out of bed.”“I’ve heard all about it. Don’t blame the chap; he was worn out and sleep overtook him—it’s no fault of his.”“Well, perhaps not, when one comes to consider the matter; but I tell you what it is, Walter; my line is nearly worn out, my lad. There isn’t half a fathom to run reef. It’s hard for the likes of me to slip my wind in this narrow hammock—deuced hard. I should like to have been going free when I sprang my last for the long voyage.”“Oh, you must not talk like that; with good nursing and proper attention you will recover,” cried Knoulton.The pirate shook his head.“No,” said he; “don’t deceive yourself, Walter. My log is made up, and I must founder; I know that by what the doctor said. He won’t be able to keep me afloat for many days longer. Now there’s a strange feeling about my heart and head which makes me sure that he gave the right heave of the lead. There, I feel stronger now than at any time since I first fell from that cursed wall; but,” added he, in a tone of sadness, “I’ve seen too many shipmates slip their cables not to know that’s my signal for sailing to the other world. Now don’t turn away your head, Walter, because my looks upon your face can’t be for long, and I don’t want them to be shortened. You’ve been good and true to me. We’ve only known each other since we’ve been in limbo, but for all that our friendship has been firm, ever since we first clapped eyes upon each other.”“It has, and I hope better days are in store for both of us.”“You are young and have only to sail in the right direction, and all will go well enough with you, my lad. I hope and trust it may, but as to this ere old hulk that’s quite a different matter; but I shouldn’t mind if I could be free. You see, Walter, I was very young when I first looked on the sea. I had seen no land then, and as I grew older it seemed to me to be the natural element for men to live on. I had the same thoughts of land as the long-shore people have of the sea, and I have often thought it strange when I have known messmates of mine who have done that, and brought them aboard again. Now when I overhauled it in my mind I have thought there must be something in the land which I had never fetched. I have many times lain and looked at the green fields, but never fancied they were the sea. No, Walter, never; but it would not become me to call them foolish as thought so much more about the land than the sea, for there may be something in home and friends and birthplaces which drains a man’s heart. There, ahead of all other things, I have never known any of them; for I was on the sea from the earliest days of my life, and should indeed be blessed if I could slip my cable on it now. But I dare say it’s pleasant, as I have heard many of my shipmates say, to be stowed away in an old churchyard which you played about when a boy, and where your kin and friends may always have an eye on your last berth, and the youngsters come and stick flowers on it. I dare say this is all very pleasant, but it is not a thing for me to look or hope for. I have neither family or kin of any sort, no old churchyard as I skylarked about, or youngsters to show their pretty remembrance that it ain’t a skulk that is under hatches. I must never leave these walls, even after death, and there’ll be no one to point out the spot where I lie.”“No one?” cried Knoulton.“Well, may be I was wrong there,” returned the pirate. “And I’m sure if you thought my sleep would be lighter or more pleasant by pointing it out, or do anything, you would do it—that I am quite certain of. It’s something for a man to say he has picked up a friend—a true and staunch one—a thousand miles from his home, in a prison.”“Did you never know your parents?” said Knoulton.“No, never,” answered the pirate. “I wish somehow or another that I had. But what’s the use of overhauling that now that my grog is stopped? For, with or without family, I must founder, and, perhaps, it’s better that I should. There is nobody to let tears run out of their lee scuppers for my sake. It is better as it is—much better.”Mat Murdock paused from exhaustion, and his face, which had been flushed, now grew deathly pale.No.63.Illustration: PEACE ENTERTAINS TWO DETECTIVESPEACE ENTERTAINS TWO DETECTIVES TO DINNER.Walter Knoulton saw that it was time he took some nourishment, and he at once proceeded to give him some light nutritious food.The pirate panted for breath, and a cold clammy perspiration broke out all over him.He, however, rallied, and, with a faint smile, said in a weak voice—“That was the first cast of the line—there’s very little water—the next heave I shall shoal.”“You are better now, Murdock,” said Knoulton. “Cheer up, old man.”“When I first met you,” observed the pirate, “I knew pretty well that you would stick to me till the last, and I am not mistaken—no, not mistaken. Well, you see, my friend, I haven’t known many as I cared about, few of us have. There is something I would say to you before I sink to my last sleep. I said some few days ago that you should have half I possessed. It seemed ridiculous, I dare say, and you did not take much heed of it, but it’s true, nevertheless. You shall be rich, Walter, independent for the remainder of your life. All I have I bequeath to you.”“All you have?”“Yes, every stiver. Don’t think I am wandering, I am in my sober senses. My head was never clearer than it is at the present moment. Listen!”“I am all attention. Proceed!”“Will, then, mark what I say. On the beach ofSt.Michael’s, just beyond the rock of Irglas, in a pit six feet deep, ten years ago I hid an iron case containing gold and jewels to a large amount, enough to make us both rich for the remainder of our lives. I shall never live to gain the treasure, but you may and can, if you’ve a mind to do so.”Knoulton paused, and then added, in a tone of doubt—“The tale seems scarcely credible, Murdock. You have been a prisoner for more than nine years.”“That’s true enough. It’s fully that time since Arkenstall and I, being closely pursued, buried the treasure in the spot I have mentioned. A few days after this we were seized at Preston and tried for mutiny and murder on the high seas. I never committed murder, and this I solemnly declare, but we were both convicted of manslaughter. The rest you know.”“What has become of your companion, then?”“What—Arkenstall?”“Yes.”“Dead, years ago.”“Then you are the only person living who knows of this?”“The only one. You need not, therefore, wonder at my desire to obtain my freedom.”“Certainly not.”Notwithstanding all his endeavours to appear indifferent, young Knoulton had listened with deep attention to the pirate’s recital.When he had ceased to speak the young man remained perfectly silent for some time, seeming to balance in his own mind the probability of the story he had just heard.Casting his eye up for a moment he found those of his companion fixed on him.He started from his reverie, and said in a dubious tone—“The story you tell is, to say the least of it, a strange and improbable one. These hidden treasures are a hackneyed subject.”His fellow-convict regarded him with a look of indignation.“You do not believe me, then, Walter?” he murmured.“Nay, I don’t say that,” was the quick response; “but how came the iron case to fall into your hands, and who did it belong to?”“It would be too long a story to tell you how we became possessed of it—neither does it much matter. It belonged to an English merchant, who is long since dead.”“Oh! then there is no claimant?”“Not that I know of.”“Will you promise me one thing?”“What is that?”“Promise me to search for the treasure after I am dead.”Young Knoulton hesitated.“Will you promise?” said the pirate, still more earnestly.“Yes, I will.”“Good. Well, then, the doctor has left some sheets of paper and a pen and ink on that table. I will make you a rough drawing of the spot where it is buried. I am not much of a hand at drawing, but I’ve done a chart or two in my time—so let’s go ahead.”Knoulton gave him the requisite materials, and Murdock sat up in bed and made a tolerably accurate drawing of the spot and its surroundings. When this was completed, he fell back upon his pillow in a state of exhaustion.A death-like pallor overspread his features, and he drew his breath with difficulty.“Give me your hand, Walter,” said he. “Ah, that’s well, pray for me, my friend. I have heard that when the chaplain prays for a sinner he makes an easier passage aloft, but if you now could say a word or two for me, I am sure it would do more than parson’s lingo!”“I will, indeed—I will, messmate,” cried the young man.“Walter, you couldn’t have done me a kinder act than calling me your messmate,” exclaimed the pirate, with sudden animation.“That has done me more good than our doctor’s care and attention—that’s cleared the turn for my run more than all. Ah, ah, it’s pleased me to hear you call me your messmate. I don’t like parting with you. You have been very kind to me, very—from the first hour we met. As a dying man, Walter, I have been true to you, and afore I have made a spare hammock, tell me whether you think so?”“I do, Murdock. I wish you may be spared.”“Avast there, Walter—avast!” exclaimed the pirate, his voice growing more and more feeble. “You have never forgotten me at any time.“Come, never turn your head from me. Look on me. Why should you show a wet eye? Damme, you make my scuppers run over. I—we must part some day, and why not now? Walter, take your hand from your face if you love me. Let me see your face. Why, that’s it. Walter, I’ve looked my last upon the sea; there is a haze over it. You had better send a hand aloft, a smart seaman, to keep a bright look-out—it’s very hazy. Walter, are you sure the fire was got under—the deck’s full of smoke? Open one of the ports; and yet I am very cold, Walter. I am shaking. Have I got your hand? Topman, away! There—clap on the yard tackles. Stretch out along your tackle full top out. Walter, my friend, God bless you! Remember the beach ofSt.Michael’s. The pumps are choked.”He paused for a moment, and at first young Knoulton thought he was dead, for his eyes closed, and his face exhibited the ghastly pallid hue of death, but a moment afterwards he opened his eyes and tried to gaze around him. They were dull and glazed, but he turned them anxiously from side to side.He knit his brows and worked his lips about with an evident desire to speak; he passed his hand through his hair, and at length exclaimed—“The reef has now struck a hole in her which no carpenter can stop; and the seas that wash over her will wash everything out of her as clean as a captain’s steward does a stew-pan. Ah, you may cut away at the masts, but she will not move. You may spare yourself the trouble—here comes a sea that will carry them by the board. Hold on—hold on, mates, for your lives! That sea has fixed her. Cut the lashings of the boat on the boom. The next sea will carry it from the chucks to the quarter. Bear a hand—bear a hand! Here comes the sea, Walter—hold on by me. Where are you? Avast, I am alone! The sea blinds me. I am faint! I cannot swim a stroke! The water gurgles in my throat! Down, down—down—”The last word died on his lips; his features were convulsed, his jaw fell, and all was over with Mat Murdock, the pirate.It would be a task of considerable difficulty to attempt any description of the sense of loneliness that fell upon Walter Knoulton at this time. Despair seemed to enter his heart. It is true that he had attended upon the sick on very many occasions, but this was the first time he had witnessed the death of a fellow-creature, and he was so supremely miserable that he was well-nigh bursting into tears.It is equally true, also, that the dead man had doubtless, for the greater portion of his career, led an evil life. He had been a lawless freebooter, who, from a moral point of view, had very little to recommend him, and was, therefore, deserving of very little sympathy; but Knoulton knew only the best and most favourable side of his character, and he had always evinced a great liking for the old pirate or smuggler. Possibly this might be in some reason attributable to Murdock’s being shunned and despised by the other prisoners, who were, however, greatly in dread of him. To Knoulton, however, he had been uniformly kind, and this was proved by the last request he had made. To trace the secret springs of the human heart is beyond the skill or power of man, and, strange as it may appear, Walter Knoulton felt as acutely the loss of his fellow-prisoner as many men feel the loss of a dearly-loved relative.“He is gone,” murmured the young man. “Who can say whether he has passed away, and will not trouble any of us further?”He glanced at the features of the dead man, which were so calm and peaceful, without any expression of pain on them, and heaved a deep sigh.Then he bethought him of the paper with the rough draft thereon, and at once proceeded to secrete it beneath his flannel shirt.It would not be intelligible to any one but himself, and even if the prison authorities discovered it, the chances were that it would not be taken from him if he told them that it was given him as a keepsake from his deceased friend, so he had but little fear as far as the chart was concerned.But presently a sort of superstitious fear seemed to creep over him, and so powerful was this influence that he thought the eyes of the dead pirate moved. This was but imagination, but it exercised a powerful influence over him.Young Knoulton had attended on sick persons for the greater portion of the time he had been a prisoner, but he had never before had a patient die under his hands.It was the first time he had been in the presence of death, and as he glanced at the rigid features of the dead pirate, his heart beat audibly, and a horrible fear seemed to creep over him.Everything was so still; no sound struck upon his ears; not a faint murmur of any sort; he would have been thankful if he could have heard the faintest indication of a human voice, or any articulate sentence uttered by a living creature. He was for some time so overcome that he found it impossible to rise from his seat, but remained sad and thoughtful till the unbroken silence became oppressively painful.Presently he thought he detected some movement from without, as of a warder passing almost noiselessly along the corridor.He sprang to his feet, and made towards the door; this done, he shouted for assistance.A measured tread told him that one of the prison officials was going his rounds. Knoulton hammered at the door with both his fists. It was instantly opened, and a tall man with a large bushy beard thrust his head in.“Well, what do you want?” inquired he, perfectly unmoved.“Help! come in!—he is dead.”“Who? the pirate?”“Yes; for mercy’s sake come in.”The warder entered and made straight for the bed on which the remains of Murdock were stretched.One glance sufficed to tell that it was all over with the wretched Murdock.“Gone, eh?” he ejaculated. “It’s rather sudden, but the doctor said there was no chance for him. Well, poor fellow, all his troubles are now over in this world. When did he breathe his last?”“Not half an hour ago. Oh, less than that.”“Humph! we’ll tell the governor,” returned the warder, passing again through the entrance to the apartment, and closing the door gently after him, which he, however, locked with his usual caution—remembering at the time the clatter there had been about prisonerNo.43.In a few minutes after this the deputy-governor and prison surgeon entered with the turnkey. The surgeon pronounced the prisoner dead.The last offices were performed, and young Knoulton’s duties were over as far as the pirate was concerned. They thanked him for his attention, and he was conducted to a cell in another part of the prison.This was about the most comfortable berth in the whole ship, to make use of the language of the dead pirate, and Knoulton had every possible indulgence it was possible to accord, consistent with the rules of the establishment.It wanted only six weeks more to complete his term of imprisonment, and during that period he was chiefly engaged in the infirmary, but he could not forget the last words of Murdock, and he had a burning desire to test the truth of his statement as to the treasure which had lain hid for so many years.
The extraordinary and unaccountable manner in which the prisoner in cellNo.43 had contrived to get clear of the prison walls was, of course, a matter of surprise to everyone, and a considerable amount of blame and censure fell upon persons who were not in any way concerned in it.
The two female warders underwent a rigid cross-examination, but they both declared that they were as much in the dark as the governor himself.
The turnkeys were next questioned; they could throw no light on the subject. There was a great hubbub for the next few days, but not the faintest scrap of information could be obtained whereby the real culprit might be traced.
The governor was very irate; the warders were sulky, and everybody seemed to be discontented. Nevertheless, Laura Stanbridge had succeeded in her purpose.
She had cleverly given her janitors the go-by, and once more she experienced the inestimable blessing of liberty, and she was far too clever a woman to run the risk of being recaptured by any act of imprudence on her own part.
Meanwhile Mat Murdock remained in a precarious position. He was closely tended by Walter Knoulton, whose kindness and attention were duly appreciated by the pirate, who soon began to lend an attentive ear to the exhortations of the prison chaplain.
A change for the worse took place in the condition of the injured mariner some three or four days after the departure of Laura Stanbridge. Murdock was stricken with fever, and at times he was light-headed.
The night nurse who had been deputed to relieve Knoulton, worn out with fatigue and weary watching, was overcome with sleep, and, while in this condition, the pirate in one of his paroxysms leaped out of bed, wounded and wearied as he was, and caught hold of the iron bars which ran in front of the small window of his apartment and vainly strove to remove them.
He fell to the floor, exhausted and senseless, and it was not possible to say how long he had remained in that condition.
An alarm was given by his attendant when the discovery was made, and Murdock was placed again in bed, but his ultimate death may be attributable to this accident.
But he appeared to have but one dominant idea, this being the desire of escape.
Walter Knoulton returned to his duty, and after this he never left the pirate till the end came.
He found Murdock by this time quite an altered man. He was no longer the dissatisfied, impetuous, unreasonable being, as heretofore; on the contrary, he was passive, resigned, and at times even gentle in his manner—and now and then he would make use of his old nautical phraseology.
“I’m nearly done for,” said he to Knoulton, when they were closed in for the night. “It was a bad business your leaving me in the hands of that lubber. He went fast asleep, and it appears I jumped out of bed.”
“I’ve heard all about it. Don’t blame the chap; he was worn out and sleep overtook him—it’s no fault of his.”
“Well, perhaps not, when one comes to consider the matter; but I tell you what it is, Walter; my line is nearly worn out, my lad. There isn’t half a fathom to run reef. It’s hard for the likes of me to slip my wind in this narrow hammock—deuced hard. I should like to have been going free when I sprang my last for the long voyage.”
“Oh, you must not talk like that; with good nursing and proper attention you will recover,” cried Knoulton.
The pirate shook his head.
“No,” said he; “don’t deceive yourself, Walter. My log is made up, and I must founder; I know that by what the doctor said. He won’t be able to keep me afloat for many days longer. Now there’s a strange feeling about my heart and head which makes me sure that he gave the right heave of the lead. There, I feel stronger now than at any time since I first fell from that cursed wall; but,” added he, in a tone of sadness, “I’ve seen too many shipmates slip their cables not to know that’s my signal for sailing to the other world. Now don’t turn away your head, Walter, because my looks upon your face can’t be for long, and I don’t want them to be shortened. You’ve been good and true to me. We’ve only known each other since we’ve been in limbo, but for all that our friendship has been firm, ever since we first clapped eyes upon each other.”
“It has, and I hope better days are in store for both of us.”
“You are young and have only to sail in the right direction, and all will go well enough with you, my lad. I hope and trust it may, but as to this ere old hulk that’s quite a different matter; but I shouldn’t mind if I could be free. You see, Walter, I was very young when I first looked on the sea. I had seen no land then, and as I grew older it seemed to me to be the natural element for men to live on. I had the same thoughts of land as the long-shore people have of the sea, and I have often thought it strange when I have known messmates of mine who have done that, and brought them aboard again. Now when I overhauled it in my mind I have thought there must be something in the land which I had never fetched. I have many times lain and looked at the green fields, but never fancied they were the sea. No, Walter, never; but it would not become me to call them foolish as thought so much more about the land than the sea, for there may be something in home and friends and birthplaces which drains a man’s heart. There, ahead of all other things, I have never known any of them; for I was on the sea from the earliest days of my life, and should indeed be blessed if I could slip my cable on it now. But I dare say it’s pleasant, as I have heard many of my shipmates say, to be stowed away in an old churchyard which you played about when a boy, and where your kin and friends may always have an eye on your last berth, and the youngsters come and stick flowers on it. I dare say this is all very pleasant, but it is not a thing for me to look or hope for. I have neither family or kin of any sort, no old churchyard as I skylarked about, or youngsters to show their pretty remembrance that it ain’t a skulk that is under hatches. I must never leave these walls, even after death, and there’ll be no one to point out the spot where I lie.”
“No one?” cried Knoulton.
“Well, may be I was wrong there,” returned the pirate. “And I’m sure if you thought my sleep would be lighter or more pleasant by pointing it out, or do anything, you would do it—that I am quite certain of. It’s something for a man to say he has picked up a friend—a true and staunch one—a thousand miles from his home, in a prison.”
“Did you never know your parents?” said Knoulton.
“No, never,” answered the pirate. “I wish somehow or another that I had. But what’s the use of overhauling that now that my grog is stopped? For, with or without family, I must founder, and, perhaps, it’s better that I should. There is nobody to let tears run out of their lee scuppers for my sake. It is better as it is—much better.”
Mat Murdock paused from exhaustion, and his face, which had been flushed, now grew deathly pale.
No.63.
Illustration: PEACE ENTERTAINS TWO DETECTIVESPEACE ENTERTAINS TWO DETECTIVES TO DINNER.
PEACE ENTERTAINS TWO DETECTIVES TO DINNER.
Walter Knoulton saw that it was time he took some nourishment, and he at once proceeded to give him some light nutritious food.
The pirate panted for breath, and a cold clammy perspiration broke out all over him.
He, however, rallied, and, with a faint smile, said in a weak voice—
“That was the first cast of the line—there’s very little water—the next heave I shall shoal.”
“You are better now, Murdock,” said Knoulton. “Cheer up, old man.”
“When I first met you,” observed the pirate, “I knew pretty well that you would stick to me till the last, and I am not mistaken—no, not mistaken. Well, you see, my friend, I haven’t known many as I cared about, few of us have. There is something I would say to you before I sink to my last sleep. I said some few days ago that you should have half I possessed. It seemed ridiculous, I dare say, and you did not take much heed of it, but it’s true, nevertheless. You shall be rich, Walter, independent for the remainder of your life. All I have I bequeath to you.”
“All you have?”
“Yes, every stiver. Don’t think I am wandering, I am in my sober senses. My head was never clearer than it is at the present moment. Listen!”
“I am all attention. Proceed!”
“Will, then, mark what I say. On the beach ofSt.Michael’s, just beyond the rock of Irglas, in a pit six feet deep, ten years ago I hid an iron case containing gold and jewels to a large amount, enough to make us both rich for the remainder of our lives. I shall never live to gain the treasure, but you may and can, if you’ve a mind to do so.”
Knoulton paused, and then added, in a tone of doubt—
“The tale seems scarcely credible, Murdock. You have been a prisoner for more than nine years.”
“That’s true enough. It’s fully that time since Arkenstall and I, being closely pursued, buried the treasure in the spot I have mentioned. A few days after this we were seized at Preston and tried for mutiny and murder on the high seas. I never committed murder, and this I solemnly declare, but we were both convicted of manslaughter. The rest you know.”
“What has become of your companion, then?”
“What—Arkenstall?”
“Yes.”
“Dead, years ago.”
“Then you are the only person living who knows of this?”
“The only one. You need not, therefore, wonder at my desire to obtain my freedom.”
“Certainly not.”
Notwithstanding all his endeavours to appear indifferent, young Knoulton had listened with deep attention to the pirate’s recital.
When he had ceased to speak the young man remained perfectly silent for some time, seeming to balance in his own mind the probability of the story he had just heard.
Casting his eye up for a moment he found those of his companion fixed on him.
He started from his reverie, and said in a dubious tone—
“The story you tell is, to say the least of it, a strange and improbable one. These hidden treasures are a hackneyed subject.”
His fellow-convict regarded him with a look of indignation.
“You do not believe me, then, Walter?” he murmured.
“Nay, I don’t say that,” was the quick response; “but how came the iron case to fall into your hands, and who did it belong to?”
“It would be too long a story to tell you how we became possessed of it—neither does it much matter. It belonged to an English merchant, who is long since dead.”
“Oh! then there is no claimant?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Will you promise me one thing?”
“What is that?”
“Promise me to search for the treasure after I am dead.”
Young Knoulton hesitated.
“Will you promise?” said the pirate, still more earnestly.
“Yes, I will.”
“Good. Well, then, the doctor has left some sheets of paper and a pen and ink on that table. I will make you a rough drawing of the spot where it is buried. I am not much of a hand at drawing, but I’ve done a chart or two in my time—so let’s go ahead.”
Knoulton gave him the requisite materials, and Murdock sat up in bed and made a tolerably accurate drawing of the spot and its surroundings. When this was completed, he fell back upon his pillow in a state of exhaustion.
A death-like pallor overspread his features, and he drew his breath with difficulty.
“Give me your hand, Walter,” said he. “Ah, that’s well, pray for me, my friend. I have heard that when the chaplain prays for a sinner he makes an easier passage aloft, but if you now could say a word or two for me, I am sure it would do more than parson’s lingo!”
“I will, indeed—I will, messmate,” cried the young man.
“Walter, you couldn’t have done me a kinder act than calling me your messmate,” exclaimed the pirate, with sudden animation.
“That has done me more good than our doctor’s care and attention—that’s cleared the turn for my run more than all. Ah, ah, it’s pleased me to hear you call me your messmate. I don’t like parting with you. You have been very kind to me, very—from the first hour we met. As a dying man, Walter, I have been true to you, and afore I have made a spare hammock, tell me whether you think so?”
“I do, Murdock. I wish you may be spared.”
“Avast there, Walter—avast!” exclaimed the pirate, his voice growing more and more feeble. “You have never forgotten me at any time.
“Come, never turn your head from me. Look on me. Why should you show a wet eye? Damme, you make my scuppers run over. I—we must part some day, and why not now? Walter, take your hand from your face if you love me. Let me see your face. Why, that’s it. Walter, I’ve looked my last upon the sea; there is a haze over it. You had better send a hand aloft, a smart seaman, to keep a bright look-out—it’s very hazy. Walter, are you sure the fire was got under—the deck’s full of smoke? Open one of the ports; and yet I am very cold, Walter. I am shaking. Have I got your hand? Topman, away! There—clap on the yard tackles. Stretch out along your tackle full top out. Walter, my friend, God bless you! Remember the beach ofSt.Michael’s. The pumps are choked.”
He paused for a moment, and at first young Knoulton thought he was dead, for his eyes closed, and his face exhibited the ghastly pallid hue of death, but a moment afterwards he opened his eyes and tried to gaze around him. They were dull and glazed, but he turned them anxiously from side to side.
He knit his brows and worked his lips about with an evident desire to speak; he passed his hand through his hair, and at length exclaimed—
“The reef has now struck a hole in her which no carpenter can stop; and the seas that wash over her will wash everything out of her as clean as a captain’s steward does a stew-pan. Ah, you may cut away at the masts, but she will not move. You may spare yourself the trouble—here comes a sea that will carry them by the board. Hold on—hold on, mates, for your lives! That sea has fixed her. Cut the lashings of the boat on the boom. The next sea will carry it from the chucks to the quarter. Bear a hand—bear a hand! Here comes the sea, Walter—hold on by me. Where are you? Avast, I am alone! The sea blinds me. I am faint! I cannot swim a stroke! The water gurgles in my throat! Down, down—down—”
The last word died on his lips; his features were convulsed, his jaw fell, and all was over with Mat Murdock, the pirate.
It would be a task of considerable difficulty to attempt any description of the sense of loneliness that fell upon Walter Knoulton at this time. Despair seemed to enter his heart. It is true that he had attended upon the sick on very many occasions, but this was the first time he had witnessed the death of a fellow-creature, and he was so supremely miserable that he was well-nigh bursting into tears.
It is equally true, also, that the dead man had doubtless, for the greater portion of his career, led an evil life. He had been a lawless freebooter, who, from a moral point of view, had very little to recommend him, and was, therefore, deserving of very little sympathy; but Knoulton knew only the best and most favourable side of his character, and he had always evinced a great liking for the old pirate or smuggler. Possibly this might be in some reason attributable to Murdock’s being shunned and despised by the other prisoners, who were, however, greatly in dread of him. To Knoulton, however, he had been uniformly kind, and this was proved by the last request he had made. To trace the secret springs of the human heart is beyond the skill or power of man, and, strange as it may appear, Walter Knoulton felt as acutely the loss of his fellow-prisoner as many men feel the loss of a dearly-loved relative.
“He is gone,” murmured the young man. “Who can say whether he has passed away, and will not trouble any of us further?”
He glanced at the features of the dead man, which were so calm and peaceful, without any expression of pain on them, and heaved a deep sigh.
Then he bethought him of the paper with the rough draft thereon, and at once proceeded to secrete it beneath his flannel shirt.
It would not be intelligible to any one but himself, and even if the prison authorities discovered it, the chances were that it would not be taken from him if he told them that it was given him as a keepsake from his deceased friend, so he had but little fear as far as the chart was concerned.
But presently a sort of superstitious fear seemed to creep over him, and so powerful was this influence that he thought the eyes of the dead pirate moved. This was but imagination, but it exercised a powerful influence over him.
Young Knoulton had attended on sick persons for the greater portion of the time he had been a prisoner, but he had never before had a patient die under his hands.
It was the first time he had been in the presence of death, and as he glanced at the rigid features of the dead pirate, his heart beat audibly, and a horrible fear seemed to creep over him.
Everything was so still; no sound struck upon his ears; not a faint murmur of any sort; he would have been thankful if he could have heard the faintest indication of a human voice, or any articulate sentence uttered by a living creature. He was for some time so overcome that he found it impossible to rise from his seat, but remained sad and thoughtful till the unbroken silence became oppressively painful.
Presently he thought he detected some movement from without, as of a warder passing almost noiselessly along the corridor.
He sprang to his feet, and made towards the door; this done, he shouted for assistance.
A measured tread told him that one of the prison officials was going his rounds. Knoulton hammered at the door with both his fists. It was instantly opened, and a tall man with a large bushy beard thrust his head in.
“Well, what do you want?” inquired he, perfectly unmoved.
“Help! come in!—he is dead.”
“Who? the pirate?”
“Yes; for mercy’s sake come in.”
The warder entered and made straight for the bed on which the remains of Murdock were stretched.
One glance sufficed to tell that it was all over with the wretched Murdock.
“Gone, eh?” he ejaculated. “It’s rather sudden, but the doctor said there was no chance for him. Well, poor fellow, all his troubles are now over in this world. When did he breathe his last?”
“Not half an hour ago. Oh, less than that.”
“Humph! we’ll tell the governor,” returned the warder, passing again through the entrance to the apartment, and closing the door gently after him, which he, however, locked with his usual caution—remembering at the time the clatter there had been about prisonerNo.43.
In a few minutes after this the deputy-governor and prison surgeon entered with the turnkey. The surgeon pronounced the prisoner dead.
The last offices were performed, and young Knoulton’s duties were over as far as the pirate was concerned. They thanked him for his attention, and he was conducted to a cell in another part of the prison.
This was about the most comfortable berth in the whole ship, to make use of the language of the dead pirate, and Knoulton had every possible indulgence it was possible to accord, consistent with the rules of the establishment.
It wanted only six weeks more to complete his term of imprisonment, and during that period he was chiefly engaged in the infirmary, but he could not forget the last words of Murdock, and he had a burning desire to test the truth of his statement as to the treasure which had lain hid for so many years.