Chapter Twenty Three.

Chapter Twenty Three.Captain Humphrey comes to.Captain Humphrey lay upon his back staring at his conscience. He was weak from loss of blood, weaker from fever; and he would have fared better if he had had proper medical treatment instead of the rough but kindly doctoring and nursing of Bart the surgeon, and Dinny the hospital nurse.This was after three weeks’ doubtful journey, wherein Dinny said “the obstinate divil had tried all he knew to die.” And it was so ungrateful, Dinny said, after the captain had saved his life, and that of all the prisoners who had not also been obstinate and died.Humphrey’s conscience was a great stone god full twelve feet high—an object that looked like a mummy-case set on end, as far as shape was concerned, but carved all over in the most wonderful way, the grotesque and weird bas-reliefs almost destroying the face, hands, and feet of the figure, flowing over them as they were, so that at first sight he looked upon a great mass of sculpture, out of which by degrees the features appeared.The old artist who designed the idol had strange ideas of decorative effect. He had cut in the hard stone a fine contemplative face; but over it he had placed a gigantic headdress, whereon were stony plumes of feathers, wreaths, and strange symbols, while pendent in every possible direction about the body were writhing creatures and snakes, with variations of the human form, engaged in strange struggles, and amongst them human heads turned into bosses or decorations of the giant robe.Humphrey Armstrong came partly to himself to see the cold, implacable face of this idol staring down at him from the gloom, ten feet from where he lay; and it seemed to him, by slow degrees, that this was his conscience sternly and silently upbraiding him for the loss of his ship and the lives of his men, destroyed by his want of skill as a commander.Day after day, through his semi-delirium, did that great idol torture him, and seem, with its reproachful eyes, to burn into his brain.Days passed, and by degrees he began to be aware that he was lying on a bed of comfortable rugs and skins, stretched in a curious room, whose walls were covered with hieroglyphics—thick, clumsy-looking hieroglyphics—not like those of Egypt, but carved with a skill peculiar to another race. Here and there were medallions of heads of gods or rulers of the land. Flowers of a peculiar conventional type formed part of the decorations or surrounded panels, in which were panthers, alligators, or human figures. In the centre of the wall to his right was a recess in which, clearly cut and hardly touched by time, were the figures of a king seated upon a leopard-supported throne—seated cross-legged, as in the East, and in a wondrous costume—while another figure presented to him what seemed to be the spoil of a number of dead and living figures who were trampled under foot.The room was evidently a palace chamber, or a portion of a temple of great antiquity; and by degrees Humphrey realised that the ceiling was not arched or supported by beams, but by the great stones of which it was composed being piled one above the other, like a flight of steps, from the walls on either side till they met in the middle.The floor was of stone, and there was a large opening on his left, facing the recess where the carving of the king ornamented the wall; and this opening, once a window, looked out upon the forest, whose dull, green, subdued twilight stole into the place.It was a weird look-out—upon tree-trunks strangled by serpent-like creepers, which seemed to be contending with them for the life-giving light which filtered down from above through clouds of verdure; while other trees and other serpent-like creepers seemed in friendly co-operation to have joined hands against the walls of the building, which they were striving to destroy. Huge roots were thrust between the joints of stones and shifted them out of place. One liana waved a trailing stem through the window-opening as if in triumph, and to call attention to the feat of another creeper which had twisted itself completely round a great block, lifted it from one side, and held it suspended like a vegetable feat of strength.For nature was asserting herself on every hand, the growth of the forest penetrating the chamber like an invading army of leaves and stems, and mingling with the works of man to their steady overthrow; while, facing it all, stern, implacable, and calmly watching the progress of destruction going on, stood the stone idol, the work of a race passed from the face of the earth, and waiting, as it had waited for hundreds of years, till the potent forest growth should lay it low!For a time it was all a nightmare-like confusion to Humphrey; but with returning strength came order in his intellect, and he questioned Bart, who brought him food, and from time to time added carpets and various little luxuries of cabin furniture, which seemed strangely incongruous in that place.“Who told you to bring those things here?” he said one day.“Commodore Junk.”“Why? Am I a prisoner?”“Yes.”“Am I to be shot?”“Don’t know.”“Where am I?”“Here.”“But what place is this?”“Don’t know.”“But—”“Want any more wine or fruit?”“No; I want my liberty.”“Belongs to the captain.”“Tell the captain I wish to see him.”Bart said no more, but took his departure.The prisoner was more fortunate with Dinny, who could be communicative.“That’s it, captain, darlin’,” he said one day. “Don’t ye fale like a little boy again, and that I’m your mother washing your poor face!”“Don’t fool, my good fellow, but talk to me.”“Talk to you, is it?”“Yes; you can talk to me.”“Talk to ye—can I talk to ye! Hark at him, mate!” he cried, appealing to the great idol. “Why, I’m a divil at it.”“Well, then, tell me how I came here.”“Faix, didn’t I carry ye on my back?”“Yes, but after the fight?”“Afther the foight—oh! is it afther the foight ye mane? Sure, and it was the skipper’s ordhers, and I carried ye here, and Bart—you know the tother one—he brought in the bed and the rugs and things to make ye dacent. It’s a bit damp, and the threes have a bad habit of putting in their noses like the pigs at home; but it’s an illigant bed-room for a gintleman afther all.”“It was the captain’s orders, you say?”“Sure, an’ it was.”“And where are we?”“Why, here we are.”“Yes, yes; but what place is this?”“Sure, an’ it’s the skipper’s palace.”“Commodore Junk’s?”“Yis.”“And what place is it—where are we?”“Faix, and they say that sick payple is hard to deal wid. It’s what I’m telling you sure. It’s the skipper’s palace, and here it is.”“My good fellow, you told me all that; but I want to know whereabouts it is.”“Oh-h! Whereabouts it is, you mane!”“Yes, yes.”“Why, right away in the woods.”“Far from the shore!”“Ah, would ye!” cried Dinny, with a grin full of cunning. “Ye’d be getting all the information out of me, and then as soon as ye get well be running away.”“Yes,” said Humphrey, “If I can.”“Well, that’s honest,” cried Dinny. “And it’s meself would do it if I got a chance.”“No,” said Humphrey, sadly; “I could not do that and leave my men.”“Faix, and they’d leave ye if they got a chance, sor.”“How are they all!”“Oh, they’re getting right enough,” said Dinny. “Ye’ve been the worst of ’em all yerself, and if ye don’t make haste ye’ll be last.”“But tell me, my lad, why am I kept in prison!”“Tell ye why you’re kept in prison?”“Yes.”“An’ ye want to know! Well, divil a wan of us can tell, unless it’s the skipper’s took a fancy to ye bekase ye’re such a divil to fight, and he wants ye to jyne the rigiment.”“Regiment! Why, you’ve been a soldier!”“And is it me a sodjer! Why, ye’ll be wanting to make out next that I was a desarther when was only a prishner of war.” Humphrey sighed.“Sure, and ye’re wanting something, sor. What’ll I get ye! The skipper said ye were to have iverything you wanted.”“Then give me my liberty, my man, and let me go back to England—and disgrace.”“Sure, and I wouldn’t go back to England to get that, sor. I’d sooner shtop here. The skipper’s always telling Bart to look afther ye well.”“Why?” said Humphrey, sharply.“Why?” said Dinny, scratching his head; “perhaps he wants to get ye in good condition before ye’re hung.”“Hung?”“Yis, sor. That’s what Black Mazzard says.”“Is that the man who tried to cut me down with a boarding-axe?”“That’s the gintleman, sor; and now let me put ye tidy, and lay yer bed shtraight. Sure, and ye’ve got an illigant cabin here, as is good enough for a juke. Look at the ornaments on the walls.”“Are there any more places like this?”“Anny more! Sure, the wood’s full of ’em.”“But about here?”“About here! Oh, this is only a little place. Sure, we all live here always when we ar’n’t aboard the schooner.”“Ah, yes! The schooner. She was quite destroyed, was she not?”“Divil a bit, sor. Your boys didn’t shoot straight enough. The ship ye came in was, afther we’d got all we wanted out of her. She was burnt to the wather’s edge, and then she sank off the reef.”Humphrey groaned.“Ye needn’t do that, sor, for she was a very owld boat, and not safe for a journey home. Mak’ yer mind aisy, and mak’ this yer home. There’s plinty of room for ye, and—whisht! here’s the captain coming. What’ll he be doing here?”“The captain!” cried Humphrey. “Then that man took my message.”“What message, sor?”At that moment the steps which had been heard coming as it were down some long stone corridor halted at the doorway of the prisoner’s chamber, someone drew aside a heavy rug, and the buccaneer, wearing a broad-leafed hat which shaded his face, entered the place.“You can go, Dinny.”“Yis, sor, I’m going,” said Dinny, obsequiously; and, after a glance at the prisoner, he hurriedly obeyed.There was only a gloomy greenish twilight in the old chamber, such light as there was striking in through the forest-shaded window, and with his back to this, and retaining his hat, the captain seated himself upon a rug covered chest.“You sent for me,” he said, in a deep, abrupt tone.Humphrey looked at him intently, the dark eyes meeting his, and the thick black brows contracted as the gaze was prolonged.“You sent for me,” he repeated, abruptly; “what more do you want?”“I will tell you after a while,” said Humphrey; “but first of all let me thank you for the kind treatment I have received at your hands.”“You need not thank me,” was the short reply. “Better treatment than you would have given me.”“Well, yes,” said Humphrey. “I am afraid it is.”“Your cousin would have hung me.”“My cousin! What do you know of my cousin!”“England is little. Every Englishman of mark is known.”Humphrey looked at him curiously, and for the moment it seemed to him that he had heard that voice before, but his memory did not help him.“My cousin would have done his duty,” he said, gravely.“His duty!” cried the captain, bitterly. “Your country has lost a treasure in the death of that man, sir.”“Good heavens, man! What do you know—”“Enough, sir. Let Captain James Armstrong rest. The name is well represented now by a gentleman, and it is to that fact that Captain Humphrey owes his life.”The latter stared at the speaker wonderingly.“Well, sir, why have you sent for me!”“To thank you, Commodore Junk, and to ask you a question or two.”“Go on, sir. Perhaps I shall not answer you.”“I will risk it,” said Humphrey, watching him narrowly, “You spared my life. Why?”“I told you.”“Then you will give me my liberty?”“What for?—to go away and return with another and better-manned ship to take us and serve the captain of the schooner as I have served you?”“No. I wish to return home.”“What for?”“Surely you cannot expect me to wish to stay here!”“Why do you wish to go home to meet disgrace?”Humphrey started at having his own words repeated.“To be tried by court martial for the loss of your ship! Stay where you are, sir, and grow strong and well.”“If I stay here, sir, when I have full liberty to go, shall I not be playing the part of the coward you called me when I was beaten down?”“You will not have full liberty to go, Captain Armstrong,” said his captor, quietly. “You forget that you are a prisoner.”“You do not intend to kill me and my men?”“We are not butchers, sir,” was the cold reply.“Then what is your object in detaining us. Is it ransom?”“Possibly.”“Name the sum, then, sir, and if it is in my power it shall be paid.”“It is too soon to talk of ransom, Captain Armstrong,” said his visitor, “you are weak and ill yet. Be patient, and grow well and strong. Some day I will talk over this matter with you again. But let me, before I go, warn you to be careful not to attempt to escape, or to encourage either of your men to make the attempt. Even I could not save you then, for the first man you met would shoot you down. Besides that risk, escape is impossible by land; and we shall take care that you do not get away by sea. Now, sir, have I listened to all you have to say?”“One word, sir. I am growing stronger every day. Will you grant me some freedom?”“Captain Armstrong is a gentleman,” said his visitor; “if he will give his word that he will not attempt to escape, he shall be free to go anywhere within the bounds of our little settlement.”Humphrey sat thinking, with his brow knit and his teeth compressed.“No,” he said; “that would be debarring myself from escaping.”“You could not escape.”“I should like to try,” said Humphrey, smiling.“It would be utter madness, sir. Give me your word of honour that you will not attempt to leave this old palace, and you shall come and go as you please.”“No, sir, I will remain a prisoner with the chances open.”“As you will,” said the buccaneer, coldly; and he rose and left the chamber, looking thoughtful and absent, while Humphrey lay back on his couch, gazing hard at the great stone idol, as if he expected to gain information from its stern mysterious countenance.“Where have I seen him before?” he said, thoughtfully; and after gazing at the carven effigy for some time he closed his eyes and tried to think, but their last meeting on the deck of the sloop was all that would suggest itself, and he turned wearily upon his side.“He seemed to have heard of our family, and his manner was strange; but I can’t think now,” he said, “I am hot and weak, and this place seems to stifle me.”Almost as he spoke he dropped asleep—the slumber of weakness and exhaustion—to be plunged in a heavy stupor for hours, perfectly unconscious of the fact that from time to time the great curtain was drawn aside and a big head thrust into the dim chamber, the owner gazing frowningly at the helpless prisoner, and then entering on tiptoe, to cross to the window and cautiously look out before returning to the couch, with the frown deepening as the man thought of how narrow the step was which led from life to death.He had advanced close to the couch with a savage gleam of hatred in his eyes when Humphrey Armstrong moved uneasily, tossed his hands apart, and then, as if warned instinctively of danger, he opened his eyes, sprang up, and seized a piece of stone close by his side, the only weapon, within grasp.“Well,” said Bart, without stirring, and with a grim look of contempt, “heave it. I don’t mind.”“Oh, it’s you!” said the prisoner, setting down the stone and letting himself sink back. “I was dreaming, I suppose, and thought there was danger.”He laid his feverish cheek upon his hand, and seemed to fall asleep at once, his eyes closing and his breath coming easily.“Trusts me,” muttered Bart. “Poor lad! it ar’n’t his fault. Man can’t kill one as trusts him like that. I shall have to fight for him, I suppose. Always my way—always my way.”He seated himself at the foot of the couch with his features distorted as if by pain, and for hour after hour watched the sleeper, telling himself that he could not do him harm, though all the time a jealous hatred approaching fury was burning in his breast.

Captain Humphrey lay upon his back staring at his conscience. He was weak from loss of blood, weaker from fever; and he would have fared better if he had had proper medical treatment instead of the rough but kindly doctoring and nursing of Bart the surgeon, and Dinny the hospital nurse.

This was after three weeks’ doubtful journey, wherein Dinny said “the obstinate divil had tried all he knew to die.” And it was so ungrateful, Dinny said, after the captain had saved his life, and that of all the prisoners who had not also been obstinate and died.

Humphrey’s conscience was a great stone god full twelve feet high—an object that looked like a mummy-case set on end, as far as shape was concerned, but carved all over in the most wonderful way, the grotesque and weird bas-reliefs almost destroying the face, hands, and feet of the figure, flowing over them as they were, so that at first sight he looked upon a great mass of sculpture, out of which by degrees the features appeared.

The old artist who designed the idol had strange ideas of decorative effect. He had cut in the hard stone a fine contemplative face; but over it he had placed a gigantic headdress, whereon were stony plumes of feathers, wreaths, and strange symbols, while pendent in every possible direction about the body were writhing creatures and snakes, with variations of the human form, engaged in strange struggles, and amongst them human heads turned into bosses or decorations of the giant robe.

Humphrey Armstrong came partly to himself to see the cold, implacable face of this idol staring down at him from the gloom, ten feet from where he lay; and it seemed to him, by slow degrees, that this was his conscience sternly and silently upbraiding him for the loss of his ship and the lives of his men, destroyed by his want of skill as a commander.

Day after day, through his semi-delirium, did that great idol torture him, and seem, with its reproachful eyes, to burn into his brain.

Days passed, and by degrees he began to be aware that he was lying on a bed of comfortable rugs and skins, stretched in a curious room, whose walls were covered with hieroglyphics—thick, clumsy-looking hieroglyphics—not like those of Egypt, but carved with a skill peculiar to another race. Here and there were medallions of heads of gods or rulers of the land. Flowers of a peculiar conventional type formed part of the decorations or surrounded panels, in which were panthers, alligators, or human figures. In the centre of the wall to his right was a recess in which, clearly cut and hardly touched by time, were the figures of a king seated upon a leopard-supported throne—seated cross-legged, as in the East, and in a wondrous costume—while another figure presented to him what seemed to be the spoil of a number of dead and living figures who were trampled under foot.

The room was evidently a palace chamber, or a portion of a temple of great antiquity; and by degrees Humphrey realised that the ceiling was not arched or supported by beams, but by the great stones of which it was composed being piled one above the other, like a flight of steps, from the walls on either side till they met in the middle.

The floor was of stone, and there was a large opening on his left, facing the recess where the carving of the king ornamented the wall; and this opening, once a window, looked out upon the forest, whose dull, green, subdued twilight stole into the place.

It was a weird look-out—upon tree-trunks strangled by serpent-like creepers, which seemed to be contending with them for the life-giving light which filtered down from above through clouds of verdure; while other trees and other serpent-like creepers seemed in friendly co-operation to have joined hands against the walls of the building, which they were striving to destroy. Huge roots were thrust between the joints of stones and shifted them out of place. One liana waved a trailing stem through the window-opening as if in triumph, and to call attention to the feat of another creeper which had twisted itself completely round a great block, lifted it from one side, and held it suspended like a vegetable feat of strength.

For nature was asserting herself on every hand, the growth of the forest penetrating the chamber like an invading army of leaves and stems, and mingling with the works of man to their steady overthrow; while, facing it all, stern, implacable, and calmly watching the progress of destruction going on, stood the stone idol, the work of a race passed from the face of the earth, and waiting, as it had waited for hundreds of years, till the potent forest growth should lay it low!

For a time it was all a nightmare-like confusion to Humphrey; but with returning strength came order in his intellect, and he questioned Bart, who brought him food, and from time to time added carpets and various little luxuries of cabin furniture, which seemed strangely incongruous in that place.

“Who told you to bring those things here?” he said one day.

“Commodore Junk.”

“Why? Am I a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

“Am I to be shot?”

“Don’t know.”

“Where am I?”

“Here.”

“But what place is this?”

“Don’t know.”

“But—”

“Want any more wine or fruit?”

“No; I want my liberty.”

“Belongs to the captain.”

“Tell the captain I wish to see him.”

Bart said no more, but took his departure.

The prisoner was more fortunate with Dinny, who could be communicative.

“That’s it, captain, darlin’,” he said one day. “Don’t ye fale like a little boy again, and that I’m your mother washing your poor face!”

“Don’t fool, my good fellow, but talk to me.”

“Talk to you, is it?”

“Yes; you can talk to me.”

“Talk to ye—can I talk to ye! Hark at him, mate!” he cried, appealing to the great idol. “Why, I’m a divil at it.”

“Well, then, tell me how I came here.”

“Faix, didn’t I carry ye on my back?”

“Yes, but after the fight?”

“Afther the foight—oh! is it afther the foight ye mane? Sure, and it was the skipper’s ordhers, and I carried ye here, and Bart—you know the tother one—he brought in the bed and the rugs and things to make ye dacent. It’s a bit damp, and the threes have a bad habit of putting in their noses like the pigs at home; but it’s an illigant bed-room for a gintleman afther all.”

“It was the captain’s orders, you say?”

“Sure, an’ it was.”

“And where are we?”

“Why, here we are.”

“Yes, yes; but what place is this?”

“Sure, an’ it’s the skipper’s palace.”

“Commodore Junk’s?”

“Yis.”

“And what place is it—where are we?”

“Faix, and they say that sick payple is hard to deal wid. It’s what I’m telling you sure. It’s the skipper’s palace, and here it is.”

“My good fellow, you told me all that; but I want to know whereabouts it is.”

“Oh-h! Whereabouts it is, you mane!”

“Yes, yes.”

“Why, right away in the woods.”

“Far from the shore!”

“Ah, would ye!” cried Dinny, with a grin full of cunning. “Ye’d be getting all the information out of me, and then as soon as ye get well be running away.”

“Yes,” said Humphrey, “If I can.”

“Well, that’s honest,” cried Dinny. “And it’s meself would do it if I got a chance.”

“No,” said Humphrey, sadly; “I could not do that and leave my men.”

“Faix, and they’d leave ye if they got a chance, sor.”

“How are they all!”

“Oh, they’re getting right enough,” said Dinny. “Ye’ve been the worst of ’em all yerself, and if ye don’t make haste ye’ll be last.”

“But tell me, my lad, why am I kept in prison!”

“Tell ye why you’re kept in prison?”

“Yes.”

“An’ ye want to know! Well, divil a wan of us can tell, unless it’s the skipper’s took a fancy to ye bekase ye’re such a divil to fight, and he wants ye to jyne the rigiment.”

“Regiment! Why, you’ve been a soldier!”

“And is it me a sodjer! Why, ye’ll be wanting to make out next that I was a desarther when was only a prishner of war.” Humphrey sighed.

“Sure, and ye’re wanting something, sor. What’ll I get ye! The skipper said ye were to have iverything you wanted.”

“Then give me my liberty, my man, and let me go back to England—and disgrace.”

“Sure, and I wouldn’t go back to England to get that, sor. I’d sooner shtop here. The skipper’s always telling Bart to look afther ye well.”

“Why?” said Humphrey, sharply.

“Why?” said Dinny, scratching his head; “perhaps he wants to get ye in good condition before ye’re hung.”

“Hung?”

“Yis, sor. That’s what Black Mazzard says.”

“Is that the man who tried to cut me down with a boarding-axe?”

“That’s the gintleman, sor; and now let me put ye tidy, and lay yer bed shtraight. Sure, and ye’ve got an illigant cabin here, as is good enough for a juke. Look at the ornaments on the walls.”

“Are there any more places like this?”

“Anny more! Sure, the wood’s full of ’em.”

“But about here?”

“About here! Oh, this is only a little place. Sure, we all live here always when we ar’n’t aboard the schooner.”

“Ah, yes! The schooner. She was quite destroyed, was she not?”

“Divil a bit, sor. Your boys didn’t shoot straight enough. The ship ye came in was, afther we’d got all we wanted out of her. She was burnt to the wather’s edge, and then she sank off the reef.”

Humphrey groaned.

“Ye needn’t do that, sor, for she was a very owld boat, and not safe for a journey home. Mak’ yer mind aisy, and mak’ this yer home. There’s plinty of room for ye, and—whisht! here’s the captain coming. What’ll he be doing here?”

“The captain!” cried Humphrey. “Then that man took my message.”

“What message, sor?”

At that moment the steps which had been heard coming as it were down some long stone corridor halted at the doorway of the prisoner’s chamber, someone drew aside a heavy rug, and the buccaneer, wearing a broad-leafed hat which shaded his face, entered the place.

“You can go, Dinny.”

“Yis, sor, I’m going,” said Dinny, obsequiously; and, after a glance at the prisoner, he hurriedly obeyed.

There was only a gloomy greenish twilight in the old chamber, such light as there was striking in through the forest-shaded window, and with his back to this, and retaining his hat, the captain seated himself upon a rug covered chest.

“You sent for me,” he said, in a deep, abrupt tone.

Humphrey looked at him intently, the dark eyes meeting his, and the thick black brows contracted as the gaze was prolonged.

“You sent for me,” he repeated, abruptly; “what more do you want?”

“I will tell you after a while,” said Humphrey; “but first of all let me thank you for the kind treatment I have received at your hands.”

“You need not thank me,” was the short reply. “Better treatment than you would have given me.”

“Well, yes,” said Humphrey. “I am afraid it is.”

“Your cousin would have hung me.”

“My cousin! What do you know of my cousin!”

“England is little. Every Englishman of mark is known.”

Humphrey looked at him curiously, and for the moment it seemed to him that he had heard that voice before, but his memory did not help him.

“My cousin would have done his duty,” he said, gravely.

“His duty!” cried the captain, bitterly. “Your country has lost a treasure in the death of that man, sir.”

“Good heavens, man! What do you know—”

“Enough, sir. Let Captain James Armstrong rest. The name is well represented now by a gentleman, and it is to that fact that Captain Humphrey owes his life.”

The latter stared at the speaker wonderingly.

“Well, sir, why have you sent for me!”

“To thank you, Commodore Junk, and to ask you a question or two.”

“Go on, sir. Perhaps I shall not answer you.”

“I will risk it,” said Humphrey, watching him narrowly, “You spared my life. Why?”

“I told you.”

“Then you will give me my liberty?”

“What for?—to go away and return with another and better-manned ship to take us and serve the captain of the schooner as I have served you?”

“No. I wish to return home.”

“What for?”

“Surely you cannot expect me to wish to stay here!”

“Why do you wish to go home to meet disgrace?”

Humphrey started at having his own words repeated.

“To be tried by court martial for the loss of your ship! Stay where you are, sir, and grow strong and well.”

“If I stay here, sir, when I have full liberty to go, shall I not be playing the part of the coward you called me when I was beaten down?”

“You will not have full liberty to go, Captain Armstrong,” said his captor, quietly. “You forget that you are a prisoner.”

“You do not intend to kill me and my men?”

“We are not butchers, sir,” was the cold reply.

“Then what is your object in detaining us. Is it ransom?”

“Possibly.”

“Name the sum, then, sir, and if it is in my power it shall be paid.”

“It is too soon to talk of ransom, Captain Armstrong,” said his visitor, “you are weak and ill yet. Be patient, and grow well and strong. Some day I will talk over this matter with you again. But let me, before I go, warn you to be careful not to attempt to escape, or to encourage either of your men to make the attempt. Even I could not save you then, for the first man you met would shoot you down. Besides that risk, escape is impossible by land; and we shall take care that you do not get away by sea. Now, sir, have I listened to all you have to say?”

“One word, sir. I am growing stronger every day. Will you grant me some freedom?”

“Captain Armstrong is a gentleman,” said his visitor; “if he will give his word that he will not attempt to escape, he shall be free to go anywhere within the bounds of our little settlement.”

Humphrey sat thinking, with his brow knit and his teeth compressed.

“No,” he said; “that would be debarring myself from escaping.”

“You could not escape.”

“I should like to try,” said Humphrey, smiling.

“It would be utter madness, sir. Give me your word of honour that you will not attempt to leave this old palace, and you shall come and go as you please.”

“No, sir, I will remain a prisoner with the chances open.”

“As you will,” said the buccaneer, coldly; and he rose and left the chamber, looking thoughtful and absent, while Humphrey lay back on his couch, gazing hard at the great stone idol, as if he expected to gain information from its stern mysterious countenance.

“Where have I seen him before?” he said, thoughtfully; and after gazing at the carven effigy for some time he closed his eyes and tried to think, but their last meeting on the deck of the sloop was all that would suggest itself, and he turned wearily upon his side.

“He seemed to have heard of our family, and his manner was strange; but I can’t think now,” he said, “I am hot and weak, and this place seems to stifle me.”

Almost as he spoke he dropped asleep—the slumber of weakness and exhaustion—to be plunged in a heavy stupor for hours, perfectly unconscious of the fact that from time to time the great curtain was drawn aside and a big head thrust into the dim chamber, the owner gazing frowningly at the helpless prisoner, and then entering on tiptoe, to cross to the window and cautiously look out before returning to the couch, with the frown deepening as the man thought of how narrow the step was which led from life to death.

He had advanced close to the couch with a savage gleam of hatred in his eyes when Humphrey Armstrong moved uneasily, tossed his hands apart, and then, as if warned instinctively of danger, he opened his eyes, sprang up, and seized a piece of stone close by his side, the only weapon, within grasp.

“Well,” said Bart, without stirring, and with a grim look of contempt, “heave it. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, it’s you!” said the prisoner, setting down the stone and letting himself sink back. “I was dreaming, I suppose, and thought there was danger.”

He laid his feverish cheek upon his hand, and seemed to fall asleep at once, his eyes closing and his breath coming easily.

“Trusts me,” muttered Bart. “Poor lad! it ar’n’t his fault. Man can’t kill one as trusts him like that. I shall have to fight for him, I suppose. Always my way—always my way.”

He seated himself at the foot of the couch with his features distorted as if by pain, and for hour after hour watched the sleeper, telling himself that he could not do him harm, though all the time a jealous hatred approaching fury was burning in his breast.

Chapter Twenty Four.The Prison Life.“Not dying, Bart?”“No, not exactly dying,” said that worthy in a low growl; “but s’pose you shoots at and wings a gull, picks it up, and takes it, and puts it in a cage; the wound heals up, and the bird seems sound; but after a time it don’t peck, and don’t preen its plumes, and if it don’t beat itself again’ the bars o’ the cage, it sits and looks at the sea.”“What do you mean?”“What I says, captain; and, after a time, if you don’t let it go, that gull dies.”“Then you mean that Captain Armstrong is pining away?”“That’s it.”“Has he any suspicion of who we are?”“Not a bit.”“And you think he’s suffering for want of change?”“Course I do. Anyone would—shut up in that dark place.”“Has he complyned?”“Not he. Too brave a lad. Why not give him and his lads a boat, and let them go!”“To come back with a strong force and destroy us.”“Ah, I never thought of that! Make him swear he wouldn’t. He’d keep his word.”“But his men would not, Bart. No; he will have to stay.”“Let him loose, then, to run about the place. He can’t get away.”“I am afraid.”“What of?”“Some trouble arising. Mazzard does not like him.”“Ah! I never thought o’ that neither,” returned Bart, gloomily. “Black Mazzard’s always grumbling about his being kept.”The buccaneer took a turn or two up and down the quarters he occupied in the vast range of buildings buried in the forest, a mile back from the head of the harbour where his schooner lay; and Bart watched him curiously till he stopped, with his face twitching, and the frown deepening upon his brow.“He will not give his word of honour not to attempt to escape, Bart,” said the captain, pausing at last before his follower.“’Tar’n’t likely,” said Bart. “Who would? He’d get away if he could.”“The prisoners cannot escape through the forest; there is no way but the sea, and that must be properly watched. Due notice must be given to all that any attempt to escape will be followed by the punishment of death.”“I hear,” said Bart. “Am I to tell the captain that?”“No. He must know it; but I give him into your charge. You must watch over him, and protect him from himself and from anyone else.”“Black Mazzard!”“From any one likely to do him harm,” said the captain, sternly. “You understand?”“Yes. I’m going,” replied Bart, in a low growl, as he gazed in his leader’s eyes; and then, with a curious, thoughtful look in his own, he went out of the captain’s quarters and in the direction of the prison of the king’s officer.Bart had to go down the broad steps of an extensive, open amphitheatre, whose stones were dislodged by the redundant growth of the forest; and, after crossing the vast court-yard at the bottom, to mount the steps on the other side toward where, dominating a broad terrace overshadowed by trees, stood a small, square temple, over whose doorway was carved a huge, demoniacal head, defaced by the action of time, but with the features still clearly marked.As Bart neared the building a figure appeared in the doorway for a moment, and then passed out into the sunshine.“Hullo, my lad!” it exclaimed. “You there?”Bart nodded.“Been putting in the last six barr’ls of the sloop’s powder, and some of these days you’ll see the sun’ll set it all alight, and blow the whole place to smithereens! Where are ye going?”“Yonder, to the prisoners.”“Poor divils!” said Dinny. “Hadn’t ye better kill the lot and put ’em out of their misery? They must be tired of it, and so am I. Faix, and it’s a dirthy life for a man to lead!”“Don’t let the skipper hear you say that, my lad,” growled Bart, “or it may be awkward for you!”“I’ll let annybody hear me!” cried Dinny. “Sure, an’ it’s the life of a baste to lead, and a man like that Black Mazzard bullying and finding fault. I’d have sent one of the powdher-kegs at his head this morning for the binifit of everybody here, only I might have blown myself up as well.”“Has he been swearing at you again!”“Swearing! Bedad, Bart, he said things to me this morning as scorched the leaves of the threes yonder. If you go and look you can see ’em all crickled up. He can swear!”Bart slouched away.“It’s a divil of a place!” muttered Dinny; “and it would make a wondherful stone-quarry; but I’m getting sick of it, and feeling as if I should like to desart. Black Mazzard again!” he muttered, drawing in his breath sharply. “I wish his greatest inimy would break his neck!”Dinny walked sharply away, for the lieutenant seemed to have been gathering authority since the taking of the sloop, and lost no opportunity of showing it to all the crew.Meanwhile, Bart had continued his way between the two piles of ruins, his path leading from the dazzling glow of the tropic sunshine into the subdued green twilight of the forest.Here, at the end of some fifty paces, he came to the external portion of the building which formed Captain Humphrey’s prison, and entering by a fairly well-preserved doorway, he raised a curtain, half-way down a corridor, passed through, and then came abreast of a recess, at the end of which was another broad hanging, which he drew aside, and entered the temple-chamber, where Humphrey lay sleeping on a couch.As Bart approached he became aware of a faint rustling sound, as of someone retreating from the window among the trees, and starting forward, he looked out. But all was still; not a long rope-like liana quivering, no leaf crushed.“Some monkey,” muttered Bart, and turning back, he gazed down with a heavy frown at the frank, handsome face of the young officer, till he saw the features twitch, the eyes open and stare wonderingly into his; and once more the prisoner, roused by the presence of another gazing upon his sleeping face, suddenly sprang up.“You here?”“Yes, sir, I’m here,” said Bart.“What for? Why?”“Nothing much, sir; only to tell you that you can go.”“Go?” cried the captain, excitedly.“Yes, sir. Captain Junk’s orders—where you like, so long as you don’t try to escape.”“But I must escape!” cried Humphrey, angrily. “Tell the captain I will not give my parole.”“He don’t want it, sir. You can go where you like, only if you try to escape you will be shot.”Humphrey Armstrong rose from where he had been lying, and made as if to go to the door, his face full of excitement, his eyes flashing, and his hands all of a tremble.“Go!” he said, sharply. “Send that man who has acted as my servant.”“Servant!” muttered Bart, as he passed the curtain; “and him a prisoner! Dinny called hisself his turnkey, but said as there was no door to lock. Here! hoi! Dinny!”“What do you want with him?” said a fierce voice; and he turned, to find the lieutenant coming out of one of the ruined buildings.“Prisoner wants him,” said Bart, sturdily. “Here, Dinny, Captain Armstrong wants you.”“Ay, ay,” cried Dinny, who seemed to divine that Mazzard was about to stop him, and ran hastily on; while the lieutenant, who was half-drunk, stood muttering, and then walked slowly away.“Not so well, sor!”“Wine—water!” panted Humphrey, hoarsely. “I tried to walk to the door and fell back here.”“Sure, an ye’re out of practice, sir,” said Dinny, hastening to hold a vessel of water to the prisoner’s lips. “That’s better. Ye’ve tuk no exercise since ye’ve been betther.”“Ah!” sighed Humphrey; “the deadly sickness has gone. This place is so lonely.”“Ay, ’tis, sor. One always feels like an outside cock bird who wants a mate.”“Sit down and talk to me.”“Sure an’ I will, wid pleasure, sor,” said Dinny, eagerly. “There’s so few gintlemen to talk to here.”“Tell me about your commander.”“An’ what’ll I tell you about him?”“What kind of a man is he?”“Sure, and he’s as handsome as such a little chap can be.”“Has he a wife here?”“Woife, sor? Not he!”“A troop of mistresses, then, or a harem?”“Divil a bit, sor. He’s riddy to shoot the boys whiniver they take a new wife—Ingin or white. I belave he hates the whole sex, and thinks women is divils, sor. Why, he hit Black Mazzard once, sor, for asking him why he didn’t choose a pretty gyurl, and not live like a monk.”“Is he brave?”“Yes, sor; and I wouldn’t anger him if I were you.”“Not I,” said Humphrey. “There, the sickness has passed off. Now, help me out into the sunshine.”“Help ye out?” said Dinny, looking puzzled.“Yes; into the bright sunshine. I seem to be decaying away here, man, and the warm light will give me strength.”“Shure, an’ if I do, Black Mazzard will pison me wid a pishtol-ball.”“I have the captain’s consent,” said Humphrey.“Sure, and ye’re not deludhering a boy, are ye, sor?” said Dinny.“No, no, my man, it is right. Help me; I did not know I was so weak.”“An’ is it wake?” said Dinny, drawing the prisoner’s arm well through his own. “Sure, and didn’t I see gallons o’ blood run out of ye? Faix, and there was quarts and quarts of it; and I belave ye’d have died if I hadn’t nursed ye so tenderly as I did.”“My good fellow, you’ve been like a good angel to me,” said Humphrey, feebly. “Hah! how glorious!” he sighed, closing his eyes as they stepped out of the long corridor into the opening cut through the forest, and then between the two piles of ruins into the glorious tropic sunshine.“Will it be too warrum?” said Dinny.“Warm! No, man, my heart has been chilled with lying there in the darkness. Take me farther out into the bright light.”“Sure, and it’s the sun bating ye down ye’ll be havin’,” said Dinny. “Look at that, now!”Dinny was gazing back at the pile of ancient buildings, and caught sight of a face in the shadow.“Yes, I am trying to look,” said Humphrey, with a sigh; “but my eyes are not used to the light.”“Sure, an’ it’s the captin, and he’s kaping his oi on us,” said Dinny to himself. “Well, all right, captain, darlin’! I’m not going to run away.”“What place is this?”“Sure, an’ it’s meself don’t know, sor. Mebbe it’s the palace that the American good payple built for Christyphy Columbus. Mebbe,” continued Dinny, “it’s much owlder. Sure, and it shutes the captin, and we all live here whin we don’t live somewhere else.”“Somewhere else?” said Humphrey, looking at Dinny wonderingly as he grasped his arm and signed to him to wait and give him breath.“Well, I mane at say, sor, doing a bit o’ business amongst the ships. Ah, look at her, thin, the darlin’!” he muttered, as a woman appeared for a moment among the lianas, held up her hand quickly to Dinny, and turned away.“What woman was that!” said Humphrey, hastily.“Woman, sor!”“Yes; that woman who kissed her hand to you.”“An’ did she kiss her hand to me, sor!”“Yes, man, you must have seen.”“Sure, an’ it must have been Misthress Greenheys, sor.”“Mistress Greenheys!”“A widow lady, sor, whose husband had an accident one day wid his ship and got killed.”“And you know her!”“We’ve been getting a little friendly lately,” said Dinny, demurely. “There, sor, you’re getting wake. Sit down on that owld stone in the shade. Bedad, it isn’t illigant, the cutting upon it, for it’s like a shkull, but it’s moighty convanient under that three. That’s better; and I’ll go and ask Bart to bring ye a cigar.”“No, stop,” said Humphrey. “I want to talk to you, man. That woman’s husband was murdered, then?”“Murdered! Faix, and that’s thrue. Sure, an’ someone hit him a bit too hard, sor, and he doied.”“Murdered by these buccaneers!” said Humphrey, excitedly, and he looked wildly around him, when his eye lighted on the trim, picturesque figure of the little woman, who was intently watching them, and he saw her exchange a sign with his companion.“The key of life—the great motive which moves the world,” said Humphrey to himself; and he turned suddenly on Dinny, who had his hand to his mouth and looked sheepish.“You love that woman,” he said, sharply.“Whisht, captin, dear!” said Dinny, softly; and then in a whisper, with a roguish leer, “sure, it isn’t me, sor; it’s the darlin’s took a bit of a fancy to me.”“Yes, and you love her,” said Humphrey.“Och, what a way ye have of putting it, sor! Sure, and the poor crittur lost her husband, and she’s been living here iver since, and she isn’t happy, and what could a boy do but thry to comfort her!”“Are you going to marry her, Dinny?” said Humphrey, after a pause.“Faix, an’ I would if I had a chance, sor; but there’s two obshticles in the way, and one of ’em’s Black Mazzard.”“Then, why not take her, Dinny!”“Tak’ her, sor?”“Yes; from this wretched place. Escape.”“Whisht! Don’t say that word aloud again, darlin’, or maybe the captin’ll get to hear. Sure, and I belave that the great big sthone gods shticking up all over the place gets to hear what’s said and whishpers it again to the captin, who always knows everything that goes on.”“Take her, and help me to escape,” whispered Humphrey, earnestly.“Whisht, man! Howld your tongue. Is it wanting to see me hanging on one of the trees! Eshcape?”“Yes. I am a rich man, and if you can get me away I’ll reward you handsomely.”“Hark at him!” said Dinny, scornfully. “Why, I should have to give up my share of what we’ve got shtored up here. Why, sor, I daresay I’m a richer man than yourself. Eshcape! and after all I’ve shworn.”Dinny turned away and began cutting a stick.“Tell me,” said Humphrey, “are there many of my men here?”“Jist twenty, sor.”“And how many are there of the pirates!”Dinny laughed with his eyes half shut.“Shure, sor, what d’ye tak’ me for? Ye don’t think I’m going to tell ye that!”Humphrey sighed, and was silent for a time; but an intense desire to know more about the place was burning within him, and he began to question his companion again.“Are the prisoners in one of these old temples!”“Yes. On the other side of the big pyrymid yonder, sor; but ye can’t get to them widout going a long way round.”“Are there many women here besides that Mistress Greenheys?”“Sure, yis, there is a dozen of ’em, sor. Not half enough, but just enough to kape the min quarrelling; and there’s been no end of bother about the women being kept in the place.”

“Not dying, Bart?”

“No, not exactly dying,” said that worthy in a low growl; “but s’pose you shoots at and wings a gull, picks it up, and takes it, and puts it in a cage; the wound heals up, and the bird seems sound; but after a time it don’t peck, and don’t preen its plumes, and if it don’t beat itself again’ the bars o’ the cage, it sits and looks at the sea.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I says, captain; and, after a time, if you don’t let it go, that gull dies.”

“Then you mean that Captain Armstrong is pining away?”

“That’s it.”

“Has he any suspicion of who we are?”

“Not a bit.”

“And you think he’s suffering for want of change?”

“Course I do. Anyone would—shut up in that dark place.”

“Has he complyned?”

“Not he. Too brave a lad. Why not give him and his lads a boat, and let them go!”

“To come back with a strong force and destroy us.”

“Ah, I never thought of that! Make him swear he wouldn’t. He’d keep his word.”

“But his men would not, Bart. No; he will have to stay.”

“Let him loose, then, to run about the place. He can’t get away.”

“I am afraid.”

“What of?”

“Some trouble arising. Mazzard does not like him.”

“Ah! I never thought o’ that neither,” returned Bart, gloomily. “Black Mazzard’s always grumbling about his being kept.”

The buccaneer took a turn or two up and down the quarters he occupied in the vast range of buildings buried in the forest, a mile back from the head of the harbour where his schooner lay; and Bart watched him curiously till he stopped, with his face twitching, and the frown deepening upon his brow.

“He will not give his word of honour not to attempt to escape, Bart,” said the captain, pausing at last before his follower.

“’Tar’n’t likely,” said Bart. “Who would? He’d get away if he could.”

“The prisoners cannot escape through the forest; there is no way but the sea, and that must be properly watched. Due notice must be given to all that any attempt to escape will be followed by the punishment of death.”

“I hear,” said Bart. “Am I to tell the captain that?”

“No. He must know it; but I give him into your charge. You must watch over him, and protect him from himself and from anyone else.”

“Black Mazzard!”

“From any one likely to do him harm,” said the captain, sternly. “You understand?”

“Yes. I’m going,” replied Bart, in a low growl, as he gazed in his leader’s eyes; and then, with a curious, thoughtful look in his own, he went out of the captain’s quarters and in the direction of the prison of the king’s officer.

Bart had to go down the broad steps of an extensive, open amphitheatre, whose stones were dislodged by the redundant growth of the forest; and, after crossing the vast court-yard at the bottom, to mount the steps on the other side toward where, dominating a broad terrace overshadowed by trees, stood a small, square temple, over whose doorway was carved a huge, demoniacal head, defaced by the action of time, but with the features still clearly marked.

As Bart neared the building a figure appeared in the doorway for a moment, and then passed out into the sunshine.

“Hullo, my lad!” it exclaimed. “You there?”

Bart nodded.

“Been putting in the last six barr’ls of the sloop’s powder, and some of these days you’ll see the sun’ll set it all alight, and blow the whole place to smithereens! Where are ye going?”

“Yonder, to the prisoners.”

“Poor divils!” said Dinny. “Hadn’t ye better kill the lot and put ’em out of their misery? They must be tired of it, and so am I. Faix, and it’s a dirthy life for a man to lead!”

“Don’t let the skipper hear you say that, my lad,” growled Bart, “or it may be awkward for you!”

“I’ll let annybody hear me!” cried Dinny. “Sure, an’ it’s the life of a baste to lead, and a man like that Black Mazzard bullying and finding fault. I’d have sent one of the powdher-kegs at his head this morning for the binifit of everybody here, only I might have blown myself up as well.”

“Has he been swearing at you again!”

“Swearing! Bedad, Bart, he said things to me this morning as scorched the leaves of the threes yonder. If you go and look you can see ’em all crickled up. He can swear!”

Bart slouched away.

“It’s a divil of a place!” muttered Dinny; “and it would make a wondherful stone-quarry; but I’m getting sick of it, and feeling as if I should like to desart. Black Mazzard again!” he muttered, drawing in his breath sharply. “I wish his greatest inimy would break his neck!”

Dinny walked sharply away, for the lieutenant seemed to have been gathering authority since the taking of the sloop, and lost no opportunity of showing it to all the crew.

Meanwhile, Bart had continued his way between the two piles of ruins, his path leading from the dazzling glow of the tropic sunshine into the subdued green twilight of the forest.

Here, at the end of some fifty paces, he came to the external portion of the building which formed Captain Humphrey’s prison, and entering by a fairly well-preserved doorway, he raised a curtain, half-way down a corridor, passed through, and then came abreast of a recess, at the end of which was another broad hanging, which he drew aside, and entered the temple-chamber, where Humphrey lay sleeping on a couch.

As Bart approached he became aware of a faint rustling sound, as of someone retreating from the window among the trees, and starting forward, he looked out. But all was still; not a long rope-like liana quivering, no leaf crushed.

“Some monkey,” muttered Bart, and turning back, he gazed down with a heavy frown at the frank, handsome face of the young officer, till he saw the features twitch, the eyes open and stare wonderingly into his; and once more the prisoner, roused by the presence of another gazing upon his sleeping face, suddenly sprang up.

“You here?”

“Yes, sir, I’m here,” said Bart.

“What for? Why?”

“Nothing much, sir; only to tell you that you can go.”

“Go?” cried the captain, excitedly.

“Yes, sir. Captain Junk’s orders—where you like, so long as you don’t try to escape.”

“But I must escape!” cried Humphrey, angrily. “Tell the captain I will not give my parole.”

“He don’t want it, sir. You can go where you like, only if you try to escape you will be shot.”

Humphrey Armstrong rose from where he had been lying, and made as if to go to the door, his face full of excitement, his eyes flashing, and his hands all of a tremble.

“Go!” he said, sharply. “Send that man who has acted as my servant.”

“Servant!” muttered Bart, as he passed the curtain; “and him a prisoner! Dinny called hisself his turnkey, but said as there was no door to lock. Here! hoi! Dinny!”

“What do you want with him?” said a fierce voice; and he turned, to find the lieutenant coming out of one of the ruined buildings.

“Prisoner wants him,” said Bart, sturdily. “Here, Dinny, Captain Armstrong wants you.”

“Ay, ay,” cried Dinny, who seemed to divine that Mazzard was about to stop him, and ran hastily on; while the lieutenant, who was half-drunk, stood muttering, and then walked slowly away.

“Not so well, sor!”

“Wine—water!” panted Humphrey, hoarsely. “I tried to walk to the door and fell back here.”

“Sure, an ye’re out of practice, sir,” said Dinny, hastening to hold a vessel of water to the prisoner’s lips. “That’s better. Ye’ve tuk no exercise since ye’ve been betther.”

“Ah!” sighed Humphrey; “the deadly sickness has gone. This place is so lonely.”

“Ay, ’tis, sor. One always feels like an outside cock bird who wants a mate.”

“Sit down and talk to me.”

“Sure an’ I will, wid pleasure, sor,” said Dinny, eagerly. “There’s so few gintlemen to talk to here.”

“Tell me about your commander.”

“An’ what’ll I tell you about him?”

“What kind of a man is he?”

“Sure, and he’s as handsome as such a little chap can be.”

“Has he a wife here?”

“Woife, sor? Not he!”

“A troop of mistresses, then, or a harem?”

“Divil a bit, sor. He’s riddy to shoot the boys whiniver they take a new wife—Ingin or white. I belave he hates the whole sex, and thinks women is divils, sor. Why, he hit Black Mazzard once, sor, for asking him why he didn’t choose a pretty gyurl, and not live like a monk.”

“Is he brave?”

“Yes, sor; and I wouldn’t anger him if I were you.”

“Not I,” said Humphrey. “There, the sickness has passed off. Now, help me out into the sunshine.”

“Help ye out?” said Dinny, looking puzzled.

“Yes; into the bright sunshine. I seem to be decaying away here, man, and the warm light will give me strength.”

“Shure, an’ if I do, Black Mazzard will pison me wid a pishtol-ball.”

“I have the captain’s consent,” said Humphrey.

“Sure, and ye’re not deludhering a boy, are ye, sor?” said Dinny.

“No, no, my man, it is right. Help me; I did not know I was so weak.”

“An’ is it wake?” said Dinny, drawing the prisoner’s arm well through his own. “Sure, and didn’t I see gallons o’ blood run out of ye? Faix, and there was quarts and quarts of it; and I belave ye’d have died if I hadn’t nursed ye so tenderly as I did.”

“My good fellow, you’ve been like a good angel to me,” said Humphrey, feebly. “Hah! how glorious!” he sighed, closing his eyes as they stepped out of the long corridor into the opening cut through the forest, and then between the two piles of ruins into the glorious tropic sunshine.

“Will it be too warrum?” said Dinny.

“Warm! No, man, my heart has been chilled with lying there in the darkness. Take me farther out into the bright light.”

“Sure, and it’s the sun bating ye down ye’ll be havin’,” said Dinny. “Look at that, now!”

Dinny was gazing back at the pile of ancient buildings, and caught sight of a face in the shadow.

“Yes, I am trying to look,” said Humphrey, with a sigh; “but my eyes are not used to the light.”

“Sure, an’ it’s the captin, and he’s kaping his oi on us,” said Dinny to himself. “Well, all right, captain, darlin’! I’m not going to run away.”

“What place is this?”

“Sure, an’ it’s meself don’t know, sor. Mebbe it’s the palace that the American good payple built for Christyphy Columbus. Mebbe,” continued Dinny, “it’s much owlder. Sure, and it shutes the captin, and we all live here whin we don’t live somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else?” said Humphrey, looking at Dinny wonderingly as he grasped his arm and signed to him to wait and give him breath.

“Well, I mane at say, sor, doing a bit o’ business amongst the ships. Ah, look at her, thin, the darlin’!” he muttered, as a woman appeared for a moment among the lianas, held up her hand quickly to Dinny, and turned away.

“What woman was that!” said Humphrey, hastily.

“Woman, sor!”

“Yes; that woman who kissed her hand to you.”

“An’ did she kiss her hand to me, sor!”

“Yes, man, you must have seen.”

“Sure, an’ it must have been Misthress Greenheys, sor.”

“Mistress Greenheys!”

“A widow lady, sor, whose husband had an accident one day wid his ship and got killed.”

“And you know her!”

“We’ve been getting a little friendly lately,” said Dinny, demurely. “There, sor, you’re getting wake. Sit down on that owld stone in the shade. Bedad, it isn’t illigant, the cutting upon it, for it’s like a shkull, but it’s moighty convanient under that three. That’s better; and I’ll go and ask Bart to bring ye a cigar.”

“No, stop,” said Humphrey. “I want to talk to you, man. That woman’s husband was murdered, then?”

“Murdered! Faix, and that’s thrue. Sure, an’ someone hit him a bit too hard, sor, and he doied.”

“Murdered by these buccaneers!” said Humphrey, excitedly, and he looked wildly around him, when his eye lighted on the trim, picturesque figure of the little woman, who was intently watching them, and he saw her exchange a sign with his companion.

“The key of life—the great motive which moves the world,” said Humphrey to himself; and he turned suddenly on Dinny, who had his hand to his mouth and looked sheepish.

“You love that woman,” he said, sharply.

“Whisht, captin, dear!” said Dinny, softly; and then in a whisper, with a roguish leer, “sure, it isn’t me, sor; it’s the darlin’s took a bit of a fancy to me.”

“Yes, and you love her,” said Humphrey.

“Och, what a way ye have of putting it, sor! Sure, and the poor crittur lost her husband, and she’s been living here iver since, and she isn’t happy, and what could a boy do but thry to comfort her!”

“Are you going to marry her, Dinny?” said Humphrey, after a pause.

“Faix, an’ I would if I had a chance, sor; but there’s two obshticles in the way, and one of ’em’s Black Mazzard.”

“Then, why not take her, Dinny!”

“Tak’ her, sor?”

“Yes; from this wretched place. Escape.”

“Whisht! Don’t say that word aloud again, darlin’, or maybe the captin’ll get to hear. Sure, and I belave that the great big sthone gods shticking up all over the place gets to hear what’s said and whishpers it again to the captin, who always knows everything that goes on.”

“Take her, and help me to escape,” whispered Humphrey, earnestly.

“Whisht, man! Howld your tongue. Is it wanting to see me hanging on one of the trees! Eshcape?”

“Yes. I am a rich man, and if you can get me away I’ll reward you handsomely.”

“Hark at him!” said Dinny, scornfully. “Why, I should have to give up my share of what we’ve got shtored up here. Why, sor, I daresay I’m a richer man than yourself. Eshcape! and after all I’ve shworn.”

Dinny turned away and began cutting a stick.

“Tell me,” said Humphrey, “are there many of my men here?”

“Jist twenty, sor.”

“And how many are there of the pirates!”

Dinny laughed with his eyes half shut.

“Shure, sor, what d’ye tak’ me for? Ye don’t think I’m going to tell ye that!”

Humphrey sighed, and was silent for a time; but an intense desire to know more about the place was burning within him, and he began to question his companion again.

“Are the prisoners in one of these old temples!”

“Yes. On the other side of the big pyrymid yonder, sor; but ye can’t get to them widout going a long way round.”

“Are there many women here besides that Mistress Greenheys?”

“Sure, yis, there is a dozen of ’em, sor. Not half enough, but just enough to kape the min quarrelling; and there’s been no end of bother about the women being kept in the place.”

Chapter Twenty Five.Plans of Escape.Humphrey Armstrong was weaker from his wounds than he believed; but the change from being shut up in the dim temple-chamber with the great stone idol for company to the comparatively free open air of the forest clearing rapidly restored the elasticity of his nature, and gave him ample opportunities for studying the state of affairs.He found that the buccaneers went out but seldom, and that when expeditions were made they would be fairly divided. At one time the captain would be in command, at another the lieutenant, so that their settlement was never left unprotected.As far as he could judge, they were about a hundred in number, and great dilapidated chambers in the range of temples and palaces formed admirable barracks and means of defence, such as in time of need could easily be held against attack.But Humphrey’s great idea was escape; and to accomplish this it seemed to him that his first need was to open up communication with his men.This he determined to accomplish, for with the liberty given it seemed to be a very easy thing to walk to some heap of stones at the edge of the forest and there seat himself till he was unobserved, when he could quietly step into the dense thicket, and make his way to where his followers were imprisoned.He had not long to wait, for it seemed that, after being closely watched for the first few days, the latitude allowed to him was greater. He had but to walk to the edge of the forest and wait, for the opportunity was sure to come.Easy as it appeared though in theory, it proved less so in performance, and it was not till after several attempts that he felt one day sure of success.It was soon after mid-day, when the great amphitheatre and the grotesquely ornamented ruins with their huge heads and shadowy trees were baking in the sun. The men who were often idling about had sought places where they could indulge in their siesta, and a silence as of the grave had fallen upon the place.Humphrey Armstrong had walked to a pile of ruins beneath one of the trees, and seated himself upon a huge stone sculptured round with figures writhing in impossible attitudes, and one and all wearing highly ornamental head-dresses of feathers.He lay back there as if half drowsy with the heat, and with half-closed eyes looked watchfully round to see whether he was observed. But as far as he could see the place was utterly deserted. Bart, who was often here and there giving a kind of supervision to the buccaneers’ settlement, and seeing that people from the barracks did not collect near the captain’s quarters, seemed to be absent. Dinny, who had been to him an hour before, had gone off on some duty with Dick Dullock, and everything pointed to the fact that this was the opportunity so long sought.He hesitated no longer; but after casting another glance round at the dark, shadowy nooks among the trees and ruins, all of which seemed purply-black in contrast with the blazing glare of sunshine, he softly slid himself back from the stone and dropped down among the undergrowth, and raised his head to peer among the leaves.He obtained a good view of the great amphitheatre and the surrounding ruins, but all was still. No one had seen him move, and not a leaf was stirring.Trifles seemed magnified at those moments into great matters, and with his nerves strung up to the highest pitch of tension he started, for all at once something moved away by the edge of the forest on his left. But it was only a great butterfly which fluttered over the baking stones, above which the air seemed to quiver, and then, with its brightly-painted wings casting a broad shadow, it crossed the ruined amphitheatre and was gone.Humphrey Armstrong crept from behind his resting-place right to the shelter of the trees at the edge of the forest, and his spirits rose as he found how easy an evasion seemed to be. He had only to secure the co-operation of half a dozen of his men, take advantage of the listlessness of the buccaneers some such hot day as this, make their way down to the shore, seize a boat, and then coast along till a settlement was reached or a ship seen to take them aboard.It was very simple, and it seemed easier and easier as he got farther away from the ruins and his prison. On his right the forest was dense, but the buccaneers had cut down and burned numbers of trees so as to keep them back from encroaching farther on the old buildings; and along here among the mossy stumps Humphrey Armstrong crept.But it was easy—nothing seemed more simple. Already he saw himself round on the other side of the ruins, holding communication with his fellow-prisoners and making plans, when, to his great delight, he found that he had hit upon what was evidently a way to the other side of the ancient ruins; for he suddenly came upon a narrow passage through the dense forest growth, literally a doorway cut in the tangle of creepers and vines that were matted among the trees. It must have been an arduous task, but it had been thoroughly done—the vines having been hewn through, or in places half divided and bent back, to go on interlacing at the sides, with the result that a maze-like path ran in and out among the trees.The moment he was in this path the glare of the sunny day was exchanged for a dim greenish-hued twilight, which darkened with every step he took. Overhead a pencil of sunshine could be seen from time to time, but rarely, for the mighty forest trees interlaced their branches a hundred and fifty feet above his head, and the air was heavy with the moist odour of vegetable decay.The forest path had evidently been rarely used of late, for the soft earth showed no imprints, the tender sickly growth of these deep shades had not been crushed; and as Humphrey realised these facts, he glanced back, to see how easily his trail could be followed—each step he had taken being either impressed in the vegetable soil or marked by the crushing down of moss or herb.The sight of this impelled him to additional effort, so that he might gain some definite information about his people, and perhaps seek them by night, when once he had found the means of communication. In this spirit he was hurrying on when he came suddenly, in one of the darkest paths, upon a figure which barred his way, and it was with the addition of a rage-wrung savage exclamation that he uttered his captor’s name.There was a dead silence in the dark forest as these two stood face to face, buried, as it were, in a gloomy tunnel. After Humphrey’s impatient ejaculation, drawn from him in his surprise, quite a minute elapsed; and then, half-mockingly, came in a deep, low voice—“Yes! Commodore Junk!”Humphrey stood glaring down at the obstacle in his path. He was tall and athletic, and, in spite of his weakness and the tales he had heard of the other’s powers, he felt that he could seize this man, hurl him down, and plant his foot upon his chest; for the buccaneer captain was without weapons, and stood looking up at him with one hand resting upon his hips, the other raised to his beardless face, with a well-shaped, small index finger slightly impressing his rounded cheek.“Yes,” he said again, mockingly, “Commodore Junk! Well, Humphrey Armstrong, what mad fit is this?”“Mad fit!” cried Humphrey, quickly recovering himself. “You allowed me to be at liberty, and I am exploring the place.”The buccaneer looked in his eyes, with the mocking smile growing more marked.“Is this Captain Humphrey Armstrong, the brave commander sent to exterminate me and mine, stooping to make a miserable excuse—to tell a lie!”“A lie!” cried Humphrey, fiercely, as he took a step in advance.“Yes, a lie!” said the buccaneer, without moving a muscle. “You were trying to find some way by which you could escape.”“Well,” cried Humphrey, passionately, “I am a prisoner. I have refused to give my parole; I was trying to find some way of escape.”“That is more like you,” said the buccaneer, quietly. “Why? What do you require? Are you not well treated by my men?”“You ask me why,” cried Humphrey—“me, whom you have defeated—disgraced, and whom you hold here a prisoner. You ask me why!”“Yes. I whom you would have taken, and, if I had not died sword in hand, have hung at your yard-arm, and then gibbeted at the nearest port as a scarecrow.”He was silent, and the buccaneer went on—“I have looked back, and I cannot see you placing a cabin at my disposal, seeing me nursed back from the brink of death, treated as a man would treat his wounded brother.”“No,” cried Humphrey, quickly; “and why have you done all this when it would have been kinder to have slain me on that wretched day?”“Why have I done this!” said the buccaneer, with the colour deepening in his swarthy face. “Ah, why have I done this! Perhaps,” he continued bitterly, “because I said to myself: ‘This is a brave, true, English gentleman;’ and I find instead a man who does not hesitate to lie to screen his paltry effort to escape.”Humphrey made a menacing gesture; but the buccaneer did not stir.“Look here, sir,” he continued. “I am in this place more powerful among my people than the king you serve. You smile; but you will find that it is true.”“If I am not killed, sir, trying to make some effort to escape.”“Escape!” cried the buccaneer, with his face lighting up. “Man, you have been warned before that you cannot escape. The forest beyond where we stand is one dense thicket through which no man can pass unless he cut his way inch by inch. It is one vast solitude, standing as it has stood since the world was made.”“Bah!” cried Humphrey, scornfully. “A determined man could make his way.”“How far!” cried the buccaneer. “A mile—two miles—and then, what is there?—starvation, fever, and death—lest in that vast wilderness. Even the Indians cannot penetrate those woods and mountains. Will you not take my word!”“Would you take mine,” said Humphrey, scornfully, “if our places were changed! I shall escape.”The buccaneer smiled.“You have an easy master, captain,” he said, quietly; “but I would like to see you wear your chains more easily. Humphrey Armstrong, you cannot escape. There is only one way from this place, and that is by the sea, and there is no need to guard that. Look here,” he cried, laying his hand upon the prisoner’s arm, “you have been planning this for days and days. You have lain out yonder upon that stone by the old palace, calculating how you could creep away; and you found your opportunity to-day, when you said to yourself, ‘These people are all asleep now, and I will find my way round to where my men are prisoners.’”As he spoke Humphrey changed colour and winced, for the buccaneer seemed to have read his every thought.“And then you came upon this path through the forest, and you felt that this was the way to freedom.”“Are you a devil?” cried Humphrey, excitedly.“Perhaps,” was the mocking reply. “Perhaps only the great butterfly you watched before you started, as it lazily winged its way among the broken stones.”Humphrey uttered an exclamation, and gazed wildly in the dark, mocking eyes.“Never mind what I am, captain, but pray understand this—you cannot escape from here. When you think you are most alone, there are eyes upon you which see your every act, and your movements are all known.”“I will not believe it,” cried Humphrey, angrily.“Then disbelieve it; but it is true. I tell you there is no escape, man. You may get away a few miles perhaps, but every step you take bristles with the threatenings of death. So be warned, and bear your fate patiently. Wait! Grow strong once more.”“And then!” cried Humphrey, excitedly. “What then?”“Ah, yes,” said the buccaneer, who assumed not to have heard his words, “you are still weak. That flush in your face is the flush of fever, and you are low and excited.”“Dog! You are mocking me!” cried Humphrey, furiously, for he felt the truth of every word that had been said, and his impotence maddened him.“Dog!” cried the buccaneer as furiously.“Yes; wretched cut-throat—murderer,” cried Humphrey—“miserable wretch, whom I could strangle where you stand!”The buccaneer turned of a sallow pallor, his brow knit, his eyes flashed, and his chest heaved, as he stood glaring at Humphrey; but the sudden storm of passion passed away, and with a smile of pity he said softly—“You call names like a petulant boy. Come, I am not angry with you, let us go back to your room. The heat of this place is too much for you, and to-morrow you will be down with fever.”“Humph!” ejaculated Humphrey, angrily.“It is true,” said the buccaneer. “Come.”“There’s something behind all this,” cried the young man, excitedly. “We are alone here. I am the stronger; and, in spite of your boasting, there is no one here to help. You shall speak out, and tell me what this means.”His gesture was threatening now; but the buccaneer did not stir.“I am not alone,” he said, quietly. “I never am without someone to protect me. But there, you shall be answered. Why have I had you tended as I have? Well, suppose I have said to myself, ‘Here is a brave man who should be one of us.’”“One of you!” cried Humphrey, with a scornful laugh.“Suppose,” continued the buccaneer, with his nether lip quivering slightly, “I had said to myself, ‘You are alone here. Your men obey you, but you have no friends among them—no companions whom you can trust. Why not make this man your friend?’”Humphrey smiled, and the buccaneer’s lip twitched slightly as he continued—“You are fevered and disappointed now, and I shall not heed your words. I tell you once for all that you must accept your fate here as others have accepted theirs. I need not tell you that for one to escape from here would be to bring ruin upon all. Hence every one is his brother’s guardian; and the Indians for hundreds of miles around, at first our enemies till they felt my power, are now my faithful friends.”Humphrey laughed mockingly.“You laugh, sir. Well it is the laugh of ignorance, as you will find. It is no idle boast when I say that I am king here over my people, and the tribes to north and south.”“The Indians too?” said Humphrey.“Yes, the Indians too, as you found to your cost.”“To my cost?”“To your cost. Your ship was in my way. You troubled me; and your people had to be removed. Well, they were removed.”“The treacherous hounds!” cried Humphrey, grinding his teeth as he recalled the action of the two Indians, and their escape.“Treacherous! No. You would have employed men to betray me; it was but fighting you with your own weapons, sir; and these you call treacherous hounds were true, brave fellows who risked their lives to save me and mine.”Humphrey was silent.“Come, Captain Armstrong; you will suffer bitterly for this. There are chills and fevers in the depths of this forest which seize upon strangers like you, especially upon those weakened by their wounds, and I do not want to lose the officer and gentleman who is to be my friend and help here, where I am, as it were, alone.”“Your friend and help!” said Humphrey, haughtily. “I am your prisoner, sir; but you forget to whom you are speaking. How dare you ask me to link my fate with that of your cut-throat band—to share with you a life of plunder and disgrace, with the noose at the yard-arm of every ship in His Majesty’s Navy waiting to end your miserable career? I tell you—I tell you—”He made a clutch at the nearest branch to save himself, for his head swam, black spots veiled in mist and strangely blurred seemed to be descending from above to form a blinding veil before his eyes. He recovered himself for a moment, long enough to resent the hand stretched out to save him, and then all was blank, and with a hoarse sigh he would have fallen heavily but for the strong arms that caught him, held him firmly for a few moments, and then a faint catching sigh was heard in the stillness of the forest, as Humphrey Armstrong was lowered slowly upon the moss and a soft brown hand laid upon his forehead, as the buccaneer bent down upon one knee by his side.“Want me?” said a deep low voice; and the buccaneer started as if from a dream, with his face hardening, and the wrinkles which had been smoothed reappearing deeply in the broad forehead.“You here, Bart?”“Ay, I’m here.”“Watching me?”“Ay, watching of you.”The buccaneer rose and gave the interloper an angry look.“Well, why not!” said Bart. “How did I know what he’d do?”“And you’ve seen and heard all?”“Everything,” said Bart, coolly.“When I told you to be within hearing only if I whistled or called.”“What’s the use of that when a blow or a stab would stop them both?”“Bart, I—”“Go on, I don’t mind,” said Bart, quietly, “I want to live, and if you was to come to harm that would be the end of me.”The buccaneer gave an impatient stamp, but Bart paid no heed.“Give me a lift up and I’ll carry him back,” he said quietly.All this was done, and Dinny summoned, so that when, an hour later, Humphrey unclosed his eyes, it was with his head throbbing with fever, a wild half-delirious dreaminess troubling his brain, and the great stone image glaring down at him through the dim green twilight of the prison room.It was a bitter experience for the prisoner to find that he had overrated his powers. The effort, the excitement, and the malaria of the forest prostrated him for a fortnight, and at the end of that time he found that he was in no condition to make a further attempt at securing the means of escape.He lay in his gloomy chamber thinking over the buccaneer’s insolent proposal, and fully expected that he would resent the way in which it had been received; but to his surprise he received the greatest of attention, and wine, fruit, and various delicacies that had evidently come from the stores of some well-found ship were placed before him to tempt his appetite.Dinny was his regular attendant, and always cheery and ready to help him in every way; but no more was said for a time respecting an evasion, though Humphrey was waiting his time; for after lying for hours, day after day, debating his position, he came to the conclusion that if he did escape it must be through this light-spirited Irishman.His captor did not come to him as far as he knew; but he had a suspicion that more than once the buccaneer had been watching from some point or another unknown to him. But one day a message was brought by Bart, who entered the gloomy chamber and in his short, half-surly way thus delivered himself—“Orders from the skipper, sir.”“Orders from your captain!” said Humphrey, flushing.“To say that he is waiting for your answer, sir.”“My answer, man? I gave him my answer.”“And that he can wait any time; but a message from you that you want to see him will bring him here.”“There is no other answer,” said Humphrey, coldly.“Better not say that,” said Bart, after standing gazing at the prisoner for some time.“What do you mean?” cried Humphrey, haughtily.“Don’t know. What am I to say to the captain?”“I have told you. There is no answer,” said Humphrey, coldly, and he turned away, but lay listening intently, for it struck him that he had heard a rustle in the great stone corridor without, as if someone had been listening; but the thick carpet-like curtain fell, and he heard no more, only lay watching the faint rays of light which descended through the dense foliage of the trees, as some breeze waved them softly, far on high, and slightly relieved the prevailing gloom.Bart’s visit had started a current of thought which was once more running strongly when Dinny entered with a basket of the delicious little grapes which grew wild in the sunny open parts of the mountain slopes.“There, sor,” he said, “and all me own picking, except about half of them which Misthress Greenheys sint for ye. Will ye take a few bunches now?”“Dinny,” said Humphrey in a low earnest voice, “have you thought of what I said to you?”“Faix, and which? what is it ye mane, sor?”“You know what I mean, man: about helping me to escape from here?”“About helping ye to eshcape, sor? Oh, it’s that ye mane!”“Yes, man; will you help me?”“Will I help ye, sor? D’ye see these threes outside the windy yonder, which isn’t a windy bekase it has no glass in it?”“Yes, yes, I see,” cried Humphrey with all a sick man’s petulance.“Well, they’ve got no fruit upon ’em, sor.”“No, of course not. They are not of a fruit-bearing kind. What of that!”“Faix, an’ if I helped ye to eshcape, captain, darlin’, sure and one of ’em would be having fruit hanging to it before the day was out, and a moighty foine kind of pear it would be.”

Humphrey Armstrong was weaker from his wounds than he believed; but the change from being shut up in the dim temple-chamber with the great stone idol for company to the comparatively free open air of the forest clearing rapidly restored the elasticity of his nature, and gave him ample opportunities for studying the state of affairs.

He found that the buccaneers went out but seldom, and that when expeditions were made they would be fairly divided. At one time the captain would be in command, at another the lieutenant, so that their settlement was never left unprotected.

As far as he could judge, they were about a hundred in number, and great dilapidated chambers in the range of temples and palaces formed admirable barracks and means of defence, such as in time of need could easily be held against attack.

But Humphrey’s great idea was escape; and to accomplish this it seemed to him that his first need was to open up communication with his men.

This he determined to accomplish, for with the liberty given it seemed to be a very easy thing to walk to some heap of stones at the edge of the forest and there seat himself till he was unobserved, when he could quietly step into the dense thicket, and make his way to where his followers were imprisoned.

He had not long to wait, for it seemed that, after being closely watched for the first few days, the latitude allowed to him was greater. He had but to walk to the edge of the forest and wait, for the opportunity was sure to come.

Easy as it appeared though in theory, it proved less so in performance, and it was not till after several attempts that he felt one day sure of success.

It was soon after mid-day, when the great amphitheatre and the grotesquely ornamented ruins with their huge heads and shadowy trees were baking in the sun. The men who were often idling about had sought places where they could indulge in their siesta, and a silence as of the grave had fallen upon the place.

Humphrey Armstrong had walked to a pile of ruins beneath one of the trees, and seated himself upon a huge stone sculptured round with figures writhing in impossible attitudes, and one and all wearing highly ornamental head-dresses of feathers.

He lay back there as if half drowsy with the heat, and with half-closed eyes looked watchfully round to see whether he was observed. But as far as he could see the place was utterly deserted. Bart, who was often here and there giving a kind of supervision to the buccaneers’ settlement, and seeing that people from the barracks did not collect near the captain’s quarters, seemed to be absent. Dinny, who had been to him an hour before, had gone off on some duty with Dick Dullock, and everything pointed to the fact that this was the opportunity so long sought.

He hesitated no longer; but after casting another glance round at the dark, shadowy nooks among the trees and ruins, all of which seemed purply-black in contrast with the blazing glare of sunshine, he softly slid himself back from the stone and dropped down among the undergrowth, and raised his head to peer among the leaves.

He obtained a good view of the great amphitheatre and the surrounding ruins, but all was still. No one had seen him move, and not a leaf was stirring.

Trifles seemed magnified at those moments into great matters, and with his nerves strung up to the highest pitch of tension he started, for all at once something moved away by the edge of the forest on his left. But it was only a great butterfly which fluttered over the baking stones, above which the air seemed to quiver, and then, with its brightly-painted wings casting a broad shadow, it crossed the ruined amphitheatre and was gone.

Humphrey Armstrong crept from behind his resting-place right to the shelter of the trees at the edge of the forest, and his spirits rose as he found how easy an evasion seemed to be. He had only to secure the co-operation of half a dozen of his men, take advantage of the listlessness of the buccaneers some such hot day as this, make their way down to the shore, seize a boat, and then coast along till a settlement was reached or a ship seen to take them aboard.

It was very simple, and it seemed easier and easier as he got farther away from the ruins and his prison. On his right the forest was dense, but the buccaneers had cut down and burned numbers of trees so as to keep them back from encroaching farther on the old buildings; and along here among the mossy stumps Humphrey Armstrong crept.

But it was easy—nothing seemed more simple. Already he saw himself round on the other side of the ruins, holding communication with his fellow-prisoners and making plans, when, to his great delight, he found that he had hit upon what was evidently a way to the other side of the ancient ruins; for he suddenly came upon a narrow passage through the dense forest growth, literally a doorway cut in the tangle of creepers and vines that were matted among the trees. It must have been an arduous task, but it had been thoroughly done—the vines having been hewn through, or in places half divided and bent back, to go on interlacing at the sides, with the result that a maze-like path ran in and out among the trees.

The moment he was in this path the glare of the sunny day was exchanged for a dim greenish-hued twilight, which darkened with every step he took. Overhead a pencil of sunshine could be seen from time to time, but rarely, for the mighty forest trees interlaced their branches a hundred and fifty feet above his head, and the air was heavy with the moist odour of vegetable decay.

The forest path had evidently been rarely used of late, for the soft earth showed no imprints, the tender sickly growth of these deep shades had not been crushed; and as Humphrey realised these facts, he glanced back, to see how easily his trail could be followed—each step he had taken being either impressed in the vegetable soil or marked by the crushing down of moss or herb.

The sight of this impelled him to additional effort, so that he might gain some definite information about his people, and perhaps seek them by night, when once he had found the means of communication. In this spirit he was hurrying on when he came suddenly, in one of the darkest paths, upon a figure which barred his way, and it was with the addition of a rage-wrung savage exclamation that he uttered his captor’s name.

There was a dead silence in the dark forest as these two stood face to face, buried, as it were, in a gloomy tunnel. After Humphrey’s impatient ejaculation, drawn from him in his surprise, quite a minute elapsed; and then, half-mockingly, came in a deep, low voice—

“Yes! Commodore Junk!”

Humphrey stood glaring down at the obstacle in his path. He was tall and athletic, and, in spite of his weakness and the tales he had heard of the other’s powers, he felt that he could seize this man, hurl him down, and plant his foot upon his chest; for the buccaneer captain was without weapons, and stood looking up at him with one hand resting upon his hips, the other raised to his beardless face, with a well-shaped, small index finger slightly impressing his rounded cheek.

“Yes,” he said again, mockingly, “Commodore Junk! Well, Humphrey Armstrong, what mad fit is this?”

“Mad fit!” cried Humphrey, quickly recovering himself. “You allowed me to be at liberty, and I am exploring the place.”

The buccaneer looked in his eyes, with the mocking smile growing more marked.

“Is this Captain Humphrey Armstrong, the brave commander sent to exterminate me and mine, stooping to make a miserable excuse—to tell a lie!”

“A lie!” cried Humphrey, fiercely, as he took a step in advance.

“Yes, a lie!” said the buccaneer, without moving a muscle. “You were trying to find some way by which you could escape.”

“Well,” cried Humphrey, passionately, “I am a prisoner. I have refused to give my parole; I was trying to find some way of escape.”

“That is more like you,” said the buccaneer, quietly. “Why? What do you require? Are you not well treated by my men?”

“You ask me why,” cried Humphrey—“me, whom you have defeated—disgraced, and whom you hold here a prisoner. You ask me why!”

“Yes. I whom you would have taken, and, if I had not died sword in hand, have hung at your yard-arm, and then gibbeted at the nearest port as a scarecrow.”

He was silent, and the buccaneer went on—

“I have looked back, and I cannot see you placing a cabin at my disposal, seeing me nursed back from the brink of death, treated as a man would treat his wounded brother.”

“No,” cried Humphrey, quickly; “and why have you done all this when it would have been kinder to have slain me on that wretched day?”

“Why have I done this!” said the buccaneer, with the colour deepening in his swarthy face. “Ah, why have I done this! Perhaps,” he continued bitterly, “because I said to myself: ‘This is a brave, true, English gentleman;’ and I find instead a man who does not hesitate to lie to screen his paltry effort to escape.”

Humphrey made a menacing gesture; but the buccaneer did not stir.

“Look here, sir,” he continued. “I am in this place more powerful among my people than the king you serve. You smile; but you will find that it is true.”

“If I am not killed, sir, trying to make some effort to escape.”

“Escape!” cried the buccaneer, with his face lighting up. “Man, you have been warned before that you cannot escape. The forest beyond where we stand is one dense thicket through which no man can pass unless he cut his way inch by inch. It is one vast solitude, standing as it has stood since the world was made.”

“Bah!” cried Humphrey, scornfully. “A determined man could make his way.”

“How far!” cried the buccaneer. “A mile—two miles—and then, what is there?—starvation, fever, and death—lest in that vast wilderness. Even the Indians cannot penetrate those woods and mountains. Will you not take my word!”

“Would you take mine,” said Humphrey, scornfully, “if our places were changed! I shall escape.”

The buccaneer smiled.

“You have an easy master, captain,” he said, quietly; “but I would like to see you wear your chains more easily. Humphrey Armstrong, you cannot escape. There is only one way from this place, and that is by the sea, and there is no need to guard that. Look here,” he cried, laying his hand upon the prisoner’s arm, “you have been planning this for days and days. You have lain out yonder upon that stone by the old palace, calculating how you could creep away; and you found your opportunity to-day, when you said to yourself, ‘These people are all asleep now, and I will find my way round to where my men are prisoners.’”

As he spoke Humphrey changed colour and winced, for the buccaneer seemed to have read his every thought.

“And then you came upon this path through the forest, and you felt that this was the way to freedom.”

“Are you a devil?” cried Humphrey, excitedly.

“Perhaps,” was the mocking reply. “Perhaps only the great butterfly you watched before you started, as it lazily winged its way among the broken stones.”

Humphrey uttered an exclamation, and gazed wildly in the dark, mocking eyes.

“Never mind what I am, captain, but pray understand this—you cannot escape from here. When you think you are most alone, there are eyes upon you which see your every act, and your movements are all known.”

“I will not believe it,” cried Humphrey, angrily.

“Then disbelieve it; but it is true. I tell you there is no escape, man. You may get away a few miles perhaps, but every step you take bristles with the threatenings of death. So be warned, and bear your fate patiently. Wait! Grow strong once more.”

“And then!” cried Humphrey, excitedly. “What then?”

“Ah, yes,” said the buccaneer, who assumed not to have heard his words, “you are still weak. That flush in your face is the flush of fever, and you are low and excited.”

“Dog! You are mocking me!” cried Humphrey, furiously, for he felt the truth of every word that had been said, and his impotence maddened him.

“Dog!” cried the buccaneer as furiously.

“Yes; wretched cut-throat—murderer,” cried Humphrey—“miserable wretch, whom I could strangle where you stand!”

The buccaneer turned of a sallow pallor, his brow knit, his eyes flashed, and his chest heaved, as he stood glaring at Humphrey; but the sudden storm of passion passed away, and with a smile of pity he said softly—

“You call names like a petulant boy. Come, I am not angry with you, let us go back to your room. The heat of this place is too much for you, and to-morrow you will be down with fever.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Humphrey, angrily.

“It is true,” said the buccaneer. “Come.”

“There’s something behind all this,” cried the young man, excitedly. “We are alone here. I am the stronger; and, in spite of your boasting, there is no one here to help. You shall speak out, and tell me what this means.”

His gesture was threatening now; but the buccaneer did not stir.

“I am not alone,” he said, quietly. “I never am without someone to protect me. But there, you shall be answered. Why have I had you tended as I have? Well, suppose I have said to myself, ‘Here is a brave man who should be one of us.’”

“One of you!” cried Humphrey, with a scornful laugh.

“Suppose,” continued the buccaneer, with his nether lip quivering slightly, “I had said to myself, ‘You are alone here. Your men obey you, but you have no friends among them—no companions whom you can trust. Why not make this man your friend?’”

Humphrey smiled, and the buccaneer’s lip twitched slightly as he continued—

“You are fevered and disappointed now, and I shall not heed your words. I tell you once for all that you must accept your fate here as others have accepted theirs. I need not tell you that for one to escape from here would be to bring ruin upon all. Hence every one is his brother’s guardian; and the Indians for hundreds of miles around, at first our enemies till they felt my power, are now my faithful friends.”

Humphrey laughed mockingly.

“You laugh, sir. Well it is the laugh of ignorance, as you will find. It is no idle boast when I say that I am king here over my people, and the tribes to north and south.”

“The Indians too?” said Humphrey.

“Yes, the Indians too, as you found to your cost.”

“To my cost?”

“To your cost. Your ship was in my way. You troubled me; and your people had to be removed. Well, they were removed.”

“The treacherous hounds!” cried Humphrey, grinding his teeth as he recalled the action of the two Indians, and their escape.

“Treacherous! No. You would have employed men to betray me; it was but fighting you with your own weapons, sir; and these you call treacherous hounds were true, brave fellows who risked their lives to save me and mine.”

Humphrey was silent.

“Come, Captain Armstrong; you will suffer bitterly for this. There are chills and fevers in the depths of this forest which seize upon strangers like you, especially upon those weakened by their wounds, and I do not want to lose the officer and gentleman who is to be my friend and help here, where I am, as it were, alone.”

“Your friend and help!” said Humphrey, haughtily. “I am your prisoner, sir; but you forget to whom you are speaking. How dare you ask me to link my fate with that of your cut-throat band—to share with you a life of plunder and disgrace, with the noose at the yard-arm of every ship in His Majesty’s Navy waiting to end your miserable career? I tell you—I tell you—”

He made a clutch at the nearest branch to save himself, for his head swam, black spots veiled in mist and strangely blurred seemed to be descending from above to form a blinding veil before his eyes. He recovered himself for a moment, long enough to resent the hand stretched out to save him, and then all was blank, and with a hoarse sigh he would have fallen heavily but for the strong arms that caught him, held him firmly for a few moments, and then a faint catching sigh was heard in the stillness of the forest, as Humphrey Armstrong was lowered slowly upon the moss and a soft brown hand laid upon his forehead, as the buccaneer bent down upon one knee by his side.

“Want me?” said a deep low voice; and the buccaneer started as if from a dream, with his face hardening, and the wrinkles which had been smoothed reappearing deeply in the broad forehead.

“You here, Bart?”

“Ay, I’m here.”

“Watching me?”

“Ay, watching of you.”

The buccaneer rose and gave the interloper an angry look.

“Well, why not!” said Bart. “How did I know what he’d do?”

“And you’ve seen and heard all?”

“Everything,” said Bart, coolly.

“When I told you to be within hearing only if I whistled or called.”

“What’s the use of that when a blow or a stab would stop them both?”

“Bart, I—”

“Go on, I don’t mind,” said Bart, quietly, “I want to live, and if you was to come to harm that would be the end of me.”

The buccaneer gave an impatient stamp, but Bart paid no heed.

“Give me a lift up and I’ll carry him back,” he said quietly.

All this was done, and Dinny summoned, so that when, an hour later, Humphrey unclosed his eyes, it was with his head throbbing with fever, a wild half-delirious dreaminess troubling his brain, and the great stone image glaring down at him through the dim green twilight of the prison room.

It was a bitter experience for the prisoner to find that he had overrated his powers. The effort, the excitement, and the malaria of the forest prostrated him for a fortnight, and at the end of that time he found that he was in no condition to make a further attempt at securing the means of escape.

He lay in his gloomy chamber thinking over the buccaneer’s insolent proposal, and fully expected that he would resent the way in which it had been received; but to his surprise he received the greatest of attention, and wine, fruit, and various delicacies that had evidently come from the stores of some well-found ship were placed before him to tempt his appetite.

Dinny was his regular attendant, and always cheery and ready to help him in every way; but no more was said for a time respecting an evasion, though Humphrey was waiting his time; for after lying for hours, day after day, debating his position, he came to the conclusion that if he did escape it must be through this light-spirited Irishman.

His captor did not come to him as far as he knew; but he had a suspicion that more than once the buccaneer had been watching from some point or another unknown to him. But one day a message was brought by Bart, who entered the gloomy chamber and in his short, half-surly way thus delivered himself—

“Orders from the skipper, sir.”

“Orders from your captain!” said Humphrey, flushing.

“To say that he is waiting for your answer, sir.”

“My answer, man? I gave him my answer.”

“And that he can wait any time; but a message from you that you want to see him will bring him here.”

“There is no other answer,” said Humphrey, coldly.

“Better not say that,” said Bart, after standing gazing at the prisoner for some time.

“What do you mean?” cried Humphrey, haughtily.

“Don’t know. What am I to say to the captain?”

“I have told you. There is no answer,” said Humphrey, coldly, and he turned away, but lay listening intently, for it struck him that he had heard a rustle in the great stone corridor without, as if someone had been listening; but the thick carpet-like curtain fell, and he heard no more, only lay watching the faint rays of light which descended through the dense foliage of the trees, as some breeze waved them softly, far on high, and slightly relieved the prevailing gloom.

Bart’s visit had started a current of thought which was once more running strongly when Dinny entered with a basket of the delicious little grapes which grew wild in the sunny open parts of the mountain slopes.

“There, sor,” he said, “and all me own picking, except about half of them which Misthress Greenheys sint for ye. Will ye take a few bunches now?”

“Dinny,” said Humphrey in a low earnest voice, “have you thought of what I said to you?”

“Faix, and which? what is it ye mane, sor?”

“You know what I mean, man: about helping me to escape from here?”

“About helping ye to eshcape, sor? Oh, it’s that ye mane!”

“Yes, man; will you help me?”

“Will I help ye, sor? D’ye see these threes outside the windy yonder, which isn’t a windy bekase it has no glass in it?”

“Yes, yes, I see,” cried Humphrey with all a sick man’s petulance.

“Well, they’ve got no fruit upon ’em, sor.”

“No, of course not. They are not of a fruit-bearing kind. What of that!”

“Faix, an’ if I helped ye to eshcape, captain, darlin’, sure and one of ’em would be having fruit hanging to it before the day was out, and a moighty foine kind of pear it would be.”

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