CHAPTER XVIII.
“Demand me nothing; what you know you know;From this time forth I never will speak word.”Othello.
“Demand me nothing; what you know you know;From this time forth I never will speak word.”Othello.
“Demand me nothing; what you know you know;From this time forth I never will speak word.”Othello.
“Demand me nothing; what you know you know;
From this time forth I never will speak word.”
Othello.
“Torments will ope your lips,”Ibid.
“Torments will ope your lips,”Ibid.
“Torments will ope your lips,”Ibid.
“Torments will ope your lips,”
Ibid.
After he had been defeated by the untoward accident of the shark in his attempt to rescue his captive chief, Lorenzo betook himself on board the schooner, a victim to disappointment and disgust.
He felt irresistibly inclined to break out in the most violent terms, and hurried down into his cabin as soon as he got on the deck of the schooner. He then partially gave vent to his feelings by speaking almost aloud.
“It would have been bearable,” he said, “bearable, if we had fought, and had been driven back; but to be foiled at the very moment when we were completing a breach, by a brute of a shark: confound it, and allother sharks, the brutes!” and thrusting his hand deeply into the bosom of his coat, he paced rapidly up and down his narrow cabin, while, from time to time, his lips moved violently as if he were repeating his anathemas against the particular shark and all the others.
This fit, however, did not continue long.
Schooled under the continual insecurity and danger which attended the life that he led, in which safety itself demanded the exercise of the greatest foresight and calmness, he speedily curbed his instinctive impulses of rage, and immediately began to deliberate with coolness and precision on the next measures which it was requisite for him to take.
He did not deliberate long. Accustomed to act in the face of danger, and to oppose his ready resources to sudden contingencies, he never required much time to debate with himself on the best and most prudent course to be adopted under unforeseen circumstances of danger. At this conjuncture, he resolved to watch the man-of-war closely, and to embrace the very first opportunity either to steal away Appadocca, or to rescue him at a calculated sacrifice of some of his men. For that purpose, the schooner was kept in the same position in which she was, until, as we have seen, the man-of-war made the descent upon her. Lorenzo purposely awaited theapproach of the large vessel, so that he might have the opportunity of keeping, as he intended, close to the man-of-war. Nothing ever escaped the disciplined vigilance of the pirates, and although they seemed to be taken by surprise, still they had their eyes all the time on the movements of the pursuing vessel; and, as the reader has seen, disappointed so signally the encouraged expectations of its crew and commander.
When night had put an end to the chase of that day, Lorenzo put his men busily at work.
In a few moments, the ordinary sails of the Black Schooner were symmetrically folded within the smallest imaginable size, and carefully covered up at the foot of each of the masts, and from under the deck, yards, cordage, and sails for a square-rigged vessel were brought up, and, in as short a time, the thin tapering masts were seen garnished with the numerous ropes, yards, and sails of a full-rigged brig; while, to complete the metamorphosis, stripes of new canvass were carefully cut in the shape of the imitation port-holes, which are generally painted on the sides of merchant vessels, and were closely fastened to the sides of the Black Schooner, and adjusted in such a careful manner as to conceal completely the guns of the disguised vessel.
It was in this guise that the Black Schoonerpassed before the man-of-war, and showed Mexican colors.
After Lorenzo had closely reconnoitered his pursuer, and had raised the suspicion which procured him the salute of a gun, he again sailed away out of sight, and with the same expedition as of the night before, the mainmast of the apparent brig was immediately divested of its yards, and, in their places, the sharp sails of a schooner were again set. In the rig of a brigantine, the Black Schooner again passed before the man-of-war.
But these distant surveys, for caution prevented him from going within the range of the ship’s guns, were not sufficient to satisfy Lorenzo, who now began to suffer under the most impatient anxiety with regard to the safety of his chief and friend.
The brave officer feared, that annoyed by his inability to overtake the schooner, the commander of the ship might, perhaps, have immediately ordered the execution of his prisoner; that Appadocca might, by that time, have been dealt with in the summary manner in which pirates were usually treated, and had been hanged on the yard-arm without accusation, hearing, or judgment.
“If so,” cried Lorenzo, as this fear grew more and more upon him, “if so, I swear, by the living G—d, that I shall burn that large vessel to the very keel, and shallnot spare one, not a single one of its numerous crew to tell the tale—cost what it may, by G—d, I’ll do it.”
To procure information, therefore, about the fate of one whom he loved as a brother: and in order to satisfy his doubts, he resolved at once on taking one or two of the man-of-war’s men, and settled on the expedient of the distressed barque, with which the reader has just been made acquainted.
The young midshipman had no sooner laid his foot on the deck of the disguised schooner, before he was strongly grasped by the powerful arm of a man who had been carefully concealed behind the false bulwarks of the skeleton barque, while the voice of Jim Splice—it was the man—whispered in his ear,—
“Don’t resist, young countryman, all right.”
But as soon as the first impulse of the young officer had passed away, and he discovered that he was left on board a vessel which presented an unmistakable appearance of being engaged in some forbidden trade, and when he saw before him numbers of fierce-looking, armed men, he struggled for a moment, and succeeded in drawing his sword. But Lorenzo, the formerly solitary man on the deck of the distressed vessel, calmly stepped up to him, and said,—
“Young gentleman, be not alarmed, no violence willbe done to you: sheath your sword,” and casting his eyes around on the men, continued, “you see, it will not be of much service to you against such odds.”
“Who are you?” peevishly inquired the young officer, “what do you intend to do with me?”
“I shall soon tell you,” replied Lorenzo, “if you will be good enough to accompany me to my cabin.”
“What cabin? and what to do? You may cut my throat here,” said the midshipman, angrily.
“Perhaps you would not be so unreasonable,” remarked Lorenzo, softly, “if you were to hear the little that I have to inquire of you: pray, come with me.”
“I shall not go with you,” angrily rejoined the midshipman, “I am in the hands of pirates, I know. You may murder me, where I am, but I shall not go down with you to any cabin.”
“Then stay where you are,” coolly answered Lorenzo, and he walked away to the after part of the schooner, and ordered Jim Splice to let go the young man.
The older sailor relaxed his grasp, but availed himself of the opportunity which he now had, to whisper in the ears of the midshipman—
“Don’t attempt to crow too high here, shipmate, else you will get the worst of it, ’d’ye hear?”
And the old tar winked his eye to the young midshipman.The familiar sign of knowingness contrasted strangely with the terrible moustachios and beard with which Jim Splice had deemed it characteristic to ornament his homely and good-natured old face.
In the mean time all sail was set, and the man-of-war was left far behind. The sailors had now again posted themselves at their regular stations, and the ordinary quiet had now succeeded to the short excitement of making sail. The midshipman was still standing in the same spot where Lorenzo had left him. His anger, however, had evaporated to a considerable extent, under the wise prescription of leaving the angry man to himself, which Lorenzo was wise enough to make, and like all men who are not absolutely fools, the midshipman had thrown off as much as possible of that wasting and useless attendant—rage, as soon as his first impulses had somewhat subsided.
Instead of continuing in that dogged sulkiness, in which he had been left by Lorenzo, he was now examining, with an interested eye, the make, rigging, and equipment of the strange schooner.
It was at this moment that a steward approached him, and inquired if he was then at leisure to attend his master in his cabin, and led the way to the part of the vessel in which that was situated. The midshipman,without answering, followed. Lorenzo was already there, waiting for him. The officer politely stood, bowed to the stranger, pointed to a cabin chair: the midshipman seated himself.
“Before mentioning the business for which I have entrapped you, young gentleman,” said Lorenzo, “I must tell you, that you need be under no apprehension as long as you are on board this schooner, and that you shall receive the proper treatment that one gentleman owes to another, unless, it is understood, you force us, by your own conduct, to act otherwise than we usually do.”
“Gentleman! how dare you compare yourself to me, and call yourself a gentleman?” said the midshipman, with more of impulse than of reason.
Like one who has disciplined his mind to pursue his purposes with a stedfast straightness which is not to be diverted by any accident, though not, perhaps, without some disdain for the immoderation of the young man, the pirate officer heeded not his last remark, but proceeded as if he had not heard it.
“My purpose for enticing you on board this vessel, is to procure information about my chief, who is now a prisoner on board the ship to which you belong. You will be good enough to give clear and categoricalanswers to the questions which I shall put to you.”
This was said in a firm, although cool tone.
“What? do you imagine,” inquired the young officer, with scorn, “I am going to tell to a pirate what takes place on board a vessel in which I have the honor to serve? By Jove, no!—it is hard enough to be kidnapped by a set of rascals, without being asked to play traitor and spy, to boot. But—”
“Cease this nonsense,” interposed Lorenzo, “you waste time, answer me first, is Appadocca alive?”
“I shall not give you any information,” peevishly replied the young officer.
“I do not see,” remarked Lorenzo, mildly, and almost paternally, “I do not see that it can possibly affect your honor if you give me a very simple answer to a very simple question. I ask, if Emmanuel Appadocca is alive?”
“I shall answer you nothing,” said the midshipman, insultingly.
“Shall answer me nothing,” calmly echoed Lorenzo, while, like the still and steady terrors of an earthquake, the signs of anger were now fast gathering on his brow. He reflected a moment.
“Young man,” he said firmly, “men do not usuallyspeak with negatives to me, or such as I am. You seem disposed to run great risks—risks, of the nature of which you are not, perhaps, aware. Let me caution you again; I put my former question,—is the captain of this schooner, who is now a prisoner on board the ship to which you belong, alive and safe?”
“I have said I shall answer none of your questions,” replied the midshipman, “trouble me no more.”
The pirate officer rose, and drew forth a massive gold watch.
“You see,” said he, pointing to the time-piece, “that the minute-hand is now on twelve, when it reaches the spot which marks the quarter-of-an-hour, I shall expect an answer. In the meantime make your reflections. If you wish for any refreshment speak to the man outside, and you shall have whatever you desire.” So saying, the officer rose, made a slight bow, and left the cabin.
The young officer being left alone, seemed by no means inclined to trouble himself about the last speech of the pirate officer. He moved about the cabin restlessly. Sometimes he stopped to examine one object, and then another.
No further thought than that of the moment seemed to intrude on his mind; and the consequence of his persistence in refusing to answer the questions of the pirateofficer never seemed to break in upon him. The levity of youth was, perhaps, one of the principal causes of this strange carelessness. He was also highly swayed by the notions which he had gathered from among those in whose society he lived. These led him to entertain an extravagant idea of his own importance, which, among other things, could not admit of accepting terms from the officer of any nation that was lower than his own, and, least of all, from a villainous pirate. He, therefore, affected to treat the pirate officer with a contempt, which it was as inexpedient to show, as it was silly to entertain.
He was moving about in the temper which we have described, when the door of the cabin opened, and Lorenzo entered. He moved up to the upper part of the cabin, and seated himself.
“Will you now answer my question?” he demanded, “the hand is on the quarter.”
“I have already told you, no,” replied the youth.
Lorenzo called—an attendant appeared.
“Let the officer of the watch send down four men,” he said.
The attendant retired. In a few moments four men, under the command of a junior officer, entered the cabin. Lorenzo stood—pointed to the midshipman—
“Torture him until he speaks,” he said, and abruptly left the cabin.
The pirates silently advanced on their victim.
“The first man that dares approach me, shall die under this sword,” shrieked the midshipman, furiously, and brandished his sword, madly. Still the pirates advanced more closely to him. They beat down his guard, surrounded him, and, in the twinkling of an eye, he was bound hand and foot. Lifting him bodily, the pirates carried him on their shoulders out of the cabin.
He was then taken to a narrow compartment at the very bows of the vessel, that was, it seemed, the torture-room.
The appearance of the room was sufficient to strike one at once with an idea of the bloody and cruel deeds that might be perpetrated there. It was a narrow cabin into which the light could never penetrate; for there was no opening either for that or for fresh air. The small door which led into it was narrow and low: it turned on a spring, and seemed so difficult to be opened, that one was forced to imagine that it was either loth to let out those that had once got in, or that it was eager to close in for ever upon those that might enter through it.
The deck was scoured as white as chalk, and, like theshops of cleanly butchers in the morning, was scattered over with sand. The sides of the cabin, as if to augment the darkness that already reigned, were painted a dark, sombre, and gloomy colour, which was here and there stained by the damp.
In contrast to this prevalent hue of frightful black, hung a variety of exquisitely-polished torturing instruments. Cruelty, or expediency, or necessity, seems to have exhausted its power of invention in designing them, so different were they in form, and so horridly suited to the purpose of giving pain.
These seemed to frown malignantly on those who entered that narrow place; and the imagination might even trace, in their burnished hue, and high efficient condition, a morbid desire, or longing, to be used.
To make the “darkness visible,” and to reveal the horror of the place, an old bronzed lamp hung from the beams of the upper deck, and threw a faint and sickly light around.
In the centre of this cabin lay a long, narrow, and deep box, which was garnished within with millions of sharp-pointed spikes. The torture which the victim suffered in this machine, was a continued pricking from the spikes, against which he was every moment suddenly and violently driven by the lurching of the vessel.
In this the midshipman was immediately thrown, and he shrieked the shriek of the dying when he was roughly thrown on the sharp instruments.
“Hell! hell! the torments of hell,” he yelled out, as the sharp spikes pierced him to the quick.
As he made an effort to turn, he increased his agony, and as the vessel heaved, the points went deeper and deeper into his flesh.
Already the suffering of the young man was at its height, and by the livid light of the glimmering lamp, large drops of death-like sweat, could now be seen flowing over his pallid face, which was locked in excruciating pain.
“Oh, God!” he cried, frantic with suffering, “Heaven save me.”
His executioners stood around immovable, calm, and fierce, as they always were, more like demons sucking in the pleasure of mortals’ pains, than men.
The young man seemed maddened with pain, his shrieks pierced through even the close sides of the torture-room.
“Will you speak?” inquired the officer.
“Yes—no. Oh, good God! No—yes: curse you all—you devils; you demons—d—n you,” were the frenzied replies.
An hour passed; his pains and shrieks continued; albeit the latter now grew fainter and fewer. Nature could endure no more; his nervous system sank under pain and exhaustion, and he swooned.
The pirates removed him, and plied him with restoratives, and he gradually revived.
The suffering of the midshipman had produced a weakening effect upon him, such as disease produces on the strongest minds; it had destroyed his hot and fierce spirit. Yes, the pain of the body had conquered the resolution of the mind, and after the first torturing, the young officer was less spirited, less boisterous, and less impatient.
Animation had scarcely returned, when the wretched victim was again thrown on the spikes which, piercing through his fresh wounds, added still more to the agony which he had before endured. The pain this time was not bearable.
“Oh! save me from this,” the young man cried, convulsively, “kill me at once.”
“We want not your life, what good is that to us?” replied the junior officer in command of the pirates, “we wish only to hear about our captain, who may be at this moment undergoing the same pains as you.”
“Then remove me, and I shall speak. No, yes, no, yes.”
“You will then cease to play the fool at your own cost,” was the laconic and unsympathising reply of the above-mentioned officer, who, at the same time, dispatched one of his men to report that the prisoner was willing to speak.
Lorenzo, in a few moments, crept into the narrow room.
“Will you now answer my question?” he inquired of the victim.
“Yes.”
“Is the captain alive and safe?”
“Yes.”
“What are the intentions of your captain about him?”
“To—oh! take me away from these spikes: oh! these cursed spikes.”
“Speak.”
“To take him to Trinidad, to be tried.”
“When is your ship to direct her course to that place?—Take him out, men.”
The victim was taken out.
“She was—oh! what happiness—she was to do so, to-day.”
“That’s enough. Young man, I admire your spirit: it might be developed into something useful underproper discipline; as you are, at present, you are only a slave of impulses, that are as wild as your original self. Take him to the surgeon’s room.”
Giving this order to his men, Lorenzo left the cabin of torture.