She took a lanthorn from under a cloth, and its scanty rays played hide-and-seek with the shadows over the rude log walls and the piles of rum barrels and kegs of hard-tack and the clumsy stack of treasure.
"Where are Ben Gunn and Scipio?" I asked.
"They made off after I shot him that lies outside. They were mightily feared of what Captain Flint would be doing to them did he find them here, and one of his men dead at the door."
Peter laid my great-uncle gently upon the earthen floor—there was no softer bed—and began cutting away the garments from around the hilt of the knife, which was still fixed in his right side.
"And why didn't you go with them?" I asked. She gave me an indignant look.
"And be leaving the two of ye! I am not that kind of friend, Bob."
Peter looked up from his task.
"You got to watch dot door, Bob. Andt, Moira, you bring me some rum. Maybe Murray gets back his sense before——"
I suddenly found myself unwilling to believe it could be so.
"He can't, Peter!"
"Ja," replied the Dutchman patiently. "Pretty soon he goes. He bleeds inside."
I stumbled to the doorway with my head in a whirl. Murray dying? 'Twas incredible! That tremendous personality, so masterful, so aloof, dominating all with whom he came in contact, saltily compounded of wickedness, greatness, wisdom and naive vanity! And explain it how you will, I suddenly discovered an admiration for him which had been growing for months beneath my surface resentment. Up to this moment I had detested him. But I choked now at the thought of his death. Whatever he was, he was no coward. And there was about his end in this sordid, haphazard fashion, stabbed by a blind man in the dark, a redeeming touch of high tragedy. He, whose ambitions had vaulted the stars, to perish by the hand of Pew! And in a moment when apparently he had snatched victory from defeat!
Mechanically I carried chests of gold and silver ingots from the heap of treasure and built a barricade across the doorway. There were several spare muskets and pistols, and I loaded these and placed them handy, then knelt behind the barricade and waited for what was to come. But nothing came. Feet shush-shushed in the sand all around the blockhouse; voices called, questioned and argued; an occasional shot was fired—no more. Flint's triumph had been too amazingly complete for him to grasp, and evidently there were dissensions in the pirates' ranks as to what the next step should be.
The hour-glass we had fetched from theRoyal Jamesstood by the door, and I remember that I turned it twice before Peter tapped my shoulder.
"He wants you," he said.
Murray lay with his head in Moira's lap. On his face was stamped a waxy pallor. His nostrils were sunken and pinched in. A crimson froth showed at the corner of his mouth. But his tawny eyes blazed with the unconquerable fire of his spirit. As I stooped over him a mocking gleam radiated from their black depths, and his lips moved in almost voiceless speech.
"Sorry, eh?" I nodded, and the mockery became more pronounced.
"Would have—won you—boy—in—time." Moira wiped the dreadful bubbles from his lips.
"You—won't—carry—out—plot?" he asked.
"'Twould be dishonest to promise," I answered. "And I doubt if we are like to live much longer than you." The fingers of one hand fluttered strangely.
"Tut, boy—never—lose hope. Win—yet—myself."
His colorless lips parted in a ghastly smile at the shocked disbelief in my face.
"This—will be—end—of Flint. Kill me—kill himself." His fingers fluttered again, and Moira whispered——
"'Twill be his snuffbox he's after wanting, Bob."
And as I fumbled for it in the wreck of his coat she added——
"But 'twill be his death does he use it the once."
I hesitated, but the look in his eyes impelled me to give it to him.
"Good lad!"
And his fingers closed lovingly on the jeweled trinket, picking at the lid he was wont to click open and shut in moments of perplexity. The tawny eyes flirted toward Moira.
"Take care—maid—good blood—in—her. Family, Robert—breeding—landmarks in—mad world."
"I'll do what I can," I promised, seeing he expected an answer.
"Might do—worse—or more," he replied with the shadow of a smile. "Pew's knife—kept you—being—duke—Moira——"
A pause whilst Moira wiped his mouth.
"A mad world," he repeated. "What will—Prince Charles—say?"
His eyes clouded, and he murmured a snatch of song, one of those ranting Jacobite ballads that spread like wildfire after the '45—
"Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar,'Charlie, meet me an ye daur'——"
A coughing fit interrupted him, weakened him so I thought he was sped; but the ghostly voice went on with a hint of the gay, reckless tune:
"Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye waukin' yet?Or are your drums a-beatin' yet?If ye waur waukin' I wad——"
His voice strengthened.
"Ah, your Royal Highness! The procession is ordered—the heralds—waiting—my Lords—Commons——"
He struggled so to rise that to save him I propped him against my shoulder.
"A glad day—this—and long coming. Do you use snuff—sir? 'Tis Rip-Rap—a sound brand."
He open the box and raised a pinch to his nostrils.
"A glad day—sir—but a mad world."
And so he died.
"Ahoy, the blockhouse!"
Moira stayed her weeping, and I rose from my knees as the hail thundered from the night.
"Dot's Flint," whispered Peter. "You talk to him, Bob,ja."
"What is it?" I shouted back.
"Is Murray with ye?"
"He's dead," I answered after a moment of reflection.
"And that's —— —— lucky for him! Here's Tom Morphew ready to give him a taste of the cat."
A shrill howl echoed the words.
"Don't 'ee believe mun, Cap'n Flint! 'Tis all a lie! And 'ee promised I should ha' t' beatin' o' mun."
"'Tis true," I said wearily. "After sunrise you can send in a man to see for himself."
"Ah!" jeered Flint. "But ye see I'm not waiting for sunup or moonset or aught else, my Buckskin. We know how many o' ye there are; and if ye don't surrender, why, we'll put a torch to the blockhouse and roast ye out. Fire won't hurt gold and silver, but 'tain't friendly to live meat."
"'Twill cost you something first," I retorted.
"Not so much as ye might think."
"Dot's right," squeaked Peter beside me. "Ja, you better make a bargain wit' him, Bob."
"A bargain," I repeated. "What on earth can we bargain with?"
"Der treasure on der Dead Man's Chest."
"But that is——"
I turned to Moira.
"In a manner of speaking, that treasure is yours. 'Twas in your father's name, to be held in trust for others. Are you willing——"
"My faith, any cause will be the better without it," she interrupted. "What has it done but bring bloodshed and suffering upon all who trafficked in it? If it will just win us our lives, Bob, 'twill be the one good deed to its credit."
"Time's runnin' short," shouted Flint. "If ye won't surrender we'll start the fagots."
"Suit yourself," I replied with as much confidence as I could muster. "There are three of us here, and 'tis we know where the treasure lies on the Dead Man's Chest. If you won't even promise our lives we'll make the bitterest fight we can and carry the secret with us."
There was a gabble of protest at this, several others joining their voices to Flint's, among them Silver.
"Naught's been said o' slayin' ye," declared Flint. "Give up the treasure, and we'll part friends."
"Aye, aye, Master Ormerod," called Silver. "Cap'n Flint puts it straight. There ain't a man of us would wish to be your enemy."
I looked hopelessly at Peter.
"What more can we win?" I asked. "'Tis a mockery to place credence in their promises."
"Ja," nodded Peter. "We don't trust 'em. But we know dot, Bob. We don't be fooled. Andt now anyway we get off alive. Afterwards——"
He shrugged his mountainous shoulders.
"If we do but get off this terrible island we are that much improved in our circumstances!" exclaimed Moira. "Glory, but I'll wear the skin from me knees when I see another woman's face—not that I'm ungrateful to the two of ye here, that are as brave cavaliers as any maid ever owed her all to."
What she said set me to pondering again, and I called to Flint——
"Mistress O'Donnell must have every consideration she is accustomed to, with decent lodging in the cabin and we two to attend her."
"Gut me!" roared Flint. "D'ye think we conduct a nunnery aboard theWalrus?"
"I am thinking she is a young maid by her lone, which is hard enough, let be she must dwell with pirates," I answered.
"There's Rule Four of our Articles," he sneered. "Ye will ha' heard it before. It should be assurance for any maid."
"You have heard my terms," I said. "Take them or leave them. There's eight hundred thousand pounds to be gained from treating us kindly. If you do not so, as sure as I am here we will die, the three of us, before we yield you the secret—and you should know the years 'twill require to dig over the Dead Man's Chest."
"We'll take you," he replied ill-naturedly. "And such a argufying swab I never listened to or will again, —— my eyes. Are ye fixed in your mind, Buckskin?"
"Yes."
"Drop your arms and bide where ye are, then. We're comin' in to look ye over."
Torches flickered around the circuit of the stockade, and as they drew nearer Peter and I tore down the barricade of treasure I had built across the doorway. Figures appeared in the wavy light, naked to the waist, scratched by the jungle growth; uncouth, grizzled faces lowered at us.
"Keep back," I warned them. "We'll let no man in until Captain Flint is here."
"Careful, ain't ye, Buckskin?" he mocked me from behind a clump of pirates. "Make way, shipmates. Ye'll all ha' a chance to see the treasure, soon or late, and we'll share in it equal and regular, accordin' to the Articles."
The group split to make way for him, and he strode up to the door. Bones was with him, and Silver, and the man they called Black Dog, who carried a torch, as did Bones. And behind them all limped an awful creature, whose grimy face was a mask of pain, whose bare back and flanks were crisscrossed with festering welts. In one hand he held a cat-o'-nine-tails, the pendent rope lashes with their jagged knots stained a dark claret hue.
Bones flourished his torch as they entered the low door, and the light shone into every corner of the big hut.
"Is that Murray?"
He pointed to the body that lay beneath the hacked remnants of the plum satin coat which served as shroud.
"Yes," I said, and Moira shrank betwixt Peter and me as they crowded forward, staring open-mouthed at the cold clay that represented the man they had so feared and hated.
"Gut me," swore Flint. "I never thought to see Andrew Murray lyin' stark."
Silver's eyes glinted from his slab of a face.
"He don't figure much now, do he, mates?" he said.
"Let's have a look at him," spoke up Bones abruptly. "Here, Black Dog, bring up your light, too."
The man with the sore back limped after them, drawing the tails of his cat through the fingers of one hand with a kind of lingering caress.
"Let me at mun," he muttered. "I'll flay mun, I will! I'll learn mun t' murder sailormen. Five o' us, and——"
Bones brushed off the plum satin coat with one toe, and Murray's gaunt white face smiled up at them, faintly satirical, the snuff-box still clutched in one hand.
"—— me, 'tis so he looked ever!" gasped Flint.
"'Tain't right nor natural," said Bones. "He looks like he knowed we was here—and couldn't harm him none."
Silver said nothing, peering down at the dead man with a puzzled frown as if he were trying to read something that was hidden behind the impassive features.
"He'll look dif'rent when I lash mun," whined the man with the cat, pushing past Black Dog. "Wait till t' cat slices into t' back o' mum, cap'n. I'll cut t' grin off'n t' devil's face o' mun."
'Twas Silver caught the poor fellow's arm as it was raised to strike.
"No, no, Tom!" he cried. "Murray's dead."
"Dead?" answered the man dazedly. "But 'ee promised I should ha' t' beatin' o' mun!"
"Aye, Tom; but ye can't beat a dead man."
"Why? He beat me till I was like t' die. He beat three o' my mates till they died, an' Job Pytchens is a-dyin' out in the sand right now."
But Flint himself snatched the cat from the man's grasp with unaffected horror.
"Ye can't beat a dead man, Tom," insisted theWalrus'captain. "'Tis bad luck. And look at the good luck we ha' had since we found Darby McGraw! I can tell ye, mates, I'm a-going to hang on to my luck."
Bones growled assent, and Silver added——
"Aye, aye, cap'n; and if ye'll be guided by me ye'll lose no time in puttin' Murray underground."
They all exchanged superstitious glances, and Bones said hoarsely——
"He were close to bein' more'n human, weren't he?"
"They do say as how ye can chain down a ha'nt by drivin' a stake through the body," suggested Black Dog—and he shook so that his torch scattered sparks.
"Ye couldn't pin Murray down that way if he was of a mind to ha'nt ye," answered Silver. "Not that I believe in ha'nts myself."
"It's bad luck to mutilate the dead," objected Flint. "No, no, we'll bury him quick and be done with it."
"But 'ee promised I was t' beat mun," sobbed Tom Morphew. "I let 'ee in, Long John, and 'ee promised!"
"How was I to know he'd be dead?" returned Silver. "Don't ye take on so, Tom. We'll give ye a double handful o' onzas for what ye done, and when your back's well ye'll ha' a rare spree wi' the yellow boys, eh?"
But Morphew refused to be comforted. He limped from the hut, trailing his whip behind him.
"'Tisn't goold I want," he wept. "'Tis to lay my lash to t' back o' mun. Aye! Till he do be bloody raw, same as Job Pytchens and they other lads as is under sod. Oh, my pore back!"
There was an interval of silence after he was gone.
"It's bad luck to touch the dead," reaffirmed Flint. "No, no, the thing to do is to bury him quick. You take half a dozen men, Bill, and plant him anywhere—so's he's deep enough."
"And what about the treasure?" called one of the men by the door.
"Aye, aye," chimed in a second. "When do we shift it aboard and divvy up?"
Flint stroked his chin, considering.
"Why, there's no hurry about the treasure, mates," he answered finally. "'Tis safe here. What we all need now is a dram o' rum and two watches below."
There was a general murmur of assent with this sentiment, and he crooked his finger at me.
"Come along, Buckskin. We'll put the three o' ye aboard-ship, out o' harm's way, seein' as ye're so precious o' your skins. Long John, I'll leave it to ye to guard the prisoners. Give the girl a stateroom for herself—less'n ye might wish to share it, Buckskin?" he added with a leer that fetched a ruddy tide to Moira's cheeks.
He guffawed.
"Dainty, ain't ye, my lass? Well, theWalrusis a pirate, not a private man-o-war, and maybe ye'll learn a thing or two."
Silver motioned us to precede him into the night, and as we passed out he gathered together a party of men who formed loosely around us.
"If so be as ye'll give me your word to come peaceable, Master Ormerod, I can make things easier for ye," he offered when we were clear of the hut.
"What do you say, Peter?" I asked the Dutchman.
"Ja."
"That's enough for me," announced Silver cheerfully. "And very sensible of ye, too, gentlemen. Not quite so fast. I'm only a crippled sailorman, and I ha' labored hard this night. Aye, it were such a seesaw o' fortune as kep' my heart a-poppin' in my throat. I thought ye had me on the stockade; but there's none like Pew wi' the knife, and he can smell his man when he can't see him. Well, well, who'd ha 's'posed when we met in New York we'd come to aught like this, Master Ormerod?"
I lacked the heart to answer him, and we stumbled through the woods in silence to the shore of the Anchorage. Here one of theWalrus'boats was launched, and we were rowed out to where she lay, her hull squatting like a rock in the quiet water. Men hailed us from her deck, a whip was sent down for Silver's convenience, and the rest of us climbed the side ladder, Moira as agile as any after her months at sea.
"Here we are, safe and snug on the oldWalrus," remarked Silver, still aggressively cheery; "and them as is here can call theirselves fortunate, 'cause there's a plenty as ha' kept Murray company. Aye, blast me for a swab, but it ha' been a bloody night. Get for'ard, mates."
This to the men who had come off with us.
"I'll see to the pris'ners. Now then, gentlemen—and mistress—you come along wi' me, and I'll make ye all as comf'table as if ye was in a Bristol packet."
He prodded a muscular forefinger into my chest.
"You mind that, Master Ormerod. You mind that Long John was your friend. 'Cause why, says you? 'Cause there's never a man could see through the sand in the hourglass, could he now? And we'll ha' queer times ahead o' us—aye, queer times. How queer, says you? Ah, how'm I to know? All I says, and I stands on my words, is there'll be queer times—and you mind Long John was kindly and stood your friend, hearty and free. D'ye see?"
He plainly desired an answer, although I was not very certain of what he was driving at with this rigmarole.
"I'm afraid I don't," I said shortly.
He cocked his head on one side.
"Ye don't? Humph, there's things best left unsaid, but I'll put this to ye. Here's theWalrus, and here's a treasure, and here's Flint, and here's maybe twelvescore lads as don't all think alike, and here's Bill Bones—and here's me. A goodish bit might happen, my master. And who's to say what will start it a-happenin'? Not me! Nor who might come out on top a'terwards."
And with a parting wink he stumped aft, crooking his finger in sign that we should follow him across the untidy deck.
"Glory!" sniffed Moira, her nose in air. "This will be more the like of a stable than a ship."
She did not exaggerate. TheWalruswas dirtier than she had been the night Peter and I were committed to her as hostages. Her decks were foul with grease and all manner of filth; her paint was cracked and peeling; a cloud of flies buzzed around a tub of fish-guts which nobody would take the trouble to cast overside; from an open hatch poured a sour, acrid stench. A strange contrast with theRoyal James!
Inside the companionway under the poop we tripped over the usual litter of broken bottles, pistol-flints and odds and ends of cast-off clothing. Silver balanced himself on his crutch against the wall, struck flint and steel to a slow-match and ignited the wick of a whale-oil lanthorn which depended from a hook. Holding this above his head, he surveyed the double line of stateroom doors, very similar to the plan of the cabin quarters of theJames.
"Room for all," he pronounced. "This here to larboard is Flint's, and Bones' berth's opposite. T'others are full o' junk, but ye can soon clear 'em out."
Inspection revealed that the junk was mostly Jamaica rum and other strong liquors, which we removed to the main cabin. But the crusted dirt of years was not so easily dispossessed. Silver, to do him justice, was tolerant of our initial efforts, and went so far as to procure us a bucket on a rope which we could lower over the side for water; but he wearied of such fruitless work after a time and hopped away to his hammock with admonitions to us to be satisfied "there ain't no nipper-bugs in them bunks."
We did the best we could, which was very little, and then persuaded Moira to risk lying in the cleaner of the two rooms—we had chosen it for her because it had a bolt on the inside of the door and offered her a degree of privacy—while Peter and I berthed across the companionway, Peter on the floor by reason of his bulk, and I in the one cramped bunk. And I marvel to say that we went promptly asleep and did not waken until the noon sun was flooding through the grimy panes of the cabin windows.
A rumble of snores assured us that Flint and Bones were in their berths, but the sound of a familiar brogue drew us aft to the main cabin.
"And what way will ye ha' cause for complaint that ha' seen men walk the plank and been to Madygascar and the East Indies and Afriky where the naygurs come from? On me soul, ye sicken me with your whining! Holy ——, man, do but look to me that am a pirate these many months, and all the fighting they will ha' throwed in me way was with other pirates—and them great, powerful rogues that give as good as we sent. Sure, I haven't been at the scuttling of any wan——"
"But ye had a cutlass to your hand and a musket on your shoulder," protested another familiar voice. "And ye walk the deck wi'out shoes to your feet, and ye ha' a fine bright kerchief to the head o' ye, and if ye seek to haul on a rope or hold to the wheel there's no man will say ye nay, Darby. But wi' me it's been lackey's work an' livery-shuits since the first day I went to sea. It's 'Ben, clear the table!' or 'Fill up the glasses, Ben Gunn!' or 'Fetch me the 'backy, Gunn!' I'm no more a pirate than the Irish maid——"
"Don't ye be naming her, or I'll lay the end o' a rope to ye! I won't ha' ye talkin' the way ye were betther nor ye are. Didn't the cap'n give ye to me for me sarvant? Sure, he did! '—— me,' says he when we took ye, 'Darby, you're a good cabin boy and main lucky. I'll give ye the feller to be doin' your work for ye."
"Well, there was one promised to take me out o' livery-shuits," answered Gunn doggedly, "and if he——"
He broke off as we entered from the companionway, writhing with the excess of embarrassment which visited him when in the presence of several persons. Darby McGraw was no less surprized and leaped up from the chair in which he had been lounging, bobbing his head to Moira with the vigor of a heathen kowtowing to an idol. All the boy wore was a pair of canvas trousers belted about his waist and a kerchief from which straggled his carroty locks. A cutlass slapped his thighs, and three pistols were stuck through his belt.
"Master Bob!" he exclaimed. "And Master Peter, too! And—and—Misthress O'Donnell—sure, there's a harp within me does be strummin' pretty music this instant!"
He grinned; and for all his months aboard theWalrus, his grin was as sunny as in the counting-room in Pearl Street.
"Ye'll be forgivin' me, ma'am, that am Irish meself, and must think o' the lakes o' Wicklow when I look to your eyes."
Moira clasped her hands.
"Wicklow!" she cried. "'Twas in Wicklow I was born, and my mother before me."
"Ah, then, 'tis glad I will be I met ye this side o' the world," he answered, clapping his hand to his cutlass-hilt very hardily. "For if we'd come on each other in Wicklow I'd be no more nor a gossoon of a bog-trotter and ye one o' the grand gentry-folk."
Moira's laugh had the note of fairy chimes I had not heard since her father fell on theJames'deck.
"'Tis you are the lad with the silver tongue," she said. "But if ye come from Wicklow, Darby, it will be almost as if we were of the same family."
She suddenly sobered.
"And I, that might be elder cousin or maybe sister to you, must be asking why ye are a pirate? Were ye not honest-born?"
Darby's embarrassment was almost as painful as Ben Gunn's.
"Why, ye see— There was in me always the wish for the sea— I was no more nor a bound-boy— And Long John, he says——"
"Darby," she interrupted sternly, "how long will it be since ye confessed?"
He poked at his bare toes with the tip of his cutlass-sheath.
"Why, maybe—oh, a month this way or maybe that, I'd say—well, troth, if ye put it to me——"
"A many months," she asserted.
"I'll not deny it," he admitted, shamefaced.
"And you from Wicklow, Darby!"
"'Tis no fault o' mine when I couldn't come at the priest."
"Maybe no, if you held your ways in places a priest would frequent; but who would be expecting a priest in a pirate-ship? And what would the priest say did ye go to him and confess what ye ha' done? Oh, Darby, ye will be a monstrous wicked boy!"
Darby was overwhelmed.
"On me soul, I never meant to be! Troth, there's none will ever be repenting better nor me—if I do but get the chance. But do ye see, misthress, it will be the like o' this: Whiles ye lives wi' pirates ye must be main wicked, and aftherwards, when ye break free o' them, there'll be lashin's o' time to make up for it."
He sought to cover his confusion by rounding upon Ben Gunn, who had stood trembling to one side throughout this dialogue.
"What way will this be that ye act, ye lackey?" he demanded with an excellent imitation of Flint's manner. "Will ye be too stupid or feared to see we are waitin' our bite and sup?"
"Stop! Stop!" I intervened as poor Gunn started to scramble from the cabin. "How comes it you are here? Do I understand you have been relegated to your former duties by Captain Flint?"
"I don't know what relegated means, Master Ormerod," replied Gunn forlornly; "but I'm doin' my former dooties, yessir. I figgered last night 'twas all up wi' Cap'n Murray, which same I hears is true, and so I says to myself, I says, 'Ben, you go and tell Cap'n Flint here's a man as is glad and willin' to j'in up and serve him handsome, a man as is as good a sailor, give him a chance, as any afloat.'"
He shuffled his feet a moment, regarding me sidewise.
"Ye see," he amended, "I figgered as how with Cap'n Murray gone 'twouldn't hardly be possible for you to give me the new ratin' we talked about once. And then bein' the circumstances it seemed all ways fair as I should make the best deal——"
"Yes, yes," I said; "but what did Cap'n Flint say?"
Ben Gunn scratched his head in some perplexity.
"He said summat as how I was too good a lackey to spoil. And then he called to Darby and told him a good cabin boy desarved his own sarvant and here I was. And here I be, sir! Unlucky I were born, steppin' into a livery-shuit as page-boy, and unlucky I ha' lived. And unlucky I'll die, I reckon, sir. But I won't die in no livery-shuit, no, sir!"
With which he shuffled off.
"The ignorant natural!" snorted Darby disgustedly. "Him to be a pirate!"
Bones swaggered into the cabin whilst we were still eating, and his leathery face crinkled in what he intended for an amorous grimace as his eyes fell upon Moira.
"This is what I calls proper homelike," he declared. "You come and sit on Billy's knee, my pretty, and cut up this here goat for me."
I started to rise, but Darby was ahead of me.
"Do ye so much as put a finger on her, and I'll send a bullet into the black heart o' ye," he challenged in his shrill boy's voice.
"Oh, ye will? Ye red-headed——"
"Me head's the ship's luck," boasted Darby. "The less ye say on that score, the betther for ye."
"We'll see to that!" snarled Bones. "You're the cabin boy, my lad, and no more; and I——"
He tugged at his cutlass-hilt, and Darby, in no wise daunted, hauled forth a pistol as long as his arm. But before one could assail the other Flint shoved in from the companionway and caught Bones by the shoulder.
"What now, Bill?" he demanded. "Ain't we got enough to face wi'out you fightin' in the cabin?"
"And would ye ha' me take impidence and worse from this red-headed land-rat as Long John picked up in New York?" shouted Bones.
"I'd not," returned Flint. "Darby, you may be my good luck and a lad o' promise, but I'll lay the cat to your shoulders if you go for to make trouble."
"'Twas him was afther makin' the throuble," answered Darby sturdily. "Wasn't he botherin' Misthress O'Donnell? Sure, I'm Irish, the same as her, and I'll kill the rogue that does be givin' her cause for to weep a tear—that I will. And I care not who he may be!"
"Easy, all," admonished Flint. "What's this, Bill?"
"Blow me for a dock-swab if I can see as how she'd oughter be set apart," blustered Bones. "I'm mate, I am, and if I——"
Flint's bloodshot eyes focused upon him with something of the silent force that I had seen Murray employ against his wild crew.
"You know better nor that, Bill," he said quietly. "Here Long John's just been to tell me the crew ha' demanded a fo'csle council, and God knows what Allardyce and his gang will be up to. And you want to bust into the middle of Rule Four. Gut me! There's many things I held against Andrew Murray, but one thing he did as was the wisest any gentleman adventurer ever done—and it's to his credit no less because Bart Roberts done it before him—and that was Rule Four."
"A woman's a prize, same as treasure," grumbled Bones.
"Oh, no, she ain't! A woman's trouble—she's no prize. You know what happens when there's women aboard a buccaneer. Jealousy, fightin', and as much blood spilled as in an action. We can't afford to lose no more men, Bill. Here we are wi' a bare ship's company left out o' five hundred men! I tell ye I'm for sendin' down the plank any man as draws a knife from this day."
"Much good it'll do ye," said Bones.
"We'll see to that. Anyhow, I'll ha' no fightin' over women."
He scowled himself.
"I'd throw the wench overboard if it weren't that she's my best chance to find the stuff Murray hid."
"If harm comes to her you'll get no such knowledge from any of us," I interposed.
"Oh, belay that!" he rasped. "You're lucky to be alive, and the one reason for it is that ye know what ye know."
He turned to Bones again.
"Now, mark me, Bill, lay off her. When we get this treasure cleaned up ye can take all the time ye fancy for wenches or aught else."
"Aye, when we do!"
"And that'll be sooner than ye think," retorted Flint.
"Wi' the crew all shoutin' for disbandment? Allardyce talkin' of goin' home tomorrow? I ha' seen ye handle some bad times, John Flint, but you're no Andrew Murray!"
The gibe annoyed Flint. His face turned blue, as it did when his temper was fanned or he was in liquor.
"Watch me," he snapped. "I'll learn 'em a few things yet. No Andrew Murray! Maybe not. But I ha' my own way, Bill. Aye, Flint's way! And it ain't so bad."
He suddenly remembered us.
"Keep your mouths shut, d'ye hear? No sneakin' up to John Silver or any one else. And as for you, my wench—" he frowned at Moira—"keep under cover, for your own sake as well as mine. This is a rough ship, a pirate ship, and——"
"Don't ye worry about Misthress O'Donnell," said Darby loyally. "I'll see to her."
"Oh, ye will!"
Flint laughed.
"You're beginning young, Darby. Gut me, what a lad! Well, you keep her out o' harm's way, and when we divide the treasure maybe there'll be an extry allowance for ye. How'd ye like to have her, eh?"
"She'll be better worth the havin' than all the treasure there is," flashed Darby. "And do ye be mindin' what I'm afther tellin' ye, Cap'n Flint. If harm comes to her, or sorrow into the heart of her, 'twill be the end o' your luck—aye, lucky ye'll be do ye come off wi' a neck ye can breathe through."
Flint went pale.
"Now, now, Darby," he wheedled. "Don't ye talk that reckless way. 'Tain't good for our luck. And I ha' been main kind to ye, and——"
"'Tis you would be the ruin of our luck," said Darby. "All I'm for tellin' ye is to be gentle in handlin' an eligant young maid as ye ought to be on your two knees before this moment for the throuble and sore dismay ye ha' wrought wi' her."
"She's safe enough, Darby," Flint answered. "I'd never harm her. We'll keep her until we ha' lifted what's buried on the Dead Man's Chest, and then she and her two buckos can take a small boat and fare how they please, and——"
"And I'll be with 'em," added Darby.
"Oh, no, not you, Darby! Think o' all the red gold ye'll have aboard theWalrus. And there's your luck we'll still need."
"Me luck!" fumed Darby. "May the —— curse me luck! 'Tis more of a nuisance than a help."
"Ah, that's no way to talk."
Flint was nigh frantic.
"Lad, would ye lose all your red head has brought us? And look ye, too, if the maid's to be safe, 'tis I alone can keep her so, for wi'out me there'll be —— to pay, and none to stall the reckoning."
"And that before this glass is out," affirmed Bones with saturnine emphasis.
The mate knocked the neck off a flask of rum with his cutlass-hilt and poured the equivalent of a water-glass down his throat, gurgling it lustily that he might secure the full savor of the fiery liquor.
"I'll take the rest o' that!" exclaimed Flint eagerly. "Aaa-aah! There's naught like good rum to put heart in a man, Bill. Here, Darby, you finish it. That's the lad! And don't talk no more about losin' your luck. We're goin' to need that luck mighty bad these next few days. Aye, this very day, as Bill says. For here's Tom Allardyce and a batch o' chicken-hearted —— —— a-cryin' we should be satisfied wi' what we got, disband and save our necks. And I don't know what more bilge-slush."
"'Tain't Allardyce I'm 'feared of," said Bones wisely, "but Silver. He's got a head on his shoulders, Long John has, and all the men'll listen to him after the way he carried the stockade."
Flint nodded.
"True for you; but what you're amiss on is that John feels same as I do about disbandin'. After the treasure's all lifted, look out for squalls. But right now, Bill, Silver's as strong for pullin' together as you and me."
"Maybe," said Bones with more of doubt than conviction.
"Maybe? Gut me for a lubber if I'm not right."
Flint rose from the seat he had assumed.
"You come along on deck, and I'll show ye. You, too, Darby. No, no, lad—" when Darby would have hung back—"I want ye by me. I tell ye that red head o' yours is the best beacon I ever steered by."
At the exit to the companionway he halted and spoke to us over his shoulder:
"You mind what I said about the girl. Keep her under cover."
"Must we all remain below decks?" I demanded with some heat.
"That's as ye may happen to feel," he replied carelessly. "So long as ye don't try to suck up to any o' my men and make trouble you can go and come around the ship; but let me find ye up to mischief, and treasure or no treasure, I'll keelhaul ye."
His green eyes twinkled evilly.
"Maybe Murray told ye what that might mean."
He gave Darby a push before him.
"Run out and call the men aft," he commanded. "That's the boy! Bill, —— ye for a low-hearted —— ——, plaster a grin on that mug o' yours and pipe up a song. We mustn't let them swabs for'ard figure us to be worried none, eh?"
And his voice boomed hollow betwixt the confined walls of the companionway:
"Oh, a fine, tall ship was theElephantAs ever sailed the seas;She came down-Channel apast UshantBound for the East Indies.
"And Dicky Lamb, he says to the crew—He was the bosun's mate—Tickle my guts! Will ye do what I do?Be game, says I; tempt fate!'"
Bones joined valiantly in the sweep of the tune:
"We are forty-five before the mast,And ten green clerks berthed aft,With the cap'n, the cook, the mates and last,Simmy, the boy, who's daft.
"That's fifteen hands against forty-five.Christ! What an easy lay!We'll take 'em at night, and dead or alive,Pitch 'em in Biscay Bay.
"Oh, that was a night the wind howled free,The sails froze to the mast,And Dicky Lamb and the Portugee,They bound the cap'n fast."
They were out on deck now, and Flint stayed the song long enough to roar:
"Lay aft, ye swabs! Ye asked for a fo'csle council, and ye shall have it. —— me, Bill, can't ye sing louder?"
"Louder!" I muttered to Moira and Peter. "Certes, ye might hear them on the Spyglass."
"Ssh!" reproved Moira. "I will be wanting to hear the rest of it. There, Darby is singing now—and others."
A score of voices took up the savage lilt:
"Sandy Grant bashed the mate in the headAnd dropped him overside.The second mate they stabbed abed,And so the ten clerks died.
"The cook they choked on his own salt pork;But Simmy they couldn't find,For Simmy was daft, and their evil talkHad addled his feeble mind.
"He groped his way to the darkest hold,With ax and bit and saw,And laughed with glee as the waters rolledIn through the hole he tore.
"Oh, that was the end of theElephant—She's under the Biscay seas,And she'll never more slant past Ushant,Bound for the East Indies."
By the time they came to the last verse the whole crew must have been singing. The roar of voices made the dishes quiver on the table before us.
"A proper song, 'TheElephant," commented Flint's voice. "Barrin' 'Fifteen Men' 'tis the best I know. I ain't no preacher, but I can't help bearin' in mind that every crew has some feller like Simmy, some feller as always wants to scuttle the prize for his own satisfaction, and never mind what his mates thinks."
There was no answer to this, only the slapping of bare feet on the deck and the rustle of men crowded close together.
"Well, speak up, fo'csle," he went on with a note of satire. "What d'ye seek? I've heard tell as how there was talk of givin' me the Black Spot—whatever that may be—and sailin' home by your lones and dead reckonin'. What's the argyment, I say?"
The companionway acted like a voice-tube to carry the deck-noises to our ears; but hearing was not the same as seeing, so Peter and I persuaded Moira to slip into her stateroom and ourselves advanced to a position immediately inside the doorway issuing upon the main deck, where the council was being held.
The scene was almost identical with that which I had witnessed a few nights previously when I spied upon Flint's preparations to surprize Murray. Flint sat, as he had then, upon an upturned barrel, with Bones, Silver, Pew and two or three more. The remainder of the crew were squatted on the deck, a semicircular pattern of coppery faces and tattooed chests. The weather had turned warm after the storm, and practically all of them wore Darby's costume, a pair of trousers or breeches, usually slashed off above the knees.
Foremost in the ring of seamen was a tall, lanky fellow with rather long, yellow hair and a belligerent expression. 'Twas he who sustained the burden of the debate with Flint, supported to some extent by a group of a score or so, who sat behind him.
"Aye, aye, Tom Allardyce," Flint was saying as we reached our aerie. "You was the man all against attackin' Murray."
"Wasn't I right?" retorted Allardyce. "Didn't all happen as I said it would? Butchered, we was."
"Everything don't go right from the beginnin'," answered Flint. "But just look where we be now, mates."
"It ain't your doin'," asserted Allardyce. "'Twas only blind luck as the storm wrecked Murray and we rode it out."
"Ah!" said Flint agreeably. "Luck is right. The very words I'd use myself, Allardyce. For see ye, 'tis luck counts for the most, and I ha' been main lucky o' late. No man can deny that. Whatever I put my hand to turns out well."
This received a murmur of endorsement, and the yellow-haired man cried out——
"Luck is well enough, but all luck comes to an end, and I am saying that ye ha' stretched yours overthin, cap'n."
"That's moderate," admitted Flint. "I'd say myself as I'm for doublin' my luck. Ye see, mates—" he appealed to the several hundred men who thronged the deck—"my luck has won us eight hundred thousand pounds, and I'm for using it to win eight hundred thousand pounds more. And that's askin' less o' luck than ye might think, seein' the heaviest part is accomplished. We ha' three prisoners as know the secret o' Murray's cache, and all we need do is sail to the Dead Man's Chest, land a party and ferry the stuff aboard."
"Aye, and s'pose a frigate jumps us?" called one of the men sitting with Allardyce.
"Depends on the frigate, man," answered Flint equably. "A Spanisher I'd fight. A King's ship I'd run from. A Frenchy—I don't know."
"The ship's foul. We couldn't run," said Allardyce. "No, mates, I say we ha' eight hundred thousand pounds, and we'd better be satisfied wi' that. 'Tis a couple o' thousand pounds apiece."
"Aye, aye," came from a number of men. "Disband while the luck's wi' us."
"Disband wi' eight hundred thousand pounds more as good as in our pockets!" exclaimed Flint. "I never heard crazier talk."
"Better live wi' eight hundred thousand pounds than lose a third o' us to win twice that," insisted Allardyce doggedly.
"Not while I ha' aught to say about it!" roared Flint. "Gut me if I'll lose riches we all ha' worked and fought for just to please a handful o' swabs as haven't got the courage to risk a bit more."
There were expressions of opinion both ways upon this; the company was fairly well divided. And Allardyce proceeded to press his advantage.
"If ye talk about losin' riches, cap'n, 'tis you are willing to risk losing the eight hundred thousand pounds we have in hand. Ye'd go for the other treasure and most likely lose what we already have."
Flint squinted reflectively at the yellow-haired man.
"Now that might be a good argyment, Allardyce, if 'twas true," he remarked. "But it ain't. The truth is, I am all for makin' the treasure we have safe before we go cruisin' to the Dead Man's Chest. Treasure is a poison on shipboard if ye ain't got a sure use for it. That's why I had ye leave ashore the lot Murray moved to the blockhouse. It's out o' the ship."
Allardyce lost his temper.
"Aye, ye want it where ye can get your hand on it, and give us the slip!"
"How'd I do that, Allardyce?" inquired Flint softly.
"If I knowed how you were plannin' to do it I'd stop ye."
"Ah, stop me, would ye?"
"I would! There's other men ha' marooned or murdered the half o' a ship's company that there might be fewer to share in the prize."
"That's kindly of ye," said Flint. "I take that real kindly! There's some, Allardyce, as might draw pistol for that. No, no, put up your weapon! I'm a-goin' to prove to ye, whether ye like it or not, that I mean well by ye. I'll tell ye what I'll do.
"First off, mates—" he addressed the whole crew—"do ye or don't ye want to win eight hundred thousand pounds more wi'out havin' to fight for it?"
A fair majority were in favor of this.
"Second, mates, are ye willin' as the treasure we have shall be buried here on the Rendezvous until we ha' fetched back the part that's on the Dead Man's Chest?"
"Who's to bury it?" put in Allardyce sullenly. "'Tis easy for a few men to bury treasure so's none save theirselves can find it—and if they disappear suddenlike, what'll their shipmates do?"
"There's sense in that," agreed Flint. "Let's say as you and me bury it, Allardyce."
The yellow-haired man shook his head.
"There'd be one o' us come back—and 'twouldn't be me."
"Got a great idea o' me, ain't ye?" mocked Flint. "But s'posin' ye took along some friends? Would ye feel safe then?"
"How many?"
Flint turned to Silver, whose hard eyes had been studying the faces of both parties to the debate.
"How many would ye say, Long John?"
Silver's big face split in a smile of derisive quality.
"Seein' as you're one o' the party, cap'n, maybe we might say five—six includin' himself."
"Ye think he'd be safe from me wi' five friends along?" asked Flint earnestly.
"Six is a good number for buryin' treasure," replied Silver, grinning broader than ever. "And with you 'twould be seven—and seven's lucky."
Flint regarded him admiringly.
"Wouldn't ye know 'twould take Long John to think o' that? Seven is lucky, says he! Ah, yes, and who for? Well, Allardyce, what d'ye say? Will ye feel safe wi' six friends?"
Several men laughed.
"Yes," answered the yellow-haired man.
"Then that's settled," said Flint. "Pick 'em now. We'll start settin' the treasure ashore at once. You and your friends and me, we'll go off soon as that's finished. Bill Bones will take command o' theWalrus. Bill, ye'd better take her out east o' the island and stand off and on, weather permitting. If ye lie up here wi' naught to do, there'll be trouble, and men will be comin' ashore, and so we'll get no work done."
"How long will ye be?" asked Bones, smiling in a knowing way.
Flint hailed Allardyce, who was already deep in conversation with his group of supporters.
"How long d'ye figure it should take to stow away the two lots of treasure, Allardyce? We'll put the gold and coined silver in one cache and the bar silver in another."
"How do I know?" snarled Allardyce.
"'How does he know?' says he," Flint echoed gravely. "Tell ye what, Bill, you just stand off and on like I said, and when we're ready to come aboard we'll row out o' the Anchorage. That's simple enough, ain't it? No chance for misunderstandin' or aught goin' wrong."
Peter and I ducked into our stateroom as the two came aft. They went into Bones' room, which was next to Moira's, and for some time we could hear them talking in low tones. When they came out Flint was saying:
"Mind, Bill, an easy rein, but give 'em no slack. And leave the wench alone. 'Twould only make endless trouble wi' the crew."
Bones replied with a blistering string of curses.
"And ye were a fool," he wound up, "to let Long John make odds o' six to one. Why, even Murray——"
"Stow that!"
I could feel an edge of temper to Flint's voice.
"I'm sick o' hearing you prate Murray this and Murray that. I'll show this crew that Flint's way is as sure as Murray's."
"It's plum duff to Silver if aught happens to ye," remonstrated the mate.
"Don't ye worry, Bill. There'll be no man in this crew willing to lift a finger after I come aboard again. Where's my Flemish pistolets?"
When they were finally gone I looked an unspoken question at Peter.
"Ja," he said.
"But six to one! Why?"
"He wants der treasure where only he can reach it.Ja, dot's it."
The morning of the sixth day I was awakened by a considerable clamor on the deck, and Darby McGraw danced into my stateroom, so excited that his brogue was nigh incomprehensible.
"Haste ye! Haste ye, Master Bob!" he cried. "'Tis Flint comin' off, and him by his lone."
I roused Peter, and we threw on our clothes and ran out upon the maindeck, which was crammed with pirates, staring in rapt suspense across the sta'b'd bulwarks. The sun was just rising, and the island shelved upward, darkly portentous, from the creamy lather of the surf. TheWalruswas standing south, with the White Rock on her sta'b'd quarter and the entrance to Captain Kidd's Anchorage ahead. Outside the entrance, and pulling to meet us, was the gig we had left behind for the convenience of Flint and his companions. A single figure with a light-blue scarf wrapped around his head, rowed at the oars.
"But how be certain 'tis Flint!" I exclaimed. "His back is toward us, and at this distance——"
"Beggin' your pardon, Master Ormerod," said Silver at my elbow, "we ha' made him out wi' glasses. Bill—" he waved his free hand toward the poop, where Bones strode up and down by the helmsman—"is sure o' him."
The one-legged man sniggered and lowered his voice.
"Ye ain't surprized, are ye?" he asked.
"Six to one!" was all I could think to say.
"Ja," agreed Peter, chuckling.
Silver sniggered again.
"Aye, six to one. A strong, desperate feller is Flint. Now what d'ye reckon he'll do wi' the map?"
"What map?"
"When ye bury treasure ye draws a map," Silver explained oracularly. "If so be as one man knows where 'twas buried and he has the map that treasure is safe till doomsday—'nless some one else gets the map."
"Well, he won't give me the map," I returned shortly.
"No-oo-o, it ain't likely. But if he ever stows it where ye can lay your hands on it or ye see him give it to anybody else you just remember as Long John stands your friend, gentlemen. Friend is the word, remember. And the old saw says as a friend in need is a friend indeed."
His black eyes glinted icily as they rested in turn upon Peter's face and mine. Then he stumped aft, shouting:
"Rig them boatfalls, mates. Stand by to hoist the cap'n's gig aboard."
Presently we rounded into the wind and came to, and Flint pulled under our lee, rowing slowly, with long, leisurely strokes like a man who is very weary but intent upon finishing a difficult undertaking. Now that he was so close we could see that the scarf around his head was crusted with blood. His coat and shirt were torn to shreds, and his shoes and stockings gummed with mud.
A man heaved him a couple of lines, and he knotted them carefully to bow and stern before he began to climb the cleats of the side ladder, moving stiffly but with unerring precision. As his face lifted above the bulwarks the men nearest to him gasped and trod back upon the toes of those behind them. Such a face I have never seen. 'Twas not alone the terrible blue color and the congested veins that bulged redly under the skin, but a suggestion of experiences beyond the pale of ordinary human understanding. His eyes glared savagely. His mouth was fixed in a grimace of hatred. In his tanned cheeks were riven lines of fear, of anger, of revenge, of cupidity, of insensate ambition—aye, and of remorse.
He dropped to the deck and peered watchfully around him.
"Well, here I be," he croaked. "Ho, you Darby, fetch me a bottle o' rum. Yarely, lad!"
Darby skipped away on his errand, white-cheeked and shaking.
Nobody spoke, and Flint laughed—oh, dreadfully!
"Ye ain't glad to welcome your skipper back, eh? How'd ye make out, Bill?"
Bones had shouldered a path through the clustering ranks, but even he was speechless before Flint's ghastly figure.
"We—we—we're all right," he stuttered finally.
Silver, only, seemed unimpressed.
"Ye were seven as went ashore, cap'n," he said apologetically, "and one to return aboard."
Flint laughed that dreadful laugh a second time.
"Aye, there's six stayed ashore, Silver; six tall fellows. Six, says you, and seven's lucky. Aye, lucky! Main lucky! And Allardyce says he's safe wi' six! Ho, ho, ho!"
"Where—where—are they?" questioned Bones.
"Ashore, I told ye, Bill. All safe ashore."
"Dead?" pressed Bones.
"Aye, dead as Harry Morgan—or Avery."
Darby dived through the jam with an open bottle of rum, and Flint stretched out both arms and tossed men right and left to make way for the lad.
"Rum!" he exclaimed. "That's what I need. Rum—and plenty of it!"
He bent back his head, put the bottle to his lips and drank—and drank. You could hear the gurgle of it as it trickled down his gullet.
"Aaaa-aah!" he breathed. "That was rare stuff. Get me another, Darby."
He tossed the bottle overboard, and started to sing a stave of that savage sea-song which was the chief delight of the crew:
"Tom Avery died of a cutlass slash—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle o' rum!Mounseer Tessin felt the galleys' lash—Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle o' rum!"
"But the treasure," spoke up Silver. "What'd ye do wi' it, cap'n?"
Flint eyed him for as long as 'twould take to count twenty. And I am bound to say Silver met his eye unflinchingly.
"Why, 'tis safe, John," answered Flint in the horribly soft tones he had employed with Allardyce. "All tucked where it'll stay safe."
"Aye, but where?" persisted Silver.
Flint's blue, mottled visage became convulsed with a passion words can not describe.
"Where?" he mouthed. "Aye, where? Ask on, man! Or seek it, if ye wish. Aye, go ashore. Lay off those ropes," he shouted to the men at the falls to which his gig was hitched. "There's a boat," he went on. "There's tools on the island. Ye can have food and rum. Go ashore if ye like, and stay—any o' ye! Search for the treasure till —— opens wide for ye. But as for the ship, she'll beat up for more, by thunder!"
He waited a moment, but no man accepted his challenge. Silver, indeed, stumped deliberately out of the crowd, with a far-away look in his eyes that were as bright and hard as a pair of polished buttons.
"That's well," said Flint. "The course is so'west by south, Bill. We're for the Dead Man's Chest. All sail, and a lookout in every top!"
Murray had predicted that the looting of theSanctissima Trinidadwould send the frigates to sea from Santo Domingo, St. Pierre, the Havana and Kingston, and the adventures of theWalrusfurnished ample confirmation of his words. Six days' sail to the southward we raised the tops'ls of a lofty stranger whom the lookouts identified as a King's ship.
Flint, summoned from his perpetual debauch in the main cabin, agreed with them and ordered the helm put over. TheWalrusheaded west, and the stranger followed her. She clung to us through the day and night, and in the morning our glasses revealed the ominous belt of gunports of a sixty-gun razee. But like all English second-rates, she was clumsy in the water; and Flint was a good seaman, if nothing else. He contrived to keep beyond cannonshot and during the second night shifted his course cleverly and gave our pursuer the slip.
Yet he dared not turn back immediately, and we held on northeast into the track of the Spanishflotas, passing four ships westbound in the three days we continued upon this course. On the fourth day Flint deemed himself safe from the razee, theWalruswent about and he resumed his solitary rum-swigging in the cabin, drinking bottle after bottle the day long, cursing and singing and shouting his bloody tales and chanteys to an invisible audience that sat or fought with him.
For us three prisoners theWalruswas a floating bedlam. Moira might not stir from her stateroom unless it be at night when Flint occasionally slept and the most of the crew were carousing in the fo'csle; but she never complained of the confinement that washed the color from her cheeks, and retained her buoyant spirits despite the hideous danger which shadowed her every hour.
Without Darby she would have been in even worse case. 'Twas he spied out the moments she could venture abroad and thrust himself dauntlessly betwixt her and any threats. He carried her such food as she would eat and often did the same for us, for Flint was become subject to seizures of ungovernable ferocity, in the grip of which he distrusted all aboard the ship saving Bill Bones and Darby, and was in terror of unseen presences that lurked about the cabin's corners and mowed at him from the stern windows.
In these seizures he would take his pistols and shoot in every direction, regardless of who might be present, or with his hanger he would hack at the walls and pursue imaginary enemies along the companionway. But for Darby he would have slain Ben Gunn, and he did actually cut down one unfortunate fellow who goggled at him as he stamped out upon the deck, foaming and mouthing defiance of the ghosts that tormented him.
Darby alone could handle him. Bones he trusted, but would brook no interference from; Darby, however, could talk to him freely and sometimes curb his violence, providing rum was forthcoming whenever he demanded it.
In the latitude of the Windward Passage a Spanish line-ship and two frigates blundered upon us unexpectedly out of a bank of mist. There was naught to do but run, and again Flint rallied to the emergency. That day we held our own; but in the night a moderate gale blew up, and the seventy-four was able to carry canvas that would have ripped the masts from theWalrus.
At dawn she opened with her chase-guns, and for five glasses Flint must jockey his ship to dodge the eighteen-pounder shot. Then the wind moderated, and as we hoisted sail after sail we commenced to draw away from the big Spaniard. She was a lubberly craft, and her captain was no man to develop her possibilities—as her gunners were unable to get upon a bouncing target in those slashing head seas. The frigates even yet, I think, might have overhauled us, but they were afraid to close and engage by themselves.
In the night Flint attempted to escape his pursuers as he had the King's ship by heading west toward the empty gulf of the Atlantic. But the Spaniards were prepared for this maneuver. They had spread out to cover a wide area of sea, with the result that we passed almost under the bows of one of the frigates, and the flashes of her guns warned her consorts where we were.
Undismayed, Flint varied the trick the next night, lying to in that dark hour which comes before moonrise, and they passed us without suspecting the ruse. By morning we were leagues away on our back-track, and Flint boasted of his luck until he became maudlin, sprawling upon the cabin-table in a mess of broken meats and glasses that must have sickened any sensible man.
He had a sorry awakening from his fool's dream two days later when a stately French forty-four showed herself at our heels. Ah, she was a greyhound! Every foot of her hull was molded for speed, and her rakish spars were clothed with a sail area that drove her a good three leagues to the glass. Bones, with Darby to aid him, pulled Flint away from the cabin-table and threw buckets of sea-water over him to unlock the fetters the rum had fastened upon his brain. And he staggered on deck, cursing like a fiend, to squint his bloodshot eyes over the stern rail. In a moment he was cold sober.
"Gut me, 'tis a Frenchy! We're his meat, mates. But we'll sell for our own price, eh? Pipe all hands to quarters, Bill. Cast loose and provide."
There was muttering amongst the crew. This was what Allardyce had foretold, and the survivors of his group of protestants were not slow to exploit the opportunity. But the majority of the men went to the guns as doggedly determined as Flint.
"Fight, ye dogs!" he bade them from the poop, swaying his mottled blue jowl from side to side. "'Tis a noose or the galleys for ye the one way, and Davy Jones' locker the other. Betwixt the two ye may win free if ye fight. But wi'out fighting ye are ruined men."
The Frenchman disdained to use his chase-guns, so confident was he of bringing us to action at broadside range; but all the forenoon the breeze dwindled, and at midday both ships were caught in a dead calm. The frigate put out her boats, and so did we, and at once the advantage shifted in our favor. For 'twas one thing to tow a great forty-four, loaded with vast weight of metal, men and stores, and entirely a different task to tow theWalrus, of two-thirds the bulk and practically unladen below the gundeck. Moreover, the French sailors were in no wise so hardy or so desperate as the pirates, who knew that their chances of life were in proportion to the distance they extended betwixt the two vessels.
Flint swaggered around the fo'csle, swearing and urging on the men in the boats like the spectator of a horse-race who has staked more than he can afford upon the issue.
"We'll make it, —— me," he would say. "My luck's with us, I tell ye all. Here, Darby, jump on to the bulwarks and let 'em see your red head. Mark him, men! There's luck for ye. There don't live the man can stop me whilst the lad's with us."
And he would brandish his hanger at the towering sails of the frigate, lying slack against the yards, just out of cannonshot, and burst into the wildest imprecations and challenges.
"No Frenchman'll pull down John Flint! Aye, —— —— me for a —— —— —— if he will! I tell ye I ha' luck. Look to what I ha' done. There were three after us but two days since, and we lost 'em as we'll lose yon fellow."
His promises were justified amazingly. In the course of the afternoon we gained a hard-won league; and that night under cloak of darkness we stole silently north before a freshening wind, which by morning was a tempest. The French frigate disappeared, making the best of the heavy weather, and theWalruswas blown north and west for five days, past the latitude of Spyglass Island, past the scattered rocks and cays of the Bahamas, past the Floridas. Impossible now to watch for the tall spars of fighting-ships—as impossible as it would have been to fight them or for them to fight us, with the gray waves toppling mainyard high and the gunports buried half the time.
Flint had only dead reckoning to go by, for low-hung clouds and black banks of rain obscured sun and stars. Literally we did not know where we were, and our lookouts were peering through the scud for a landfall in the Bermoothes the morning the storm flailed itself to pieces.
It was this morning that the fever first appeared in our midst. I can still see the look, half-doubt, half-misgiving, in Silver's face as he heaved himself aft by one of the life-lines which grilled the maindeck and hailed Flint on the poop.
"There's ten lads groanin' in their hammocks, cap'n."
"Take your crutch to 'em," snapped Flint.