CAPTAIN BLOODLESS
An EpisodeFar from Sabatini
An EpisodeFar from Sabatini
An Episode
Far from Sabatini
This swiftly executed manœuvre laid theSaucy Arabellaboard-and-board the great Spanish galleon. A dozen grapnels fell and tore and shivered the timbers of the hugeSan Salvador Contra Bonos Mores. A wild, yelling swarm of boarders swept over the rail—thirty men against six hundred.
On the quarter-deck, Don Dago de Matador y Mantilla, Lord Admiral of Castille y Sapolio and grandee of Spain, livid of face, short of breath, dumb with despair, frantically raged, as all Spaniards do. Speechless, he shouted conflicting contradictory commands to his craven crew. The Spaniards, though outnumbering the attacking party twenty to one, were demoralized by the knowledge that these were Englishmen, entitled to win by all the rules of the writing game.
Wolverstone, a one-eyed giant with a most kindly disposition, led the buccaneers. He was ably seconded by Hagthorpe, a soberly dressed gentleman, with a clear cut, attractive countenance, and by a golden-haired, sunny-faced Somersetshire lad, Jeremy Pitt. Up and down the waist from the keelson to the plimsoll-mark, raged these three, treating the Spaniards very rough, though no blood was shed by either party.
Above them on the quarter-deck, upon which none of these rough, common sailors thought of intruding, stood a straight-up-and-down-slip-of-a-girl, clad in shivering gray silk. Her oval face, upon which the tropic sun had made no impression, so permanent was her complexion, was shaded by the broad brim of a gray hat garnished with a scarlet austridge ploom. Her clear hazel eyes sparkled with onwee as she witnessed the furious onslaught of the invaders upon the crowded crew.
Yet for a space, as one might say, the battle hung uncertain. Push the Spaniards to and fro as they might, they were so many that the gallant little band of wild, hairy, half-naked English pirates could not keep them in order. It seemed almost impossible that they could quell the riot without calling out the mounted police.
“One moment, please!” A crisp, metallicvoice, speaking the purest Castilian, cut across the tumult like a Toledo blade, beautifully damascened with golden scarabesques. At the sound of its master’s voice, the uproar ceased as suddenly and as completely as it had begun.
Arabella, for the young lady on the quarter-deck was indeed our heroine, gazing with childish wonder and hazel eyes, saw coming toward her, picking his way daintily through that ghastly shambles, a man, tall, lean, graceful, spruce, modish, etcetera.
Peter, for it was none other than he, was unscrupulously attired in a singularly elegant costume of crimson satin, trimmed, as it were, with gold lace. A broad brimmed hat, adorned with a scarlet feather secured by a brooch, set with a single great quadroon, which gleamed dully like a lambent flame, was set above beautifully marcelled and freshly oiled ringlets of deepest black, which with a broad linen collar of finest point, framed a swarthy, tawny, sardonic, keen, intrepid face and a pair of light blue eyes, like pale sapphires set in copper.
Around his neck like a stole—which it probably was—he wore a madigral of scarlet silk, from each end of which hung a silver-mounted pistol. A gold hilted sword dangled at his side from a gold embroidered garibaldi. In his left hand he carried daintily a tall ebony cane. His stockings were of silk. He wore fineSpinach leather shoes—on his feet. His suspenders were delicately hand-embroidered and his undies, though invisible, were doubtless of equal elegance. He was a very nifty dresser.
Moving with easy nonchalance, he came on until he fronted Don Dago. The light blue eyes played over the speechless Spaniard like points of steel. The level black eyebrows went up. A faint smile curled the lips of the long mouth and, with a crisp, authoritative, faintly disdainful manner, blended of suavity, impressiveness and mockery—not to mention ansooseyance and savore fare—let alone savore veev and sang froyd—he spoke in fluent Castilian, whereof he was master, and with grave courtesy.
“Admiral, darlint, an’ is it all day yer dirthy gang o’ cutthroat Spaniards’ll be kapin’ up this riot? Bedad, we have met again, Don Dago, and, without offense, I may remark, how small the world is! Meseems that no one other than yourself and your brother, Don Miggle, sails the Spanish Main, so called, for never, forsooth, do I board a ship without finding eyether one of you in command, be jabers. Meself ut is will be askin’ ye to get yer dirthy carcass an’ yer blaggard crew off me ship befoore somebody gets hurted.”
The level black eyebrows, having come down again in the same place whence they had went up, came together above the vivid blue eyes.
Speechless, livid with rage, his mouth distorted all kind of crooked with anger, the haughty hidalgo gazed calmly upon the intruder.
“Offyourship?” he gasped inarticulately.
Again in purest Castilian, the elegantly dressed man spoke.
“Sure Mike! Is ut ye doan’t know ivry ship’smyship when me gang’s wid me? Is it possible that you are fatuously harboring the delusion that, with only thirty men against six hundred, I would be at a loss for a ready expedient wherewith to bring to fruition my hopes of possessing this noble vessel? Ah, Admiral, you have forgotten your Horace—‘Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum.’ Those ancient Greeks were very wise, were they not? Look there, ye dirty scut! Ye miserable blaggard, look forninst ye!”
He waved one hand with elegant languor toward his gallant crew, which meantime had gathered in a compact group in the waist just abaft the rudder. At the signal they drew aside and disclosed their secret to the astonished eyes of the affrighted Admiral and his cowardly minions.
Agreeably to a plan concerted beforehand, these hardy, hairy buccaneers had availed themselves of the diversion, caused by the entrance of their leader, to collect all the ship’s ordnance, its bow-chasers, broadsides and stern-chasers,and arrange them in a line across the deck, loaded to their frowning muzzles and trained full upon the dense mass of Spaniards. There in an appalling row—behind each gun a gallant English pirate with lighted penstock in hand—were ranged nine sackbuts, seven culverts, four spontoons and two great cuspadores.
The glittering dark eyes of Don Dago fell, as did all the rest of him, upon the deck. With a fearful groan he expired.
The victor turned to the mere-slip-of-a-girl and spoke in purest Palmolive, whereof he was master.
“Be not alarmed, Miss Bishop. My intentions are strictly honorable. Object, matrimony. Not a hair of these men shall touch your little finger.”
Her clear hazel eyes regarded him wistfully and contemptuously and in a steady level voice she stated “Thief and pirate.”
Thief and pirate! The cruel phrase filled his brain, reëchoing and reverberating in its vast empty spaces. Thief and pirate! Not those! My God, not those!
“Pirate I may be, madam,” he replied stiffly with admirable candor, “but not thief. For, know you, that naught have I taken from any man save in the regular course of piracy. And more I have to say. Have you observed this fight? Saw you aught of bloodshed? Did anyone of these Spanish dogs receive more severe punishment than a rough push or a sharp slap mayhap? No, madam, I embarked upon this career on high moral grounds and have conducted my piracy along strictly Y. M. C. A. lines and in the most sanitary manner. You see before you the only original moral pirate. No drop of blood stains my name. In all the Spanish main, I am known and feared as Captain Bloodless.”
She came slowly to him and held out her hand.
“I’m ... I’m glad,” she said and strove to smile (or was it not to smile? Who can tell?). Won’t you ... won’t you say ... good-by?”
“Good-by? Shure an’ why should I when it’s good girl I’d rather be sayin’? Arrah, ye love me, doan’t ye? Ye’ll marry me, woan’t ye?”
She sank into his arms.
“There never, never was a pirate like you, Peter,” was all she said.