Commodore Junk

“Murther!” cried Dinny, unable to contain himself as he sprang up.

His exclamation and the noise he made brought Humphrey from his couch, alert, and ready for any struggle.

“What is it?” he said.

“Sure, sor, something freckened me. A mouse, I think.”

“Dinny!” came in a reproachful voice from above.

“Mistress Greenheys!” cried Humphrey. “You there?”

“Yes. I cam’ to try and learn tidings of you. I did not know you were both prisoners.”

“Sure an’ we’re not, darlin’,” said Dinny. “We only tuk refuge here, so as to be near you. An’ where have you been?”

“I crept back to my place,” said the woman, “and reached it without having been missed.”

“Then ye’re quite free to come and go?”

“Yes – quite.”

“Erin-go-bragh!” cried Dinny, excitedly. “Then what ye’ve got to do, darling, is to go back and come again as soon as ye can wid something to ate, for we shall soon be starved.”

“Yes, Dinny; I’ll come again to-night.”

“There’s a darlin’ for ye, sor. But tell us. What are they doing?”

“Searching for you far and wide; and the captain is furious. He says he will have you found.”

“And ye’ve been quite well, darlin’?”

“Yes, Dinny. No, Dinny. I’ve been fretting to death to know what had become of you.”

“Sure and I’ve been quite right, only I wanted to know about you. Nobody’s middled wid ye, then?”

“No, Dinny – not yet.”

“Arrah, shpake out now, and say what ye mane wid your ‘not yet,’” cried Dinny, angrily.

“Black Mazzard.”

“Well, he’s shut up.”

“He escaped the same time that you did.”

“Eshcaped! Holy Moses!”

“That wretch free!” cried Humphrey.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is he?”

“No one knows, sir; but they have parties out searching for him and for you.”

“Oh! murther! murther!” groaned Dinny. “My heart’s bruk entirely. What’ll I do at all? Shtop, darlin’; ye must come here.”

“Stop here, Dinny! Oh, no, I couldn’t!” said the woman, piteously.

“Sure no, and ye couldn’t,” said Dinny. “It wouldn’t be dacent, darlin’, for ye’ve got a characther to lose. Captain, dear, what’ll I do?”

“We must wait, Dinny, and try to-night if we cannot find a boat.”

“And lave that poor darlin’ to be freckened to death by that great black baste? Oh, captain, dear, I’ll have to go wid her and purtect her; and if I’m hung for it, why, I can’t help it. I should have behaved like a man.”

“Wait, Dinny,” said the woman, cheerily. “You keep in hiding for a day or two, dear. If Black Mazzard does come and try to get me away, I can but die.”

“Sure, an’ what good’ll that do me?” cried Dinny. “D’ye want to make me a widow, too!”

“Hush! You’re talking too loudly,” whispered the woman. “Good-bye! Next time I come I’ll bring food. Perhaps good news.”

“No, no; don’t go yet, darlin’,” cried Dinny. “She’s gone. Oh, murther, sor! What’ll I do! Can’t ye put me out of me misery at wanst?”

Dinny calmed down at last, and Humphrey resumed his place upon the couch, which was arranged so that at any moment they might secure their retreat. But the night had not passed before the faithful little woman was back again with such provisions as she could bring and lower down to them, for she would not hear of Dinny coming out, threatening to keep away if he ran any risk.

This went on for two nights, during which time they had no alarm. Not a soul beside approached the place; and the same report was brought them that their hiding-place baffled all, but the captain was fiercely determined that the prisoners should be found.

“Then why not try to escape inland, Dinny!” said Humphrey, at last. “Surely, it cannot be impossible.”

“Haven’t we all thried it again and again wid the captain, sor!” said Dinny, in remonstrance. “He sot us all to work, so as to make sure that we couldn’t be attacked from the land; and ye can’t get in a mile annywhere, for thick forest worked together like a powerful big hurdle that’s all solid, and beyant that’s mountains – and burning mountains – and the divil knows what! Sure, and ye can’t get that way at all widout an army of wood-cutters, and a life a hundred years long!”

A week went by, food was wanting, the prisoners were in despair, and they had both crept out again and again to the end of the corridor and listened to try and make out something; but all outside was solemnly still, and the place might have been once more the abode of death, had not a couple of sentries always been visible keeping watch, so that it was impossible to stir.

“I can’t shtand this anny longer, sor,” said Dinny one evening. “I’m going to see if I can’t find her, sor. I must have news of the darlin’, or I shall die!”

“It’s madness, Dinny!” said Humphrey, excitedly.

“Sure, and I know it is, sor. I am mad.”

“But you will injure her and yourself too.”

“I can’t help it, sor. I’ve a faling upon me that Black Mazzard has got her again, and I’m going to fetch her away.”

“You are going to your death; and it will be through me, man!”

“Make your moind aisy, sor, about that. It would be all the same if ye were not here. Sure, and I’d be a poor sort of a boy if I towld a woman I loved her, and thin, when the darlin’ was in difficulties, jist sat down quietly here, and left her in the lurch.”

“She would not have you stir, Dinny, if she knew.”

“What of that, sor! Let ’em hang me if they catch me; and if they do, sor, Oi’ll doie like a Kelly. And not a word will I shpake of where ye are; and I wish ye safe away to your swateheart – for ye’ve got wan, I’m thinking, or ye wouldn’t be so aiger to get away.”

“Well, promise me this, Dinny – you’ll wait a few hours and see if we have news.”

“Faix, and for your sake, sor, I’ll do that same,” said Dinny.

He went to the window-opening and leaned there, listening; while Humphrey seated himself upon the edge of the couch to watch the opening above his head, in the expectancy that Mistress Greenheys might arrive and put an end to the terrible suspense as to her silence.

The still, sultry heat was terrible, not a leaf moved outside, and the darkness came on more obscure than usual; for as Humphrey looked out of the window from time to time, to gaze along the forest arcade, there was not a firefly visible, and the heavy, oppressive state of the air seamed to announce a coming storm.

Dinny’s figure had long been invisible, but he made his presence known by crooning over snatches of the most depressing minor-keyed Irish melody he could recall; but after a time that ceased, and the silence grew heavy as the heat.

“How long have I been asleep?” he muttered, starting up and listening. “Dinny!”

No answer.

“Dinny! Hist! Are you asleep?”

He dare call no louder, but rose from the couch.

“Dennis Kelly, the traitor, has gone, Humphrey Armstrong!” cried a hoarse voice, and he felt himself driven back into the great tomb-like place.

“Commodore Junk!” cried Humphrey in his surprise.

“Yes, Commodore Junk. Hah! I have you. My prisoner once again.”

“Your prisoner! No, not if I die for it!” cried Humphrey, passionately; and he struggled to free himself from the tightening grasp.

“I tell you it is madness. You have proved it yourself, and, weary with your folly, you have returned.”

“Returned!” cried Humphrey, fiercely; “yes, but only to be free.”

The captain tried to utter some angry appeal, but a fierce struggle had commenced, and the great stony place seemed to be full of whispers, of hoarse sighs, the catching of breath, harsh expirations as the contending pair swayed here and there – the captain, lithe and active as a panther, baffling again and again Humphrey’s superior weight and strength. Twice over the latter tripped and nearly fell, but he recovered himself and struggled on, seeking to wind his arms round the buccaneer and lift and throw him with a west country wrestling trick. But try how he would, his adversary seemed to twist like an eel and recover himself, till suddenly, as they swayed here and there, with the thick rugs kicked on one side, there was a low, jangling noise as a sword escaped from its scabbard and fell upon the stony floor.

It was a trifling incident, but it attracted the buccaneer’s attention for a moment – just long enough to put him off his guard – the result being that he was thrown heavily, Humphrey planting his knee upon his breast, and as he thrust out a hand it encountered the fallen sword, which he snatched up with a shout of triumph, shortened in his hand, and held to the buccaneer’s throat.

“Now,” he cried, fiercely, “I have the upper-hand, my lad. You are my prisoner. Make but one sound, and it is your last.”

The buccaneer uttered a low moan, and snatched at the blade, but the intervening hand was thrust away, and the point pressed upon the heaving flesh.

“Do you give in?”

“No!” cried the buccaneer, fiercely. “Strike, Humphrey Armstrong; strike, and end my miserable life! Then go and say, I have slain the woman who loved me with all her heart!”

“What!” cried Humphrey, starting back, as the sword fell from his nerveless hand, and a flash, as of a revelation, enlightened him as to the meaning of much that had before seemed strange.

“Well, why do you not strike? Did I not speak plainly? I am Mary Dell!”

Chapter Thirty Five

A Fresh Alarm

“Yes; who called?” cried Humphrey, starting up.

“Hist! Be careful. It is me.”

Humphrey sprang front his couch, and was about to speak, when the curtain was thrown roughly aside, and Bart entered quickly.

“What’s the matter!” he said, roughly.

“Matter!” said Humphrey. “I – I – must have been dreaming.”

Bart looked at him sourly, and then gave a suspicious look round.

“What time is it?” said Humphrey, hastily.

“Time! What do we know about time here? ’Bout four bells.”

Humphrey gazed excitedly at the dimly-seen figure, visible by a faint light which streamed in beside the curtain, and then as the curtain fell he advanced slowly till he could peer through and see that Bart had gone right to the far end of the corridor, where he had a lantern set in a stone recess, beside which he ensconced himself, and played sentry once again.

“Escape is impossible unless I choose the gates of death,” muttered Humphrey, as he stole back cautiously, and then in a low voice said —

“Hist! Did anyone call?”

“Yes. Is it safe to whisper?” came from above.

“Mistress Greenheys!” cried Humphrey, joyfully. “Speak low, don’t whisper; it penetrates too far. How I have longed to hear from you!”

“Oh, sir, pray, pray, save him!”

“Dinny!” said Humphrey, starting.

“Yes. He is to be killed, and it was for your sake he ran that risk. Pray, try and save him.”

“What can I do?”

“Implore the captain. He may listen to you. I cannot bear it, sir; it makes me feel half mad!”

“Have you seen him?”

“Seen him? No, sir. He’s kept closely shut up in one of the stone chambers by the captain’s quarters, and two men watch him night and day.”

“As I am watched,” said Humphrey, bitterly.

“Yes, sir; but you have not been untrue to your captain. You are not sentenced to death, and every man eager to see you hung. My poor Dennis! It is my fault, too. Why did we ever meet?”

Humphrey was silent.

“You will see the captain, sir, and ask him to spare his life?”

Humphrey ground his teeth. To ask Dinny’s life was to ask a favour of Mary Dell, and to place himself under greater obligations still.

“That is not all the trouble,” said the woman, who was evidently sobbing bitterly. “That wretch Mazzard is still at liberty.”

“Not escaped?” cried Humphrey.

“Not escaped! – not taken!” said the woman. “He is in hiding about the place, and I have seen him.”

She seemed to shudder, and her sobs grew more frequent.

“He has not dared to come to you?”

“No, sir; but he came near enough to speak to and threaten me. He will come some night and drag me away, and it would be better to die. Ah!”

She uttered a low cry; and as Humphrey listened he heard low, quick talking, a faint rustling overhead, and then the sound of the voices died away.

“Discovered!” said Humphrey, bitterly. “Fate is working against me now. Better, as she said, to die.”

A quarter of an hour’s silence ensued, and conscious that at any moment he might be watched, as far as the deep gloom would allow, Humphrey seated himself upon the edge of the old stone altar, and folded his arms, to see what would be the next buffet of fate he was to bear.

He had not long to wait.

There was the sound of a challenge at the end of the corridor, and a quick reply, followed by an angry muttering, and Humphrey laughed mockingly.

“Master and dog!” he said, bitterly. “Mistress and dog, I ought to say.”

He drew himself up, for he heard a well-known step coming quickly along the passage. The curtain was snatched aside, and the buccaneer took a dozen strides into the place and stopped, looking round.

“Where are you?” cried the buccaneer, in a harsh, imperious voice, deep almost as that of a man.

There was no reply.

“Where are you, I say?” was repeated imperiously. “Are you ashamed to speak?”

“No! What do you want?”

The buccaneer started in surprise, and faced round.

“Are you there? Coward! Traitor! This explains all. This is the meaning of the haughty contempt – the miserable coldness. And for a woman like that – the mistress of the vilest slave among the men. Humphrey Armstrong – you, the brave officer, to stoop to this! Shame upon you! Shame!”

“Woman, are you mad!”

“Yes! Mad!” cried the buccaneer, fiercely. “I scorn myself for my weak, pitiful fancy for so despicable a creature as you. So this is the brave captain, holding nightly meetings with a woman like that!”

“As I would with anyone who could help me to escape from this vile bondage,” said Humphrey.

“Vile! Who has made it vile?”

“You,” said Humphrey, sternly; “and as if I were not degraded low enough by your base passion and declaration, you come here in the night to insult me by such an insinuation as that.”

There was utter silence for a few moments, and then a quick step forward; and before Humphrey Armstrong could realise the fact, Mary Dell had cast herself down, thrown her arms around him, and laid her cheek against his feet.

“Trample on me and crush me, or kill me,” she moaned. “I am, mad. I did not think it. Humphrey, have pity on me. You do not knew.”

He trembled as she spoke, and clenched his fists tightly; but making an effort over himself, he said coldly —

“You have imprisoned the woman’s lover, and she says he is to die. She came there, as she has come many times before, to plan escape with me and the man I persuaded to be the partner of my flight. For this he is to die.”

“It is the men’s will,” groaned the prostrate woman.

“She has been praying to me to save her lover. I felt I could not ask you; but I do ask. Spare the poor fellow’s life, and set him free.”

“Do you wish it?”

“Yes.”

“He shall be set free. You see, I can be merciful, while you alone are stern and cold. How long am I to suffer this?”

“How long will you keep me here a prisoner?”

“How long will you keep yourself a prisoner, you should say. It is for you to be master here; for me to be your slave. How can I humble myself – degrade myself – more?”

Humphrey drew his breath in an angry, impatient hiss.

“For Heaven’s sake, rise!” he cried. “You lower yourself. You humble me. Come: let us talk sensibly. I do not want to be hard upon you. I will not say bitter things. Give me your hand.”

He took the hand nearest to him as he bent down, and raised the prostrate woman.

“Be seated,” he said, gravely. “Let me talk to you as I would to some one who can listen in an unprejudiced spirit.”

There was no reply.

“In your character of the captain of these buccaneers you asked me, an English officer, to be your friend and companion – to share with you this command. Is that all?”

Still no reply.

“Let us tear away the veil,” he continued; “for surely I am no egotist when I say to you that from the beginning it was more than this.”

“No; I did not know then. I thought that you might be my friend; that I should keep up this disguise until the end,” was faltered piteously.

“Impossible!” cried Humphrey, sternly. “Let me be plain with you. Let me tell you that I have sat here alone thinking, reading your character, pitying you for all that is past.”

“Pity!” came in a deep, low voice.

“Yes,” he said, gently, “pity. Let me try, too, and be grateful. For you spared my life at first; you saved it afterwards.”

“Go on. You torture me.”

“I must torture you, for I have words to speak that must be uttered.”

He paused for a few moments; and then went on, speaking now quickly and agitatedly, as if the words he uttered gave him pain at the same time that they inflicted it upon another.

“When I was chosen to command this expedition, against one who had made the name of Commodore Junk a terror all round the gulf and amid the isles, I knew not what my fate might be. There were disease and death to combat, and I might never return.”

He paused again. Then more hurriedly —

“There was one to whom – ”

“Stop!” came in a quick, angry voice. “I know what you would say; but you do not love another. It is not true.”

Humphrey Armstrong paused again, and then in a low, husky voice —

“I bade farewell to one whom I hoped on my return to make my wife. It pains me to say these words, but you force them from me.”

“Have I not degraded myself enough? Have I not suffered till I am nearly mad that you tell me this?” came in piteous tones.

“Was I to blame!”

“You? No. It was our fate. What a triumph was mine, to find that I, the master who had lived so long with my secret known but to poor Bart, was now beaten, humbled – to find that day by day I was less powerful of will – that my men were beginning to lose confidence in me, and were ready to listen to the plots and plans of one whom I had spared, for him to become a more deadly enemy day by day. Humphrey Armstrong, have you no return to offer me for all I have suffered – all I have lost? Tell me this is false. You do not – you cannot – love this woman.”

He was silent.

“Is she so beautiful? Is she so true? Will she give you wealth and power? Would she lay down her life for you? Would she degrade herself for you as I have done, and kneel before you, saying, ‘Have pity on me – I love you’?”

“Hush, woman!” cried Humphrey, hoarsely; “and for pity’s sake – the pity of which you speak – let us part and meet no more. I cannot, I will not listen to your words. Give me my liberty, and let me go.”

“To denounce me and mine?”

“Am I such a coward, such a wretch, that I should do this?” he cried, passionately.

“Then stay. Listen: I will give you love such as woman never gave man before. I loved your cousin as a weak, foolish girl loves the first man who whispers compliments and sings her praises. It is to her all new and strange, the realisation of something of which she had dreamed. But as the veil fell from my eyes, and I saw how cowardly and base he was, that love withered away, and I thought that love was dead. But when you came my heart leaped, and I trembled and wondered. I shrank from you, telling myself that it was a momentary fancy; and I lied, for it was the first strong love of a lonely woman, thirsting for the sympathy of one who could love her in return.”

“Oh! hush – hush!” cried Humphrey. “I have told you that it can never be.”

“And she will never love you as I would – as I do,” came in a low, imploring whisper.

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” cried Humphrey.

“Even if it were not so I could not – No, I will not speak. I only say, for pity’s sake let us part.”

He paused, for there was no reply.

“You do not answer,” he said, gently. “Think of what I say. I cannot give you love. I should be unworthy of yours if I could. My friendship I can give, and it shall be devoted to saving you from this life.”

Still no reply; and the silence and darkness seemed deeper than before.

“You do not take my hand!” he said, bitterly. “You do not listen to my words! Come, for heaven’s sake be just to me. Say that I have spoken well.”

Still no reply, and he listened as he leaned forward; but there was nothing to be heard but the beating of his own heart.

He leaned forward with outstretched hand, and bending down it touched the cold stone of the altar.

He swept his hand to left and right, listening intently; but there was no sound.

“Why do you not speak?” he said, sternly, as he realised the folly of his first surmise.

His words seemed to murmur in the roof and die away, but there was no reply.

He took a few steps in different directions, suddenly and quickly, listening intently the while, feeling certain that he would hear her try to avoid him; but all was silent, and at last he made for the entrance, drew aside the curtain, and stood listening there.

Feeling sure that his visitor could not have gone that way he turned back, and with outstretched hands paced the great chamber to and fro till at each crossing he touched the stone wall.

Satisfied at length that he was alone, and that the great stone which formed his couch had not been moved, he went once more to the great curtain, pulled it aside, and passed through so as to go along the corridor, for now that his visitor had left him the desire to speak again came strongly.

Half-way down the passage he suddenly became aware of an advancing light, and directly after he saw that it was gleaming from the brown face of Bart.

“Hallo! What now?” he growled. “Where are you going?”

“The captain! Did you meet the captain?” said Humphrey hastily.

“Meet him! No. He came to me and sent me back,” said Bart, grimly.

“Where is he, then?”

“At his quarters, of course.”

Humphrey Armstrong turned upon his heel frowning, as he felt that a great deal of what he had been saying must have been addressed to vacancy.

He did not turn his head as he paced the corridor, but he was aware that he was followed by Bart, whose lantern shed its faint yellow gleam upon the great curtain till he had passed through, and all was in darkness as he crossed the great chamber and threw himself upon the couch. But the place was feebly illuminated directly after, as Bart drew the drapery aside and peered in, holding the lantern well above his head to satisfy himself that his prisoner was there.

Then he drew back, the great curtain fell into its place, and Humphrey’s jailer went slowly to his niche, where he set down his light, seated himself, and with arms folded and chin resting upon his breast, moodily brooded over the position.

“A curse!” he muttered more than once – “a curse! If he were dead there would be peace once more, for she would forget him.”

“Suppose,” he thought, after a while – “suppose he was to be gone next time she came. Well, he might have escaped, and after a time she’d be at rest. It would be so easy, and it would be for her. And yet he’s so brave and so handsome, such a man for her! Better see her happy and kill myself. Not that I need!” he said, bitterly; “for she said she’d do that if aught happened to him.”

“It’s hard work,” he muttered, after a while, “seeing the woman you love care for some one else, and him lying there, and as good us asking you to put him out of the way.”

Bart’s head sank lower as he crouched there, struggling with the great temptation of his life, till at last he slowly rose, and, shading the lantern within his breast, stepped cautiously toward the curtain which draped the door. Stretching out his hand, he was in the act of drawing it softly aside when there was a firm clutch at his shoulder, and a low voice whispered in his ear —

“What are you going to do?”

Bart drew back, let fall the certain, and faced his leader.

“Nothing!” he said, abruptly.

“You villain!” whispered the buccaneer. “I read murder in your eye!”

“I’m tired of it,” growled Bart. “I give it up. I know what I am. I hopes for nothing; but when I see you go mad for one who hates you, and who will bring ruin on us all, as well as make you unhappy, it makes me mad too. He’s an enemy, and I could kill anybody as gives you pain!”

“As I could, and would, slay you if you hurt a hair of the head of the man I love!”