Commodore Junk

“The man you love!” muttered Bart, bitterly. “Time back it was the other Captain Armstrong. Now it’s him. Anybody but a poor fellow like me!”

“You have told me again and again you were content to be my friend. Go back to the quarters, and I’ll watch myself. I have no one here I can trust!”

Bart’s face worked as they slowly returned along the corridor, and rage and pain were marked in turn upon his features.

As they reached the place where he set down his lantern, he stood in a bent attitude, as if pondering upon the words which had been said.

“Why are you waiting?” said the captain, imperiously.

“Them words o’ yours,” said Bart. “You said you could kill me.”

“As I would have done,” was the fierce reply, “if harm had befallen him!”

“Better it had!” said Bart, bitterly. “Better it had, and you’d killed me. Saved you from pain, and me from a life of misery. Am I to go?”

“Yes,” said the captain, less firmly, as the man’s tones betrayed the agony of his spirit. “Go; I have no one now whom I can trust!”

“Don’t say that to me,” said the poor fellow, hoarsely, as he fell upon his knees and clasped his hands. “Kill me if you like, captain, but don’t doubt me. All these years I’ve done nothing but try and serve you faithful and well.”

“And you would have slain the man I love!”

“Something tempted me, and it said that it was for your good, and when it was like that I felt I could do anything.”

“You would have betrayed me!”

“I would have killed him as give you pain, him who has changed you, and broken you down to what you are. I knew as I now know, that it’s ruin to you!”

“Silence, man, and go!”

“What has he done for you!” cried Bart. “Nought but give you hard words, and curse you ever since he has been here, and yet you go on loving him!”

“What have I ever done for you, Bart, but give you hard words and cold looks, and yet you have gone on loving me!”

“True,” said Bart, hoarsely; “and so I shall till I die!”

“And so shall I, Bart, till I die!”

“Don’t talk like that,” he groaned. “It’s better to live and suffer than to talk of death. I give in – once more I give in!”

“Then go; I will watch!”

“No, captain; don’t send me away! Trust me this once. I am faithful to you!”

“Ay; but not to him.”

There was a pause, and Bart seemed to be struggling hard with himself, till he had won some terrible victory.

“Tell me,” he said at last, “tell me to swear. I’ll be as true to him as I’ve been to you, and I’ll swear it. I’ll die for him, if you say I am!”

“Then swear, Bart. Swear that I may depend on you as I would on myself! That, for my sake, you will defend him from all evil, come when it may!”

“Because you love him?” said Bart, slowly.

“Because I love him, man!”

There was a painful silence for a few minutes, and then, as he knelt there, on the time-worn stones, the simple-hearted single-natured man said, in a low husky voice —

“I swear it: so help me God!”

Bart rose slowly, with his breath coming and going as if after some terrible struggle, and, as he stood there trembling, he felt his hand seized and held tightly between two warm, moist palms.

He let it rest there for a few moments, and then snatched it away.

“What are you going to do?” whispered the buccaneer.

“Obey orders,” said Bart relapsing, as it were, to his former manner.

“No; stay. I have only you to trust.”

“And you’ll leave me now along of him?”

“Without a feeling of dread, Bart; because the temptation would come in vain.”

“Are we all mad!” said Bart, softly, as he stood listening to the retiring footsteps; and then he sank down upon the stones, with his back to the wall, and the light shining upon his rugged head.

Chapter Thirty Six

One Prisoner Free

“Dinny! You here!”

“Yes, sor – it’s me.”

“But at liberty?”

“Yes, sor; and I’m to attend on ye as I did avore.”

“But – ”

“Oh, it’s all right, sor! The captain’s a bit busy, and I’m not to be hung at present. I’m to be kept till there’s a big holiday, and be strung up then. It’s the fashion out in this part of the counthry.”

“My poor fellow,” cried Humphrey, “I am glad to see you safe again!”

“Safe, sir! and d’ye call it safe, whin the first time, perhaps, as the skipper gets in a passion I shall be hung up in all me youth and beauty, like one o’ the big drooping flowers on a tree!”

“Nonsense, man!”

“Oh, it’s sinse, sor; and I shall droop, too, wid all my moight!”

“No, no,” said Humphrey, as he pondered upon the past, and saw in Dinny’s reprieve a desire to gratify him. “No, my lad. I appealed to the captain to spare your life, and this is the result.”

“Did ye, now, sor! Sure, an’ I thought that the pretty little darlin’ had been down on her knees to him; and, knowing what a timpting little beauty she is, it made me shiver till I began to consider what sort of a man the captain is, and how, when the boys have been capturing the women, and sharing ’em out all round, the skipper niver wance took a fancy to a single sowl. Faix, and he’s always seemed to take to you, sor, more than to annyone else. Some men’s of a marrying sort, and some ar’n’t. The skipper’s one of the ar’n’ts.”

Humphrey looked at the man curiously, but it was evident that he had no hidden meaning.

“Sure, sor,” continued Dinny, “when I think about you two, it has always seemed to me as if the captain wanted to be David to your Jonathan, only the other way on, for the skipper isn’t a bit like King David.”

“Have you suffered much!”

“Suffered, sor!”

“I mean in prison.”

“Divil a bit, sor! I’ve lived like a foighting-cock. They always fade a man up well in this part of the counthry before they finish him off.”

“You may make your mind easy, Dinny,” said Humphrey, thoughtfully; “the captain will not take your life unless he takes mine too.”

“An’ is it mak me moind aisy, sor, when I can’t get spache of the darlin’, and that Black Mazzard in hiding somewhere and freckening the poor sowl to death!”

“Surely, there is nothing to fear from him now?”

“Faix, and I don’t know that same. I shall always be freckened about him till a dacent praste has tied us two together toightly, and then I sha’n’t be happy till I know that Black Mazzard’s nailed up bechuckst four boards; and if I’ve annything to do wid it they shall be as thick as trees and nailed wid screws.”

“He has made his escape somewhere?”

“Not he, sor; and I don’t like the look o’ things. I’ve been too much shut up to see annything, being more like a cockroach in a whishky bottle and the cork tied down than annything else. But I’m skeart, captain darlin’; and if annything happens – whisht! have ye kept my saycret?”

He put his lips close to the prisoner’s ears, and whispered as he gave a knowing look at the couch.

“It is a secret still, Dinny.”

“Good luck to ye, sor! Thin, if annything happens, just you go there and lie shnug till I come to ye; and if ye’ll tak’ my advice ye’ll keep on putting a dhrop o’ wine in the cellar and shtoring up a bit o’ food; and if it isn’t wanted, why ye’re no worse off.”

“Explain yourself, my lad,” said the prisoner, for the lively chatter of the Irishman relieved the tedium of his confinement.

“Hist!”

“Murther!” ejaculated Dinny, as a faint signal came from overhead. “Sure an’ I was niver cut out for a prophet afther all.”

“Dinny! – Captain Armstrong!” came from above.

“Good luck to ye, darlin’! kape on shpaking,” whispered Dinny, excitedly. “It does me good to hear ye; but niver mind the captain, darlin’. Shpake to me.”

“I came here – at great risk,” came down, as if the speaker was panting heavily. “There’s something wrong – I want to put you on your guard. Tell the captain. Quick! I dare not stay.”

“But, darlin’, what’s wrong? Whisht! shpake out, and let’s hear ye. Look at that, now! Why, she’s gone!”

For there was a faint rustling overhead, and then all was silence once again.

“Sure, sor, would ye look at me,” cried Dinny, with a most perplexed expression of countenance, “and tell me if I’m awake or it’s only a dhrame.”

“Dinny,” said Humphrey, “she would not have come in such haste if there had not been good cause. Go and warn the captain. Quick!”

The day passed without news, and, weary with his tedious pacing of his great cell, Humphrey Armstrong threw himself upon his couch, where he lay, with the great solemn face of the old stone idol seeming to loom down mysteriously from above.

It was not until the next morning that he saw Dinny again. The night had passed quietly, and the day found Humphrey still watching. He, however, dropped into a pleasant slumber as the sun rose, in which sleep he was still plunged when Dinny came.

“Jist nawthing at all, sor,” he said. “The darlin’ must have got a craze in her head, for when I told the captain he trated me wid scorn, and Bart asked me if I was playing the fool.”

“Then there is no danger!”

“Divil a bit, sor, that I can think out,” said Dinny.

“But Mistress Greenheys.”

“What about her, sor?”

“What did she say?”

“Sure an’ you heard it all, sor. I couldn’t repate it now if I thried.”

“But you have seen her since?”

“Sin her! Bedad I’d only like to – if it was only to shpake wan word to her wid me oi. No, sor, I can’t get spache of her.”

“But is all quiet in the place?”

“An’ is it quiet? Why, a tomb in Aygypt is a lively place to it. The schooner’s getting rotting for want o’ work, and the men do nothing but dhrink and shlape, and the captain’s shut up all alone whin he isn’t down in the forest saying his prayers.”

“Is it the calm that comes before the storm, Dinny?” said Humphrey.

“Sure an’ I don’t know, sor; but I’ll kape watch if I can, and give ye word if there’s annything wrong; but me poor head’s in a mix, and since I’ve been out of prishn I seem to see nothing but Black Mazzard shwarming all over the place and takkin’ me darling away. Did ye intersade wid the captain, sor?”

“Dinny, I have not seen him again,” said Humphrey, frowning.

“Not seen him, sor! Why, he has been here half a dozen toimes.”

“Been here? No.”

“Sure and I saw him wid me own ois, sor. Twice he came to the windy there and four toimes along by the big passage. Sure I thought ye’d been colloguing.”

“I was not aware of it,” said Humphrey, calmly; but his words did not express the feelings that were raging within his breast, and as soon as he was alone he tried to analyse them.

He must flee. He could do nothing else, and growing momentarily more excited, he tried to force himself to act and think.

The old temple. He would flee there for the present, he said. It would remove him from Mary’s pursuit, for she would never dream of his seeking refuge there, and from that place he might perhaps be able to open up communication with Dinny.

He had no weapon, so he caught up a large table-knife and stuck it in his waistband. It was not much, but something, and at that moment he recalled Mary Dell’s history – how she had told him that they had begun with a canoe; through that captured a larger boat; that larger boat had enabled them to take a vessel; and so on till the swift schooner had been obtained.

In the same way that knife should grow into a sword, he said to himself; and then he felt a sensation of half-blind rage at himself for making the comparison.

“What is this hateful unsexed creature to me!” he said, angrily, as he stood thinking as to his next step.

Food! He must have food. In his excitement and the fury of the haste that was upon him, the trouble of taking it angered him; but he knew that he must have it, and gathering together what he could, he paused once more to think and listen.

All was silent, and the drawing aside of the great curtain proved that Bart was not on guard, for there was no dull, yellow gleam of his lantern at the end of the corridor, and once more it came over the prisoner as a feeling of wonder that he should not again and again have taken such steps as these. Almost unguarded, his prison doors and windows always open, and freedom given him to wander about the ruins, and yet like a pinioned bird he had stayed.

“They know that the sea before, the forest and mountain behind, are stronger than bolt and bar,” something seemed to whisper to him as he stood hesitating.

“But not to a determined man, ready to do or die!” he cried, as if forced to answer aloud; and he set his teeth as he still hesitated and paused before hurrying out of the great dark place.

He stopped. What would she do when she found that he had gone? What would she say of the man whom, with all her faults, she evidently dearly loved, and would sacrifice all to win?

Humphrey Armstrong stamped fiercely upon the old stone flooring, making the vaulted roof echo as he thrust his fingers into his ears in a child-like attempt to shut out and deafen himself to the silent whisperings which assailed him.

He gave one glance round, trying to penetrate the darkness, and hesitated no longer, but strode away, passing out of the long corridor out among the ruins, and, well accustomed to the place now, making straight for the pathway which, at its division, turned toward the old temple.

All was still; but it seemed lighter away to his left than he could quite account for, and he was starting again when a distant shout as of many voices came through the silence of the night and died away.

“Carousing,” he muttered, and he hesitated again.

If the men were carousing the watch kept would be less strict, and there might be some chance of obtaining a boat.

“To start alone on a cruise,” he said, half aloud. “What madness!” Then passionately: “It all seems madness, and I can do nothing but drift with fate.”

Fighting down the strange hesitancy which kept assailing in various forms, especially now in that of conjuring up difficulties in the way of escape, he plunged sturdily into the forest path, and, as fast as the darkness allowed, went on straight for the old temple, a grim place of refuge, with its ghastly relics; of Abel Dell lying, as it were, in state; and the horrible, haunting recollections of the huge cavernous cenote where the would-be assassin had met his fate, and the other had been consigned as to his tomb.

It was painful work. Every now and then some thorny creeper of rapid growth hung across and tore his skin; at some sudden turn he came in contact with tree-trunk or mouldering stone; but the greater the difficulties in the darkness, the greater the rest seemed to Humphrey Armstrong’s brain, and he kept on till a sudden turn brought him close to the fork, where one path went winding to the left toward the men’s and the captain’s quarters, the other to the temple.

As he approached he became conscious of a rustling sound, as of a wild creature passing through the forest, and he snatched his knife from his waist, ready to strike for life if attacked; but, firmly convinced that there were no denizens of the wild there but such as were more likely to avoid him, he kept on again, to reach the dividing path just as he became aware that it was no creature passing through the wilderness of trees, but someone, like himself, hurrying along the track from the men’s quarters so rapidly, that they came in contact, and a hand seized him by the throat, and the point of some weapon seemed to be pressed against his breast, as a voice exclaimed in a hoarse whisper —

“Make the slightest sound and it is your last.”

And as these words seemed to be hissed into his face, a shout arose from some distance along the path, and the tramping of feet and rustling of branches intimated that people were rapidly coming in pursuit.

“You!” exclaimed Humphrey, hoarsely, as he stood with hand uplifted to strike, but suspended in the act as if every muscle had suddenly become stone.

“Humphrey Armstrong!”

The hand that had grasped his throat dropped nerveless, and the weapon fell from his breast as the shouting of men increased.

“Well,” said Humphrey, bitterly, as if he were forcing himself to say words that he did not mean, “why do you not strike? I was escaping. Call up your gang of cut-throats and end it all.”

“Hush! For Heaven’s sake, hush! You will be heard.”

“Well,” said Humphrey, aloud, and as if in defiance; but a warm soft hand was placed over his lips, and its owner whispered —

“You were trying to escape, or did you know?”

“Know!” said Humphrey, involuntarily speaking lower. “Know what? I was escaping.”

“To the old temple! No, no, they are going there.”

“Your hounds!”

“Silence, man, for your life!” was whispered close to his ear, and the hand once more sought his lips.

“Come on, my lads!” came out of the darkness ahead. “I know where to find him, snivelling yonder among the old images. Come on!”

There was a shout, and it seemed as if the leader of a body of men, beneath whose feet the rotten branches that bestrewed the path crackled, had suddenly halted for his companions to close up before saying a few final words of encouragement.

“Now then,” the voice said in thick, husky tones, “stand by me, my lads. He’s gone on there, and there’s no getting back. One good, bold blow and we’ll scotch him like a snake. Then fair share and share alike of all there is hidden away, and start straight. He’s no good now, and the others’ll join in when he’s gone. Ready?”

“Ay, ay!” came in hoarse, drunken tones; and as Humphrey felt himself pressed back into the pathway by which he had come, there was a staggering of feet, and a dull trampling, as about a dozen men passed on, leaving behind them the thick reek of hot, spirit-laden breath.

“Now!” as the steps passed on. “Now,” was whispered in Humphrey’s ear; “this way.”

“Ah!” arose in a fierce growl, as some one of the party who had not gone on with the rest made a dash at and seized the buccaneer captain. “Prisoner! Who is it? Here, hi mates, I’ve – ”

He said no more. Without pause or thought why he did this – why he sought to save his companion – Humphrey Armstrong made a spring in the direction of the voice, his hands came in contact with a coarse bull throat, and its owner was driven backwards, to fall with his head striking a projecting piece of stone, dragging the buccaneer in the fall.

The man was stunned, and lay perfectly inert as Humphrey and his companion struggled to their feet, panting with exertion, and listening for the return of the party who had gone on.

But they had not heard the noise of the struggle, the maze-like turnings of the path had shut it out, and their voices came now muffled and soft, as if from a distance.

Then Humphrey felt his hand gripped firmly.

“This way.”

“What! Are you going to take me back to prison?” said Humphrey mockingly.

“Do you wish to go straight to death?”

“I am going straight to liberty!” cried Humphrey.

“This way, then,” whispered his companion; and without a word Humphrey allowed himself to be led back along the dark arcade, listening to the heavy panting of his guide, who seemed to be breathing heavily, and as if in pain.

For some time no word was spoken. Then, as he became aware of his companion’s purpose, Humphrey stopped short.

“You are leading me back to that cursed prison,” he said fiercely. “Loose my hand.”

“I am leading you to the only place where you will be safe,” was whispered back. “Have I not suffered enough, man? Do you think I wish to die with the knowledge that, these dogs will seize and rend you in their drunken frenzy?”

“Rend me!”

“Yes. They have risen. That wretch, whom I have spared so long in my weak folly, is at their head. Humphrey Armstrong, believe me, I am trying to save your life!”

“Then why not make for the shore? A boat! Give me a boat and let me go!”

“Half the men who were faithful to me are dead, treacherously burned to death in their quarters. I cannot explain; but the doorway was blocked by those fiends. The landing-place is guarded by a portion of his bloodthirsty gang. To go to the shore is to seek your death. Will you not trust me now?”

“It is to keep me here!” he cried fiercely.

“To keep you here when I would gladly say go! Trust me. Give me time to think. I was coming to save you when we met. Will you not believe?”

“Yes!” cried Humphrey, hoarsely. “I will trust you!”

“Hah!”

That was all. His hand was gripped more tightly; and, as he yielded it to his companion, he felt himself led with unerring decision in and out among the mouldering ruins of the edge of the clearing to the side of the old amphitheatre, a faint metallic clink from time to time indicating that a sword was being struck upon the stones to make sure of the way.

“You are going back there?” said Humphrey.

“Yes,” came back hoarsely. “Do not speak. We may be heard.”

Humphrey was conscious that his guide had led him to the old altar and sunk upon it with a moan; but she still tightly clung to his hand.

There they remained in silence as if listening for pursuit; and the deep, hoarse breathing of both sounded painfully loud in the utter darkness.

Humphrey essayed to speak again and again, but he felt that he could not trust himself to utter words.

It was his companion who broke the painful silence as she still clung to his hand.

“I ought to have acted sooner,” she said bitterly. “I might have known it would come to this; but in my cruel selfishness I could not speak – I could not let you go. Do not blame me – do not reproach me. It was my madness; and now the punishment has come.”

“I do not understand you,” he said huskily.

“You do,” she said gently. “But it is no time to think of this. Listen! These men will search every spot to find and slay me – and you; but you shall escape. Now, listen? Below this old place there is a rock chamber, known only to me and Bart – who lies wounded yonder and helpless; but he will not betray the secret, even if he thinks that you are there. You will go to the end of your couch, press heavily with your shoulder against the corner, forcing it in this direction, and then the great stone will move upon a pivot. There is a way down – ”

“You need not tell me,” said Humphrey at this point. “I know.”

“Thank Heaven!” she ejaculated. “Keep in hiding there till the wretches are off their guard; and then cautiously make your way by night down to the landing-place, and by some means seize a boat. There will be no guard kept when I am gone.”

“And my people – my poor fellows?”

“Gone,” she said quietly. “They seized a boat and escaped long ago. All has been confusion here since – since I have been mad,” she added piteously.

“Escaped!”

“Yes; and you will escape. And in the future, when you are away – and happy – don’t curse me – think of me as a poor lost woman, driven by fate – to what I am – but who saw and loved you, Humphrey Armstrong, as woman has seldom loved before.”

“Oh, hush!” he said huskily. “For Heaven’s sake don’t speak like that!”

“No,” she said gently, after listening for a few moments; but all was still. “I will not speak. It is nearly over now. You will forgive me?”

“Forgive you – yes!”

She uttered a low sigh, full of thankfulness, as she still clung to his hand.

“It is enough,” she said. “Now, go! You know the way. Be cautious, be patient, and bide your time; and then Heaven speed you safely home! – He has forgiven me,” she sighed to herself, and the pressure upon his hand seemed to increase.

“Well,” she said after a few moments’ pause, “why do you stay?”

Her voice startled him in its intensity, for it seemed to echo through the place; and his hand had, as it had been for many minutes past, grasped hers with crushing force as the tide rose to its fullest height and bore him on.

“And you!” he said. “What will you do?”

“I!” she said with a faint laugh; “I shall wait here until they come.”

“Wait here!” cried Humphrey. “They will kill you!”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Then why not share my flight? Come with me now while there is time. I will protect you and take you where you will. I cannot leave you like this!”

“Not leave me?” she said with a sob.

“No. Do you think me such a cur that I could leave you to the mercy of these wretches?”

“It is too late,” she said. “Go!”

“Go?”

“Yer, while there is time.”

“But you can hide as well as I!” he cried excitedly. “Come!”