Commodore Junk

“It is too late,” she said, and he felt her hand tremble in his grasp.

“And leave you?” he cried. “I would sooner die!”

“Then you do love me?” she cried wildly, as she half rose from the altar, but sank back.

“Love you!” he cried passionately. “I have fought with it, I have battled with it till I have been nearly mad! Love you, Mary, my brave, true heroine! I love you with all my heart!”

She uttered a wild cry of joy as he threw himself upon his knees and clasped her to his heart, his face buried in her breast and her two arms clung tightly round his neck, as she uttered a low moan of mingled joy and pain.

“Love you!” he whispered, as he raised his face, and his lips sought hers; “my darling! words will not tell my love! Come, what is the world to us? You are my world, my own, my love! Come!”

She clung to him passionately for a few moments.

“At last!” she said softly, as if to herself; “the love of one true noble man! Ah!”

A low deep sigh escaped her, and then, as if roused to a sense of her position, she thrust him back and listened.

“Hark!” she said, as a low shout arose. “They are coming back – they will be here soon! Quick! lose no time! You must escape!”

“And you?” he said, wildly.

She took his hand and laid it slowly upon her bosom, to press it there, so that he could fool the heavy dull throb of her heart.

For a moment even then he did not realise what she meant. Then, with a wild cry he leaped to his feet, for his hand was wet with the warm blood which welled from a terrible wound.

“You are hurt?” he cried.

“To the death, Humphrey. Oh, my love, my love! Take me in your arms once more and hold me to your heart. Tell me that you will remember me, and then lay me here, upon this old stone, with your kiss wet upon my lips. Death will be easy then!”

“Death easy! I leave you! If you must die it shall be together!” he panted, as he once more enfolded her in his arms.

“This is madness,” she whispered, as she struggled feebly in his embrace. “Go, for pity’s sake – go!”

“My place is here!” he said in a low fierce voice, as he took up the sword she had let fall upon the pavement. “We shall not die alone. Whose cowardly hand inflicted that wound?”

“You need not ask,” she said feebly. “He missed before – the blow was true this time.”

“The fiend! The devil!” groaned Humphrey, as the sword quivered in his grasp. “Well, we shall want a slave to open the gates of death. His shall be the task!”

She clung to him with failing strength, and drew herself up by him till she could once more rest upon his breast, with her arms tightly clasped about his neck.

“You told me at last you loved me,” she panted. “You said the words I have so hungered to hear – words I thought that I should have died and never heard pass your lips. Now that I know it, and that it is true, do not embitter my last moments by showing me that I have tried in vain.”

“I could not live without you now!” he cried passionately, as he held her to him more tightly still.

“They are coming. It is too late for me. Let me die in peace, knowing that you are saved.”

He raised her in his arms and bore her to the great stone, and, as he laid her gently down, the noise of the coming gang could be heard.

There was not a moment to lose, and any slip in his instructions would have resulted in destruction; but as he pressed against the stone it easily revolved, and he stooped once more and raised the fainting woman in his arms, to bear her down into the tomb-like structure and place her at the foot of the broad stone stairs which led into the vault.

As he loosened her arms from about his neck and passed quickly up again, there were heavy steps in the long corridor, and lights flashed through the openings of the great curtain. So close were the men that Humphrey saw their faces as he stood on the upper step, and dragged at the slab by two great hollows underneath, made, apparently, by the olden masons for the mover’s hands.

For the moment Humphrey, as he bent down there beneath the place on which he had so often slept or lain to think, felt certain that he must have been seen; but the muffled voices came close up, the steps trampled here and there, sounding dull and hollow, and there was no seizing of the great stone, no smiting upon its sides.

He held his breath as he stood bending down and listening for some indication of danger; but it seemed as if the men had coursed all over the place, searching in all directions, and were about to go, when, all at once, there was a shout close to the place where he had raised Mary from the altar.

The shout was followed by a muffled sound of many voices, and he listened, wondering what it meant. Some discovery had evidently been made, but what?

He shuddered, and a chill of horror shot through him, for he knew directly after.

It was blood.

Chapter Thirty Seven

In the Vault

With the deathly silence which ensued as the heavy echoing steps of the searchers passed away, the men being completely at fault as to why certain drops of blood should be lying near the couch, Humphrey descended the steps once more.

“They are gone,” he whispered, but there was no reply; and, feeling softly about, his hand came in contact with Mary’s arm, to find that she lay back in a corner of the vault, with a kerchief pressed tightly against her breast.

He hastily bandaged the wound, firmly binding the handkerchief which she held there with his own and the broad scarf he wore, and, after placing her in a more comfortable position, began to search in the darkness for the food and water which were there.

The water was soon found – a deep, cool cistern in the middle of the floor.

The food lay close at hand, and with it one of the silver cups he had had in use above. With this he bore some of the cool refreshing liquid to the wounded woman, holding some to her lips and bathing her brow, till she uttered a sigh and returned to consciousness, her first act being to stretch out her hand and lay it upon Humphrey’s shoulder to draw him nearer to her.

“Don’t leave me!” she said feebly. “It is very dark!”

“But we are safe,” he whispered. “They are gone.”

“Yes,” she sighed; “I heard them. How long is it to day?”

“It cannot be long now,” he said, as he took her hand.

She sighed as she felt the unwonted tenderness and rested her head against his shoulder.

“No,” she said, softly, “it cannot be long now. It will come too soon!”

There was so much meaning in her voice that he felt a cold chill, as if the hand of death had passed between to separate these two so strangely brought together.

“Are you in pain!” he said.

“Pain! No. Happy – so happy!” she whispered. “For you do love me!”

“Love you!” he cried.

“And she – at home?”

“That was not love,” he said, wildly. “But now tell me about this place – shall we see the day when it comes?”

“You will,” she said, softly. “I shall – perhaps.”

“Perhaps! No, you shall!” he whispered, as he pressed his arm gently around her, forgetting everything now of the past, save that this woman loved him, and that there was a future before them of hope and joy. “Tell me what I can do – to help you.”

“Hold me like that,” she whispered, with a sigh of content. “It is better so. It could never have been – only my wild dream – a woman’s thirst for the love of one in whom she could believe. A woman’s love!”

Little more than an hour could have passed, during which Humphrey had twice heard sounds of voices, and once a heavy step overhead – this last making him steal his right hand softly toward the sword that lay by his side – when a faint light seemed to gleam on the surface of the water in the centre of the vault; and soon after he found that this served to shed a softened dawn through the place – a dawn which grow stronger, but was never more than a subdued twilight. It was enough, though, to show him the proportions of the place, its quaint carving, and the fact that beside the long shaft which opened out far above his head there was what seemed to be a stone grille, beyond which was the tangled growth of the forest, much of which, in root and long, prickly shoot, penetrated nearly to where they sat.

As the light grew stronger he saw that his companion seemed to have lost the old masculine look given by her attire; for coat and vest had been cast aside, and the loose shirt, open at the neck, had more the aspect of a robe. Her dark hair curled closely about her temples; and as Humphrey Armstrong gazed down at the face, with its parted lips and long lashes lying upon the creamy dark cheeks, his heart throbbed, for he felt that he had won the love of as handsome a woman as any upon whom his eyes had ever lit.

He forgot the wound, the bandaging kerchief seeming in the semi-darkness like some scarf; and as he sat and gazed he bent down lower and softly touched the moist forehead with his lips.

Mary awoke up with a frightened start and gazed at him wildly, but as consciousness came her look softened and she nestled to him.

“I did not mean to wake you,” he said.

She started again and looked at him wildly, as if she fancied she had detected a chilliness in his manner; but his eyes undeceived her, and as he raised her hand to his lips, she let it rest there for a few moments, and then stole it round his neck.

“Tell me,” he said gently, “your wound?”

She shook her head softly.

“No,” she whispered; “let it rest. Talk of yourself. You will wait here two days, and then steal out at night and make your way down to the shore. You know the way!”

“If I do not you will guide me,” he said.

She looked at him keenly to see if he meant what he said, and then, reading the sincerity of his words in his frank eyes, she shook her head again.

“No,” she whispered. “You asked me of my wound. It is home. Humphrey Armstrong, this is to be my tomb!”

“What!” he cried. “Oh, no! no! no! You must live to bless me with your love!”

“Live to disgrace you with my love!”

“Mary!”

There was such a depth of love, such intensity in the tone in which he uttered her name, that she moaned aloud.

“Ah, you are in pain!” he cried.

“In pain for you,” she whispered, “for you suffer for my sake. Hist! Do you hear?”

She clung to him tightly.

“No,” he said, “there is nothing.”

“Yes,” she said, softly. “Steps. I can hear them – they are coming back.”

He listened once more, but his ears were wanting in the preternatural keenness brought on by his companion’s exalted nerves. He heard nothing for a few moments, and then with a start he seized the sword, for steps were faintly heard now to grow plainer and plainer till they were close overhead.

Mary signed to him to listen; and at that moment the stone slab moved gently a few inches, for someone had seated himself upon the edge, and the buzz of talking was heard.

“Now, my lad,” cried a hoarse, drink-engendered voice, which came plainly to where they crouched, “you know all about it, and I’m captain now. Where’s that prisoner?”

“Sure, and how could I know anny way, Black Mazzard?”

“Captain Mazzard!” roared the first speaker.

“Oh! Murther! Put them pishtols away, and I’ll call ye captain, or adhmiral if ye like!”

“No fooling! Where is that prisoner?”

“Which one, sor?”

“No fooling, Paddy! Captain Armstrong?”

“Faix, an’ he must have run away, skeart loike, whin he heerd you were coming.”

“You know where he is?”

“Faix, and that’s thrue,” said Dinny.

“Where is he, then? Tell me the truth, and I’ll let you live this time. Tell me a lie, and I’ll hang you.”

“Och, don’t, captain! Ye’d waken yer crew horribly if ye were to hang me.”

“I’ll hang you, as sure as you stand there, if you don’t confess.”

“Murther! Don’t, now, captain, for I shouldn’t die dacently if ye did hang me. It isn’t a way I’ve been accustomed to. Ah, moind! That pishtol might go off.”

“It will go off if you don’t speak. He’s hidden somewhere here, and you know where. Speak out!”

“Shpake out! And is it shpake out?” said Dinny, slowly as with advanced blade Humphrey stood ready to plunge it into the breast of the first man who attempted to descend. “Oh, well, I’ll shpake out then.”

“The traitor!” mattered Humphrey. “False to one, false to all.”

“Where is he, then?” roared Mazzard.

“Faix, he’s in his skin, captain.”

“You dog!” roared Mazzard. And there was the report of a pistol, followed by a wild shriek.

“Don’t – don’t kill!” cried a piteous woman’s voice. “Don’t kill him!”

“Not kill him!” snarled Mazzard.

“No – no! Spare him, and I’ll tell you.”

“Bedad, an’ if ye do, I’ll niver forgive ye,” cried Dinny, fiercely. “Ye don’t know nawthing. He’s eshcaped.”

“Where is he!” roared Mazzard. “Speak out, woman, or I’ll blow his head off!”

Humphrey sprang up a couple of steps to defend Dinny; but Mary Dell lay there, and to show himself was to betray her – the woman whom he knew he passionately loved. Of himself he thought nothing.

But the task of betrayal to save her lover was spared to Mistress Greenheys, for, as Black Mazzard stood with one hand on Dinny’s shoulder, and his second pistol pointed close to his ear, so that his second shot should not fail, one of his men exclaimed aloud —

“Why, he’s there! Look at the blood!”

Mazzard turned and glanced down at the floor upon which he stood, then at the stained stone which formed the cover of the vault. He uttered a harsh laugh, for the stone had been slightly moved.

“Here, half a dozen of you!” he roared. “Lay hold!”

His men seized the stone; and after one or two trials to raise it up, it was thrust sideways, and the hiding-place revealed.

With a yell of savage delight Black Mazzard began to descend, followed by his crew. There was the clash of swords, two men fell, wallowing in their blood, and then Humphrey drew back into the corner before Mary Dell, determined to defend her to the last.

Two more men went down; and there was a brief pause, followed by a savage rush and a mêlée, in which Humphrey’s sword snapped off at the hilt, and the next minute he was above in the great chamber, pinioned between two of Mazzard’s men; and Mary Dell was borne up to lie at her conqueror’s feet.

“You savage!” roared Humphrey, as he sank panting on a stone.

“Savage!” retorted Mazzard, with a brutal grin. “Stand up, you dog!”

“Stand yourself – in the presence of your king’s officer!” shouted Humphrey in his rage.

“King!” cried Mazzard, mockingly. “I’m king here. Now then, you!” he cried to his men, who enjoyed seeing him bearded. “Quick! – two ropes!”

He turned sharply upon his men, who hurried off to obey the command.

Humphrey gazed at Mazzard aghast. The threat implied in the order seemed too horrible to be believed, and for the moment he looked round in doubt.

But Mazzard was in power; and in a few minutes the ropes were forthcoming.

Humphrey glanced from the men who approached and then at Mary Dell, with the intention of proclaiming her sex; but a horrible feeling of dread thrilled through him at the thought of making such a revelation to the monsters who had gained the upper-hand, and, gathering himself up, he waited his time, and then wrested himself free, sending the men who held him right and left, and leaped to where – unable to stand upright – his fellow prisoner was held.

Before they could recover from their surprise he had torn a sword from one of them, and, whirling it round his head, he drove them back, and clasping Mary Dell’s waist, stood with flashing eyes, ready for the first who would attack.

“Is there no man here who will help?” he shouted.

“Bedad there is!” cried Dinny, leaping upon the nearest, and in a moment tearing his weapon from his hand. “If I die for it, captain, it shall be like a man.”

Black Mazzard stood for a moment aghast at the daring displayed. Then a grim look of savagery crossed his evil countenance, and he drew his sword.

“Now, my lads,” he said, fiercely, “it’s three ropes we want, I see. Come on.”

He made a rush forward, followed by his men; but at this moment a solitary shot flashed from the folds of the curtain, and as the report reverberated through the great stone chamber, Black Mazzard span round as if upon a pivot, and fell with a heavy thud upon the floor.

His men paused in their onslaught, appalled by the suddenness of their leader’s fall; but as they saw Bart come forward, piece in hand, their hesitation turned to rage, and they advanced once more to the attack.

“Good-bye!” whispered Humphrey, bending for a moment over Mary, who clung to him, her eyes fixed on his with a longing, despairing gaze, and then, as he thrust her back, the attack began.

The odds were about eight to one, and the issue could not for a moment be in doubt; but hardly had sword met sword, and blow been exchanged, when a ringing cheer arose, and with a rush a couple of dozen well-armed sailors dashed in by corridor and window, and the tables were completely turned.

There was a rush made for the door, but those who tried in that direction were driven back; while half a dozen who backed into a corner of the great chamber, as if desperately determined to sell their lives dearly, were boldly attacked and beaten down, the whole party being reduced from the savage band of followers of the dead ruffian at their feet to a herd of helpless prisoners, abject to a degree.

Humphrey saw nothing of this, only that they were saved; for, dropping his sword, he sank on his knees by the side of her who lay back with her eyes fixed upon him, full of a longing, imploring look, whose import he read too well.

He bent down closely to her to take her hand in his, and started to find that it was cold; but there was vitality in it enough for the fingers to close upon his hand tightly, while the lips he kissed moved slightly, and he heard as faintly as if just breathed —

“It is better so.”

“No, no!” he panted. “We are saved! Mary – dearest – ”

He said no more, for the longing look in those eyes seemed intensified, and the pupils dilated slowly to remain fixed and stern.

It was the buccaneer’s last look on earth.

Chapter Thirty Eight

Last Words

The officer who led the strong boat’s crew to the rescue, guided by some of Captain Armstrong’s men who had escaped weeks before and after terrible privations at last found help, drew back and signed to his followers.

It was enough. Hats were doffed, and a strange silence reigned in the gloomy chamber as Humphrey knelt there holding the dead hand in his till he was touched upon the shoulder, and looking up slowly, half-stunned by the event, it was to meet the pale, drawn face of Bart.

“Do they know, captain?” he whispered, meaningly.

For a few moments Humphrey did not realise the import of his question, till he turned and gazed down once more upon the stern, handsome face fixing rigidly in death.

“No,” he said quickly, as he drew a handkerchief from his breast and softly spread it over the face of the dead. “It is our secret – ours alone.”

“Hah!” sighed Bart, and he drew back for a moment, and then gave Humphrey an imploring look before advancing once more, going down upon his knee, and taking and kissing the cold hand lying across the motionless breast.

“Captain Humphrey Armstrong, I think!” said the officer of the rescue party.

“Yes,” said Humphrey, in a dreamy way.

“We were just in time, it seems.”

“Yes,” said Humphrey, with a dazed look.

“I’m glad you are safe, sir; and this is – ”

He had not finished his sentence when one of Black Mazzard’s men yelled out —

“The Commodore – our captain – sir!”

“Once,” said Humphrey, roused by the ruffian’s words, and gazing sharply round; “but one who spared my life, sir, and with this poor fellow here defended me from that dead scoundrel and his gang!”

As he spoke he spurned the body of Black Mazzard, who had hardly stirred since he received Bart’s bullet.

“I am at your service, Captain Armstrong,” said the officer, “and will take my instructions from you.”

“For the wretches taken in arms, sir, I have nothing to say; but for this poor wounded fellow I ask proper help and protection. I will be answerable for him.”

Bart looked at him quickly and reeled slightly as he limped to his side.

“Thank ye, captain,” he said. “I ought to hate you, but she loved you, and that’s enough for me. If I don’t see you again, sir – God bless you and good-bye!”

“But we shall see each other again, Bart, and I hope – here, quick!” he cried, “help here; the poor fellow is fainting from loss of blood!”

Bart was borne off to be tended by the surgeon, and Humphrey Armstrong stood gazing down at the motionless form at his feet.

He did not speak for some minutes, and all around respected his sorrow by standing aloof; but he turned at last to the officer —

“I ask honourable burial, sir, for the dead – dead to save my life.”

The officer bowed gravely, and then turned away to give a few short, sharp orders to his men, who signed to their prisoners.

These were rapidly marched down to the boats, two and two, till it came to the turn of Dinny, who stood with Mrs Greenheys clinging to him, trembling with dread.

“Now, my fine fellow,” said the warrant officer who had the prisoners in charge; “this way.”

“Sure, and ye’ll let me have a wurrud wid the captain first?”

“No nonsense. Come along!”

“Sure, an’ he’d like to shpake to me wan wurrud,” said Dinny. “Wouldn’t ye, sor!”

Humphrey, who was standing with his arms folded, wrapped in thought, looked up sharply on hearing the familiar tones of the Irishman’s voice.

“There, what did I tell ye, sor?” he cried. “Sure, an’ I’m not a buccaneer by trade – only a prishner.”

Humphrey strode up, for Mrs Greenheys had run to him with clasped hands.

“I’d take it kindly of ye, sor, if ye’d explain me position to these gintlemen – that I’m not an inimy, but a friend.”

“Yes,” said Humphrey, turning to the officer in command; “a very good friend to me, sir, and one who would be glad to serve the king.”

“Or anny wan else who behave dacently to him.”

“Let him tend his companion,” said Humphrey. “He is a good nurse for a wounded man.”

Mistress Greenheys caught Humphrey’s hand and kissed it.

“But she would have betrayed us,” he said to himself, as he looked down into the little woman’s tearful face; “still, it was for the sake of the man she loved.”

That night, covered with the English flag, which she had so often defied, the so-called Commodore Junk was borne to the resting-place selected by Humphrey Armstrong.

It was a solemn scene as the roughly-made bier was borne by lantern-light through the dark arcade of the forest, and the sailors looked up wonderingly at the strange aspect of the mouldering old pile.

But their wonder increased as they entered the gloomy temple, and the yellow light of their lanterns fell upon the flag-draped coffin in the centre, and the weird-looking figures seated round.

Side by side with the remains of her brother, Mary Dell was laid and then draped with the same flag, spread by Humphrey Armstrong’s hands, the picture exciting the wonder of the officer in command, to whom it all seemed mysterious and strange. Greater wonder than all, though, was that Humphrey Armstrong, lately a prisoner of the famous buccaneer who had been laid to rest, should display such deep emotion as he slowly left the spot.

As he stepped outside volleys were fired by the men, and as the reports of the pieces rumbled through the antique building, and echoed in the cavernous cenote, the reverberation loosened some portion of the roof over the vast reservoir; an avalanche of stone falling with a reverberating hollow splash, and a great bird flew out and disappeared in the darkness overhead.

Three days later, laden with the valuable plunder amassed by the buccaneers, and a vast amount consigned to the flames in pursuance of the orders to thoroughly destroy the hornets’-nest, the rescue ship set sail, in company with the buccaneer’s fast schooner, the prize Humphrey Armstrong once longed to take into Dartmouth Harbour. But the sight of the warship’s consort only gave him pain now as he lay in his berth or reclined helplessly on deck, suffering from the serious fever which supervened.