“GOD walketh upon the sea as he walketh upon the land,” said the minister. “The sea is his and we are his. He will do what it liketh him with his own.” As he spoke he looked with a steadfast soul into the black hollow of the wave that combed above us, threatening destruction.
The wave broke, and the boat still lived. Borne high upon the shoulder of the next rolling hill, we looked north, south, east, and west, and saw only a waste of livid, ever forming, ever breaking waves, a gray sky streaked with darker gray shifting vapor, and a horizon impenetrably veiled. Where we were in the great bay, in what direction we were being driven, how near we might be to the open sea or to some fatal shore, we knew not. What we did know was that both masts were gone, that we must bail the boat without ceasing if we would keep it from swamping, that the wind was doing an apparently impossible thing and rising higher and higher, and that the waves which buffeted us from one to the other were hourly swelling to a more monstrous bulk.
We had come into the wider waters at dawn, and still under canvas. An hour later, off Point Comfort, a bare mast contented us; we had hardly gotten the sail in when mast and all went overboard. That had been hours ago.
A common peril is a mighty leveler of barriers. Scant time was there in that boat to make distinction between friend and foe. As one man we fought the element which would devour us. Each took his turn at the bailing, each watched for the next great wave before which we must cower, clinging with numbed hands to gunwale and thwart. We fared alike, toiled alike, and suffered alike, only that the minister and I cared for Mistress Percy, asking no help from the others.
The King's ward endured all without a murmur. She was cold, she was worn with watching and terror, she was wounded; each moment Death raised his arm to strike, but she sat there dauntless, and looked him in the face with a smile upon her own. If, wearied out, we had given up the fight, her look would have spurred us on to wrestle with our fate to the last gasp. She sat between Sparrow and me, and as best we might we shielded her from the drenching seas and the icy wind. Morning had shown me the blood upon her sleeve, and I had cut away the cloth from the white arm, and had washed the wound with wine and bound it up. If for my fee, I should have liked to press my lips upon the blue-veined marble, still I did it not.
When, a week before, I had stored the boat with food and drink and had brought it to that lonely wharf, I had thought that if at the last my wife willed to flee I would attempt to reach the bay, and passing out between the capes would go to the north. Given an open boat and the tempestuous seas of November, there might be one chance out of a hundred of our reaching Manhattan and the Dutch, who might or might not give us refuge. She had willed to flee, and we were upon our journey, and the one chance had vanished. That wan, monotonous, cold, and clinging mist had shrouded us for our burial, and our grave yawned beneath us.
The day passed and the night came, and still we fought the sea, and still the wind drove us whither it would. The night passed and the second morning came, and found us yet alive. My wife lay now at my feet, her head pillowed upon the bundle she had brought from the minister's house. Too weak for speech, waiting in pain and cold and terror for death to bring her warmth and life, the knightly spirit yet lived in her eyes, and she smiled when I bent over her with wine to moisten her lips. At length she began to wander in her mind, and to speak of summer days and flowers. A hand held my heart in a slowly tightening grip of iron, and the tears ran down the minister's cheeks. The man who had darkened her young life, bringing her to this, looked at her with an ashen face.
As the day wore on, the gray of the sky paled to a dead man's hue and the wind lessened, but the waves were still mountain high. One moment we poised, like the gulls that now screamed about us, upon some giddy summit, the sky alone above and around us; the next we sank into dark green and glassy caverns. Suddenly the wind fell away, veered, and rose again like a giant refreshed.
Diccon started, put his hand to his ear, then sprang to his feet. “Breakers!” he cried hoarsely.
We listened with straining ears. He was right. The low, ominous murmur changed to a distant roar, grew louder yet, and yet louder, and was no longer distant.
“It will be the sand islets off Cape Charles, sir,” he said. I nodded. He and I knew there was no need of words.
The sky grew paler and paler, and soon upon the woof of the clouds a splash of dull yellow showed where the sun would be. The fog rose, laying bare the desolate ocean. Before us were two very small islands, mere handfuls of sand, lying side by side, and encompassed half by the open sea, half by stiller waters diked in by marshes and sand bars. A coarse, scanty grass and a few stunted trees with branches bending away from the sea lived upon them, but nothing else. Over them and over the marshes and the sand banks circled myriads of great white gulls. Their harsh, unearthly voices came to us faintly, and increased the desolation of earth and sky and sea.
To the shell-strewn beach of the outer of the two islets raced long lines of surf, and between us and it lurked a sand bar, against which the great rollers dashed with a bull-like roar. The wind drove us straight upon this bar. A moment of deadly peril and it had us fast, holding us for the waves to beat our life out. The boat listed, then rested, quivering through all its length. The waves pounded against its side, each watery battering-ram dissolving in foam and spray but to give place to another, and yet it held together, and yet we lived. How long it would hold we could not tell; we only knew it could not be for long. The inclination of the boat was not so great but that, with caution, we might move about. There were on board rope and an axe. With the latter I cut away the thwarts and the decking in the bow, and Diccon and I made a small raft. When it was finished, I lifted my wife in my arms and laid her upon it and lashed her to it with the rope. She smiled like a child, then closed her eyes. “I have gathered primroses until I am tired,” she said. “I will sleep here a little in the sunshine, and when I awake I will make you a cowslip ball.”
Time passed, and the groaning, trembling timbers still held together. The wind fell, the sky became blue, and the sun shone. Another while, and the waves were less mountainous and beat less furiously against the boat. Hope brightened before us. To strong swimmers the distance to the islet was trifling; if the boat would but last until the sea subsided, we might gain the beach. What we would do upon that barren spot, where was neither man nor brute, food nor water, was a thing that we had not the time to consider. It was land that we craved.
Another hour, and the sea still fell. Another, and a wave struck the boat with force. “The sea is coming in!” cried the minister.
“Ay,” I answered. “She will go to pieces now.”
The minister rose to his feet. “I am no mariner,” he said, “but once in the water I can swim you like any fish. There have been times when I have reproached the Lord for that he cased a poor silly humble preacher like me with the strength and seeming of some might man of old, and there have been times when I have thanked him for that strength. I thank him now. Captain Percy, if you will trust the lady to me, I will take her safely to that shore.”
I raised my head from the figure over which I was bending, and looked first at the still tumultuous sea, and then at the gigantic frame of the minister. When we had made that frail raft no swimmer could have lived in that shock of waves; now there was a chance for all, and for the minister, with his great strength, the greatest I have ever seen in any man, a double chance. I took her from the raft and gave her into his arms. A minute later the boat went to pieces.
Side by side Sparrow and I buffeted the sea. He held the King's ward in one arm, and he bore her safely over the huge swells and through the onslaught of the breaking waves. I could thank God for his strength, and trust her to it. For the other three of us, we were all strong swimmers, and though bruised and beat about, we held our own. Each wave, overcome, left us nearer the islet,—a little while and our feet touched bottom. A short struggle with the tremendous surf and we were out of the maw of the sea, but out upon a desolate islet, a mere hand's-breadth of sand and shell in a lonely ocean, some three leagues from the mainland of Accomac, and upon it neither food nor water. We had the clothes upon our backs, and my lord and I had kept our swords. I had a knife, and Diccon too was probably armed. The flint and steel and tinder box within my pouch made up our store.
The minister laid the woman whom he carried upon the pebbles, fell upon his knees, and lifted his rugged face to heaven. I too knelt, and with my hand upon her heart said my own prayer in my own way. My lord stood with unbent head, his eyes upon that still white face, but Diccon turned abruptly and strode off to a low ridge of sand, from the top of which one might survey the entire island.
In two minutes he was back again. “There's plenty of driftwood further up the beach,” he announced, “and a mort of dried seaweed. At least we need n't freeze.”
The great bonfire that we made roared and crackled, sending out a most cheerful heat and light. Under that genial breath the color came slowly back to madam's cheek and lip, and her heart beat more strongly. Presently she turned under my hand, and with a sigh pillowed her head upon her arm and went to sleep in that blessed warmth like a little child.
We who had no mind for sleep sat there beside the fire and watched the sun sink behind the low black line of the mainland, now plainly visible in the cleared air. It dyed the waves blood red, and shot out one long ray to crimson a single floating cloud, no larger than a man's hand, high in the blue. Sea birds, a countless multitude, went to and fro with harsh cries from island to marsh, and marsh to island. The marshes were still green; they lay, a half moon of fantastic shapes, each parted from the other by pink water. Beyond them was the inlet dividing us from the mainland, and that inlet was three leagues in width. We turned and looked seaward. Naught but leaping waves white-capped to the horizon.
“We touched here the time we went against the French at Port Royal and St. Croix,” I said. “We had heard a rumor that the Bermuda pirates had hidden gold here. Argall and I went over every foot of it.”
“And found no water?” questioned the minister.
“And found no water.”
The light died from the west and from the sea beneath, and the night fell. When with the darkness the sea fowl ceased their clamor, a dreadful silence suddenly enfolded us. The rush of the surf made no difference; the ear heard it, but to the mind there was no sound. The sky was thick with stars; every moment one shot, and the trail of white fire it left behind melted into the night silently like snowflakes. There was no wind. The moon rose out of the sea, and lent the sandy isle her own pallor. Here and there, back amongst the dunes, the branches of a low and leafless tree writhed upward like dark fingers thrust from out the spectral earth. The ocean, quiet now, dreamed beneath the moon and cared not for the five lives it had cast upon that span of sand.
We piled driftwood and tangles of seaweed upon our fire, and it flamed and roared and broke the silence. Diccon, going to the landward side of the islet, found some oysters, which we roasted and ate; but we had nor wine nor water with which to wash them down.
“At least there are here no foes to fear,” quoth my lord. “We may all sleep to-night; and zooks! we shall need it!” He spoke frankly, with an open face.
“I will take one watch, if you will take the other,” I said to the minister.
He nodded. “I will watch until midnight.”
It was long past that time when he roused me from where I lay at Mistress Percy's feet.
“I should have relieved you long ago,” I told him.
He smiled. The moon, now high in the heavens, shone upon and softened his rugged features. I thought I had never seen a face so filled with tenderness and hope and a sort of patient power. “I have been with God,” he said simply. “The starry skies and the great ocean and the little shells beneath my hand,—how wonderful are thy works, O Lord! What is man that thou art mindful of him? And yet not a sparrow falleth”—I rose and sat by the fire, and he laid himself down upon the sand beside me.
“Master Sparrow,” I asked, “have you ever suffered thirst?”
“No,” he answered. We spoke in low tones, lest we should wake her. Diccon and my lord, upon the other side of the fire, were sleeping heavily.
“I have,” I said. “Once I lay upon a field of battle throughout a summer day, sore wounded and with my dead horse across my body. I shall forget the horror of that lost field and the torment of that weight before I forget the thirst.”
“You think there is no hope?”
“What hope should there be?”
He was silent. Presently he turned and looked at the King's ward where she lay in the rosy light; then his eyes came back to mine.
“If it comes to the worst I shall put her out of her torment,” I said.
He bowed his head and we sat in silence, our gaze upon the ground between us, listening to the low thunder of the surf and the crackling of the fire. “I love her,” I said at last. “God help me!”
He put his finger to his lips. She had stirred and opened her eyes. I knelt beside her, and asked her how she did and if she wanted aught.
“It is warm,” she said wonderingly.
“You are no longer in the boat,” I told her. “You are safe upon the land. You have been sleeping here by the fire that we kindled.”
An exquisite smile just lit her face, and her eyelids drooped again. “I am so tired,” she said drowsily, “that I will sleep a little longer. Will you bring me some water, Captain Percy? I am very thirsty.”
After a moment I said gently, “I will go get it, madam.” She made no answer; she was already asleep. Nor did Sparrow and I speak again. He laid himself down with his face to the ocean, and I sat with my head in my hands, and thought and thought, to no purpose.
WHEN the stars had gone out and the moon begun to pale, I raised my face from my hands. Only a few glowing embers remained of the fire, and the driftwood that we had collected was exhausted. I thought that I would gather more, and build up the fire against the time when the others should awake. The driftwood lay in greatest quantity some distance up the beach, against a low ridge of sand dunes. Beyond these the islet tapered off to a long gray point of sand and shell. Walking toward this point in the first pale light of dawn, I chanced to raise my eyes, and beheld riding at anchor beyond the spit of sand a ship.
I stopped short and rubbed my eyes. She lay there on the sleeping ocean like a dream ship, her masts and rigging black against the pallid sky, the mist that rested upon the sea enfolding half her hull. She might have been of three hundred tons burthen; she was black and two-decked, and very high at poop and forecastle, and she was heavily armed. My eyes traveled from the ship to the shore, and there dragged up on the point, the oars within it, was a boat.
At the head of the beach, beyond the line of shell and weed, the sand lay piled in heaps. With these friendly hillocks between me and the sea, I crept on as silently as I might, until I reached a point just above the boat. Here I first heard voices. I went a little further, then knelt, and, parting the long coarse grass that filled the hollow between two hillocks, looked out upon two men who were digging a grave.
They dug in a furious hurry, throwing the sand to left and right, and cursing as they dug. They were powerful men, of a most villainous cast of countenance, and dressed very oddly. One with a shirt of coarsest dowlas, and a filthy rag tying up a broken head, yet wore velvet breeches, and wiped the sweat from his face with a wrought handkerchief; the other topped a suit of shreds and patches with a fine bushy ruff, and swung from one ragged shoulder a cloak of grogram lined with taffeta. On the ground, to one side of them, lay something long and wrapped in white.
As they dug and cursed, the light strengthened. The east changed from gray to pale rose, from rose to a splendid crimson shot with gold. The mist lifted and the sea burned red. Two boats were lowered from the ship, and came swiftly toward the point.
“Here they are at last,” growled the gravedigger with the broken head and velvet breeches.
“They've taken their time,” snarled his companion, “and us two here on this d-d island with a dead man the whole ghost's hour. Boarding a ship's nothing, but to dig a grave on the land before cockcrow, with the man you're to put in it looking at you! Why could n't he be buried at sea, decent and respectable, like other folk?”
“It was his will,—that's all I know,” said the first; “just as it was his will, when he found he was a dying man, to come booming away from the gold seas up here to a land where there is n't no gold, and never will be. Belike he thought he'd find waiting for him at the bottom of the sea, all along from the Lucayas to Cartagena, the many he sent there afore he died. And Captain Paradise, he says, says he: 'It's ill crossing a dead man. We'll obey him this once more'”—
“Captain Paradise!” cried he of the ruff. “Who made him captain?—curse him!”
His fellow straightened himself with a jerk. “Who made him captain? The ship will make him captain. Who else should be captain?”
“Red Gil!”
“Red Gil!” exclaimed the other. “I'd rather have the Spaniard!”
“The Spaniard would do well enough, if the rest of us were n't English. If hating every other Spaniard would do it, he'd be English fast enough.”
The scoundrel with the broken head burst into a loud laugh. “D' ye remember the bark we took off Porto Bello, with the priests aboard? Oho! Oho!”
The rogue with the ruff grinned. “I reckon the padres remember it, and find hell easy lying. This hole's deep enough, I'm thinking.”
They both clambered out, and one squatted at the head of the grave and mopped his face with his delicate handkerchief, while the other swung his fine cloak with an air and dug his bare toes in the sand.
The two boats now grated upon the beach, and several of their occupants, springing out, dragged them up on the sand.
“We'll never get another like him that's gone,” said the worthy at the head of the grave, gloomily regarding the something wrapped in white.
“That's gospel truth,” assented the other, with a prodigious sigh. “He was a man what was a man. He never stuck at nothing. Don or priest, man or woman, good red gold or dirty silver,—it was all one to him. But he's dead and gone!”
“Now, if we had a captain like Kirby,” suggested the first.
“Kirby keeps to the Summer Isles,” said the second. “'T is n't often now that he swoops down as far as the Indies.”
The man with the broken head laughed. “When he does, there's a noise in that part of the world.”
“And that's gospel truth, too,” swore the other, with an oath of admiration.
By this the score or more who had come in the two boats were halfway up the beach. In front, side by side, as each conceding no inch of leadership, walked three men: a large man, with a villainous face much scarred, and a huge, bushy, dark red beard; a tall dark man, with a thin fierce face and bloodshot eyes, the Spaniard by his looks; and a slight man, with the face and bearing of an English gentleman. The men behind them differed no whit from the two gravediggers, being as scoundrelly of face, as great of strength, and as curiously attired. They came straight to the open grave, and the dead man beside it. The three who seemed of most importance disposed themselves, still side by side, at the head of the grave, and their following took the foot.
“It's a dirty piece of work,” said Red Gil in a voice like a raven's, “and the sooner it's done with, and we are aboard again and booming back to the Indies, the better I'll like it. Over with him, brave boys!”
“Is it yours to give the word?” asked the slight man, who was dressed point-device, and with a finical nicety, in black and silver. His voice was low and clear, and of a somewhat melancholy cadence, going well with the pensiveness of fine, deeply fringed eyes.
“Why should n't I give the word?” growled the personage addressed, adding with an oath, “I've as good a right to give it as any man,—maybe a better right!”
“That would be scanned,” said he of the pensive eyes. “Gentlemen, we have here the pick of the ship. For the captain that these choose, those on board will throw up their caps. Let us bury the dead, and then let choice be made of one of us three, each of whom has claims that might be put forward”—He broke off and picking up a delicate shell began to study its pearly spirals with a tender, thoughtful, half-pleased, half-melancholy countenance.
The gravedigger with the wrought handkerchief looked from him to the rascal crew massed at the foot of the grave, and, seeing his own sentiments mirrored in the countenances of not a few, snatched the bloody clout from his head, waved it, and cried out, “Paradise!” Whereupon arose a great confusion. Some bawled for Paradise, some for Red Gil, a few for the Spaniard. The two gravediggers locked horns, and a brawny devil with a woman's mantle swathed about his naked shoulders drew a knife, and made for a partisan of the Spaniard, who in his turn skillfully interposed between himself and the attack the body of a bawling well-wisher to Red Gil.
The man in black and silver tossed aside the shell, rose, and entered the lists. With one hand he seized the gravedigger of the ruff, and hurled him apart from him of the velvet breeches; with the other he presented a dagger with a jeweled haft at the breast of the ruffian with the woman's mantle, while in tones that would have befitted Astrophel plaining of his love to rocks, woods, and streams, he poured forth a flood of wild, singular, and filthy oaths, such as would have disgraced a camp follower. His interference was effectual. The combatants fell apart and the clamor was stilled, whereupon the gentleman of contrarieties at once resumed the gentle and indifferent melancholy of manner and address.
“Let us off with the old love before we are on with the new, gentlemen,” he said. “We'll bury the dead first, and choose his successor afterward,—decently and in order, I trust, and with due submission to the majority.”
“I'll fight for my rights,” growled Red Gil.
“And I for mine,” cried the Spaniard.
“And each of us'll back his own man,” muttered in an aside the gravedigger with the broken head.
The one they called Paradise sighed. “It is a thousand pities that there is not amongst us some one of so preeminent that faction should hide its head before it. But to the work in hand, gentlemen.”
They gathered closer around the yawning grave, and some began to lift the corpse. As for me, I withdrew as noiselessly as an Indian from my lair of grass, and, hidden by the heaped-up sand, made off across the point and down the beach to where a light curl of smoke showed that some one was mending the fire I had neglected. It was Sparrow, who alternately threw on driftwood and seaweed and spoke to madam, who sat at his feet in the blended warmth of fire and sunshine. Diccon was roasting the remainder of the oysters he had gathered the night before, and my lord stood and stared with a frowning face at the nine-mile distant mainland. All turned their eyes upon me as I came up to the fire.
“A little longer, Captain Percy, and we would have had out a search warrant,” began the minister cheerfully. “Have you been building a bridge?”
“If I build one,” I said, “it will be a perilous one enough. Have you looked seaward?”
“We waked but a minute agone,” he answered. As he spoke, he straightened his great form and lifted his face from the fire to the blue sea. Diccon, still on his knees at his task, looked too; and my lord, turning from his contemplation of the distant kingdom of Accomac; and Mistress Percy, one hand shading her eyes, the slender fingers of the other still immeshed in her long dark hair which she had been braiding. They stared at the ship in silence until my lord laughed.
“Conjure us on board at once, captain,” he cried. “We are thirsty.”
I drew the minister aside. “I am going up the beach, beyond that point, again; you will one and all stay here. If I do not come back, do the best you can, and sell her life as dearly as you can. If I come back,—you are quick of wit and have been a player; look that you take the cue I give you!”
I returned to the fire, and he followed me, amazement in his face. “My Lord Carnal,” I said, “I must ask you for your sword.”
He started, and his black brows drew together. “Though the fortunes of war have made me in some sort your captive, sir,” he said at last, and not without dignity, “I do not see, upon this isle to which we are all prisoners, the need of so strong testimony to the abjectness of my condition, nor deem it generous”—
“We will speak of generosity another day, my lord,” I interrupted. “At present I am in a hurry. That you are my prisoner in verity is enough for me, but not for others. I must have you so in seeming as well as in truth. Moreover, Master Sparrow is weaponless, and I must needs disarm an enemy to arm a friend. I beg that you will give what else we must take.”
He looked at Diccon, but Diccon stood with his face to the sea. I thought we were to have a struggle, and I was sorry for it, but my lord could and did add discretion to a valor that I never doubted. He shrugged his shoulders, burst into a laugh, and turned to Mistress Percy.
“What can one do, lady, when one is doubly a prisoner, prisoner to numbers and to beauty? E'en laugh at fate, and make the best of a bad job. Here, sir! Some day it shall be the point!”
He drew his rapier from its sheath, and presented the hilt to me. I took it with a bow, and handed it to Sparrow.
The King's ward had risen, and now leant against the bank of sand, her long dark hair, half braided, drawn over either shoulder, her face marble white between the waves of darkness.
“I do not know that I shall ever come back,” I said, stopping before her. “May I kiss your hand before I go?”
Her lips moved, but she did not speak. I knelt and kissed her clasped hands. They were cold to my lips. “Where are you going?” she whispered. “Into what danger are you going? I—I—take me with you!”
I rose, with a laugh at my own folly that could have rested brow and lips on those hands, and let the world wag. “Another time,” I said. “Rest in the sunshine now, and think that all is well. All will be well, I trust.”
A few minutes later saw me almost upon the party gathered about the grave. The grave had received that which it was to hold until the crack of doom, and was now being rapidly filled with sand. The crew of deep-dyed villains worked or stood or sat in silence, but all looked at the grave, and saw me not. As the last handful of sand made it level with the beach, I walked into their midst, and found myself face to face with the three candidates for the now vacant captaincy.
“Give you good-day, gentlemen,” I cried. “Is it your captain that you bury or one of your crew, or is it only pezos and pieces of eight?”
“THE sun shining on so much bare steel hurts my eyes,” I said. “Put up, gentlemen, put up! Cannot one rover attend the funeral of another without all this crowding and display of cutlery? If you will take the trouble to look around you, you will see that I have brought to the obsequies only myself.”
One by one cutlass and sword were lowered, and those who had drawn them, falling somewhat back, spat and swore and laughed. The man in black and silver only smiled gently and sadly. “Did you drop from the blue?” he asked. “Or did you come up from the sea?”
“I came out of it,” I said. “My ship went down in the storm yesterday. Your little cockboat yonder was more fortunate.” I waved my hand toward that ship of three hundred tons, then twirled my mustaches and stood at gaze.
“Was your ship so large, then?” demanded Paradise, while a murmur of admiration, larded with oaths, ran around the circle.
“She was a very great galleon,” I replied, with a sigh for the good ship that was gone.
A moment's silence, during which they all looked at me. “A galleon,” then said Paradise softly.
“They that sailed her yesterday are to-day at the bottom of the sea,” I continued. “Alackaday! so are one hundred thousand pezos of gold, three thousand bars of silver, ten frails of pearls, jewels uncounted, cloth of gold and cloth of silver. She was a very rich prize.”
The circle sucked in their breath. “All at the bottom of the sea?” queried Red Gil, with gloating eyes fixed upon the smiling water. “Not one pezo left, not one little, little pearl?”
I shook my head and heaved a prodigious sigh. “The treasure is gone,” I said, “and the men with whom I took it are gone. I am a captain with neither ship nor crew. I take you, my friends, for a ship and crew without a captain. The inference is obvious.”
The ring gaped with wonder, then strange oaths arose. Red Gil broke into a bellow of angry laughter, while the Spaniard glared like a catamount about to spring. “So you would be our captain?” said Paradise, picking up another shell, and poising it upon a hand as fine and small as a woman's.
“Faith, you might go farther and fare worse,” I answered, and began to hum a tune. When I had finished it, “I am Kirby,” I said, and waited to see if that shot should go wide or through the hull.
For two minutes the dash of the surf and the cries of the wheeling sea fowl made the only sound in that part of the world; then from those half-clad rapscallions arose a shout of “Kirby!”—a shout in which the three leaders did not join. That one who looked a gentleman rose from the sand and made me a low bow. “Well met, noble captain,” he cried in those his honey tones. “You will doubtless remember me who was with you that time at Maracaibo when you sunk the galleasses. Five years have passed since then, and yet I see you ten years younger and three inches taller.”
“I touched once at the Lucayas, and found the spring de Leon sought,” I said. “Sure the waters have a marvelous effect, and if they give not eternal youth at least renew that which we have lost.”
“Truly a potent aqua vitae,” he remarked, still with thoughtful melancholy. “I see that it hath changed your eyes from black to gray.”
“It hath that peculiar virtue,” I said, “that it can make black seem white.”
The man with the woman's mantle drawn about him now thrust himself from the rear to the front rank. “That's not Kirby!” he bawled. “He's no more Kirby than I am Kirby! Did n't I sail with Kirby from the Summer Isles to Cartagena and back again? He's a cheat, and I am agoing to cut his heart out!” He was making at me with a long knife, when I whipped out my rapier.
“Am I not Kirby, you dog?” I cried, and ran him through the shoulder.
He dropped, and his fellows surged forward with a yell. “Yet a little patience, my masters!” said Paradise in a raised voice and with genuine amusement in his eyes. “It is true that that Kirby with whom I and our friend there on the ground sailed was somewhat short and as swart as a raven, besides having a cut across his face that had taken away a part of his lip and the top of his ear, and that this gentleman who announces himself as Kirby hath none of Kirby's marks. But we are fair and generous and open to conviction”—
“He'll have to convince my cutlass!” roared Red Gil.
I turned upon him. “If I do convince it, what then?” I demanded. “If I convince your sword, you of Spain, and yours, Sir Black and Silver?”
The Spaniard stared. “I was the best sword in Lima,” he said stiffly. “I and my Toledo will not change our minds.”
“Let him try to convince Paradise; he's got no reputation as a swordsman!” cried out the gravedigger with the broken head.
A roar of laughter followed this suggestion, and I gathered from it and from the oaths and allusions to this or that time and place that Paradise was not without reputation.
I turned to him. “If I fight you three, one by one, and win, am I Kirby?”
He regarded the shell with which he was toying with a thoughtful smile, held it up that the light might strike through its rose and pearl, then crushed it to dust between his fingers.
“Ay,” he said with an oath. “If you win against the cutlass of Red Gil, the best blade of Lima, and the sword of Paradise, you may call yourself the devil an you please, and we will all subscribe to it.”
I lifted my hand. “I am to have fair play?”
As one man that crew of desperate villains swore that the odds should be only three to one. By this the whole matter had presented itself to them as an entertainment more diverting than bullfight or bearbaiting. They that follow the sea, whether honest men or black-hearted knaves, have in their composition a certain childlikeness that makes them easily turned, easily led, and easily pleased. The wind of their passion shifts quickly from point to point, one moment blowing a hurricane, the next sinking to a happy-go-lucky summer breeze. I have seen a little thing convert a crew on the point of mutiny into a set of rollicking, good-natured souls who—until the wind veered again—would not hurt a fly. So with these. They spread themselves into a circle, squatting or kneeling or standing upon the white sand in the bright sunshine, their sinewy hands that should have been ingrained red clasped over their knees, or, arms akimbo, resting upon their hips, on their scoundrel faces a broad smile, and in their eyes that had looked on nameless horrors a pleasurable expectation as of spectators in a playhouse awaiting the entrance of the players.
“There is really no good reason why we should gratify your whim,” said Paradise, still amused. “But it will serve to pass the time. We will fight you, one by one.”
“And if I win?”
He laughed. “Then, on the honor of a gentleman, you are Kirby and our captain. If you lose, we will leave you where you stand for the gulls to bury.”
“A bargain,” I said, and drew my sword.
“I first!” roared Red Gil. “God's wounds! there will need no second!”
As he spoke he swung his cutlass and made an arc of blue flame. The weapon became in his hands a flail, terrible to look upon, making lightnings and whistling in the air, but in reality not so deadly as it seemed. The fury of his onslaught would have beaten down the guard of any mere swordsman, but that I was not. A man, knowing his weakness and insufficiency in many and many a thing, may yet know his strength in one or two and his modesty take no hurt. I was ever master of my sword, and it did the thing I would have it do. Moreover, as I fought I saw her as I had last seen her, standing against the bank of sand, her dark hair, half braided, drawn over her bosom and hanging to her knees. Her eyes haunted me, and my lips yet felt the touch of her hand. I fought well,—how well the lapsing of oaths and laughter into breathless silence bore witness.
The ruffian against whom I was pitted began to draw his breath in gasps. He was a scoundrel not fit to die, less fit to live, unworthy of a gentleman's steel. I presently ran him through with as little compunction and as great a desire to be quit of a dirty job as if he had been a mad dog. He fell, and a little later, while I was engaged with the Spaniard, his soul went to that hell which had long gaped for it. To those his companions his death was as slight a thing as would theirs have been to him. In the eyes of the two remaining would-be leaders he was a stumbling-block removed, and to the squatting, open-mouthed commonality his taking off weighed not a feather against the solid entertainment I was affording them. I was now a better man than Red Gil,—that was all.
The Spaniard was a more formidable antagonist. The best blade of Lima was by no means to be despised; but Lima is a small place, and its blades can be numbered. The sword that for three years had been counted the best in all the Low Countries was its better. But I fought fasting and for the second time that morning, so maybe the odds were not so great. I wounded him slightly, and presently succeeded in disarming him. “Am I Kirby?” I demanded, with my point at his breast.
“Kirby, of course, senor,” he answered with a sour smile, his eyes upon the gleaming blade.
I lowered my point and we bowed to each other, after which he sat down upon the sand and applied himself to stanching the bleeding from his wound. The pirate ring gave him no attention, but stared at me instead. I was now a better man than the Spaniard.
The man in black and silver rose and removed his doublet, folding it very carefully, inside out, that the sand might not injure the velvet, then drew his rapier, looked at it lovingly, made it bend until point and hilt well-nigh met, and faced me with a bow.
“You have fought twice, and must be weary,” he said. “Will you not take breath before we engage, or will your long rest afterward suffice you?”
“I will rest aboard my ship,” I made reply. “And as I am in a hurry to be gone we won't delay.”
Our blades had no sooner crossed than I knew that in this last encounter I should need every whit of my skill, all my wit, audacity, and strength. I had met my equal, and he came to it fresh and I jaded. I clenched my teeth and prayed with all my heart; I set her face before me, and thought if I should fail her to what ghastly fate she might come, and I fought as I had never fought before. The sound of the surf became a roar in my ears, the sunshine an intolerable blaze of light; the blue above and around seemed suddenly beneath my feet as well. We were fighting high in the air, and had fought thus for ages. I knew that he made no thrust I did not parry, no feint I could not interpret. I knew that my eye was more quick to see, my brain to conceive, and my hand to execute than ever before; but it was as though I held that knowledge of some other, and I myself was far away, at Weyanoke, in the minister's garden, in the haunted wood, anywhere save on that barren islet. I heard him swear under his breath, and in the face I had set before me the eyes brightened. As if she had loved me I fought for her with all my powers of body and mind. He swore again, and my heart laughed within me. The sea now roared less loudly, and I felt the good earth beneath my feet. Slowly but surely I wore him out. His breath came short, the sweat stood upon his forehead, and still I deferred my attack. He made the thrust of a boy of fifteen, and I smiled as I put it by.
“Why don't you end it?” he breathed. “Finish and be d-d to you!”
For answer I sent his sword flying over the nearest hillock of sand. “Am I Kirby?” I said. He fell back against the heaped-up sand and leaned there, panting, with his hand to his side. “Kirby or devil,” he replied. “Have it your own way.”
I turned to the now highly excited rabble. “Shove the boats off, half a dozen of you!” I ordered. “Some of you others take up that carrion there and throw it into the sea. The gold upon it is for your pains. You there with the wounded shoulder you have no great hurt. I'll salve it with ten pieces of eight from the captain's own share, the next prize we take.”
A shout of acclamation arose that scared the sea fowl. They who so short a time before had been ready to tear me limb from limb now with the greatest apparent delight hailed me as captain. How soon they might revert to their former mood was a question that I found not worth while to propound to myself.
By this the man in black and silver had recovered his breath and his equanimity. “Have you no commission with which to honor me, noble captain?” he asked in gently reproachful tones. “Have you forgot how often you were wont to employ me in those sweet days when your eyes were black?”
“By no means, Master Paradise,” I said courteously. “I desire your company and that of the gentleman from Lima. You will go with me to bring up the rest of my party. The three gentlemen of the broken head, the bushy ruff, which I protest is vastly becoming, and the wounded shoulder will escort us.”
“The rest of your party?” said Paradise softly.
“Ay,” I answered nonchalantly. “They are down the beach and around the point warming themselves by a fire which this piled-up sand hides from you. Despite the sunshine it is a biting air. Let us be going! This island wearies me, and I am anxious to be on board ship and away.”
“So small an escort scarce befits so great a captain,” he said. “We will all attend you.” One and all started forward.
I called to mind and gave utterance to all the oaths I had heard in the wars. “I entertain you for my subordinate whom I command, and not who commands me!” I cried, when my memory failed me. “As for you, you dogs, who would question your captain and his doings, stay where you are, if you would not be lessoned in earnest!”
Sheer audacity is at times the surest steed a man can bestride. Now at least it did me good service. With oaths and grunts of admiration the pirates stayed where they were, and went about their business of launching the boats and stripping the body of Red Gil, while the man in black and silver, the Spaniard, the two gravediggers, the knave with the wounded shoulder, and myself walked briskly up the beach.
With these five at my heels I strode up to the dying fire and to those who had sprung to their feet at our approach. “Sparrow,” I said easily, “luck being with us as usual, I have fallen in with a party of rovers. I have told them who I am,—that Kirby, to wit, whom an injurious world calls the blackest pirate unhanged,—and have recounted to them how the great galleon which I took some months ago went down yesterday with all on board, you and I with these others being the sole survivors. By dint of a little persuasion they have elected me their captain, and we will go on board directly and set sail for the Indies, a hunting ground which we never should have left. You need not look so blank; you shall be my mate and right hand still.” I turned to the five who formed my escort. “This, gentlemen, is my mate, Jeremy Sparrow by name, who hath a taste for divinity that in no wise interferes with his taste for a galleon or a guarda costa. This man, Diccon Demon by name, was of my crew. The gentleman without a sword is my prisoner, taken by me from the last ship I sunk. How he, an Englishman, came to be upon a Spanish bark I have not found leisure to inquire. The lady is my prisoner, also.”
“Sure by rights she should be gaoler and hold all men's hearts in ward,” said Paradise, with a low bow to my unfortunate captive.
While he spoke a most remarkable transformation was going on. The minister's grave, rugged, and deeply lined face smoothed itself and shed ten years at least; in the eyes that I had seen wet with noble tears a laughing devil now lurked, while his strong mouth became a loose-lipped, devil-may-care one. His head with its aureole of bushy, grizzled hair set itself jauntily upon one side, and from it and from his face and his whole great frame breathed a wicked jollity quite indescribable.
“Odsbodikins, captain!” he cried. “Kirby's luck!—'t will pass into a saw! Adzooks! and so you're captain once more, and I'm mate once more, and we've a ship once more, and we're off once more