The narrator gave a wistful look at the brandy-flask, drained the last few drops from the coffee-cup, pushed out his timber leg, and resumed:
“So you see, sir, as I was a sayin’, I says to myself, I’ll get the boat in the water with the lads, and, to make sure of all being conducted shipshape, I’ll go myself.”
“Oh!” said the captain, as his eyebrows went up and the corners of his mouth came down, with the faintest breath of a sardonic smile, while he lit a fresh cigar, “oh! you did!”
“Ay, sir! So we let the old drogher go bouncing on past us, at about the rate of five mile in four hours, when we crossed his wake under the jib, and then we ups with the fore and main-sail, got a pull of the sheets, and––”
Captain Brand shook the point of his curved nose at the speaker, who checked himself, and, giving an emphatic rap with his crutch on the floor, went on with––
“Beg parding, sir; but, Lord love ye! we just walked up under his lee, and afore he know’d where he wos, we boarded him, knocked over two or three chaps, and had the skipper lashed down in his cabin as quick as winkin’ and as quiet as could be. Ay, sir, we had it all our own way; but during the scrimmage wot should I see (here he inclined his head out like a loggerhead turtle) but the lovelyest young ’oman as ever I clapped eyes on!” Here his timber stump grated nervously on the floor. “Says I, that’s just the craft, with such a clean run and full bows, as would please Captain Brand”––at which that individual rolled round on his elbow and brought his eye to the opera-glass in the direction of the schooner.
“She isn’t there, captain!” parenthesized the narrator, following the motion with his head. “So I just fisted hold of her to hand her tenderly into the boat, with a bag of shiners as wos found on board, when, so help me––– ––beg parding, sir––if a dwarfed giant of a nigger didn’t take an overhand lick at me with an iron pump-break, and nearly cut this ’ere larboard pin in two pieces; and, smash my brains!” he continued, shaking his broad paw aloft with rage, “but what does I do, with all the pain from the clip that da––(beg parding, sir) give me, I slams away with a pistol bullet through the nigger’s head––”
“Didn’t I see a little boy on board the ‘Centipede?’ Perhaps I was mistaken, the sun blazes so fiercely, eh?” broke in Captain Brand, though the sun didn’t blaze with a fiercer light than shot out of his deadly cold blue eyes.
“Ho, ay, sir! that young imp was a bitin’ at my t’other leg like a bull terrier pup, while the nigger was attackin’ me, and then he goes and crawls out of the cabin winders, and was fished out of the water by the chaps as wos towin’ astarn in the boat.”
“Oh, really! how very fortunate!” muttered the captain; “go on; don’t stop, I pray you, Master Gibbs.”
“Well, sir, I knows very little what happened arter this, for the young ’oman was a screamin’ and our chaps a cursin’ about the decks, when all of a sudden I fell off into a faint like, and the same time a heavy gun came slamming into our very ears; and there was that infarnal corvette agen bowlin’ down within five cables’ length of the brig, her battery all alight and the whistles a callin’ away the boats, in as violent a haste as any think I can remember,” said Gibbs, as he paused to catch his breath.
“You must have kept a sharp look-out, though?” But, without heeding this remark, the burly scoundrel went on––
“Well, Captain Brand, the boys tumbled me over the side––”
“Not forgetting the little bag of shiners!” sneered his auditor.
“Tumbled me into the boat, sir, and then pulled like mad for the schooner. I know’d, d’ye mind, captain, or leastways I felt sartain we could show any think afloat our heels, and so away we scrambles aboard, and off we splits. But ye must see by this time, sir, the corvette had come down and rounded to on the weather beam of the drogher, acting like a screen for the schooner close under his lee. It wos only a minnit, though, while he was holding some jaw with those lubbers aboard the brig, before he filled away again, and wearing sharp round her bows, he diskivered us sartain. I don’t think, as matters stood by this time, that our boat was a boat-hook’s length from the schooner when I jist see a burst of red flashes from the man-o’-war’s starboard ports, and heerd an officer roar out, ‘Give him the whole three divisions of grape!’ when I’m da––your parding agin, sir; I’m blest if ever I heerd sich a rain of cold iron in all my sea-goin’ experience. Ay, sir, by G––gracious, sir, if about two bushels of them grape didn’t riddle the barge like the nozzle to a watering-pot, and same time tore seven of our noble fellows all to rags––”
“You saved the boat, of course?” suggested his companion, in a kind voice, but with a frightful sneer.
“Why, captain, we unfortinately lost her; for ye see, arter tumbling me aboard the schooner, and arter bailing nigh as much blood as water––”
“Capital! excellent! best joke I ever heard,” broke in Captain Brand, with a hollow laugh of much enjoyment.
“Arter bailin’ as much blood as water, and finding the man-o’-war was heaving in stays to slam another broadside into us, we cut the boat adrift, and then got the sheets flat aft, the gaff-top-sails up, and away we drove with a crackin’ breeze right up to wind’ard, like a swordfish. Lord love ye, sir! we walked away from the cruiser, a eatin’ the wind out of him like a knife, and notwithstandin’ he hove 59 more nor forty round shot at us, he only knocked away the fore-top-mast and some other triflin’ little damage about the hull, and”––he hesitated––“Lascar Joe’s head.”
“That counts off about half your crew, eh?” said Captain Brand, smiling in his peculiar manner. “Well, what next?”
“Why, sir, the next mornin’ Belize Paul––as is part doctor, you know––said as how my leg was to come off below the knee, and arter givin’ me a sip or two o’ rum––”
“Bottle,” interjected the captain, twisting the beak of his nose in a puff of smoke.
“––Rum, why, smash my brains, sir, if he didn’t hack it off with a wood-saw!”
“Well, what next?”
“Then, sir, ye see, we run the schooner down Cape Cruz, where we kept werry snug and quiet till sich times as the old one-eyed Diego judged the coast clear to return to head-quarters.”
“Well, what then?”
“That’s all, Captain Brand!” concluded the narrator his garbled yarn, as he again had recourse to scratching the door-mat on his head, and cast a thirsty look at the brandy-flask.
“That’s all, is it?” hissed the man with the iron jaws, in a tone of concentrated passion, as he sprang with a single bound from the settee, and clutched Master Gibbs with both hands around his hairy throat until his face turned livid purple and his eyes started from the sockets. “That’s all, is it, you drunken beast? That’s all you have to tell after idling away the summer, losing anchors and boats, and more than half my crew, and bringing a hornet’s nest down about our ears! That’s all, is it? And what would you say, now, if I should order the doctor to cut off your other leg close behind your ears, you beast?”
In the last stages of suffocation, the man was hurled on his back to the floor, and there lay, bleeding a torrent from his mouth and nose. His superior stood over him for a moment and put his hand in his trowsers pocket for a pistol, and then he glanced rapidly at the green rope squirming from the beams above; but, changing his purpose apparently, he strode back to the settee and shouted “Babette!”
Presently the door opened from the passage leading to the kitchen, and there appeared a large, powerfully-made negro-woman, with her arms akimbo, and a pair of bloodshot eyes gleaming from beneath a striped Madras turban wound round her head.
“Babette!” repeated the captain, resuming his seat and his habitual polite air and voice, “serve out a barrel of Bordeaux and a beaker of old Antigua rum to the ‘Centipede’s’ crew to drink my health; and I say, my beauty! have a pig or two killed; tell the boatswain to haul the seine, and have a good supper for all hands to-night. 60 And, Baba”––he went on as if he had just thought of something––“there’s my friend Gibbs lying there––I believe he has fallen down in a fit––be very careful of him––a bed in the vault––a little biscuit and water––he may be feverish when he wakes up, you know. And, Babette, old girl, if you are in want of kindling wood, you may as well use that timber leg of our friend Gibbs! I don’t think he’ll want it again. There! doucement, Baba!”
The negress gave a deep grunt of assent, and, seizing the senseless body lying on the floor, she dragged it out of the room. Returning a few moments after, she wiped up the blood with a cloth dipped in hot water, and finally disappeared.
|
“I fear thee, Ancient Mariner! |
“The ‘Panchita’ has passed Mangrove Point,” came in the hoarse whisper from the signal-man. “You can see her now from below, sir.”
Captain Brand put on a fine Panama hat, and stepped out on the veranda, where, with a cigar in his mouth, he leaned over the balustrade, and kept sharp watch on every thing that was going on below him. In a few minutes a long pointed brown bowsprit protruded itself beyond the wall of rocks, followed by a great triangular lateen sail, bent to a yard a mile long, and tapering away like a fly-fishing-rod, where, at the end, was a short bit of yellow and red pennant. As her bows came into view they showed above a curved prow falling inboard, with a huge bunch of sheepskin for a chafing-mat on the knob, and a thin red streak along the wales, on a lead-colored ground, above her bottom, which was painted green. As more of her proportions came into the picture, you saw a stout stump of a mast, raking forward, with short black ropes of purchases for hoisting the single yard, and heavy square blocks close down to the foot of the mast. When this great sail had come out from the screen of rocks, another light stick of a mast stood up over the taffrail, with another lateen sail and whip-stalk of a yard, to which was bent the Spanish Colonial Guarda Costa flag. In fact, she was a Spanish felucca all over, from stem to stern, and truck to water-line. A few dingy hammocks were stowed about halfway along her rail, and there were a good many men moving about her decks in getting the cable clear, and a lot more clinging like so many lizards along the bending yard, and all in some attempt at uniform dress, in readiness to roll up the sail when the anchor was down. There was a long brass gun, too, burnished like gold, on a pivot slide, with all its equipment, trained muzzle forward in front of the main-mast. No sooner had she sagged into the open basin, with her immense sail hanging flat and heavy in the light air, than a boat from the schooner boarded her, and presently she let go an anchor. There were a few coarse compliments and greetings 62 exchanged between the crews of the two vessels, and some rough jokes made, as the last comer veered out the cable, rolled up his sails, and set taut his running gear in quite a tidy and man-of-war style.
“Go on board the felucca, José, and give my compliments to Don Ignaçio, and say I shall be happy to see him,” cried Captain Brand from the piazza to a man at the cove; “and tell him,” continued he, “that I should have called in person, but I can’t bear the hot sun since I caught the fever. Take my gig.”
This was said in Spanish, and when he had finished speaking he shaded his face behind the curtain and scowled.
“You’re a bird of ill omen, my one-eyed friend; but one of these days I’ll wipe out old scores, and new ones too, perhaps,” Captain Brand muttered to himself; and, from his murderous expression of face, he seemed just the man to carry out his threat. Meanwhile, a light whale-boat of a gig, manned by four men and a coxswain, pushed off from the shore, and in three strokes of the oars she was alongside the felucca. The coxswain stepped over the low rail, and, walking aft, turned down a cuddy of a cabin, took off his hat, and delivered his message. A minute later he again got into the boat, and pulled to the cove, where he said to the captain,
“Don Ignaçio says he’ll come in his own boat when he’s ready.”
“Bueno!” was responded aloud; and then to himself: “Don’t ask or receive favors, eh? What an old file the brute is!”
He said no more, but watched. Presently a small man came up out of the cabin of the “Panchita,” but so very slow, and with such a quiet motion did he emerge, that one might suppose it was a wary animal rather than a human being. He was scrupulously neat in attire––a brown pair of linen trowsers, a Marseilles vest with silver filigree buttons, an embroidered shirt-bosom with gold studs, and a dark navy-blue broadcloth coat, with standing collar and anchor gilt buttons. His head-gear was simply a white chip hat, with a very narrow brim and a fluttering red ribbon; but beneath it his coal-black hair behind was chopped as close as could be, leaving a single long and well-oiled ringlet on each side, which curled like snakes around a pair of large gold rings pendent from his ears. His complexion was dark, bilious, and swarthy, with a thin, sharp nose, and a million of minute wrinkles, all meeting above, at the corners, and under a small line of a mouth; quite like rays, in fact, and only relaxed when the lips parted to show a few ragged, rotten pegs of sharp teeth. But perhaps the most noticeable feature in his face was his eye––for he had but one––and the spot where the other is seen in the species was merely a red, closed patch of tightly-drawn skin, with a few hairs sticking out like iron tacks. His single eye, however, was a jet black, round, piercing organ, which seemed to do duty for half a dozen ordinary 63 glims, and danced with a sharp, malevolent scrutiny, as if the owner was always in search of something and never found it, and every body and every thing appeared to slink out of its light wherever it glanced around. His age might have been any where from forty to sixty. As he stepped on deck, clear of the cuddy cabin hatch, his sinister optic played about in its socket––now scanning the long brass gun, the half-furled sails, the crew, the ropes, or taking a steady, unwinking glance at the midday sun, and then shining off to the shore, and sweeping in the “Centipede,” the little pool of blue water, and the mouth of the inlet. Feeling apparently satisfied with the present aspect of affairs, he slowly pulled out a machero from his waistcoat pocket, plucked a cigarette from the case, and then proceeded deliberately to strike a light. Even while performing this simple operation, his uneasy orb, like unto a black bull’s-eye, traversed about in its habitual way; and when he raised the spark of fire with his brown, thin hand, and the claws of fingers loaded with rings, he seemed to be looking into his own mouth. Nodding to a fellow who stood near, with a crimson sash around his waist, he inclined his eye toward the shore, blew out a thin wreath of smoke from his lungs––all the while his vigilant organ shining like a burning spark of lambent jet through the smoke––and merely said,
“The boat!”
In a moment a small cockle-shell of a punt was lowered from the stern of the felucca, when, stepping carefully in, he seized a scull, and with a few vigorous twists pushed her to the landing at the cove.
During all these movements of the commander of the felucca Captain Brand was by no means an inattentive observer; and, indeed, he was so extremely critical that he stuck the tube of a powerful telescope through an aperture of the curtains around him, and not only looked at his cautious visitor, but he actually watched the expression of his uneasy eye, and almost counted every wrinkle––finely engraved as they were––on his swarthy visage; but, if Captain Brand’s own visage reflected an index of his mind, he did not seem over and above pleased with what he saw.
“Has a bundle of papers under his arm! I can see the hilt of that delicate blade, too, sticking out from his wristband. Ah! I’ve seen him throw that short blade from his coat-sleeve and strike a dollar at twenty yards! Wonderful skill with knives you have, Don Ignaçio; but you never yet tried your knack with me! Oh no, my Tuerto––bird of ill omen that you are! We can’t do without one another just yet, so let us wait and see what’s in the wind!”
Soliloquizing these remarks, Captain Brand withdrew his telescope as the commander of the felucca approached, and, with a cheerful smile, waited to receive him. A few moments later the one-eyed individual mounted the rope-ladder stairway, carefully feeling the 64 strands, however, and looking suspiciously around him as he stepped lightly on the piazza.
“Ah! compadre mio!” exclaimed Captain Brand, in Spanish, as he seized his visitor by the flipper, and squeezed his fingers till the pressure on his valuable rings made him wince, as he was led into the large and spacious saloon, while at the same time the captain gave him a hearty slap between his narrow shoulders.
“Ah! compadre! How goes the friend of my soul?”
The small man gave no symptoms of joy at this warm greeting; but, screwing his wiry frame out of the captain’s caresses, his eye flashed like a spark of fire quickly up and down and all around the apartment, as if making a mental inventory of the furniture, and not omitting his tall companion, from the crown of his head to the toes of his straw slippers, when he quietly remarked through his closed teeth,
“Como estamos?”––“How are we?”
“Ah, Don Ignaçio, poco bueno, poco malo! Half and half. Just getting well over that maldito attack of Yellow Jack.”
“Hum! more bad than good. No? I’ve brought you some letters from the agent at Havana.”
“Thanks––thanks, my friend. Ho! Babette! Babette! Some anisette for Don Ignaçio. Presto! my good Baba. There––that will do!” he said, merrily, as the liqueur and glasses were placed on the table. “And don’t omit the turtle-soup for dinner, and tell Lascar Joe to make it. Ah! I forget––the best cook I had––the devil’s making soup of him now. However, do the best you can, my Baba, and let us have dinner about sunset.”
Then turning to his visitor, with a graceful bow and a laugh, he added, “And we’ll have the doctor to join us, and tell how he cut off our poor friend Gibbs’s leg with a hand-saw. Dios! amigo! Capital joke, ’pon my honor!”
Captain Brand’s honor! Lord have mercy upon us! And he had very few jokes, and never told one himself.
“Hum!” replied the Tuerto, in the pause of the conversation. “There’s better jokes than that to hear. Mira! look!”
With this brief rejoinder he threw a bundle of newspapers on the table, and, pulling out a packet of letters from a breast pocket, pitched it toward his host. Then helping himself to a thimbleful of anisette, he took off his narrow-brimmed chip hat for the first time, polished up his eye a bit with the knuckle of his fore finger, and looked at his companion fixedly.
“Letters, I see, from our old friend Moreno, at Havana,” said Captain Brand, as he sat down on the settee, and with a pretty tortoise-shell knife cut round the seals. “Ah! what says he? ‘Happy to inform you,’ is he? ‘Packages of French silks seized by custom-house 65 on account of informal invoice and clearance.’ Why didn’t the fool forge others, then? Well, what next? ‘Schooner “Reel,” from Barbadoes, with cargo of rum and jerked beef, wrecked going into Principe, and crew thrown into prison on suspicion of being engaged in––’ Oh! ah! served them right, when I ordered them to St. Jago––delighted they must be! ‘Bills for advances and stores now due, please remit, per hands of Don Ignaçio Sanchez––’”
Here Captain Brand caught a ray from the one eye of his companion, which he returned with interest; and then laying the letters down on the table with the softest motion in life, he exclaimed, with a sigh,
“Not the best news in the world, as you say, compadre; all those rich goods, and those bags of coffee, and pipes of rum gone to the devil. But these are little accidents in our profession.”
“Como?” said Señor Ignaçio, “our profession?” shaking his fore finger before his paper cigar in a deprecating manner. “Speak for yourself, amigo.”
“Ah! true,” the other went on––“my profession. The freedom of the seas, the toll of the tropics, the right of search, and all that sort of buccaneering pastime, is liable, you know, to the usual risks.”
Here he inclined his head to one side and gave a slight clack to his lips, as if to illustrate in a humorous way a man choking to death with a knotted rope under his ear. “However, we must be more cautious in future and retrieve the past disasters, for there are still on the sea as good barks as ever floated.”
Captain Brand said this as if he were a merchant of large means and strict integrity, and was about to enter into some shrewd commercial speculation.
“Hum!” murmured Señor Ignaçio, while pouring out another little glass of anisette. “Amigo mio! you had better read the papers from Havana before you talk of another cruise.”
“Oh! delighted to read the news––quite refreshing to get a peep at the world after being cooped up here for months! Another French revolution! Bonaparte alive yet! A Patriot war! Nelson and Villeneuve! All interesting.”
Thus glancing rapidly over the prints, pausing at times at a paragraph that arrested his attention, then tossing a paper away and taking up another, till suddenly Captain Brand’s hand shook with passion as he read aloud,
“HE TOUCHED THE BELL OVERHEAD AS HE SPOKE, AND, PUTTING HIS MOUTH TO THE TUBE, ASKED, ‘ANY THING IN SIGHT?’”
“His Britannic majesty’s squadron has been augmented on the West India station. The brig ‘Firefly,’ corvettes ‘Croaker’ and ‘Joker,’ touched at Nassau, New Providence, on the 2d instant, bound to leeward. We also learn that the United States have fitted out a squadron of small vessels, called the Musquito Fleet, to search for the noted pirate Brand, who has so long committed atrocities 66 among the islands. He was last chased by the American corvette ‘Scourge,’ off Morant Bay, on the east coast of Jamaica, but escaped during the night. The following day a shattered boat was picked up, which had been cut adrift from the piratical schooner, containing several dead and dying bodies of the pirates. One of the latter gave such information to the captain of the ‘Scourge’ as leads to the hope that Brand’s retreat may soon be discovered and his nest of pirates be destroyed. Recent advices from Principe state that a vessel loaded with valuable merchandise struck on the Cavallo Reef and went down. The crew, however, five in number, were rescued, but on landing were identified by the mate of the English bark ‘Trident’ as a portion of the men who robbed that vessel and murdered the master and several of the passengers. Our readers may remember that among the latter were two sisters, who leaped overboard and were drowned, to save themselves the horror of a more cruel fate. The men alluded to, who were wrecked in the brig off Principe, were sent in chains to Havana, and were yesterday publicly garroted in the Plaza of Moro Castle.”
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“He holds him with his skinny hand: |
Captain Brand laid down the paper without a sign of outward emotion, and nodded his head several times at the one-eyed man facing him. He then extracted his perfumed handkerchief, examined the cipher in the corner, and waved it before his face. Don Ignaçio pulled out a red silk bandana, and polished his eye as if it were the lens of a spy-glass. At length the former spoke:
“Amigo mio! The nets are spreading, but the fish are not in them yet!”
“No, amigo!”
“Ah! compadre, viento y ventura poca dura! the fair breezes have chopped round in our teeth. Success, my friend, creates jealousy, envy, hatred, and malice. Now here were we swimming along as quietly as sharks under water, only coming up for a bite occasionally, when on come those villainous swordfishes, and wish to drive us away.”
Captain Brand gave expression to this pious homily in a tone of virtuous reproach against the world at large, and as if he were a very much maligned and ill-used gentleman. He touched the bell overhead as he spoke, and, putting his mouth to the tube, asked,
“Any thing in sight?”
“Nothing, señor.”
“Telegraph the man at the Tiger-trap station to keep a bright look-out, and direct the gunner to keep the battery manned day and night! Tell the boatswain to set taut the chain on the other side at the Alligator’s mouth!”
Don Ignaçio gave a rather suspicious glimmer at his vessel as this last order was given, and smiled; that is, if a one-sided twitch to the wrinkles about the line of his mouth could be tortured into a smile. His companion seemed to divine what was passing in the Don’s mind, for he added politely,
“The cable won’t interfere with the ‘Panchita!’”
“No, amigo; the felucca is anchored just outside of it.” The 70 Tuerto was not a man to leave any thing to chance, and he had taken the precaution to be on the safe side of the pirates, either as friends or enemies. He had indeed been as near an approach to a pirate himself as could be, and had only abandoned the business for a profession quite as bad, where there was less risk and more profit. In other words, he was now a colonial officer in command of a Guarda Costa, winking––but without shutting his eye––at piracy whenever he was well paid for it; and he invariably was well paid for it, or else he made mischief. Withal, he was as crafty and determined an old villain as ever sailed the West Indies. He had amassed a large fortune, and owned several tobacco estates––pretty much all his wealth acquired by the easy trouble of holding his tongue. Yet his greed was insatiable, and he probably would have sold the fingers from his hands, and his legs and arms with them––all, save his single black ball of an optic, which was invaluable to him––for doubloons. In fact, this feverish thirst after gold which always raged in his hot veins had induced him to pay Captain Brand a visit, and we shall see with what result. The truth is, however, that Captain Brand was the only man of his numerous villainous acquaintance afloat for whom he felt the least dread. He knew him to be bold, skillful, and wary, and so the Don had a tolerably positive conviction that, should he play him false, his own neck might get a wrench in the garrote while he was throwing the noose for his coadjutor.
To return, however, to the pair of worthies sitting in conclave in the pirate’s saloon: the captain, resuming the conversation, observed in a careless tone, quite as if the subject under discussion was a mere ordinary matter,
“When will this swarm of hornets be down upon us?”
The Spaniard blew a thick puff of smoke from his cigarette, and still holding it between his teeth, while his eye glittered through the murky cloud, he replied,
“Perhaps a fortnight, a little more or less. I left St. Jago five days ago, with orders from the Administrador to run down this side of the island, and procure information for the English consul.”
“Any cruisers down that way?”
“Ay! the corvette ‘Scourge,’ and the ‘Snapper’ schooner; they arrived the night before I sailed.”
“Did you happen to see their officers, amigo?”
“Oh si! I had a long talk with the captain of the corvette at the custom-house.”
“Holloa! and you told him––”
“Yes; I showed him a chart of the Isle of Pines, and pointed out how to get into the old hole.”
Here the pair laughed short laughs, when Brand continued his questions with,
“And how did he take the bait?”
“Hooked him; for I heard him order his first lieutenant to be ready for weighing at daylight, and say that my description tallied with that of the dying man they picked up in the ‘Centipede’s’ boat,” replied the Tuerto, with a chuckle.
“Bueno!” exclaimed the pirate, as his face assumed an unwonted sternness, while he rested his cheek on his left hand with the elbow on the table, and slipped his right into the pocket of his trowsers.
“Bueno! amigo mio! But how do I know but you may have made a little mistake, and described another haunt besides the Island of Pines, off in this direction?”
There was the faintest click of a noise in the captain’s pocket as he spoke, but not so faint but that it vibrated on the ear of the Spaniard, and, pushing back his chair a foot or two from the table, he raised his right hand, the fore fingers and thumb slightly bent inward, but grasping a jewel-hilted knife, whose dim blue blade glimmered up the loose sleeve. There was nothing threatening apparently in the movement, though the two villains looked at each other with a cold, murderous, unflinching glare.
The Don was the first to break the silence; and he said, in a low, hissing tone,
“Maldito! Because I had a little account of plata to settle with you before the men-o’-war should roast you out. But beware, Capitano mio! I left a little paper at St. Jago with directions where to find me in case I did not return in a certain time.”
“Ho, compadre, how very cautious with your friends! Why, what has put such thoughts into your head? Diavolo! we have stood by one another too long to separate now. There, my hand upon it.”
Saying this, Captain Brand’s whole manner changed, and, drawing his hand from his pocket, he reached over toward his companion. The Don, however, watched him narrowly, and his eye shot out a wary sparkle as he withdrew his hand, when, cautiously putting forth his own left, he touched his cold, thin brown fingers to those of the man before him. This operation ended, he quietly sipped a few drops of anisette, and rolled and lighted another paper cigar.
“Well, amigo, let us now proceed to business,” said Brand, gayly, “for dinner will soon be ready, and we have no time to lose. How stands the account?”
“The papers are on board the felucca, and it will be more convenient, when the settlement is made, to come on board with the money. How would to-morrow morning do? There’s no hurry.”
“Just as you choose, friend of my soul! The doubloons, or the silk, or broadcloth are ready for you at any moment. Pay you in any thing except the delicious wines of France. Bueno!” he added, 72 pulling out a splendid gold repeater, with a marquis’s coronet on the chased back. “And now, amigo, accept this little token into the bargain.”
Don Ignaçio’s fiery eye twinkled with greed, but it was only for a moment, when, giving a quick glance at the coronet and coat of arms, he waved his fore finger gently to and fro, and shook his head.
“What! No? Why, you know it once belonged to the Captain General of Cuba, old Tol de rol de riddle rol––what was his name? He gave it me, you know, together with some other trinkets, for saving his life––a––you remember? Very generous old gentleman––nobleman indeed––he was. May he live a thousand years, or more, if he can!”
Ay, Don Ignaçio did remember the circumstance attending that generous transaction, and he remembered to have heard, also, that the Captain General made a present of all his money and jewels with the point of a broad blade quivering at his throat. He said nothing, however, in allusion to this interesting episode, but he smiled meaningly, and went on with his cigar.
“Not take it, eh? Well, amigo, I must look you up something else; but now for dinner. Babette, clear away for dinner. Here are the keys of the wine-cellar. The best, my beauty, and plenty of it.” Then turning to his companion: “Suppose we take a stroll to the Tiger’s Trap; the sun is sinking, and a walk will give us an appetite for the turtle-soup––vamanos!”
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“But soon I heard the dash of oars, |
While Captain Brand and Don Ignaçio Sanchez walked pleasantly along the pebbly shore of the clear blue inlet to the Tiger’s Trap, let us, too, saunter amid the habitations which sheltered the pirate’s haunt.
Apart from the mat sheds of the shelly cove of the basin, where the “Centipede” and “Panchita” were anchored, there was a nest of red-tiled buildings which served the crew of the former vessel for a dwelling when in port. It was pleasantly situated on a little sandy plateau, within a stone’s-throw of the water, and shaded by a cluster of palm-trees; while in the rear was a dense jungle of canes and bushes, through which led numerous paths to a small lagoon beyond. The buildings were of one story, constructed of loose stones, the holes plastered with yellow clay, with broad, projecting eaves extending over roughly-built piazzas. They stood in a double row, leaving a stone pavement yard between, where one or two cocoa-nut-trees lifted their slim trunks like sentinels on guard. Two of the largest of these huts were mere shells inside, and used for mess-rooms, exposing the unhewn girders and roof above, but all whitewashed and tolerably clean. The floors were of rough mahogany boards, or heavy dark planks, and no doubt part of the cargo of some Honduras trader who had fallen into the pirates’ hands. Around the sides of these mess-rooms were arranged small tables and canvas camp-stools, with eating utensils of every variety of pattern and value, from stray sets of French porcelain to common delf crockery. A large open chimney stood a little way off, where was a kitchen, in which the cookery was carried on, under the superintendence of a couple of old negroes. Beyond the mess-rooms were the sheds used for sleeping apartments, with lots of hammocks of canvas and straw braid hanging by their 74 clews from the beams, quite like the berth-deck of a ship of war. Bags and sea-chests stood out from the walls, with bits of mirrors here and there, some with the glasses cracked, and others in square or round gilt frames. All, however, was arranged with a certain degree of order, and the floor was clean and well scrubbed. Another detached building, much smaller than the rest, was divided by a board partition into two rooms. The first was used for a storeroom, and was filled with bread in barrels, bags of coffee and sugar, hams, dried fruits, beans, salt meats, and what not, but every thing in abundance, and apparently the very best the market of the high seas could produce. A strong door protected this repository, with a wrought iron bar and padlock. The other portion of the building was more habitable. There were chairs and tables; a couple of upright bookcases with glass doors, one filled with books, odd numbers of magazines, and old newspapers, and the other containing a multitude of vials, pots, and bottles of medicine––a small apothecary’s shop, in fact, together with two or three cases of surgical instruments. Two elegant bureaus, with rosewood doors and mouldings, like those furnished passenger ships to the East Indies, stood against the wall at either side; and near to each, in opposite corners, were low iron bedsteads, without mattresses or bedding, and merely stretched with dressed and embossed leather. For pillows were Chinese heel stools, and as for covering, the climate dispensed with it altogether. Hanging against the wall were a couple of brace of pistols and two or three muskets, and on the table stood a square case-bottle of gin, some glasses, and a richly-bound breviary clasped with a heavy gold strap; but in no other part of these huts were fire-arms ever allowed, and very rarely was liquor served out in more than the usual daily half-gill allowance.
Seated at the table in the last room we have described were two men. One, the shorter of the two, was dressed in a long, loose bombazine cassock, girded about his waist by a white rope, which fell in knotted ends over his knees. Around his open neck was hung a string of black ebony beads, hooked on to a heavy gold cross, which rested on his capacious breast, and which the wearer was continually feeling, and occasionally pressing to his lips. His face was dark and sensual––thick, unctuous lips, a flat nose, and large black eyes––while a glossy fringe of raven hair went like a thick curtain all around his head, only leaving a bluish-white round patch on the shaved crown. This individual was the Padre Ricardo, who, for some good reasons best known to himself, had left his clerical duties in his native city of Vera Cruz and taken service with Captain Brand. One of the reasons for leaving––and rather abruptly, too––was for thrusting a cuchillo into the heart of his own father, who had reported him to his superior for his monstrous licentiousness. The padre, however, always 75 declared that he was actuated entirely by filial duty in killing his old parent, to save him the pain and disgrace which would have followed the exposure of his son! He still clung, though excommunicated, to the priestly calling, and prided himself upon his fasts and vigils, never omitting the smallest forms or penances, and saying mass from Ave Maria in the early morning to Angelus at vesper time in the evening. For Captain Brand he was ready to shrive a dying pirate––and pretty busy he was, too, at times––or hear the confession of one with a troubled conscience in sound health; which, if important to the safety or well-being of the fraternity, he took a quiet opportunity of imparting to his superior in command. In these pursuits he not only made himself useful to Captain Brand, but he became more or less his confidant and adviser, and seemed to maintain his influence by ghostly advice over the superstitious feelings of the men. The padre, however, utterly detested the sea, and never touched his soft feet in the water if he could by any possibility avoid it; but since he had plenty to eat and drink on the island, and no end of prayers for his amusement when in charge of the haunt––as he was––to look out for the people who were left when the “Centipede” sailed on a cruise, he thus passed the time in a delightfully agreeable manner.
The companion who sat opposite to the padre was a tall, gaunt, cadaverous person, evidently of French extraction, with something kind and humane about his face, but yet the physiognomy expressed the utmost determination of character––such a heart and eye as could perform a delicate surgical operation without a flutter of nerve or eyelid, and who would stand before a leveled pistol looking calmly down the barrel as the hammer fell. His face was intellectual, and he never smiled. His whole appearance portrayed a thorough seaman. Where he came from no one knew; nor did he ever open his lips, even to the captain, with a reason for taking service among his band. All known about him was that he landed from a slaver at St. Jago, and was engaged by Don Ignaçio to serve professionally with Brand in assisting the patriots on the Spanish Main. When, however, he reached the rendezvous of the pirates, and discovered that they were altogether a different sort of patriots than he had bargained for, he nevertheless made no objections to remain, and took the oath of allegiance, only stipulating that he should not be called upon to take an active part in their proceedings. Here, then, he remained for nearly three years, attending to the sick or wounded, taking no interest in the accounts of the exploits of the freebooters around him––rarely, indeed, holding speech with any one save his room-mate, the padre, or occasionally a dinner or a walk with Captain Brand. On the last expedition, however, of the “Centipede,” he had been induced to go on board, so that he might become a check and guard 76 over the brutal ruffian who had been placed temporarily in command; but, as we have already seen, his influence had been of little avail.
There was yet another occupant of the room inhabited by the doctor and Padre Ricardo; and a low moaning cry caused the former to rise quietly from his chair and approach the low iron bedstead on his side of the lodging. There, beneath a light gauze musquito net, lay our poor little Henri––his once round, rosy, innocent face now pale and thin, with a red spot on each cheek, and a dark, soft line beneath the closed eyes. Uneasily he moved in his fitful slumber; and putting his little hands together as if in prayer, he murmured, “Oh mamma, mamma!”
Beside the bed stood an unglazed jar of lemonade, together with a vial and a spoon. The doctor drew nigh, and, gently pushing aside the curtain, stood looking at the child for some minutes. Presently the little sick boy feebly stretched out his delicate, thin limbs, and unclosed his eyes. Oh! how dim, and sad, and touching was that look, as he gave a timid, half-wild stare, and then, closing the lids tight together, the hot drops bubbled out and coursed slowly down his tender cheeks.
The doctor, with the gentleness of a woman, bent over him, and taking up his poor, limp little hand, he remained feeling the fluttering pulse and catching the hot breath on his dark cheeks. As if communing with himself, while a glow of compassion lighted up his careworn visage, he muttered,
“By the great and good God, who hears me, if I save this child I will restore him to his heart-broken mother!”
He sank down on his knees by the bedside as he made his vow, and letting the little hand rest on the bed, he buried his face in his large bony hands. What thoughts passed through that man’s mind none but the Almighty knows; but when he arose his stern features had resumed their wonted expression, and, pouring a little lemonade in a glass, he held it to the sleeper’s lips. Then moving noiselessly back to the table, he said, in a low tone,
“Padre, the boy will live. His fever is leaving him, and he will get well.”
“Ave Maria! Santissima!” ejaculated the padre, crossing himself and kissing his cross; “I pray for him. You must give him to me, doctor. I will make him a little priest, and he shall swing the censer and chant the Misericordia when I get the new chapel built.”
“Time enough to think of that, mi padre, when he gets strong again. But just now all the prayers you can say for him will do him no good, and so I hope you won’t put yourself to the trouble.”
“Cierto, amigo, doctor; but don’t sneer at the prayers of the 77 Church. They do good; they ease the soul and soothe the pangs of Purgatory.”
“Ah! and how long do you expect to stop in Purgatory?”
“Ave purissima! What a question to ask your pious and devout Padre Ricardo!”
“Question the devil when you want fire,” retorted the doctor, as he opened a book lying on the table before him, and put an end to the dialogue. His companion quietly helped himself to a measure of pure gin, and unclasped the covers of his richly-bound missal.
Scarcely, however, had their conversation ceased, when a hoarse hum of many voices was heard in the direction of the sheds without, mingled with shouts in all tongues and uproarious laughter.
“Peste!” said the doctor, looking out of an open window; “the people have knocked off work and are coming home to their supper. They seem to have brought some of the crew of the felucca with them too. We shall have a loud night of it, for the captain has sent them a pipe of wine and a barrel of rum to carouse with.”
“Pobre çitos! they have had a hard time of it during the summer––short of rum, and water too, I hear, and they need refreshment and repose. So many of my poor flock killed, too, by that savage American corvette, and I not near to administer the last consolations and holy rite!” sighed the padre, as he kissed the crucifix and bowed his head. “There is Lascar Joe, too, among the missing! He refused the sacrament, infidel as he was, the day before he sailed; but what turtle-soup he made!” The padre hereupon sighed deeply again, but whether for the loss of the Lascar or the soup, no one knows.
The noise without increased––the rattle of crockery, the clinking of glasses, the moving of feet, and all the sounds of hungry, boisterous sailors at table. Soon, too, a shout or cheer would be heard, then a verse of a song, roars of laughter, and now and then the tinkle of a guitar struck by vigorous fingers in waltz or fandango.
“Merçi!” muttered the doctor, as he looked compassionately at the sick child on the bed; “those noisy wretches will, I fear, disturb the little boy, and it’s as hot here too, padre, as the place we all are going to.”
“It is warm, my son!” he replied, as his thick unctuous lips parted with a smile at his companion’s allusion to another and a hotter place; “but I think our good capitano would have a cot slung for my little priest in the saloon of the big building there. It is always cool on the crag, you know.”
“Ah! perhaps he will,” said the doctor, reflectively; “I’ll see about it.”
Stepping again to the bedside of the little sufferer, he laid a hand gently on his forehead, where the soft curls lay in confusion about his temples, and then quickly touching his pulse, he regarded him 78 attentively for a few moments, while at the same time a light glow of perspiration came faintly over the innocent face and spread itself down the neck.
“His fever is breaking! Grace à Dieu!” whispered the doctor to the padre; “his breath is regular and cool, and he is sleeping sweetly. Now, if you like, we will go to see the captain, and, if he consents, I will carry the child when he wakes to the dwelling.”
The doctor carefully closed the door of the room as he and his companion stepped out into the open court-yard, and moved toward the spacious sheds beyond.