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Project Gutenberg Etext of Black Bartlemy's Treasure

by

Jeffrey Farnol

December, 2000 [Etext #2424]


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by Jeffrey Farnol
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BLACK BARTLEMY'S TREASURE

BY

JEFFREY FARNOL


TO MY NEPHEWS

JAMES JEFFREY FARNOL

AND

RONALD EWART OAKESHOTT




BLACK BARTLEMY'S TREASURE


PROLOGUE

The Frenchman beside me had been dead since dawn.  His scarred
and shackled body swayed limply back and forth with every sweep
of the great oar as we, his less fortunate bench-fellows, tugged
and strained to keep time to the stroke.

Two men had I seen die beside me, yet Death ever passed me by,
nay, it seemed rather that despite the pain of stripes, despite
the travail and hardship, my strength waxed the mightier; upon
arm and thigh, burnt nigh black by fierce suns, the muscles
showed hard and knotted; within my body, scarred by the lash, the
life leapt and glowed yet was the soul of me sick unto death. 
But it seemed I could not die--finding thereby blessed rest and a
surcease from this agony of life as had this Frenchman, who of
all the naked wretches about me, was the only one with whom I had
any sort of fellowship.  He had died (as I say) with the dawn, so
quietly that at first I thought he but fainted and pitied him,
but, when I knew, pity changed to bitterness.

Therefore, as I strove at the heavy oar I prayed 'twixt gnashing
teeth a prayer I had often prayed, and the matter of my praying
was thus:

"O God of Justice, for the agony I needs must now endure, for the
bloody stripes and bitter anguish give to me vengeance--
vengeance, O God, on mine enemy!"

So prayed I, hoarse-panting and with the sweat trickling down
whiles I stared at the naked back of him that rowed before me--a
great, fat fellow he had been once, but now the skin hung in
numberless creases whereon were many weals, some raw and bloody,
that crossed and re-crossed each other after the manner of lace-
work.

"Justice, O God, upon mine enemy!  Since Death is not for me let
me live until I be avenged; for the pain I suffer so may I see
him suffer, for the anguish that is mine so may I watch his
agony.  Thou art a just God, so, God of Justice, give to me
vengeance!"

The sun rose high and higher over our quarter, beating down upon
our naked backs and adding greatly to our torments thereby,
waking the pain of old stripes and lending an added sting to new.

Ever and anon would come the sharp crack of the drivers' whips
followed by the squealing cry of quivering flesh (a cry wherein
was none of the human) the which, dying to a whine, was lost in
the stir and bustle of the great galleass.  But ever and always,
beneath the hoarse voices of the mariners, beneath the clash of
armour and tramp of feet, beneath the creak and rumble of the
long oars, came yet another sound, rising and falling yet never
ceasing, a dull, low sound the like of which you shall sometimes
hear among trees when the wind is high--the deep, sobbing moan
that was the voice of our anguish as we poor wretches urged the
great "Esmeralda" galleass upon her course.

The oar whereto I was chained along with my three bench-mates had
at some time been badly sprung, so that the armourers had made
shift to strengthen it with a stout iron fillet some six inches
wide.  Now it so happened that my grasp came upon this fillet,
and, with every stroke of the oar, day after day, week in and
week out, it had become my wont to rub the links of my chain to
and fro across this iron band, whereby they had become very
smooth and shining.

The words of my prayer were yet upon my lips, when, chancing to
look upon one of these links, I beheld that which set my heart a-
leaping and my riotous blood a-tingle to my fingers' ends; yet
'twas a very small thing, no more than a mark that showed upon
the polished surface of the link, a line not so thick as a hair
and not to be noticed without close looking; but when I bore upon
the link this hair-line grew and widened, it needed but a sudden
wrench and I should be free.  This threw me into such a rapturous
transport that I had much ado to contain myself, howbeit after
some while I lifted my eyes to the heaven all flushed and rosy
with the young day, for it seemed that God had indeed heard my
prayer.

Presently, along the gangway amidships, comes none other than
that accursed Portugal, Pedro the whip-master, who, espying the
drooping form of the Frenchman beside me, forthwith falls a-
cursing in his vile tongue and gives a prodigious flourish with
his whip.  Now by reason of much practice they do become very
expert with these same whips, insomuch that they shall (with a
certain cunning flick of the lash) gash you a man as it were with
a knife, the like of which none may bear and not cry out for the
exceeding pain of it.  "Ha, thou lazy dog!" cries he, "Think ye
to snore and take your ease whiles Pedro is aboard?"  And with
the word the long lash hissed and cracked upon the Frenchman's
naked back like a pistol-shot.

And lo! he (that meseemed was dead) stirred.  I felt the scarred
body leap and quiver, the swooning eyes opened, rolling dim and
sightless and the pallid face was twisted in sharp anguish; but,
even as I watched, the lines of agony were smoothed away, into
the wild eyes came a wondrous light, and uttering a great, glad
cry he sank forward across the oar-shaft and hung there. 
Hereupon this accursed Pedro betook him to his whip, smiting
right heartily, but, seeing the Frenchman stirred not and
perceiving, moreover, the blood to come but slow and in no great
quantity, he presently desisted and bade us cease rowing one and
all.

This sudden respite from labour served but to teach me how stiff
and painful were my limbs, more especially my left wrist and
ankle where the fetters had worn great sores.

The wind was fallen light and there rose that hot, sickening
reek, that suffocating stench that is like unto nothing on earth
save one of these floating hells, and the which, if a man hath
but smelled it once, he shall nevermore forget.

After some while, back cometh Pedro with certain of the
armourers, and (having by divers methods learned the Frenchman
was in sooth dead) they struck off his fetters, hand and leg, in
the doing of which they must needs free me also (since we were
chained together, he and I) and, binding a great shot to his
feet, made ready to heave him overboard.

And now, seeing no man heeded me, I snapped asunder the cracked
link and was free, save for the heavy chain that cumbered my leg. 
Stooping, I lifted this chain and crouched to spring for the
bulwark; but now (even in this moment), remembering all that I
had suffered at the hands of this most accursed Pedro, I turned,
and wrapping the broken oar-chain about my fist, crept towards
where he stood to oversee the armourers.  His back was towards me
and I was within a yard of him when he turned, and, seeing me,
uttered a shout and raised his whip, but ere the blow could fall
I leapt and smote him.  My iron-bound fist took him full betwixt
the eyes, and looking down upon his crushed and spattered face as
he lay I knew that Pedro the whip-master would whip men no more
these many days.

Then (not minded to die by the whip or upon a pike-head) turned I
and sprang for the ship's side, but the chain about my leg
hampered me sorely, and ere I could mount the high bulwark I was
beset from behind.  So would I have faced them and died fighting
but fierce strokes battered me to my knees, fierce hands wrenched
and tore at me, and grown faint with blows I was overborne, my
hands lashed behind me, and thus helpless I was dragged along the
gangway and so up the ladder to the poop where, plain to all
men's sight, a whipping-post had been set up.  Yet even so I
struggled still, panting out curses on them, French and Spanish
and English, drawing upon all the vile abuse of the rowing-bench
and lazarette since fain would I have them slay me out of hand
the rather than endure the miseries and anguish of my lot.  Yet
this might not be (since slaves were hard to come by and I was
mighty and strong) wherefore I struggled no more, but suffered
them to strike off my broken fetters and bind me to the whipping-
post as they listed.  Yet scarce had they made an end when there
comes a loud hail from the masthead, whereupon was sudden mighty
to-do of men running hither and yon, laughing and shouting one to
another, some buckling on armour as they ran, some casting loose
the great ordnance, while eyes turned and hands pointed in the
one direction; but turn and twist me how I might I could see
nought of any strange sail by reason of the high bulkhead beside
me.

Of a sudden all voices were hushed as up the poop-ladder comes
the commander Don Miguel in his black armour, who, looking long
and steadily to windward, gives a sign with his gauntleted hand,
whereon divers of the officers go off hot-foot, some to muster
the long files of arquebusiers, others to overlook the setting of
more sail and the like.  And now was a prodigious cracking of
whips followed by groans and cries and screaming curses, and
straightway the long oars began to swing with a swifter beat. 
From where I stood in my bonds I could look down upon the poor,
naked wretches as they rose and fell, each and all at the same
moment, in time to the stroke.

For maybe half an hour the chase was kept up and then all at once
the decks quivered 'neath the discharge of one of the forward
culverins; and presently, as the great galleass altered her
course, obedient to the motion of Don Miguel's hand, I beheld,
some half-league to windward, the towering stern of the ship we
were pursuing, whose length gradually grew upon me as we
overhauled her until she was fairly in view.  She was a small
ship, and by her build I did not doubt but that she was English;
even as I watched, up to her mizzen-peak fluttered the English
flag.  And hereupon a great yearning came upon me, insomuch that
of a sudden her high, weatherbeaten sides, her towering masts and
patched canvas grew all blurred and indistinct.

Thrice already our guns had roared, yet (though she was now so
close that I made out her very rope and spar) she made no sign. 
In a little our guns fell silent also, wherefore, looking about,
I beheld Don Miguel standing beside the tiller yet with his
impassive gaze ever bent upon the foe; and, as I watched, I read
his deadly purpose, and a great fear for the English ship came
upon me, and I fell a-praying beneath my breath, for we carried a
weapon more terrible than any culverin that was ever cast, the
long, sharp ram below the water.

The English ship was now so near that I could see the yawning
muzzles of her guns, while her high, curving sides seemed to
tower over us.  As I gazed, with my heart full of a pitiful fear
for her, I saw a head appear above her quarter-railing, a very
round head whereon was a mariner's red cap.  Came a puff of
smoke, the sharp crack of a caliver, and one of the officers
beside Don Miguel threw up his hands and, twisting on his heels,
fell clashing in his armour.  When I looked again for the red
cap, it was gone.  But Don Miguel waited, silent and impassive as
ever.  Suddenly he gestured with his hand, I saw the heave of the
steersmen's shoulders as they obeyed, while the air rang with
shouts of command as, the starboard oars holding water, the
larboard thrashed and churned amain and the great "Esmeralda"
galleass (turning thus well-nigh in her own length) drove
straight for the side of her foe.

Never had I seen it better done, and I set my teeth, waiting for
the grinding crash that was to send the English ship to the
bottom, but lo! her creaking yards were braced round, and, paying
off before the wind (which now blew strongly) she stood away upon
a course at right angles to her old, whereby both vessels were
running parallel as before.  Yet it had been close, so very close
indeed that as we drove past her I heard the sickening crack of
our oars as they snapped off one after the other against her
side, tossing those that manned them in bloody, struggling heaps.

And now from every English gun leaped roaring flame; the air was
full of shrieks and groans and the crash of splintering wood, and
through the eddying smoke I could see many of our soldiery that
lay in strange, contorted attitudes while others crawled, sobbing
on hands and knees; but on the scarlet-dropping rowing-benches I
dared not look.

Hotter waxed the fight, louder swelled the din and tumult with
the never-ceasing thunder of the guns; and amid it all Don Miguel
paced to and fro, impassive as always, the blade of his long
rapier gleaming here and there as he directed the fire.

Up rolled the smoke thicker and denser, but, ever and anon,
through some rift I might catch a glimpse of the scarred,
blackened side of the English ship, or the litter and confusion
of our decks.  Twice shots ploughed up the planking hard by me,
and once my post itself was struck, so that for a moment I had
some hope of winning free of my bonds, yet struggle how I would I
could not move; the which filled me with a keen despair, for I
made no doubt (what with the smoke and tumult) I might have
plunged overboard unnoticed and belike have gained the English
ship.

Slowly and by degrees our fire slackened, one by one the guns
fell silent and in their place rose the more hateful sounds of
anguish.  Now as I stood thus, my eyes smarting with burnt
powder, my ears yet ringing with the din, I grew aware how the
deck sloped in strange fashion; at first I paid small heed, yet
with every minute this slope became steeper, and with this
certainty came the knowledge that we were sinking and, moreover
(judging by the angle of the deck) sinking by the stern.

Hereupon, impelled by that lust of life the which is implanted in
each one of us, I fell to a wild struggling against my bonds,
until, seeing in a little the hopelessness of this, I grew
resigned to despair, and, ceasing my passionate efforts, looked
about me, for the smoke was thinned away.  And truly an evil
sight was this great galleass, with its shot-torn decks and
huddled heaps of dead, its litter of broken spars and dismantled
guns, and with everywhere great gouts and pools of blood, while
below and beyond were the shattered rowing-benches cumbered now
with awful red heaps, silent for the most part, yet some there
were who screamed high and shrill.

Save for myself and divers of the dead the poop lay deserted, but
forward such of the soldiers and mariners who yet lived were
fighting for the boats, and all was riot and confusion.

As I stared about me thus I espied Don Miguel lying among the
wreckage of a dismantled gun; his face was towards me and looked
as I had seen it an hundred times, save for a smear of blood upon
his cheek.  Even as I gazed his eyes met mine full and square. 
For a moment he lay without motion, then (his face a-twitch with
the effort) he came slowly to his elbow, gazed about him and so
back to me again.  Then I saw his hand creep down to the dagger
at his hip, to fumble weakly there--howbeit, at the third essay
he drew the blade and began to creep towards me.  Very slowly and
painfully he dragged himself along, and once I heard him groan,
but he stayed not till he was come within striking distance, yet
was he sore wounded and so weak withal that he was fain to rest
him awhile.  And ever his impassive eyes looked up into mine the
while I nerved myself to meet the blow unflinching (an it might
be so).  Once more he raised himself, his arm lifted slowly, the
dagger gleamed and fell, its keen edge severing the cords that
bound me, and with a sudden effort I broke free and stood staring
down into those impassive eyes as one in a dream.  Then, lifting
a feeble hand, he pointed to the tattered sails of the English
ship hard by, and so, resting his head upon his arm as one that
is very weary, he sighed; and with the sigh I think the life
passed out of him.

Turning, I was upon the quarter-railing in a single leap, and,
without a glance at the red havoc behind me, I plunged over and
down.

The sharp sting of the brine struck me like a myriad needle-
points, but the sweet cool of the waters was wondrous grateful to
my sun-scorched body as, coming to the surface, I struck out for
the English ship though sore hampered by my chain.

Presently coming beneath her lofty stern I found hanging
therefrom a tangle of ropes and cordage whereby I contrived to
clamber aboard, and so beheld a man in a red seaman's bonnet who
sat upon the wreckage of one of the quarter guns tying up a
splinter-gash in his arm with hand and teeth; perceiving me he
rolled a pair of blue eyes up at me and nodded:

"Welcome aboard, lad!" says he, having knotted the bandage to his
liking.  "Be ye one as can understand good English?"

"Aye!," says I, nodding.

"Why then bear witness as I be a patient soul and marciful.  Be
witness as I held my fire so long as any marciful soul might by
token that I knew what a broadside can do among crowded rowing-
benches--having rowed aboard one o' they Spanish hells afore now
--so I held my fire till yon devil's craft came nigh cutting me
asunder--and marcy hath its limits.  Timothy Spence o' the
"Tiger", master, is me, homeward bound for the Port of London,
and by this fight am short five good men.  But you're a proper
big 'un.  Go for'ard to the bo'sun, you shall know him by reason
that he lacketh his starboard yere.  Ask him for clothes to cover
thy nakedness, lad, and--Oho, there goeth yon devil's craft--!" 
Turning as he spoke I saw the sharp bows of the "Esmeralda" lift
and lift, high and higher, and, with a long-drawn gurgling roar,
the great galleass plunged down stern foremost, burying her shame
and misery from the eyes of man for evermore.

Thus then I sailed with Master Timothy Spence aboard the "Tiger,"
a free man after five years of anguish.



CHAPTER I

OF WHAT BEFELL ON PEMBURY HILL

It was a night of tempest with rain and wind, a great wild wind
that shouted mightily near and far, filling the world with
halloo; while, ever and anon, thunder crashed and lightning
flamed athwart the muddy road that wound steeply up betwixt
grassy banks topped by swaying trees.  Broken twigs, whirling
down the wind, smote me in the dark, fallen branches reached out
arms that grappled me unseen, but I held on steadfastly, since
every stride carried me nearer to vengeance, that vengeance for
the which I prayed and lived.  So with bared head lifted exulting
to the tempest and grasping the stout hedge-stake that served me
for staff, I climbed the long ascent of Pembury Hill.

Reaching the summit at last I must needs stay awhile to catch my
breath and shelter me as well as I might 'neath the weather bank,
for upon this eminence the rain lashed and the wind smote me with
a fury redoubled.

And now, as I stood amid that howling darkness, my back propped
by the bank, my face lifted to the tempest, I was aware of a
strange sound, very shrill and fitful, that reached me 'twixt the
booming wind-gusts, a sound that came and went, now loud and
clear, anon faint and remote, and I wondered what it might be. 
Then the rushing dark was split asunder by a jagged lightning-
flash, and I saw.  Stark against the glare rose black shaft and
crossbeam, wherefrom swung a creaking shape of rusty chains and
iron bands that held together something shrivelled and black and
wet with rain, a grisly thing that leapt on the buffeting wind,
that strove and jerked as it would fain break free and hurl
itself down upon me.

Now hearkening to the dismal creak of this chained thing, I fell
to meditation.  This awful shape (thought I) had been a man once,
hale and strong,--even as I, but this man had contravened the law
(even as I purposed to do) and he had died a rogue's death and so
hung, rotting, in his chains, even as this my own body might do
some day.  And, hearkening to the shrill wail of his fetters, my
flesh crept with loathing and I shivered.  But the fit passed,
and in my vain pride I smote my staff into the mud at my feet and
vowed within myself that nought should baulk me of my just
vengeance, come what might; as my father had suffered death
untimely and hard, so should die the enemy of my race; for the
anguish he had made me endure so should he know anguish.  I
bethought me how long and deadly had been this feud of ours,
handed down from one generation to another, a dark, blood-
smirched record of bitter wrongs bitterly avenged.  "To hate like
a Brandon and revenge like a Conisby!"  This had been a saying in
our south country upon a time; and now--he was the last of his
race as I was the last of mine, and I had come back out of hell
that this saying might be fulfilled.  Soon--ha, yes, in a few
short hours the feud should be ended once and for all and the
house of Conisby avenged to the uttermost.  Thinking thus, I
heeded no more the raving tempest around me until, roused by the
plunge and rattle of the gibbet-chains, I raised my head and
shaking my staff up at that black and shrivelled thing, I laughed
loud and fierce, and, even as I did so, there leapt a great blaze
of crackling flame and thereafter a thunder-clap that seemed to
shake the very earth and smite the roaring wind to awed silence;
and in this silence, I heard a whisper:

"O mercy of God!"

Somewhere in the darkness hard by a woman had cried. 
Instinctively I turned thitherward, searching the night vainly
until the lightning flared again and I beheld a cloaked and
hooded figure huddled miserably against the bank of the road,
and, as darkness came, I spoke:

"Woman, doth the gibbet fright you, or is't I?  If 'tis the
gibbet go hence, if 'tis I rest assured."

"Who are you?" said a breathless voice.

"One of no more account than the poor thing that danceth aloft in
his chains and for you as harmless."

And now she was beside me, a dark, wind-blown shape, and above
the howling tempest her voice reached me in passionate pleading:

"Sir--sir, will you aid one in sore danger and distress?"

"Yourself?" I questioned.

"Nay--indeed nay," she panted, "'tis Marjorie, my poor, poor
brave Marjorie.  They stopped my coach--drunken men.  I know not
what came of Gregory and I leapt out and escaped them in the
dark, but Marjorie--they carried her off--there is a light down
the lane yonder.  I followed and saw--O sir, you will save
Marjorie--you are a man--"

A hand was upon my ragged sleeve, a hand that gripped and shook
at me in desperate supplication--"You will save her from--from
worse than death?  Speak--speak!"

"Lead on!" quoth I, answering this compelling voice.  The griping
fingers slipped down and clasped my hand in the dark, and with
never another word she led me away unseeing and unseen until we
came where we were more sheltered from rain and wind; and now I
took occasion to notice that the hand that gripped mine so
masterfully was small and soft, so that what with this and her
voice and speech I judged her one of condition.  But my curiosity
went no further nor did I question her, for in my world was no
place for women.  So she led me on at haste despite the dark--
like one that was sure of her whereabouts--until I suddenly
espied a dim light that shone out from the open lattice of what I
judged to be a small hedge-tavern.  Here my companion halted
suddenly and pointed to the light.

"Go!" she whispered.  "Go--nay, first take this!" and she thrust
a small pistol into my hand.  "Haste!" she panted, "O haste--and
I do pray God shield and bless you."  Then with never a word I
left her and strode towards the beam of light.

Being come nigh the casement I paused to cock the weapon and to
glance at the priming, then, creeping to the open lattice, I
looked into the room.

Three men scowled at each other across a table--desperate-looking
fellows, scarred and ill-featured, with clothes that smacked of
the sea; behind them in a corner crouched a maid, comely of
seeming but pallid of cheek and with cloak torn by rough hands,
and, as she crouched, her wide eyes stared at the dice-box that
one of the men was shaking vigorously--a tall, hairy fellow this,
with great rings in his ears; thus stood he rattling the dice and
smiling while his companions cursed him hoarsely.

With a twist of the hand the hairy man made his throw, and as the
three evil heads stooped above the dice, I clambered through the
window, levelled pistol in one hand, heavy staff in the other.

"What d'ye set?" quoth I.  The three sprang apart and stared at
me quite chapfallen.

"What's to do?" growled one.

"First your barking-irons--lay them here on the table and quick's
the word!"  One after another they drew the weapons from their
belts, and one by one I tossed them through the window.

"What!" quoth one, a lank rogue with a patch over one eye and
winking the other jovial-wise, "How now, mate o' mine, shall dog
bite dog then?"

"Aye," says I, "and with a will!"

"Nay, nay, shipmate," quoth another, a plump, small man with
round, bright eyes and but one ear, "easy now--easy.  We be three
lorn mariners d'ye see--jolly dogs, bully boys, shipmate--a
little fun wi' a pretty lass--nought to harm d'ye see, sink me! 
Join us and welcome, says I, share and share alike O!"

"Aye, I'll join you," quoth I, "but first--you wi' the rings--
open the door!"  Here the hairy fellow growled an oath and
reached for an empty tankard, and thereupon got the end of my
staff driven shrewdly into his midriff so that he sank to the
floor and lay gasping.

"Nay now, shipmate," quoth the plump man in wheedling tone but
round eyes snapping, "here's lubberly manners, sink and scuttle
me--"

"Open the door!" says I.

"Heartily--heartily!" says he, his eye upon my cudgel, and edging
to the door, drew the bolts and set it wide.

"Woman," quoth I, "run!"

With never a word the maid sprang erect, caught her torn cloak
about her and, speeding across the room, was gone; whereupon the
lank fellow sat him down and fell a-cursing viciously in Spanish
and English, the plump man clicked his teeth and grinned, while
'Rings,' leaning against the wall, clasped his belly and groaned.

"Well so, my bully roarer, and what now?" demanded the plump man,
softly.

"Why now," says I, "'twas share and share alike, I mind--"

"Aye, but she's off, slipped her moorings d'ye see, my good lad,
and be damned t' ye wi' all my heart," said the little plump man,
smiling, but with the devil peeping through his narrowed lids.

"Look'ee," says I, laying a groat upon the table, "there's my
all--come turn out your pockets--"

"Pockets!" murmured the plump man, "Lord love me, what's this? 
Here's us cheated of a bit of daintiness, here's Abner wi' all
the wind knocked out o' him and now here's you for thieving and
robbing three poor lorn sailor-men as never raised hand agin ye--
shame, shipmate."

"Od rot your bones!" snarled the one-eyed man and spat towards
me, whereat I raised my staff and he, lifting an arm, took the
blow on his elbow-joint and writhed, cursing; but while I laughed
at the fellow's contortions, the plump man sprang (marvellous
nimble) and dashed out the light and, as I stepped from before
the window, I heard the lattice go with a crash of glass. 
Followed a long, tense moment wherein we all (as I judge) held
our breath, for though the storm yet roared beyond the shattered
casement, within was a comparative quiet.  Thus, as I stood in
the dark listening for some rustle, some stealthy creeping step
to guide my next blow, I thrust away my pistol and changing my
staff to my right hand, drew forth the broad-bladed sailor's
knife I carried, and so waited mighty eager and alert, but heard
only the far-off booming of the wind.  Then a floorboard creaked
faintly to my left, and turning short, I whirled my staff, felt
it strike home and heard a fierce cry and the uneven tread of
staggering feet.

"Fight, rogues!" cried I.  "Here's meat and drink to me--fight!"
and setting my back to the wall I waited for their rush.  Instead
I heard a hoarse whispering, lost all at once in a woman's shrill
scream out beyond the casement, and thereafter a loud voice that
hailed:

"House ho!  House ahoy!  Light ho!  Show a glim, ye drunken
dogs!" and here followed a rush of roaring sea-oaths, drowned in
a scream, louder, wilder than before.  Then, while this
distressful cry yet thrilled upon the air, pandemonium broke
loose about me, shouts, cries and a rush and trample of feet; the
table went over with a crash and the darkness about me rained
blows.  But as they struck random and fierce, so struck I and (as
I do think) made right goodly play with my hedge-stake until,
caught by a chance blow, I staggered, tripped and, falling
headlong, found myself rolling upon sodden grass outside the
shattered window.  For a moment I lay half-dazed and found in the
wind and rain vasty comfort and refreshment.

Then in the pitchy gloom hard by I heard that which brought me to
my feet--an evil scuffling, a close and desperate struggling--a
man's hoarse laugh and a woman's pitiful pleading and sobbing.  I
had lost my staff, but I yet grasped my knife, and with this held
point upwards and my left hand outstretched before me, I crept
forward guided by these sounds.  My fingers came upon hair, a
woman's long, soft tresses, and I remember marvelling at the
silky feel of them; from these my hand slipped to her waist and
found there an arm that grasped her close, then, drawing back my
hand, I smote with my knife well beneath this arm and drove in
the stout blade twice.  The fellow grunted and, loosing the maid,
leapt full at me, but I met him with clenched fist and he went
down headlong, and I, crouched above him and feeling him struggle
to his knees, kicked him back into the mud and thereafter leapt
on him with both feet as I had been wont to do when fighting my
fellow-slaves in some lazarette; then, seeing he stirred no more,
I left him, doubting nothing I had done his business.  Yet as I
went I felt myself shiver, for though I had been compelled to
fight the naked wretches who had been my fellow-slaves, I had
killed no man as yet.

Thus as I went, chancing to stumble against a tree, I leaned
there awhile; and now remembering those two blows under the
armpit, what with this stabbing and my fall and lack of food, for
I had eaten but once that day, I grew faint and sick.  But as I
leaned there, out of the gloom came a hand that fumbled timidly
my bowed head, my arm, my hand.

"Sir--are you hurt?" questioned a voice, and here once again I
was struck by the strange, vital quality of this voice, its bell-
like depth and sweetness.

"No whit!" says I.  Now as I spoke it chanced she touched the
knife in my grasp and I felt her shiver a little.

"Did you--O sir--did you--kill him?"

"And wherefore no?" I questioned.  "And why call me 'sir'?"

"You do speak as one of gentle birth."

"And go like the beggar I am--in rags.  I am no 'sir.'"

"How may I call you?"

"Call me rogue, thief, murderer--what ye will, 'tis all one.  But
as for you," quoth I, lifting my head, "'tis time you were gone--
see yonder!" and I pointed where a light winked through the
trees, a light that danced to and fro, coming slowly nearer until
it stopped all at once, then rose a shout answered by other
shouts and a roar of dismayed blasphemy.  At this my companion
pressed nearer so that I felt her shiver again.

"Let us be gone!" she whispered.  "Marjorie, come, child, let us
haste."  So we went on together at speed, and ever as we went
that small, soft hand was upon the hand that held the knife.  So
we sped on through the dark, these two maids and I, unseeing and
unseen, speaking little by reason of our haste.

Presently the rain ceased, the wind abated its rage and the
thunder pealed faint with distance, while ever and anon the gloom
gave place to a vague light, where, beyond the flying cloud-
wrack, a faint moon peeped.

Guided by that slender hand, so soft and yet instinct with warm
and vigorous life, I stumbled on through leafy ways, traversed a
little wood, on and ever on until, the trees thinning, showed
beyond a glimmer of the great high road.  Here I stayed.

"Madam," says I, making some ado over the unfamiliar word.  "You
should be safe now--and, as I do think, your road lieth yonder."

"Pembury is but a mile hence," says she, "and there we may get
horses.  Come, at least this night you shall find comfort and
shelter."

"No," says I.  "No--I am a thing of the roads, and well enough in
hedge or rick!" and I would have turned but her hand upon my
sleeve restrained me.

"Sir," says she, "be you what you will, you are a man!  Who you
are I know and care not--but you have this night wrought that I
shall nevermore forget and now I--we--would fain express our
gratitude--"

"Indeed and indeed!" said the maid Marjorie, speaking for the
first time.

"I want no gratitude!" says I, mighty gruff.

"Yet shall it follow thee, for the passion of gratitude is strong
and may not be denied--even by beggar so proud and arrogant!" 
And now, hearkening to this voice, so deep and soft and strangely
sweet, I knew not if she laughed at me or no; but even as I
debated this within myself, she lifted my hand, the hand that
grasped the knife, and I felt the close, firm pressure of two
warm, soft lips; then she had freed me and I fell back a step,
striving for speech yet finding none.

"God love me!" quoth I at last.  "Why must you--do so!"

And wherefore not?" she questioned proudly.

"'Tis the hand of a vagrant, an outcast, a poor creeper o'
ditches!" says I.

"But a man's hand!" she answered.

"'Tis at hand that hath slain once this night and shall slay
again ere many hours be sped."  Now here I heard her sigh as one
that is troubled.

"And yet," says she gently, "'tis no murderer's hand and you that
are vagrant and outcast are no rogue."

"How judge ye this, having never seen me?" I questioned.

"In that I am a woman.  For God hath armed our weakness with a
gift of knowledge whereby we may oft-times know truth from
falsehood, the noble from the base, 'spite all their outward
seeming.  So do I judge you no rogue--a strong man but very--aye,
very young that, belike, hath suffered unjustly, and being so
young art fierce and impatient of all things, and apt to rail
bitterly 'gainst the world.  Is't not so?"

"Aye," says I, marvelling, "truly 'tis like witchcraft--mayhap
you will speak me my name."  At this she laughed (most wonderful
to hear and vastly so to such coarse rogue as I, whose ears had
long been strangers to aught but sounds of evil and foul
obscenity):

"Nay," says she, "my knowledge of you goeth no further--but--"
(and here she paused to fetch a shuddering breath) "but for him
you killed--that two-legged beast!  You did but what I would have
done for--O man, had you not come I--I should have killed him,
maid though I am!  See, here is the dagger I snatched from his
girdle as he strove with me.  O, take it--take it!"  And, with a
passionate gesture, she thrust the weapon into my grasp.

"O madam--my lady!" cried her companion, "Look, yonder be lights
--lanthorns aflare on the road.  'Tis Gregory as I do think, with
folk come to seek for us.  Shall we go meet them?"

"Nay wait, child--first let us be sure!"  So side by side we
stood all three amid the dripping trees, watching the tossing
lights that grew ever nearer until we might hear the voices of
those that bare them, raised, ever and anon, in confused
shouting.

"Aye, 'tis Gregory!" sighed my lady after some while.  "He hath
raised the village and we are safe--"

"Hark!" cried I, starting forward.  "What name do they cry upon?"

"Mine, sir!"

"Oho, my lady!" roared the hoarse chorus.  "Oho, my Lady Joan--my
Lady Brandon--Brandon--Brandon!"

"Brandon!" cried I, choking upon the word.

"Indeed, sir--I am the Lady Joan Brandon of Shene Manor, and so
long as life be mine needs must I bear within my grateful heart
the memory of--"

But, waiting for no more, I turned and sprang away into the
denser gloom of the wood.  And ever as I went, crashing and
stumbling through the underbrush, above the noise of my headlong
flight rang the hated name of the enemy I had journeyed so far to
kill--"Brandon!  Brandon!  Brandon!"


CHAPTER II

HOW I HEARD A SONG IN THE WOOD AT MIDNIGHT

Headlong went I, staying for nought and heedless of all
direction, but presently, being weary and short of breath, I
halted and leaning against a tree stood thus very full of bitter
thought.  The storm was quite passed, but a chill wind was abroad
that moaned dismally, while all about me sodden trees dripped
with mournful, sobbing noises.  And hearkening to all this, what
should I be thinking but of the sweet, soft tones of a woman's
voice that had stirred within me memories of better days, a voice
that had set me to dreams of a future, to fond and foolish
imaginings.  For, though shamed and brutalised by my sufferings,
I was a man and in this past hour (strange though it do seem)
felt scorn of myself and a yearning for higher things, and all
this by no greater reason than the sound of a woman's voice in
the dark and the touch of her warm lips on my hand--and she a
Brandon!  And now as the bitter mockery of it all rushed upon me,
fierce anger swept me and I broke forth into vile oaths and
cursings, English and Spanish, foul invectives picked up from the
rogues, my fellows in misery; and feeling a new shame therefore,
did but curse the more.  So there crouched I 'gainst the tree,
shivering like the miserable wretch I was and consumed with a
ravening hunger.  At last, becoming aware that I yet grasped a
weapon in either hand, I thrust my knife in my girdle and fell to
handling this other, judging it by touch since it was yet too
dark for eyes to serve me.  And by its feel I knew it for no
honest knife; here was a thing wrought by foreign hands, a haft
cunningly shaped and wrought, a blade curiously slender and long
and three-edged, a very deadly thing I judged by the feel.  Now
since it had no sheath (and it so sharp) I twisted my neckerchief
about it from pommel to needle-point, and thrusting it into the
leathern wallet at my belt, went on some way further 'mid the
trees, seeking some place where I might be sheltered from the
cold wind.  Then, all at once, I heard that which brought me to a
stand.

A man was singing and at no great distance, a strange, merry air
and stranger words; and the voice was loud, yet tuneful and
mellow, and the words (the which I came to know all too well)
were these:

"Cheerly O and cheerly O,
Right cheerly I'll sing O,
Whiles at the mainyard to and fro
We watch a dead man swing O.
With a rumbelow and to and fro
He by the neck doth swing O!

One by the knife did part wi' life
And three the bullet took O,
But three times three died plaguily
A-wriggling on a hook O.
A hook both strong and bright and long,
They died by gash o' hook O.

So cheerly O and cheerly O,
Come shake a leg, lads, all O.
Wi' a yo-ho-ho and a rumbelow
And main-haul, shipmates, haul O.

Some swam in rum to kingdom come,
Full many a lusty fellow.
And since they're dead I'll lay my head
They're flaming now in hell O.

So cheerly O, so cheerly O"--

Waiting for no more of the vile rant I strode forward and thus
presently came on a small dell or dingle full of the light of a
fire that crackled right merrily; at the which most welcome sight
I made shift to scramble down the steepy bank forthright and
approached the blaze on eager feet.  Drawing near, I saw the fire
burned within a small cave beneath the bank, and as I came within
its radiance the song broke off suddenly and a man rose up,
facing me across the fire and with one hand hid under the flap of
his side pocket.

"Fibs off your popps, cull!" quoth in the vernacular of the
roads.  "Here's none but a pal as lacketh warmth and a bite!"

"Aha!" quoth the fellow, peering across the blaze, "And who be
you?  Stand and give a show o' your figurehead!"  Obediently I
stood with hands outspread to the flame, warming my shivering
body at its grateful heat.

"Well?" says I.

"Why," quoth he, nodding, "You're big enough and wild enough and
as likely a cut-throat as another--what's the lay?"

"The high pad!" says I.

"Where away?"

"'Tis no matter!"

"All I asks is," quoth the fellow with a quizzical look, "how
you've fobbed the nubbing-cheat so long!"

"And what I ask is," quoth I, "how a sailor-man comes to know the
patter o' the flash coves!"

"'Tis no matter," says he, "but since you're o' the Brotherhood
sit ye and welcome, 'tis dry enough here in this cave."

Staying for no second bidding I entered the little cave and sat
me down in the comforting warmth of the fire.  The man was a
comely fellow of a hectoring, swashing air, bright of eyes and
instant of gesture; close to hand lay a short cutting-sword,
pistols bulged his deep coat-pockets, while betwixt his knees was
a battered case-bottle.

"Well," says he, eyeing me over, "what's the word?"

"Food!" says I.

"Nary a bite!" he answered, shaking his head.  "But here's rum
now if you've a mind to sluice the ivories--ha?"

"Not a drop!" says I.

"Good!  The more for me!" he nodded.  "Rum--ha--

"Some swam in rum to kingdom come"--

"You sing a mighty strange song!" quoth I.

"Ha--d'ye like it?"

"No, I don't!"

"And wherefore no?"

"There seems overmuch death in it."

"Death?" cries he with a great laugh and hugging his case-bottle. 
"Death says you--aye, aye, says I and so there is, death in every
line on't.  'Tis song as was made for dead men, of dead men, by a
dead man, and there's for ye now!"  Here he lifted the bottle,
drank, and thereafter smacked his lips with great gusto.  "Made
by a dead man," he repeated, "for dead men, of dead men, and
there's for ye!"

"I like your song less and less!"

"You've a cursed queasy stomach I think!" he hiccupped.

"And an empty one!" says I.

"'Tis a song well bethought on by--by better men nor you, for all
your size!" says he, glancing at me over his bottle with a
truculent eye, and though his glance was steady, I perceived the
drink was affecting him more and more.  "Aye, many a better man!"
he nodded, frowning.

"As who?" I questioned.

"First, there's Abnegation Mings as you shall hear tell of on the
Main from Panama to St. Catherine's, aye, by the horns of Nick
there be none of all the coastwise Brotherhood quicker or readier
when there's aught i' the wind than Abnegation, and you can lay
to that, my delicate cove!"

"And who's he?"

"Myself!"  Here he took another draught and nodded at me in
drunken solemnity.  "And look'ee, my dainty cull, when you've
seen as much o' death as Abnegation Mings you'll know as Death's
none so bad a thing, so long as it leaves you alone.  And I for
one say 'tis a good song and there's for ye!"

"And who else?"

"Well, there's Montbars as do they call the Exterminator, and
there's young Harry Morgan--a likely lad, and there's Roger
Tressady and Sol Aiken and Penfeather--sink him!"

"And Abner!" said I at a venture.

"Aye for sure!" he nodded, and then, "Ha, d'ye know Abner then?"

"I've met him."

"Where away?"

"In a tavern some mile hence."

"A tavern!" quoth he, "A tavern, 'od rot 'em and here's me hove
short in this plaguy hole!  A tavern, and here's my bottle out--
dog bite me!  But a mouthful left--well, here's to a bloody shirt
and the Brotherhood o' the Coast."

"You drink to the buccaneers, I think?" says I.

"And what if I do?"

"'Tis said they be no better than pirates--"

"Would ye call me a pirate then?" cried he, scowling.

"I would."  Quick as flash he clapped hand to pocket, but the
pistol caught on the lining, and before he could free it I had
covered him with mine, whereat he grew suddenly rigid and still. 
"Up wi' your fambles!" says I.  Obediently he raised his hands
and, taking his pistols, I opened the pan of each one and, having
blown out the primings, tossed them back.

"Snake sting me!" says he, laughing ruefully as he re-pocketed
his weapons.  "This comes o' harbouring a lousy rogue as balks
good liquor.  The man as won't take good rum hath the head of a
chicken, the heart of a yellow dog, and the bowels of a w-worm,
and bone-rot him, says I.  Lord love me, but I've seen many a
better throat than yours slit ere now, my buxom lad!"

"And aided too, belike?" says I.

"Why, here's a leading question--but mum!  Here's a hand that
knoweth not what doth its fellow--mum, boy, mum!"  And tilting
back his head he brake forth anew into his villainous song:

"Two on a knife did end their life
And three the bullet took O,
But three times three died plaguily
A-wriggling on a hook O.
Sing cheerly O and cheerly O,
They died by gash o' hook O."

"And look'ee, my ben cull, if I was to offer ye all Bartlemy's
treasure--which I can't, mark me--still you'd never gather just
what manner o' hook that was.  Anan, says you--mum, boy, says I. 
Howbeit, I say, 'tis a good song," quoth he, blinking drowsily at
the fire, "here's battle in't, murder and sudden death and wha--
what more could ye expect of any song--aye, and there's women
in't too!"  Here he fell to singing certain lewd ribaldry that I
will not here set down, until what with the rum and the drowsy
heat of the fire that I had replenished, he yawned, stretched,
and laying himself down, very soon fell a-snoring, to my no small
comfort.  As for me, I sat there waiting for the dayspring; the
fire sank lower and lower, filling the little cave with a rosy
glow falling athwart the sprawling form of the sleeper and making
his red face seem purplish and suffused like the face of one I
had once seen dead of strangulation; howbeit, he slept well
enough, judging from his lusty snoring.  Now presently in the
surrounding dark beyond the smouldering fire was a glimmer, a
vague blur of sloping, trampled bank backed by misty trees; so
came the dawn, very chill and full of eddying mists that crawled
phantom-like, filling the little dingle brimful and blotting out
the surrounding trees.  In a little I arose and, coming without
the cave, shivered in the colder air, shaken with raging hunger. 
And now remembering my utter destitution, I stooped to peer down
at the sleeper, half minded to go through his pockets, but in a
while I turned away and left him sprawled in his sottish slumber.


CHAPTER III

TELLS HOW I STOLE MY BREAKFAST

The mist lay very thick all about me, but when I had climbed to
higher ground it thinned away somewhat, so that as the pallid
light grew I began to see something of the havoc wrought by the
storm; here and there lay trees uprooted, while everywhere was a
tangle of broken boughs and trailing branches, insomuch that I
found my going no small labour.  But presently as I forced a way
through these leafy tangles, the birds, awaking, began to fill
the dim world with blithe chirpings that grew and grew to a sweet
clamour, ever swelling until the dark woods thrilled with
gladsome music and I, beholding the first beam of sun, felt
heartened thereby 'spite my lack of sleep and the gnawing of
hunger's sharp fangs, and hastened with blither steps.  Thus in a
while I brake forth of the desolate trees and came out upon a
fair, rolling meadow with blooming hedgerows before me and,
beyond, the high road.  And now as I stayed to get my bearings,
up rose the sun in majesty, all glorious in purple and pink and
gold, whose level beams turned the world around me into a fair
garden all sweet and fresh and green, while, in the scowling
woods behind, the sullen mists crept furtive away till they were
vanished quite and those leafy solitudes became a very glory.

But my hunger was very sore, a need I purposed to satisfy soon
and at all hazards; therefore, having marked my direction, I went
at speed and, crossing the meadow, came into the highway and
struck south.  On my going through the woods I had chosen me a
cudgel in place of the one lost, shortish and knotted and very
apt for quick wrist-play, and I plucked forth my sailor's knife
meaning to trim my staff therewith; but with it poised in my
hand, I stopped all at once, for I saw that the point of the
stout blade (the which I had sharpened and whetted to an extreme
keenness), I perceived, I say, that the blade was bent somewhat
and the point turned, hook-like.  Now as I strode on again, the
early sun flashing back from the steel, I fell to wondering how
this had chanced, and bethinking me of those two deadly blows I
had struck in the dark I scrutinised my knife, blade and haft,
yet found nowhere on it any trace of blood, so that 'twas
manifest the fellow had worn some protection--chain-shirts were
common enough and many a rogue went with a steel skull to line
his hat.  So it seemed the fellow lived yet and (black rogue
though he was) I was vaguely glad 'twas not my hand had sent him
to his account.

I was yet revolving the matter in my mind when I heard a loud and
merry whistling, and glancing up, beheld a country fellow
approaching down a side lane.  He wore a wide-eaved hat and his
smock was new-washed and speckless; but that which drew and held
my eyes, that which brought me to a sudden stand, was the bundle
he bore wrapped in a fair, white clout.  So, with my gaze on this
I stood leaning on my knotted, untrimmed staff, waiting him. 
Suddenly, chancing to turn his head, he espied me, halted in his
stride, then eyeing me askance, advanced again.  A small man he
was, with rosy face, little, merry eyes, and a wide, up-curving
mouth.

"Goo' marnin' to 'ee--it do have been a tur'ble bad starm las'
night, master!"

"Aye!" says I, and my heart warmed to him by reason of his good
Kentish tongue--the like of which I had not heard these many
weary years; but at sight of that white-clouted bundle my mouth
watered and hunger gnawed with sharper tooth.  "What have ye
here?" I questioned, touching this with my staff.

"Nou't but my dinner, master, 's ever was!"

"Nay," says I scowling, "I think not!"

"Aye, but it be, master!" he nodded.  "Bread and beef wi' a
mossel of cheese like, 's ever was!"

"Bread!" says I.  "Beef!  Cheese!  Liar--here is no dinner o'
yours!"

"Aye, master, but it do be so, sure!" quoth he, staring.  "My
very own dinner cut by my very own darter, beef an' bread an' a
mossel o' cheese--I take my bible oath t' it, I do--bread an'
beef an' a mossel--"

"Show me!"  With notable haste he undid the wrapping, discovering
a good half-loaf, a thick slice of roast beef and a slab of
yellow cheese.

"Ha, man!" quoth I 'twixt shut teeth.  "So you lied to me then."

"Lied to 'ee, master?" says he faintly.

"You told me 'twas your dinner!"

"Aye, and so it be, so it be, I lay my oath--beef, d'ye see, an'
a mossel--"

"Nay," says I gathering up the viands, "here's my breakfast."

"Is it?" says he, gaping.

"It is!  Would ye deny it?"

"Not for a moment!" says he, eyeing my staff and the gleaming
knife in my belt.  "Lordy, no!  Only how was I to know 'twere
yourn, master--when my darter cut it for her very own feyther--"

"We live and we learn!" says I, turning away.  "What might your
name be?"

"Full-o'-j'y Tucker, master."

"Why then, Full-of-joy, though my gain be your loss take comfort
in that 'tis more blessed to give than receive.  Moreover, though
you lack a dinner you have a daughter and a roof to shelter you
and I neither one nor other--a poor, hungry rogue.  Methinks of
the two of us you have the better of life."

"Why, look'ee now, master," says he, scratching his shaven chin,
"since you've got your breakfus' surely, if you're minded t' step
along t' my cottage down t' lane, I can give ye a jug of good ale
to wash it down."  Now as he spoke thus, seeing the sturdy
manliness of him I dropped my staff and reached out my hand.

"Full-of-joy," says I, "a starving man must eat by hook or crook,
but if you'll give your honest hand to a thief--there's mine!"

The man stared from my hand to my face, his wide mouth curved,
then rubbing hand on snowy smock he grasped my fingers and wrung
them heartily--a clean and honest grip, such as I had not known
for many a long day.

"Will 'ee come, master?" he questioned.  I shook my head.  Quoth
I:

"You have a daughter and I'm no fit company for a good, sweet
maid--nor ever shall be for that matter!"  So saying, I dropped
his hand and turning, strode away down the road, his dinner
beneath my arm; and when at last I glanced back I saw him
standing where I had left him, staring after me chin in hand. 
Presently, turning in at a gate beside the way, I sat down
beneath a hedge in the warm, level beams of the sun and fell to
eating with huge appetite and (stolen though it was) never tasted
food more sweet.  I was thus rapturously employed when I heard a
dolorous whine and, starting about, beheld a ragged creature on
the opposite side of the hedge who glared at the food with
haggard eyes and reached out claw-like hands in supplication.

"O for the love o' Christ, spare a crust!" she wailed.  "Spare a
bite to a grannam as dieth o' hunger.  O sweet Jesu--a mouthful
to a poor soul as do be pined for lack o' food--"

"Off!" cries I fiercely, "What know you of hunger?  Away, hag!"
and I reached for my staff, whereupon she wailed and wept, and
clawing her dismal rags about her, crept away moaning.

But now while my jaws champed ravenously, the food had lost its
savour; wherefore I cursed and choked and, springing to my feet,
made after her, but, seeing me follow at speed, she cried out in
fear and, striving to flee from me, sank on feeble knees.

"Old hag!" quoth I, "Be damned for spoiling a hungry man's
appetite and robbing him of what he was at pains to rob for
himself!"  Then I thrust the well-filled napkin into her
clutching fingers and hasted away, but her raptured cry followed
me as I went.

I trudged on slow and heavy through the mud, being very weary for
lack of sleep and mightily down cast, heedless of gladsome morn
and the fair, fresh world about me, conscious but of my own most
miserable estate; insomuch that I presently sank down on the
grass by the road and, with heavy head bowed between my hands,
gave myself up to black despond.

But now as I sat thus, very sick and sorrowful, I heard a sound
of wheels and plodding hoofs drawing slowly near, and lifting my
head at last, espied a great wain piled high with fragrant hay
whereon the driver sprawled asleep, a great fat fellow whose
snores rose above the jingle of harness and creak of wheels.  Now
hearkening to his snoring, beholding him so gross and full-fed
(and I starving!!) my sadness gave place to sudden, hot anger
and, as the waggon lumbered by, I swung myself up behind, and
clambering over the hay, raised my staff, minded to drub the
fellow into wakefulness; but even then I stayed the blow, for I
spied a wallet that hung to the driving-seat, a large wallet of
plump and inviting aspect.  Reaching it down I opened it
forthwith and found therein a new-baked loaf, a roast capon
delicately browned and a jar of small beer.  And now, couched
luxuriously among the hay, I fell to work (tooth and nail) and
though I ate in voracious haste, never before or since have I
tasted aught so delicate and savoury as that stolen fowl.  I was
yet busied with what remained of the carcass when the fat fellow
choked in his snoring, sighed, grunted, propped himself on lazy
elbow and, catching sight of me, fell a-gaping.  So whiles he
watched open-mouthed, I finished what remained of the capon and
tossed the bones over the hedge.

"Ecod!" quoth he faintly.  "O, ecod--my dinner!"  As for me,
having my mouth full, I spake not.  "Ad's bobs!" says he, "A
rascally, robbing thief of the roads!"

"Even so!" I nodded and took a long draught of his beer.

"A-eating and a-drinking of a honest man's dinner, by the Lord!"
says he, clenching fat fists.  "O ecod--a hell-fire rogue--a very
lousy, scurvy dog as shall be carted and whipped and set in Sir
Richard's new pillory!"  At this, being engaged with the bread, I
reached out my foot and kicked him (very featly) in the belly;
whereat he gasped and growing thoughtful, dolefully watched me
make an end.

"If there is aught left to eat," says I, "show it me!"

"As fine a capon as was ever plucked, by the Lord!" he groaned.

"Most true!" says I, stretching myself in the hay.

"O!" quoth he, as to himself, "O the pity on't--so foul an end to
so fair a bird!"

"Never whine!" says I, "but tell me how far hence lieth
Lamberhurst."

"Better nor six mile!" he sighed, heaving himself into the
driving-seat.

"Why then, do you carry me thither."

"Ad's love!" he mourned.  "'Tis manifest shame a rogue should
thieve the food of an honest man--a man like I be as do slave
morning, noon and--"

"Slave!" says I, frowning.  "What know you of slavery?  Be curst
for a great, fat fool that speaketh lies!"  Now watching him as I
lay, I saw his hand close stealthily on his heavy whip, but or
ever he could turn to strike, I rose and fetched him a buffet
'neath the ear that pitched him sprawling upon the broad backs of
his horses, whence (with much groaning and puffing) he presently
got him safely into the road; seeing the which, I took the reins,
whipping the team to faster gait, so that to keep pace he must
needs trot it in the mud.

"Hold!" cries he.  "What would ye wi' my waggon?"

"Ride in 't!"

"Hold!  Then suffer me to ride likewise, for I'm scant o'
breath--"

"Good!  I've been scant o' breath ere now!"

"Show a little pity, master!" he groaned.

"None ever showed pity on me!"

"Nay, but--what harm have I--ever--done thee?"

"Begrudged food to a starving wretch!"

"'Twas my dinner and I do need a deal of feeding, I!  Lord, how I
sweat!  Prithee, master, let me up.  How have I deserved this?"

"Called me rogue and thief!"

"Aye, that I did--to my woe.  Aye, rogue I named thee and
likewise--lousy knave--and grieve for't now, I do!"

"And so needs must you sweat awhile!" says I.

And thus I (aloft and at mine ease) and the fat fellow trotting
breathless at the wheel we went awhile (and never another word)
until, what with fear of losing his goods, what with the mud and
heat and sweat, the poor gross fool looked wellnigh spent and all
foredone (as I had seen many a better man than he), whereupon I
brought the waggon to a stand and reached down to stir him where
he lent half-swooning across the wheel.

"Hark'ee, fool, dost know of one called Brandon of Shene
hereabouts?"

"Aye, truly--truly!" he gasped.  "I do know--Sir Richard--passing
well.  Ad's bobs, my innards be all shook t'pieces and I do be
parched wi' thirst."

"Why then, up with you!" says I, and giving him my hand, aided
him back to the driving-seat.  Being there, he sighed, groaned
and cast a yearning eye towards his wallet.

"Parched wi' thirst I be!" he groaned.

"I've been the like ere now!" says I, and having gulped down what
remained of the fellow's beer I tossed the jar into the road,
whereat he beat his breast.

"My beer!" he wailed, "And I a-famishing wi' thirst!  O my beer!"

"There's sweet water i' the brook yonder!" says I.

"You be a chap wi' no bowels, for sure!" he cried.  "Aye, a hard
man you be!"

"'Tis a hard world," says I, "but 'tis no matter for that, tell
me of Sir Richard Brandon."

"Why then, you must know I am Myles Trueman--"

"And truly, man, there be miles of you, but 'tis no matter for
that either--what of Sir Richard?"

"I do be coming to he," says Trueman in surly tone.  "I do farm
Sir Richard's land--a hard man, see you, though just."

"So--here's another hard man."

"Though a just--aye, and a godly!  He hath restored our church
weathercock an' all an' set up a fine, large and fair pillory on
the green.  Lunnon couldn't show a finer, wi' stocks an' cucking-
stool complete and rare to fancy--"

"And findeth he the wherewithal to fill 'em?"

"That doth he!  Aha, there be never a vagrant, gipsy nor beggar
dare come anigh in Sir Richard's time.  And witches be few
hereabouts since old Mother Mottridge was ducked, and scolds and
shrews be fewer by reason o' the brank, d'ye see?"

"Hum!" says I, "a right proper gentleman this!"

"Aye," quoth Trueman, nodding until his fat cheeks quivered, "and
one that doth abhor vagrants and such-like vermin--"

"As myself?" says I.  To this Trueman answered nothing, but fell
a-fanning himself with his hat again, eyeing me warily the while.

"Art strange in these parts?" he questioned.

"Aye and no!"

"Hast met Sir Richard?"

"I have!"

"Aha!" quoth the fellow, nodding.  "He had ye whipped, belike?"

"He did so."

"For stealing of a fine, fat capon, belike?"

"Nay, 'twas for another matter.  But what of him, is he hale o'
body, rich and well esteemed, is he strong in friends and a power
at court yet?"

"No," says Trueman, flicking his plodding horses.  "Neither one
nor t'other!"

"How--not?" quoth I.  "And wherefore?"

"Because he's dead--"

"Dead!" says I, starting up.  "Dead?"

"Why look'ee, if he ain't dead--leastways--"  But here I seized
him by the throat and, twisting him round, shook him to and fro
till he choked:

"Rogue--damned rogue!" I cried 'twixt gnashing teeth.  "Will ye
mock me then!:

"No--no!" he gasped.

"Then tell me ye lied--confess!"

"Aye, aye--I'll confess--anything--anything ye will, master!"

"Then Sir Richard lieth snug in his manor of Shene--doth he not?
Aye or no?"

"Aye--aye, at Shene--at Shene!"  Hereupon I loosed him and,
falling back on the hay, found myself all breathless and shaking
as with an ague-fit.  And these tremors were within me as
without, since (by reason of this fellow's lying words) I had,
for one black moment, doubting God's justice, seen (as it were)
my countless anguished supplications for vengeance on mine enemy
so much vain breath, and this my toilsome journey a labour to no
purpose.  But now, bowing my head, I (who knew no forgiveness)
humbly prayed forgiveness of God for my doubting of God, and
passionately besought Him that He would cherish mine enemy and
save him in health.  And this to no other end but that I myself
might destroy him.

"His life, O God--give this man's life into mine hand!"  So
prayed I (in my vain pride and selfish blindness) as I jogged
along that sunny midsummer morn; and thereafter, my trembling
having passed from me, I stretched myself out amid the hay and
fell to blissful slumber.

Now to all such as reading this my narrative shall contemn and
abhor me for the purblind fool and poor, desperate wretch I was,
and who, living but for murder, could cry thus on God for the
blood of his fellow-man--to all such I would say that none can
despise me more utterly than I who write these words.  For life
since then hath learned me many truths and in some few things I
am, mayhap, a little wiser.

But, because I was proud and stubborn beyond belief, because hate
begetteth hate and evil--evil, so came I to consort and make
fellowship with pirates and the like rogues and to endure much of
harms and dangers as battle, shipwreck, prison and solitude;
until God (of His infinite mercy) brought me forth a better man
therefor and, in some sense, a more worthy.  All of the which I
have fully and faithfully recorded for such as shall trouble to
read this narrative to the end.

And so will I again to my story.


CHAPTER IV

TELLETH HOW I MET ONE ADAM PENFEATHER

I awoke to find the waggon at a standstill and Master Trueman
watching me with a scowl the while his plump fingers toyed
lovingly with his whip-stock; but as I roused, this hand crept up
to finger his several chins.

"Yonder lieth Lamberhurst!" quoth he sulkily, and nodded where,
in the valley below, was a village with a green wherein was a
placid pool shaded by trees; and about this green stood white-
walled cottages, many of them bowered in roses or honeysuckle to
the very thatch (right pleasant to the eye), while beyond these
again rose gables of barns or the pointed roofs of oasthouses. 
"Lamberhurst!" says Trueman again; whereon, having yawned and
stretched myself, I clambered down into the road.

"Well?" I questioned, seeing how he watched me, triple chin in
hand.

"Well," quoth he stoutly, "I be wondering what the likes o' you
should be wanting wi' the likes o' Sir Richard Brandon o' Shene?"

"Nought but this," says I, shaking the hay from my tattered
cloak, "I am come to watch him die, and the manner of it shall
mayhap be something slow and painful!" and speaking, I clenched
my right hand to a sunburnt fist.  Now looking on this clutching
hand, Trueman blinked and, saying no word, whipped his horses and
the heavy wain rumbled and creaked on its way.  But, when he had
gone some distance, he grinned at me over his shoulder and called
something whereof I caught the words "labour lost."  For a moment
I was minded to run after and demand his meaning; howbeit, in a
little, I turned and went down the hill very full of thought.

Reaching the village I found it not yet astir, for the clock of
the church tower showed the time was but half after four; and
now, leaning on my staff I stared up at the church tower with its
new weathercock, brave with gilding, agleam in the early sun, and
from thence turned my gaze where (hard beside the pool upon the
green) rose the grim shape of Sir Richard's new pillory.  Just
now it stood untenanted and I wondered idly what unhappy wight
was destined next to suffer there.  Thus stood I some while,
staring round me on this peaceful hamlet where all (save only
myself) forgot their cares awhile in blessed sleep; the wide
road, the gabled cottages, oast-house and fragrant rick yard--all
was as I minded it five weary years since:  nothing strange was
there saving only Sir Richard's hateful pillory, wherefore I
smote it with my staff and, cursing him that set it there, turned
away.

Now within a stone's-cast of the church was a goodly tavern with
a weatherbeaten signboard a-swing above the door, whereon was
painted what purported to be a leopard asleep and below the
following legend, viz.:

ROUSE ME NOT

and below this again:

YE CONISBY ARMS.

From this I glanced at the third finger of my left hand, which
was a battered signet ring that bore the semblance of another
sleeping leopard and the like inscription; and looking from the
sleeping leopard on the signboard to the sleeping leopard on my
ring, I fell to deep and gloomy thought.  Howbeit, rousing in a
while, I perceived a horse-trough hard by full of clean water,
and came thither minded to wash the dust and sweat from me.  But,
stooping, I paused and stood thus, staring down at the face that
scowled up at me; a face lean and haggard with wide, fierce eyes
agleam beneath knitted brows, a prominent nose and square chin
with short, peaked, golden beard; an unlovely face framed in
shaggy, yellow hair patched and streaked with silver; and
beholding lowering brow and ferocious mouth and jaw I stood
awhile marvelling at the ill-changes evil and hardship had
wrought in me.

For thus was it that I first beheld myself after five years of
slavery.

Having looked my fill, I nodded grimly at my watery image and
plunged my face and head within the trough to my great
refreshment, which done, I made shift to dry myself on my
tattered shirt.  Thereafter, coming to the broad oak settle
beside the tavern door, I sat down and fell to meditation.  But
now, moved by sudden impulse, I unbuckled the wallet at my girdle
and taking thence the strange dagger, unwound the neckerchief
that swathed it and began to examine the weapon, first carelessly
enough, then with growing interest and wonder.  The blade (as I
have told elsewhere) was triangular of form, very narrow and some
eight inches in length and exceeding sharp of point; but that
which drew and held my gaze was the wonder of its haft.  I have
seen and handled many fair weapons in my day, but never before or
since have I beheld such rare craftsmanship as went to the
chiselling of this hilt.  Of silver it was, wrought into the
shape of a standing woman, her feet poised upon the small,
chiselled cross-guard, her head forming the pommel; naked she
stood in languorous pose, arms raised and hands locked behind her
head.  The delicate chiselling of the features was worn somewhat
by handling and rough usage, but even so the evil beauty of the
face was plain and manifest, the wanton languor of the long eyes,
the mocking cruelty of the smiling mouth.  The longer I viewed
it, the more manifest became the nameless evil of the thing, so
that I was greatly minded to whirl it into the horse-pond and be
done with it.  But bethinking me of my destitution and not
doubting but that I might find a ready market for a thing so
rare, I lapped it up again and thrusting it back into my wallet,
stretched myself out upon the broad settle and presently fell
asleep.

But (even as I slept) methought I was back in torment.  I seemed
to hear again the crack of whips, the harsh cries of the drivers,
the shrill screams and curses, the long, groaning breaths with
the rattle and creak of the great oars as they swung ceaselessly
back and forth; nay, I could even feel the kick of the oar-shaft
that had escaped my fainting grasp.  So real was it all that I
waked groaning (as I had done many a time and oft), waked to find
the kindly sun making a glory about me and a blackbird hard by a-
piping most sweet to hear, while before me stood a little, thin
fellow in a broad-eaved, steeple-crowned hat, who peered at me
through narrowed eyes and poked at me with a stick.

"And how's the wind, shipmate?" he questioned.  I sat up and
scowled, whereupon he tucked the stick beneath an arm and stood
viewing me, chin in hand.  "You sleep mighty sound," says he,
"here I've stood a-poking at ye with my stick, d'ye see, and you
snore but the louder--or was it groans?"

"For the which poking I'm minded to throw you into the horse-
pond--"

"Why, that's as may be!" says he, falling back a step.  "But no
offence, shipmate."

"Then leave me in peace."  And I laid me down again.

"You sleep mighty sound," says he, "and your bed none so easy!"

"I've known worse!"

"Aye--the rowing-bench of a Spanish floating hell, shipmate--ha?"

At this, I started and turned to look at him again.  He was (as I
say) a little man and clad in suit of russet-brown (very trim and
sober), but at his hip he bore a long rapier or tuck, while in
his ears (which were trimmed to points in mighty strange fashion)
swung great, gold rings such as mariners do wear; his face was
lean and sharp and wide of mouth and lighted by very quick,
bright eyes, seeming to take in all things with swift-darting
glances.  A scar that ran from brow to chin lent to him a certain
hangdog air; as to his age, it might have been thirty or forty or
sixty, for, though he seemed vigorous and active, with smooth,
unwrinkled face, his hair was snow-white.

"Well, shipmate," he questioned, meeting my searching gaze, "and
how d'ye like me?"

"No whit!"

"Sink me, but that's plain enough!" says he, smiling ruefully. 
"So there's nought in me as draws you, then?"

"No!"

"'Tis pity, for I've a feeling we shall sail aboard ship together
yet."

"How should you know I've rowed aboard a Spanish ship?"

"You bear the mark, shipmate; as you lay a-groaning in your sleep
I took occasion to cast an eye over ye, d'ye see, and what wi'
the new-healed scars on your wrist, your sunburnt skin and the
desperate sink-or-swim look o' you I judged you new-broke from
slavery, and named a Spanish galleass at a venture, d'ye see."

"You are an observant man, it seems," says I, frowning.

"I have a way o' putting one and one together--'tis a trick I've
found useful now and then!"

"Ha!" says I, mighty scornful, "You'll be telling me my own name
next!"

"Why, as to that," says he, pinching his long, clean-shaven chin
thoughtfully, "how would Conisby suit?"

"Damned spy!" I cried, and caught him in my grip; the fellow
never so much as flinched, and there was something formidable in
his very quietude.

"Easy all, shipmate!" says he mildly and staring up at me eye to
eye.  "Use me kindly, for I'm a timid soul with a good heart,
meaning no offence."

"How learned ye my name?  What devilry is here?"

"None in the world, Lord love ye!  'Tis just my trick of adding
one and one, d'ye see?  There's the ring on your finger and the
signboard above you."

"And wherefore spy on a sleeping man?"

"Because I'm a lonely soul doth seek a comrade.  Because the
moment I clapped eyes on you I felt drawn to ye, and seeing the
scars on your wrist, knew 'em for shackle-marks--and 'twas a bond
betwixt us."

"How a bond?"

"Loose me, shipmate, and I'll show ye."  Which done, he bared a
long and sinewy arm, discovering thereon marks of old fetter-
sores like those upon my own.

"So you've slaved at an oar, then?" says I.

"Aye, shipmate!"

"Endured the shame of stripes and nakedness and filth?"

"Aye, shipmate.  And more, I've fought for my life on the Inca
Death-stone ere now, as you may see by my ears if you know aught
of the Maya Indians."

And here without so much as a "by your leave" he sat him down on
the bench beside me, and leaning forward began to trace idle
patterns in the dust with his stick.

"Shipmate," says he, "I'm a timid man--"

"As a snake," quoth I, "and as deadly!"

Here he stayed his drawing to glance at me askance, to sigh and
shake his head.  "You misjudge me," says he, "howbeit we'll say
cautious--a cautious man with an honest, kindly heart as yearns
to fellowship."

"And with a pistol 'neath each armpit!"

"True!" he nodded.  "I might ha' shot ye a moment since and
didn't--which doth but prove my words, for I'm one as never
harmed any man--without just cause--save once, and that--" here
he sighed, "was years agone.  And me a lonely man to this day. 
So 'tis I seek a comrade--a right man, one at odds wi' fortune
and the world and therefore apt to desperate ploys, one hath
suffered and endured and therefore scornful of harms and dangers,
one as knoweth the sea.  Now let that man pledge me the blood-
brotherhood, let him stand staunch and faithful blow fair, blow
foul, and I'll help him to a fortune greater than ever came out
of Manoa, El Dorado, or the Indies.  Come, what d'ye say,
friend?"

"I say sheer off and leave me to my sleep lest I mischief you."

"Ha' ye no lust for riches, then?"

"No more than I have to your company and I love that less and
less."

"'Tis pity!" says he, shaking his head.  "Aye, 'tis pity, for I
do like you more and more, such a fine blood-and-beef, dare-and-
be-damned, gibbet-like figure of a rogue, shipmate, as would
grace a cross-roads better than most, which is one reason I was
drawn to ye, d'ye see, I being a quiet soul--"

"And a pirate, like as not!"

"Easy, shipmate, easy.  Passion is an ill word to steer by.  And
I'm a lonely man as seeks a comrade--"

"And I'm a lonely man that loveth solitude, so e'en now will I go
seek it!" and I rose.

"Stay a bit, shipmate, haul your wind and listen!" says he,
laying hand on my arm.  "Stand in wi' me, blow high, blow low,
and I offer you--wealth untold--riches, fortune--"

"Tush!," says I, "empty things all."  At this his hold tightened
while his keen gaze held mine.

"More than this," says he slowly, "I offer you rank, honours,
power and mayhap--love, shipmate."

"Enough!" quoth I.  "You offer nought I desire."

"Why then," says he, "in the Fiend's name what would ye have?"

"Vengeance!" I answered, and shaking off his grasp I turned and
strode away along the dusty road.


CHAPTER V

HOW I CAME TO CONISBY SHENE

It being yet full early for my purpose I took to the woods, and
presently chancing upon a little stream that bubbled pleasantly
'mid shady willows, I sat myself down within this greeny bower
and fell to watching the hurrying waters of this brook and
hearkening to its drowsy murmur.  And lying thus, with the good
green world around me, the sunny air blithe with the mellow
piping of birds and the soft wind rustling the leaves about me--
what must I have in mind but bloodshed and the destruction of my
enemy, insomuch that reaching a stone from the brook I drew the
knife from my girdle and set about straightening the blade
thereof.

I was thus employed when all at once the leaves on the opposite
side of the brook were parted and a girl-child appeared.  For a
long moment we eyed each other across the brook, then all at once
her pretty lips curved to a smile.

"Little maid," says I, furtively thrusting the knife into my
belt, "art not afraid of me then?"

"Nay!" she answered, smiling yet and shaking her golden head.

"And why?"

"I do like your eyes, big man, kind eyes they be!"

"Are they?" says I, glancing from her smiling innocence into the
brook.

"Aye, and your voice--I do like that too--'tis low and soft--like
father's."

"And who's your father?"

"He be th' blacksmith."

"How old are you?"

"Seven, an' a big maid I be.  Will 'ee aid me 'cross t'brook,
now?"

So I lifted her over and there we sat, side by side, she laughing
and talking and I hearkening to her childish prattle with
marvellous great pleasure.  Presently I ventured to touch her
soft cheek, to stroke her curls, and finding she took this not
amiss, summoned courage to stoop and kiss her.

How long we had sat thus I know not, when I was aroused by a
shrill, harsh voice and turning, beheld a bony woman who peered
at us through the leaves.

"Susan Ann!" she cried.  "O you Susan, come away!  Come quick or
I'll run for your mother."

"The child is safe enough!" says I, frowning, but clasping the
small damsel closer within my arm.

"Safe?" cries the woman, turning on me in fury.  "Safe--aye, for
sooth, wi' a great, ill rogue the like o' you!  Loose her--loose
her or I'll scream and rouse the village on ye for a wild gipsy
wastrel that ye are!"  And here the old harridan railed at me
until the child whimpered for fear and even I blenched before the
woman's fierce aspect and shrewish tongue.  Then, while she
loaded me with abuse, a ceaseless torrent (and no lack of
breath), I kissed the little maid's tear-wetted cheek and,
setting her back across the brook, stood to watch until the child
and woman were lost to my sight.  Then I sat down, scowling at
the hurrying water, chin on fist, for my black humour, banished
awhile by the child's innocent faith in me, was returned and
therewith an added bitterness.  Scowling yet, I plucked forth my
knife and seizing my staff, set to trim and shape it to a
formidable weapon; and as I worked I cursed this woman deep and
oft, yet (even so) knew she had the right on't, for truly I was a
rogue, an outcast of unlovely look and unlovely ways, a desperate
fellow unfit for the company of decent folk, much less an
innocent child; and yet, remembering those fearless child-eyes,
the kiss of those pure child-lips I sighed amain betwixt my
muttered cursings.

At last, having trimmed my bludgeon to a nicety, I laid it by,
and sat brooding, the knife betwixt my knees; now a beam of sun
falling athwart the leaves lit upon the broad blade of the knife
and made of it a glory.  And beholding this and the hand that
grasped it, I took pleasure to heed how strong and sinewy were my
fingers and how the muscles bulged beneath the brown skin of my
forearm; and turning the glittering steel this way and that I
fell to joyous thought of my enemy and of my vengeance, now so
near.

"To-night!" says I to myself, "Death ever cometh with more
terrors in the dark!  To-night!"  But now, little by little, my
joy gave place to anger that the night must be so long a-coming;
and, glancing up, I cursed the sun that it must needs shine and
the gladsome day that it was not grim night.  And presently to
anger was added a growing fear lest mine enemy might (by some
hap) elude me at the eleventh hour--might, even now, be slipping
from my reach.  Now at this a sweat brake out on me, and leaping
to my feet I was minded to seek him out and end the matter there
and then.  "Why wait for to-night?" I asked myself.  "Surely in
the gladsome light of day Death findeth an added bitterness.  Why
wait for night, then?"

So I stood awhile debating within myself, then, catching up my
knotted bludgeon, I set off along the stream incontinent,
following a path I had trodden many a time when but a lad; a path
that led on through mazy thickets, shady dells and green coppices
dappled with sunlight and glad with the trilling melody of birds;
but ever as I went, before my eyes was a man who twisted in my
grasp and died, over and over again, and in my ears the sounds of
his agony.  And ever as I went trees reached out arms as if to
stay me and bushes stretched forth little, thorny fingers that
caught my garments as if to hinder me from my purpose.  But I
brushed them aside with my scarred arms or beat them down with my
heavy staff, o'er-leaping hedge and ditch and fallen tree until I
reached the highway, and even as I came there a distant clock
chimed the hour of ten.  I quickened my pace, twirling my staff
as I went, so that the two or three wayfarers I chanced to meet
drew from my neighbourhood and eyed me mightily askance.  Having
gone thus some mile or so, I came to a wall that bordered the
road, a high and mossy wall, and following this, to a pair of
gates set well back from the highway, with pillars of stone each
surmounted by a couchant leopard carved in the stone.  Now these
gates were of iron, very lofty and strong and fast shut, but
besides these was a smaller gate or postern of wood hard by the
gatehouse where stood a lusty fellow in fair livery, picking his
teeth with a straw and staring at the square toes of his shoes. 
Hearing me approach he glanced up and, frowning, shook his head
and waved me away.

"Here's no road for the likes o' you!" said he while I was yet at
some distance.  "Off wi' you!"  Howbeit, seeing I still advanced
he clapped to the gate, and letting fall the bar, cursed me
roundly through the grille.

"I would see Sir Richard Brandon!" says I.

"Then ye can't--nowise.  So be off and be danged!"

"Open the gate!" says I.

"Be hanged for a murderous-looking rogue, a lousy thief, a
wastrel and a hangdog knave!" says he all in a breath.

"All true enough!" says I.  "And now, open the gate!"

"Be danged for a prigging gipsy--'A Gad!  I'll have ye clapped i'
the pillory for a black-visaged clapper-claw!"

"Unbar!" says I, "Or it shall go plaguy ill wi' you when I come
in."

At this he spat upon me through the grille and chuckled.  Now,
glancing about, I espied a stone hard by about the bigness of a
man's head and, laying by my staff, I wrenched the stone from
where it lay and, raising it aloft, hove it with all my strength;
whereon the gate crashed open so suddenly as to catch the fellow
a buffet that laid him sprawling on his back, and as he strove to
rise I pinned him down with my staff and kicked him heartily.

"And now," says I, "up with you and bring me to your master."

But or ever he could do aught but groan and rub his hurts, I
heard the sound of approaching hoof-strokes and, turning, beheld
a lady bravely mounted who galloped furiously towards us down the
avenue.  When almost upon us she swung her powerful beast aside
and, checking him with strong wrist, sat looking down at me from
the shade of her plumed hat.

"What is this?" she demanded, and her eyes swept over me grey and
wide and fearless.  "Who--who are you?"

Now at the sound of her voice so rich and wonder-sweet, I felt
strangely abashed and, finding no word, turned from her to scowl
down at the man I had pinned beneath my broken shoe.

"Who are you?" she questioned again.  "Speak!"

"A rogue!" says I, keeping my head averted.  "A creeper o'
hedges!"

"Ah--is't you?" said she in softer tone.  "I saw you for a moment
by lightning-flash near the gibbet.  You are my man o' the woods,
and, sir, I owe you much--very much--indeed, sir, if--"

"I am no 'sir'!" quoth I shortly.

"Gregory," says she, looking down on the fellow 'neath my foot. 
"Gregory, get up!"

"Gregory," says I, "stir not!"

"Sir, would you hurt my servant?" says she, knitting her slender
black brows.

"I' faith!" I nodded.  "The uncivil rogue forced me to burst open
the gate."

"And why are you here?  Who are you?  What is your name?" cried
she a little breathlessly, and I wondered at the fixed intensity
of her gaze.

"Gregory," says I, taking my foot from his middle but threatening
him with my staff, "I am come for no traffic with maids, so rise
up and bring me to your master."

"Nay," groans the fellow, turning up his eyes, "'tis thing
impossible, here's only my lady--"

"And I seek your master--is he within?"

"Nay," says Gregory, flinching beneath my staff, "as my lady
shall tell 'ee--he is not here."

"Ha!" quoth I.  "That will I see for myself."  But as I turned to
stride up the avenue, my lady wheeled her horse, barring my way.

"Whither go you?" she demanded, her eyes holding mine.

"To the house for Sir Richard.  I have been at some small pains
to gain speech with him."

"To what end?"

"Why truly," I answered, leaning upon my staff and viewing her
eye to eye, "'tis a matter of vital moment, aye--in a manner of
speaking--'tis a matter of life and death betwixt us."  Now as I
stood thus I could not but be conscious of her glowing, vigorous
beauty, her body's noble shape and the easy grace of her as she
sat her fretting horse, swaying to his every movement.  And to
me, in my rags, she seemed no woman but a goddess rather, proud,
immaculate and very far removed; and yet these proud lips could
(mayhap) grow soft and tender, these clear eyes that met mine so
fearlessly--

The staff was wrenched from my loosened grasp and Gregory,
leaping to his feet, fetched me therewith staggering blow on
blow, shouting with his every stroke:

"Ho--Peter!  Roger!  Will!  Ho--hither, lads all!  Loose the
dogs--hither to me, 'a God's name!"  But, though mused with
blows, I rushed in blindly and, closing with the fellow, got him
fairly by the throat and shook him to and fro.  And now was I
minded to choke him outright, but, even then, spied a cavalier
who spurred his horse against me.  Hereupon I dashed the
breathless Gregory aside and turned to meet my new assailant, a
spruce young gallant he, from curling lovelock to Spanish boots. 
I remember cursing savagely as his whip caught me, then, or ever
he could reach me again, I sprang in beneath the head of his
rearing horse and seizing the rein close by the bridle began to
drag and wrench at the bit.  I heard shouts and a woman's cry of
fear, but I strove only the fiercer, while up and up reared the
great roan horse, snorting in terror, his forelegs lashing
wildly; above tossing mane the eyes of his rider glared down at
me as, laughing exultant, I wrenched savagely at the bridle
until, whinnying with pain and terror, the great beast, losing
his balance, crashed over backwards into the dust.  Leaping clear
of those desperate, wild-thrashing hooves, I found myself beset
by divers fellows armed with staves, who closed upon me,
shouting; and above these, her eyes wide, her full, red lips
close-set, my lady looked down on me and I (meeting that look)
laughed, even as her fellows rushed at me:

"Go cosset your pretty springald, wench!"  But even then, dazed
and half-blinded by a hail of blows, I staggered, sank to my
knees, struggled up again, smiting with bare fists.  A flame
seemed to flash before my eyes, a taste of blood was on my
tongue, and all sounds grew faint and far away as, stumbling
blindly, I threw up my arms, tripped and plunged down and down
into an engulfing darkness, and knew no more.


CHAPTER VI

OF MY SHAMEFUL SUFFERINGS AND HOW I WAS DELIVERED THEREFROM

I awoke with a sound in my ears like the never-ceasing surge and
hiss of waters, a sound that waxed ever louder.  Hearkening to
this, I presently sought to move and wondered, vaguely uneasy, to
find this impossible:  I strove now to lift my right hand, found
it fast held, tried my left and found it in like case, and so
became conscious of something that gripped me about the throat,
and ever my wonder and unease grew.  And now, opening my eyes,
the first thing they lighted on was a small pool of blood and
beyond this a battered turnip, and beyond this, the carcass of a
dead cat, and beyond this again, a pair of trim, buckled shoes,
cotton stockings, wide breeches and a broad belt where swung a
tuck or rapier prodigiously long of blade; in a while (my eyes
ranging higher yet) I beheld a thin face scarred from mouth to
eyebrow, a brown face with bright, very quick eyes and strange
ears, they being cut to points like a dog's ears.  Now looking at
this face, it seemed to me in hazy fashion that somewhere and at
some time I had seen such a face before.  All this while, the
noise I have likened to the sea had been growing louder, so that
I began to recognise voices and even words, and, lifting my head
as well as I might (by reason of the thing that gripped my
throat), I saw faces all about me--they hemmed me in on every
side and stretched away to the churchyard wall.

Then, all at once, the knowledge of my situation rushed upon me;
I was in the pillory.

"Huroor!  'E be a-coming' round!" cried a voice.

"Time, too!" shouted a great, strapping fellow near by.  "'Tis
sinful shame to waste good bad-eggs on rogue as knoweth not when
'e do be hit!  He be a mark as babe couldn't miss--a proper big
'un!"  So saying, the fellow let fly an egg at me, the which,
striking the board within an inch of my face, filled the air with
suffocating stench.

This was a signal for me to become a target for all the garbage
of the village.  And now, indeed, good cause had I to be thankful
for my thick mane of hair which (in some sort) saved me from
sundry cuts and bruises, howbeit my face was soon clotted with
blood and filth.

Vain were it to tell all the frenzy of rage that possessed me as
I stood thus helpless against my howling tormentors, chief of
whom was the great fellow I have mentioned, who (by reason of
height and length of arm) struck me oftenest; once indeed when
(beside myself with fury) I raised my head to curse him, he took
me a blow in the mouth with some vile missile that set my very
gums a-bleeding.

"Lord love ye, shipmate--that's the spirit!" said a voice below
me, "But keep the wind o' them--don't let 'em rake ye--douse your
figure-head.  Lie low, shipmate, lie low and trust to your
comrade Adam Penfeather--and that's me.  Patience is the word!"

Looking whence the voice came I beheld the man with whom I had
talked that morning; now as our glances met, one of his bright
eyes closed slowly and, nodding twice, he turned and elbowed his
way through the crowd.  Small liking had I for this fellow, but
with his departure a sense of loneliness gripped me and needs
must I lift my head to stare after him, whereupon a rotten egg
struck me above the eye, causing a most intolerable smart; at
this moment, too, the great fellow swung a cat's carcass by the
tail, but, or ever he could hurl this stinking missile, a hand
clouted him heavily over the ear from behind, tumbling his hat
off, whereupon he turned, bellowing with rage, and smote his
nearest neighbour with the foul thing meant for me.  In an
instant all was uproar around these two as the crowd, forgetting
me, surged about them.  Thus for some while, during which the
fight raged, I was left unmolested and looked hither and thither
amid the swaying throng for this fellow, Adam Penfeather, but he
was vanished quite.

At length, the big fellow having sufficiently trounced his
opponent, the crowd betook itself (and very joyously) to my
further baiting and torment.  Now as I hung thus in my shame and
misery, faint with my hurts and parched with cruel thirst, my
gaze lighted upon a small, bony man--a merry-eyed fellow with
wide, up-curving mouth, who laughed and jested continually; it
was as he stooped for some missile or other that his eye met
mine, and in that bright eye methought I read a sudden pity.

"O cull," says I hoarsely, "a mouthful o' water--"

"Pal," says he, winking, "all's bowmon!"  Whereupon he turned and
vanished in the crowd and I, burning in a fever of thirst, panted
for his return, straining my eyes for sight of him; then, as he
came not, I groaned and drooped my head, and lo! even then he was
before me bearing a tin pannikin full of water.  This in hand, he
mounted the steps of the pillory and, despite the jeers and
hootings of the crowd, was lifting the life-giving water to my
eager lips when forth leapt the big fellow and sent water and
pannikin flying with a savage blow of his fist.

"None o' that, peddler!" he roared.  And now, as I groaned and
licked at bleeding lips with swollen tongue, the little man
turned (quick as a flash), tripped up the great fellow's heels
and, staying for no more, made off through the crowd, that gave
him passage, howling its acclaim.

The afternoon dragged wearily on and, what with the suffocating
stench of the filth that plastered me, what with heat and dust
and agonising thirst, my suffering grew almost beyond endurance;
a deadly nausea seized me and I came nigh to swooning.  But now,
in this my great extremity, of a sudden, from somewhere on the
outskirts of the crowd rose a shrill cry of "Fire!" the which
cry, being taken up by others, filled the air with panic, the
crowd melted as if by magic until the village green and the road
were quite deserted.  All this I noted but dimly (being more dead
than alive) when I became conscious of one that spake in my ear.

"Stand by, shipmate, stand by!  There's never a rogue left--all
run to the fire--stand by to slip your moorings!"

"Let be," I groaned, "I'm a dead man!"

"Then here's that shall make ye quick," says this fellow
Penfeather, dangling a great key before my swimming eyes. 
"Here's freedom from your devil's trap and a plaguy time I've had
to come by it."

"Then for the love o' God--let me out," I groaned.

"Easy all, shipmate!" says he, turning the key upon his finger. 
"For look'ee now, here's me, (a timid man) run no small risk this
last half-hour and all for you.  Now a bargain's a bargain,
you'll agree?"

"Well?" says I, faintly.

"Why then, shipmate, if I free ye of your bonds, wilt be my
comrade sworn?  Aye or no?"

"No!" says I.  "Plague take ye that bargain with dying man.  No!"

"Why then," sighs he, "here's a good rick ablaze, here's John
Purdy the beadle wi' his head broke, and here's me in a sweat,
alack--and all to no purpose, since needs must you in your
bilboes bide."

"Do but get me a draft of water!" I pleaded.

"Nary a drop!" says he, spinning the key on his finger under my
nose, "Nor yet a foaming stoup o' good Kentish ale--nut brown--"

"Ha, rogue--rogue!" I panted, 'twixt parched lips.  "I'll yet--
avenge this torment--an' I live!"

"The legs of a man," says he, "are a vain thing and his strength
likewise, and as to vengeance, shipmate, well--how goeth your
vengeance as be more to ye than fortune or riches?"  Here he
paused, but I held my peace and he continued, "Here's you now,
you that was so mighty and fierce--aye, a very hell-fire roarer--
here's that same you a-hanging here a very helpless, pitiful
fool, shipmate, and thirsty 'twould seem--"

Here I groaned again.

"And one not over sweet!" says he, stopping his nose.

Hereupon I cursed him, though faintly, and he comes a step
nearer.

"'Tis said my Lady Brandon and her gallant Sir Rupert Dering--him
you overthrew, shipmate--do mean to come and take a look at you
anon, though 'tis shame you should be made a raree show--burn
me!"

Hereupon, I fell into a sudden raging fury, striving so
desperately against my bonds that the devilish engine wherein I
stood shook and rattled again; but I strove to no purpose, and so
presently hung there spent and bruised and breathless whiles
Penfeather spun the key on his finger and sighed:

"Shipmate," says he, "wherefore irk yourself wi' bonds?  Say but
the word and I'll deliver ye, bring ye to safe harbourage and
cherish ye with much good ale.  Be persuaded, now."

"Why then," groans I, "give me but until to-morrow to do what I
will--and I'm yours!"

"Done!" says he, and forthwith set key to padlock; but scarce had
he freed the head-board than he falls a-cursing 'neath his
breath.  "Easy, comrade, easy!" quoth he, softly.  "Bide still
awhile--hither cometh yon beefy fool back again--so will I make
show of miscalling ye till he be gone."  The which he did
forthwith, giving me "scurvy rogue" and the like.  Now, lifting
my head, whom should I behold but that same tall fellow had been
my chief tormenter, and who now hasted over the green towards us.

"It be now't but Farmer Darrell's rick ablaze," says he to
Penfeather, "so let 'un burn, says I, Farmer Darrell be no friend
o' mine.  So I be come to sport wi' yon big rogue awhile." 
Herewith he stooped for some missile to cast at me; but now I
straightened my back, the head-board gave and, ere the fellow was
aware, I was creeping swiftly upon him.  Taken thus by surprise
small chance had he, for, leaping on him, I bore him over on his
back and kneeling on him, buried my fingers in his throat.  And
so I choked him (right joyfully) till Penfeather gripped my arm.

"Lord love me!" cries he, "Will ye kill the fool?"

"That will I!"

"And hang for him?"

"Nay--he's scarce worth it."

"Then, devil burn ye--loose his windpipe!"  So I loosed the
fellow's throat, and, despite his feeble kicks, began to drag him
over the grass.

"What now, comrade?" says Penfeather.  "Sink me, what now?"

"Watch and see!"  So I brought the fellow to the pillory wherein
I set him, and plucking the key from Penfeather, locked him there
in my stead; which done I kicked him once or twice, and having
found the cat's carcass made shift to hang the stinking thing
about his neck; then tossing the key into the pond, I took to my
heels and left the fellow groaning mighty dismal.


CHAPTER VII

HOW I HEARD TELL OF BLACK BARTLEMY'S TREASURE

Now scarce was I clear of the village than I was again seized of
a deadly sickness and vertigo so that I stumbled and was like to
fall, but that Penfeather propped me with his shoulder.  In this
fashion I made shift to drag myself along, nor would he suffer me
stay or respite (maugre my weakness) until, following the brook,
he had brought me into the green solitude of the woods.

Here then I sank down, sucking up the cool, sweet water 'twixt
parched lips, drinking until Penfeather stayed me, lest I should
do myself hurt thereby.  Thereafter, from strength reviving, I
bathed my divers wounds (the which, though painful, were of small
account) and fell to cleansing my spattered garments as well as I
might.

"So we're to be comrades, after all!" says Penfeather, watching
me where he sat hard by.

"Aye--to-morrow!"

"And how goeth vengeance, shipmate?"  At this I turned on him
with clenched fist.  "Nay, easy does it," says he, never budging,
"for if 'twas the folly of vengeance brought ye in the
peccadille, 'twas your comrade Adam Penfeather got ye out again--
so easy all!"

"'Twas you fired the rick, then?"

"None other!"

"'Tis a hanging matter, I've heard!"

"Why a man must needs run some small risk for his comrade d'ye
see--"

"Then, Adam Penfeather, I'm your debtor."

"Nay," says he, "there be no debts 'twixt comrades o' the
Brotherhood, 'tis give and take, share and share!"  And speaking,
he drew forth a purse and emptying store of money on the grass
betwixt us, divided it equally and pushed a pile of silver and
copper towards me.

"And what's this?" I demanded.

"Share and share, comrade!"

"But I'm no comrade o' yours till after to-night."

"Aha!" says he, pinching his long chin.  "Is't more vengeance
then?"

"Keep your money till it be earned!" I muttered.

"Sink me--and there's pride for ye!" says he.  "Pride which is a
vain thing and vengeance which is a vainer.  Lord love me,
shipmate, 'tis plain to see you're o' the quality, 'spite your
rags--blue blood, high-breeding, noblesse oblige and all the rest
on't."

"Stint your gab!" says I, scowling.

"'Tis writ large all over ye," he went on placidly enough.  "As
for me, I'm but a plain man wi' no time for vengeance and no whit
o' pride about me anywhere.  What I says to you is, get to
wind'ard o' vengeance--nay, heave it overboard, shipmate, and
you'll ride the easier, aye and sweeter, and seek something more
useful--gold, for instance, 'tis a handy thing, I've heard say--
so ha' done wi' vengeance!"

"No!" says I, frowning.  "Not--nay, not for all Bartlemy's
treasure!"

"Aha!" quoth he softly.  "So you've heard tell of it then, along
the Spanish Main?"

"I heard tell of it last night in a cave from a sailor-man."

"How?" says he starting and with keen eyes glancing hither and
thither.  "A sailor-man--hereabouts?"

"Damme!" says I, "the country seems thick o' sailor-men."

"Ha!  D'ye say so?  And what like was this one?"

"A comely rogue that sang strange song."

"Ah!" said Penfeather, his eyes narrowing.  "A song, says you--
and strange--how strange?"

"'Twas all of dead men and murder!"

"D'ye mind any line o't, shipmate?"

"Aye, the words of it went somewhat like this:

"'Some on a knife did part wi' life
And some a bullet took O!
But--'"

Now here, as I stopped at a loss, my companion took up the rhyme
almost unconsciously and below his breath:

"'But three times three died plaguily
A wriggling on a hook O!'

"Comrade!" says he in the same low voice, "Did ye see ever among
these mariners a one-handed man, a tall man wi' a hook in place
of his left hand--a very bright, sharp hook?"  And now as
Penfeather questioned me, he seized my wrist and I was amazed at
the iron grip of him.

"No!" I answered.

"Nay," says he, loosing his hold, "how should you--he's dead,
along o' so many on 'em!  He's done for--him and his hook, devil
burn him!"

"'A hook both long and stout and strong,
They died by gash o' hook O!'"

"Ah!" I cried.  "So that was the kind of hook!"

"Aye!" nodded Penfeather, "That was the kind.  A bullet's bad, a
knife's worse, but a steel hook, shipmate, very sharp d'ye see,
is a death no man should die.  Shipmate, I've seen divers men
dead by that same hook--torn and ripped d'ye see--like a dog's
fangs!  I'd seen many die ere then, but that way--'twas an ill
sight for queasy stomachs!"

"And he--this man with the hook is dead, you say?"

"And burning in hell-fire!"

"Are you sure?"

"I killed him, shipmate!"

"You!" says I.

"I, shipmate.  We fought on a shelf o' rock high above the sea,
my knife agin his knife and hook--'twas that same hook gave me
this scar athwart my jaw--but as he struck, I struck and saw him
go spinning over and over, down and down and splash into the sea. 
And for three days I watched that bit o' shore, living on shell-
fish and watching for him, to make sure I had finished him at
last."

"And these other rogues?" says I.

"What like were they, shipmate?"  Hereupon I described (as fully
as I might) the three sailor-men I had fought with in the hedge-
tavern (albeit I made no mention of the maid), while Penfeather
listened, nodding now and then and pinching at his long chin. 
"And this other fellow," says he, when I had done, "this fellow
that sang--d'ye know if his name chanced to be Mings--Abnegation
Mings, comrade?"

"The very same!" says I.

"Strange!" quoth Penfeather, and thereafter sat staring gloomily
down into the rippling waters of the brook for a while.  "I
wonder?" says he at last.  "I wonder?"

"What think ye shall bring these fellows so far from the coast--
what should they be after?"

"Me, shipmate!"

"You!" says I for the second time, marvelling at the strange
quiet of him.  "And what would they have of you?"

"My life, shipmate, and one other thing.  What that thing is I
will tell you when we have drunk the blood-brotherhood!  But now
it behoveth me to be a-going, so I'll away.  But when you shall
seek me, as seek me ye will, shipmate, shalt hear of me at the
Peck-o'-Malt tavern, which is a small, quiet place 'twixt here
and Bedgebury Cross.  Come there at any hour, day or night, and
say 'The Faithful Friend,' and you shall find safe harbourage. 
Remember, comrade, the word is 'The Faithful Friend,' and if so
be you can choose your time--night is better."  So saying, he
arose.

"Wait!" says I, pointing to the coins yet lying on the grass. 
"Take your money!"

"'Tis none o' mine," says he, shaking his head.  "Keep it or
throw it away--'tis all one to me!"  Then he went away through
the wood and, as he went, I thought he walked with a new and
added caution.


CHAPTER VIII

HOW I FELL IN WITH ONE GOD-BE-HERE, A PEDDLER

Evening was at hand as I reached a little alehouse well away from
the road and pleasantly secluded by trees:  thither came I,
fondling Penfeather's money in my pocket, for I was again
mightily sharp set.  But all at once I stopped, for, passing the
open lattice, I heard loud laughter and a merry voice:

"And there, believe me, gossips" (quoth this voice), "as sure as
this be beef--aye, and good beef and cooked to a turn, mistress--
there's this great, lob-lolly, hectoring Tom Button fast i' the
pillory--and by this good ale, a woeful sight, his eyes blacked,
his nose a-bleeding, his jerkin torn and a dead cat about his
neck, oho--aha!  Tom Button--big Tom, fighting Tom so loud o'
tongue and ready o' fist--Tom as have cowed so many--there is he
fast by the neck and a-groaning, see ye, gossips, loud enough for
six, wish I may die else!  And the best o' the joke is--the key
be gone, as I'm a sinner!  So they needs must break the lock to
get him out.  Big Tom, as have thrashed every man for miles." 
But here merry voice and laughter ceased and a buxom woman thrust
smiling face from the window, and face (like her voice) was
kindly when she addressed me:

"What would ye, young master?"

"A little food, mistress," says I, touching my weather-worn hat
and pulling it lower over my bruised and swollen features.

"Why come in, master, come in--there be none here but my Roger
and Godby the peddler, as knoweth everyone."

So I entered forthwith a small, snug chamber, and seating myself
in the darkest corner, acknowledged the salutations of the two
men while the good-looking woman, bustling to and fro, soon set
before me a fine joint of roast beef with bread and ale, upon
which I incontinent fell to.

The two men sat cheek by jowl at the farther end of the table,
one a red-faced, lusty fellow, the other, a small, bony man who
laughed and ate and ate and laughed and yet contrived to talk all
the while, that it was a wonder to behold.

"Was you over to Lamberhurst way, master?" says he to me, all at
once.

"Aye!" I nodded, busy with the beef.

"Why then, happen ye saw summat o' the sport they had wi' the big
gipsy i' the pillory--him as 'saulted my Lady Brandon and nigh
did for her ladyship's coz?"

"Aye," says I again, bending over my platter.

"'Tis ill sport to bait a poor soul as be helpless, I think--nay
I know, for I've stood there myself ere now, though I won't say
as I didn't clod this fellow once or twice to-day myself--I were
a rare clodder in my time, aha!  Did you clod this big rogue,
master?"

"No!"

"And wherefore not?"

"Because," says I, cutting myself more beef, "I happened to be
that same rogue."  Here Roger the landlord stared, his buxom wife
shrank away, and even the talkative peddler grew silent awhile,
viewing me with his shrewd, merry eyes.

"Aha!" says he at last, "'Twas you, was it?"

"It was!"

"And why must ye 'sault a noble lady?"

"I never did!"

"Gregory swears to it."

"Gregory's a liar!"

"Which is true enough--so he be!" nodded the landlord.

"And a cruel-hard man!" added his wife.  "But Lord, young master,
they do ha' used ye ill--your poor face, all bruised and swole it
be!"

"Which it be!" nodded Roger.  "Likewise cut!  Which be ill for
'ee though--like Godby here--I won't say but what I moughtn't ha'
took a heave at ye, had I been there, it being nat'ral-like to
heave things at such times, d'ye see?"

"Very natural!" says I.

"And then why," questioned the little peddler, "why break open
the wicket-gate?"

"To get in!"

"Aha!" quoth Godby the peddler, winking roguish eye, "On the
prigging lay perchance, cull, or peradventure the mill-ken? 
Speak plain, pal, all's bowmon!"

"I'm no flash cull," says I, "neither buzz, file, mill-ken nor
scamperer."

"Mum, pal, mum!  I'm no more flash than you be, though I've no
love for the harmon-becks as Roger here will tell 'ee.  A peddler
be I and well liked--wish I may swing else!  Aye, well beloved is
kind Godby, specially by wenches and childer--aha, many's the
yard o' riband and lace, the garters, pins, ballads, gingerbread
men, pigs and elephants, very fair gilt, as they've had o' kind
Godby, and all for love!  And yet, plague and perish it--here's
me warned off my pitch, here's me wi' the damned catchpolls on my
heels, and all along o' this same Gregory Bragg--rot him!"

"As to all that, I know not," says I, "but this I'll swear to,
you are a man, Godby the peddler, and one with a bold and kindly
heart inside you."

"How so?" he questioned, his bright eyes all of a twinkle.  "How
so, my bully boy?"

"That pannikin of water."

"Which you didn't get, my cock's-body lad!"

"Which you were man enough to bring me."

"Which Tom Button did ye out of!"

"Which you knocked him down for!"

"Which is Gospel-true, Roger and Cicely, 'twas a neat throw.  Tom
bumped heavy--aye, uncommon flat were Tom, let me eat worms
else!"

"For all of the which," says I, cutting more beef, "I ask you now
to drink a stoup of ale with me."

"Wi' all my heart!" cries the peddler.

"Then," says I, laying my money on the table, "let us all drink
in fellowship, for ale, like fellowship, is a goodly thing and
good things be rare in this world!"

"And that's true, o' conscience!" smiled the buxom Cicely.

"And ye'll find no better brew than our own!" quoth Roger.

"And that I'll swear to!" laughed the peddler.  "Cram me wi'
spiders else!"

So the good ale was brought and Godby, lifting his tankard,
smiled and nodded over the creamy foam:

"Here's a griping colic to every catchpoll, harmon-beck and the
like vermin 'twixt this and London town!" says he, and lifted the
ale to his lips; but suddenly he sat it down untasted and rose: 
"Friends, I'm took!" quoth he.  "See yonder!"  As he spake the
narrow doorway was darkened and two rough fellows entered, and
each bore a formidable bludgeon.

"Aye," says one, a big, surly-voiced fellow, "here be us,
peddler, and there be you, so best come easy--an' no tricks,
mind!"

"Then easy does it, lads!" says Godby, no whit abashed.  "No lamb
could come milder than Godby, aye lambs, doves and babes is
roaring lions compared wi' Godby--so easy does it.  What is't
this time, codgers?"

"Fower hours i' the pillory, three i' the stocks, and a month in
Maidstone jail and that's what!"

"And enough too!" growled Roger the landlord, clenching hairy
fist and glancing furtively towards a rusty sword suspended above
the hearth.

"Let be, Roger--I'm a lamb!" sighed the peddler.  "And I wouldn't
ha' you in trouble by me--besides this room o' yourn, though
snug, ain't fit for struggling nor striving!  So, friends--good-
bye!"  Then he turned away between his two captors, but as he did
so, his bright eyes for one moment met mine and in his look I
read appeal.

Now scarce were they gone when I got me to my feet, whereat the
landlord, Roger, did the like:

"What's to do?" he questioned, glancing yearningly from me to the
rusty sword.

"Why now," says I, counting out my reckoning, "bide you here--for
your good wife's sake."

"Aye, do now, Roger!" she pleaded.  "'Twould be ruination to us!"

"Moreover," says I, reaching for my cudgel, "they are but two, so
bide you here."  Then I stepped forth of the tavern and very soon
came up with the two fellows, their prisoner walking betwixt them
meekly enough.  But, as I approached, they halted all three.

"And what be you after?" demanded the surly fellow.

"You!"

"And what d'ye want of us--hey?"

"Your prisoner!"

"Ha!  And what for him?"

"I've a mind to him!"

"O!  Ye have, eh?"

"I have.  Do I get him?"

"Be curst for a black, ugly rogue."

"That's no answer!"

"'Tis all you'll get o' we, save 'ard knocks!" says the man,
spitting in his hand and taking firm grip of his bludgeon.

"Why then I must take him!" says I.

"Try and be damned!" roared the fellow.  "Ha--look alive, Jem!" 
And whirling up his staff, he made at me amain; but I sprang
aside and, as his rush carried him past, my answering stroke
caught him fairly 'twixt wrist and elbow and his cudgel spun
harmlessly into the hedge; breathing curses he sought to close
with me, but I, keeping my distance, smote him (very blithely)
how and where I would until he (his arm useless), misliking my
bludgeon-play and reading no mercy in my look, very wisely betook
him to his heels.  Hereupon I turned to find the little peddler
sitting astride his man's neck and his fist against the fellow's
nose:

"Smell it, Job!" he was saying.  "Smell it, lad, 'tis the fist of
a man as would be a-groping for your liver if it weren't for the
respect I do bear your old mother--skin me else!  So thank your
old mother, lad, first as you've got a liver and second for a-
saving o' that same liver.  And now, get up, Job--begone, Job,
arter your pal, and tell folk as kind Godby, though sore tempted,
never so much as set finger on your liver, and all along o' your
good old mother--away wi' ye!"  So the fellow got him to his legs
(mighty rueful) and sped away after his comrade.

"Pal," says the little peddler, reaching out and grasping my
hand, "here's full quittance for that pannikin o' water as you
never got!  And now--what's the word?"

"Now," says I, "let us go back and drink the good ale!"

"Pal," quoth the peddler, with a flash of white teeth, "wi' all
my heart!"

Thus we presently returned to the little tavern and found there
Roger the landlord, the rusty sword in one brawny fist, his wife
holding fast to the other.  At sight of us he dropped the weapon
and roared joyously, and Cicely, running to us, clasped our hands
in hearty welcome.  So we sat down all four, and while we quaffed
the ale Godby described our late encounter with great exactness.

"Pal," says he thereafter, reaching across the table to grip my
hand again, "what might your name be?"

"Martin."

"Why then, Martin, have ye any friends or kin?"

"None!"

"No more have I, and look now, this Kent country is no fit place
for you or me arter to-day!  So what I says is, lets you and me
pad it, pal--the road, lad--the good high-road, aha!  How say ye,
Martin?"

"No!"

"Why no, pal?"

"Because, after to-night, if I chance to be neither dead nor in
prison, I'm for shipboard."

"'Tis an ill life, pal!"

"Why, life is an ill thing!" says I.

"Nay, look'ee, Martin, life may be worth whiles now and then--
aye, lad, there be times, good times."

"What times?"

"Well, Martin, to lie snug 'neath hedge o' star-time, when your
fire's low an' the stars peep down through leaves at a man--wink,
they go, and wink, wink, till, watching 'em, a man forgets his
troubles awhile and knows something o' content.  Aha, many's the
time o' star-time they have winked me and my troubles asleep. 
Then there's wakings o' bird-time, wi' the sun up, dew a-sparkle
and life calling within ye and without, and the birds--O the
birds, Martin--a-filling the world wi' brave songs o' hope new-
born like the day!  Ah, many's the morn the birds ha' waked me
and I as merry as any grig--Lord love their beaks and wings! 
There's hay-time o' the evening full o' soft, sweet smells--aye,
sweet as lad's first kiss; there's wheat-time at noon wi' the
ears a-rustle and the whitt-whitt o' scythe and whetstone;
there's night, Martin, and the long, black road dipping and a-
winding, but wi' the beam o' light beyond, lad--the good light as
tells o' journey done, of companionship and welcomes and belike--
eyes o' love, with--"

"Lusty ale!" quoth Roger, setting three new-filled pipkins before
us.  "And none better nor ourn--eh, wife?"

"That I do swear to, Roger!" laughed the peddler, "Choke me else! 
But now, as to the sea, Martin pal--'tis a dog's life!"

"You know the sea, then?"

"Like my hand, Martin, and all along o' my father's godliness.  A
fine, big man he was and devout as he was lusty.  Having begot me
his next duty was to name me, and O pal, name me he did!  A name
as no raskell lad might live up to, a name as brought me into
such troublous faction ashore that he packed me off to sea.  And
if you ax me what name 'twas, I'll answer ye bold and true--'God-
be-here Jenkins,' at your service, though Godby for short and
'twixt friends."

Now the more I saw of this little peddler the better I liked him,
so that the hour was late when, having supped excellently well, I
rose to take my leave.

"If you must be away, young master," said the buxom Cicely,
"don't 'ee forget there be ever a welcome for 'ee at the Hop-
pole--eh, Roger?"

"There is so!" nodded the landlord.  "Likewise a pipkin of ale
and a bite and all gratus to a pal!"

"And look 'ee, Martin my cove," quoth the peddler, grasping my
hand, "there be ever and always the good high-road leading on and
away to better things, so happen ye should change your mind, seek
me here 'twixt this and dawn, if to-morrow ye shall hear o' Godby
at the Fox at Spelmonden.  So luck go wi' ye, my bien cull."

"And you," says I, "should you be minded to sail with me, go to
the Peck-o'-Malt at Bedgbury Cross--the word is 'The Faithful
Friend,' and ask for Adam Penfeather."

So I presently stepped forth of the little tavern where I had
found such kindliness and, turning from the narrow lane, struck
off across the fields.

It was a sweet, warm night, the moon not up as yet, thus as I
went I lifted my gaze to the heavens where stars made a glory. 
And beholding these wondrous fires I needs must recall the little
peddler's saying and ponder his "good times"--his "times of stars
and birds, of noon and eventide, of welcomes sweet and eyes of
love."

And now I was of a sudden filled with a great yearning and
passionate desire that I too might know such times.  But, as I
climbed a stile, my hand by chance came upon the knife at my
girdle, and sitting on the stile I drew it forth and fell to
handling its broad blade, and, doing so, knew in my heart that
such times were not for me, nor ever could be.  And sitting
there, knife in hand, desire and yearning were lost and 'whelmed
in fierce and black despair.


CHAPTER IX

HOW I HAD WORD WITH THE LADY JOAN BRANDON FOR THE THIRD TIME

The moon was well up when, striking out from the gloom of the
woods, I reached a wall very high and strong, whereon moss and
lichens grew; skirting this, I presently espied that I sought--a
place where the coping was gone with sundry of the bricks, making
here a gap very apt to escalade; and here, years agone, I had
been wont to climb this wall to the furtherance of some boyish
prank on many a night such as this.  Awhile stood I staring up at
this gap, then, seizing hold of massy brickwork, I drew myself up
and dropped into a walled garden.  Here were beds of herbs well
tended and orderly, and, as I went, I breathed an air sweet with
the smell of thyme and lavender and a thousand other scents, an
air fraught with memories of sunny days and joyous youth,
insomuch that I clenched my hands and hasted from the place. 
Past sombre trees, mighty of girth and branch, I hurried; past
still pools, full of a moony radiance, where lilies floated; past
marble fauns and dryads that peeped ghost-like from leafy
solitudes; past sundial and carven bench, by clipped yew-hedges
and winding walks until, screened in shadow, I paused to look
upon a great and goodly house; and as I stood there viewing it
over from terrace-walk to gabled roof, I heard a distant clock
chime ten.

The great house lay very silent and dark, not a light showed save
in one lower chamber.  So I waited patiently, my gaze on this
light, while, ever and anon, the leaves about me stirred in the
soft night-wind with a sound like one that sighed mournfully.

Thus stayed I some while; howbeit, the light yet aglow and my
patience waning, I stole forward, keeping ever in the shadows,
and, ascending the terrace, came where grew ivy, very thick and
gnarled, overspreading this wing of the house.  Groping amid the
leaves I found that I sought--a stout staple deep-driven between
the bricks with above this another and yet other again, the which
formed a sort of ladder whereby, as a boy, I had been wont to
come and go by night or day as I listed.

Forthwith I began to climb by means of these staples and the ivy,
until at last my fingers grasped the stone sill of a window; and
now, the lattice being open, I contrived (albeit it with much
ado) to clamber into the room.  It was a fair-sized chamber, and
the moonlight, falling athwart the floor, lit upon a great carven
bed brave with tapestried hangings.  Just now the silken curtains
were up-drawn and upon the bed I saw a bundle of garments all
ribands, laces and the like, the which, of themselves, gave me
sudden pause.  From these my gaze wandered to where, against the
panelling, hung a goodly rapier complete with girdle and slings,
its silver hilt, its guards and curling quillons bright in the
moonbeams.  So came I and, reaching it down, drew it from the
scabbard and saw the blade very bright as it had been well cared
for.  And graven on the forte of the blade was the Conisby blazon
and the legend:

ROUSE ME NOT.

Now as I stood watching the moonbeams play up and down the long
blade, I heard the light, quick tread of feet ascending the
stairs without and a voice (very rich and sweetly melodious) that
brake out a-singing, and the words it sang these:

"A poor soul sat sighing by a green willow tree
With hand on his bosom, his head on his knee,
Sighing Willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
And O the green willow my garland shall be!"

Nearer came the singing while I stood, sword in hand, waiting;
the song ended suddenly and the sweet voice called:

"O Marjorie, wake me betimes, I must be abroad with the sun to-
morrow--good-night, sweet wench!"

I crouched in the curtains of the great bed as the latch clicked
and the room filled with the soft glow of a candle; a moment's
silence, then:

"O Marjorie, I'll wear the green taffety in the morning.  Nay
indeed, I'll be my own tirewoman to-night."

The light was borne across the room; then coming softly to the
door I closed it and, setting my back against it, leaned there. 
At the small sound I made she turned and, beholding me, shrank
back, and I saw the candlestick shaking in her hand ere she set
it down upon the carved press beside her.

"Who is it--who is it?" she questioned breathlessly, staring at
my bruised and swollen features.

"A rogue you had dragged lifeless to the pillory!"

"You?" she breathed.  "You!  And they set you in the pillory? 
'Twas by no order of me."

"'Tis no matter, lady, here was just reward for a rogue," says I. 
"But now I seek Sir Richard--"

"Nay indeed--indeed you shall not find him here."

"That will I prove for myself!" says I, and laid hand on latch.

"Sir," says she in the same breathless fashion, "why will you not
believe me?  Seek him an you will, but I tell you Sir Richard
sailed into the Spanish Main two years since and was lost."

"Lost?" says I, feeling a tremor of apprehension shake me as I
met her truthful eyes.  "Lost, say you--how lost?"

"He and his ship were taken by the Spaniards off Hispaniola."

"Taken?" I repeated, like one sore mazed.  "Taken--off--
Hispaniola?"  And here, bethinking me of the cruel mockery of it
all (should this indeed be so) black anger seized me.  "You lie
to me!" I cried.  "Ha, by God, you lie!  An there be aught of
justice in heaven then Richard Brandon must be here."

"Who are you?" she questioned, viewing me with the same wide-eyed
stare.  "Who are you--so fierce, so young, yet with whitened
hair, and that trembles at the truth?  Who are you--speak?"

"You have lied to save him from me!" I cried.  "You lie--ha,
confess!"  And I strode towards her, the long blade a-glitter in
my quivering grasp.

"Would you kill me?" says she, all unflinching and with eyes that
never wavered.  "Would you murder a helpless maid--Martin
Conisby?"  The rapier fell to the rug at my feet and lay there,
my breath caught, and thus we stood awhile, staring into each
other's eyes.

"Martin Conisby is dead!" says I at last.

For answer she pointed to the wall above my head and, looking
thither, I saw the picture of a young cavalier, richly habited,
who smiled down grey-eyed and gentle-lipped, all care-free youth
and gaiety; and beneath this portrait ran the words:

MARTIN CONISBY, LORD WENDOVER.  Aetat. 21.

"Madam," quoth I at last, turning my back on the picture, "Yon
innocent was whipped to death aboard a Spanish galleass years
since, wherefore I, a poor rogue, come seeking his destroyer."

"Sir," says she, clasping her hands and viewing me with troubled
eyes, "O sir--whom mean you?"

"One who, having slain the father, sold the son into slavery, to
the hell of Spanish dungeon and rowing-bench, to stripes and
shame and torment, one the just God hath promised to my
vengeance--I mean Richard Brandon."

"Ah--mercy of God--my father!  Ah no, no--it cannot be!  My
father?  Sure here is some black mistake."

"Being his daughter you should know 'tis very truth!  Being a
Brandon you must know of the feud hath cursed and rent our
families time out of mind, the bitter faction and bloodshed!"

"Aye!" she murmured, "This I do know."

"Well, madam, five years agone, or thereabouts, my father falsely
attainted of treason, died in his prison and I, drugged and
trepanned aboard ship, was sold into the plantations, whence few
return--and Richard Brandon, enriched by our loss and great at
court, dreamed he had made an end o' the Conisbys and that the
feud was ended once and for all."

"My lord," says she, proud head upflung, "I deny all this!  Such
suspicion, so base and unfounded, shameth but yourself.  You have
dared force your way into my house at dead of night, and now--O
now you would traduce my absent father, charging him with
shameful crimes--and this to me, his daughter!  Enough, I'll hear
no more, begone ere I summon my servants and have you driven
forth!" and, seizing the bell-rope that hung against the
panelling, she faced me, her deep bosom heaving tempestuous,
white hands clenched and scorning me with her eyes.

"Ring!" says I, and seated myself in a chair beside her great
bed.

"Have you no shame?"

"None, madam, 'twas all whipped out o' me aboard the 'Esmeralda'
galleass.  Ring, madam!  But I go not till I learn, once and for
all, if Sir Richard be here or no."

Now at this she loosed the bell-rope very suddenly and, covering
her face with her hands, stood thus awhile:

"God pity me!" says she at last in weeping voice.  "I may not
forget how you saved me from--"  Here a tremor seemed to shake
her; then she spake again, yet now scarce above a whisper.  "Your
face hath looked upon me night and morn these two years, and now
--O Martin Conisby, were you but the man I dreamed you!"

"I'm a rogue new-broke from slavery!" says I.

"Aye," she cried suddenly, lifting her head and viewing me with
new and bitter scorn, "and one that speaketh lies of an absent
man!"

"Lies!" quoth I, choking on the word.  "Lies, madam?  Why then,
how cometh my picture here--my coat of arms above the mantel
yonder, the Conisby 'scutcheon on your gates?  What do you at
Conisby Shene?"

Now in her look I saw a sudden doubt, a growing dread, her breath
caught and she shrank back to the panelled wall and leaned there,
and ever the trouble in her eyes grew.  "Well, my lady?" I
questioned, "Have ye no answer?"

"'Twas said...I have heard...the Conisbys were no more."

"Even so, how came Sir Richard by this, our house?"

"Nay--nay, I--I know little of my father's business--he was ever
a silent man and I--have passed my days in London or abroad.  But
you--ah, tell me--why seek you my father?"

"That is betwixt him and me!"

"Was it--murder?  Was it vengeance, my lord?"  Here, as I made no
answer, she crosses over to me and lays one slender hand on my
shoulder; whereat I would have risen but her touch stayed me. 
"Speak!" says she in a whisper.  "Was it his life you sought?" 
Meeting the look in her deep, soft eyes, I was silent for a
while, finding no word, then dumbly I nodded.  And now I felt her
hand trembling on my shoulder ere it was withdrawn and, looking
up, I saw she had clasped her hands and stood with head bowed
like one in prayer:  "O Martin Conisby," she whispered, "now
thank God that in His mercy He hath stayed thee from murder!"  So
she stood awhile, then, crossing to the carven press, took thence
divers papers and set them before me.  "Read!" she commanded.

So I examined these papers and found therein indisputable
evidence that my journey here was vain indeed, that Sir Richard,
sailing westward, had been taken by Spaniards off Hispaniola and
carried away prisoner, none knew whither.

And in a while, having read these papers, I laid them by and
rising, stumbled towards the open casement.

"Well, my lord?" says she in strange, breathless fashion, "And
what now?"

"Why now," says I, wearily, "it seems my vengeance is yet to
seek."

"Vengeance?" she cried, "Ah, God pity thee!  Doth life hold for
thee nought better?"

"Nought!"

"Vengeance is a consuming fire!"

"So seek I vengeance!"

"O Martin Conisby, bethink you!  Vengeance is but a sickness of
the mind--a wasting disease--"

"So seek I vengeance!"

"For him that questeth after vengeance this fair world can hold
nought beside."

"So give me vengeance, nought else seek I of this world!"

"Ah, poor soul--poor man that might be, so do I pity thee!"

"I seek no man's pity."

"But I am a woman, so shall I pity thee alway!"

Now as I prepared to climb through the lattice she, beholding the
sword where it yet lay, stooped and, taking it up, sheathed it. 
"This was thine own once, I've heard," says she.  "Take it,
Martin Conisby, keep it clean, free from dishonour and leave thy
vengeance to God."

"Not so!" says I, shaking my head.  "I have my knife, 'tis weapon
better suited to my rags!"  So saying, I clambered out through
the lattice even as I had come.  Being upon the terrace, I
glanced up to find her leaning to watch me and with the moon
bright on her face.

"Live you for nought but vengeance?" she questioned softly.

"So aid me God!" says I.

"So shall I pity thee alway, Martin Conisby!" she repeated, and
sighed, and so was gone.

Then I turned, slow of foot, and went my solitary way.


CHAPTER X

HOW I SWORE TO THE BLOOD-BROTHERHOOD

I remember the moon was very bright as, reaching the end of a
grassy lane (or rather cart-track) I saw before me a small, snug-
seeming tavern with a board over the door, whereon were the
words:

YE PECK OF MALT

BY

JOEL BYM.

And looking the place over, from trim, white steps before the
door to trim thatched roof, I marvelled at its air of prosperity;
for here it stood, so far removed from road and bye-road, so
apparently away from all habitation, and so lost and hid by trees
(it standing within a little copse) that it was great wonder any
customer should ever find his way hither.

The place was very quiet, not a light showed anywhere and the
door was fast shut, which was nothing strange, for the hour was
late.  Stepping up to the door I knocked loudly thereon with my
cudgel, at first without effect, but having repeated the summons,
a voice from within hailed me gruffly:

"Who knocks?"

"'The Faithful Friend!'" says I.  At this, the door swung
suddenly open and a lanthorn was thrust into my face, whereupon I
fell back a step, dazzled; then gradually, beyond this glare, I
made out a dark shape blocking the doorway, a great fellow, so
prodigiously hairy of head and face that little was there to see
of features, save two round eyes and a great, hooked nose.

"And who d'ye seek, Faithful Friend?" says he.

"Master Adam Penfeather."

"Why then, Faithful Friend, heave ahead!" says he, and, making
way for me to enter, closed the door (the which I noticed was
mighty stout and strong) and, having locked and bolted it, barred
it with a stout iron set into massy sockets in either wall.

"You go mighty secure!" says I.

"Cock," quoth the giant, eyeing me over slowly, "Cock, be ye a
cackler--because if so be you do cackle overly here's we as won't
love ye no whit, my cock."

"Good!" says I, returning his look.  "I seek no man's love!"

"Cock," quoth he, plunging huge fist into his beard and giving it
a tug, "I begin to love ye better nor I thought!  This way,
cock!"  Herewith he led me along a wide, flagged passage and up a
broad stair with massy, carven handrail; and as I went I saw the
place was much bigger than I had deemed it, the walls, too, were
panelled, and I judged it had once formed part of a noble house. 
At last we reached a door whereon the fellow knocked softly, and
so presently ushered me into a fair chamber lit by wax candles;
and here, seated at a table with papers before him and a pen in
his fingers, sat Master Adam Penfeather.

"Ha, shipmate," says he, motioning to a chair, "you be something
earlier than I expected.  Suffer me to make an end o' this
business--sit ye, comrade, sit!  As for you, Bo'sun, have up a
flask o' the Spanish wine--the black seal!"

"Aye, cap'n!" says he, and seizing a fistful of hair above his
eyebrow, strode away, closing the door behind him.

Now beholding Penfeather as he bent to his writing--the lean,
aquiline face of him so smooth and youthful in contrast to his
silver hair--I was struck by his changed look; indeed he seemed
some bookish student rather than the lawless rover I had thought
him, despite the pistols at his elbow and the long rapier that
dangled at his chair-back; moreover there was about him also an
air of latent power I had not noticed ere this.

At length, having made an end of his writing, he got up and
stretched himself:

"So, shipmate, art ready to swear the blood-fellowship wi' me?"

"Aye!" says I.  "When do we sail?"  At this he glanced at me
swiftly from the corners of his eyes:

"So ho!" he murmured, pinching his chin.  "The wind's changed it
seems, you grow eager--and wherefore?"

"'Tis no matter!"

"Shipmate," says he, shaking his head, "an we sail as brothers
and comrades there must be never a secret betwixt us--speak!"

"As ye will!" quoth I, leaning back in my chair.  "I learn then
you are sailing as master in a ship bound for the Main in quest
of Sir Richard Brandon lost off Hispaniola two years agone.  Sir
Richard Brandon is the man I have sought ever since I broke out
of the hell he sold me into.  Now look'ee, Adam Penfeather," says
I, springing to my feet and grasping his arm, "look'ee now--put
me in the way of meeting this man, aid me to get my hand on this
man and I am yours--aye, body and soul--to the end o' things, and
this I swear!"

While I spake thus, my voice hoarse with passion, my fingers
clutching his arm, Penfeather stood pinching his chin and
watching me beneath his black brows; when I had ended he turned
and falls a-pacing to and fro across the room as it had been the
narrow poop of a ship.

"Ah--I know you now, my lord!" says he, pausing suddenly before
me.  "As the sailor-man who watched you as you lay a-groaning in
your sleep outside the Conisby Arms, I guessed you one o' the
Conisby breed by your ring, and as one born and bred here in Kent
I mind well the adage, 'To hate like a Brandon and revenge like a
Conisby,' and by God, my lord, you are a true Conisby, it
seemeth!  Vengeance!" says he, his thin features grown sharp and
austere, "Ah! I have seen much and overmuch of it aboard lawless
craft and among the wild islands of the Caribbees.  I have seen
the devilish cruelties of Spaniard, Portugal, and the red horrors
of Indian vengeance--but, for cold, merciless ferocity, for the
vengeance that dieth not, biding its time and battening on
poisonous hate, it needeth your man o' noble birth, your
gentleman o' quality!"  Here he turned his back and paced slowly
to the end of the room; when he faced me again his austere look
was gone, in its stead was the grimly whimsical expression of the
mariner, as I had seen him first.

"Damme!" says I, scowling, "Was it to read me homilies that you
had me here?"

"Aha, shipmate," says he with rueful smile, "there spake the
young divine, the excellent divinity student who committed a
peccadillo long years agone and, sailing to the Golden West, gave
place to one Adam Penfeather a sailor-man--as you shall hear tell
of at St. Kitt's, Tortuga, Santa Catalina and a score o' places
along the Main.  As to yourself, shipmate, if 'tis only vengeance
ye seek, vengeance let it be, though, when all's done, 'tis but
wind--hist!  Here cometh the Bo'sun--come in, Jo lad, come in! 
'Twas trusty Joel Bym here gave me my first lesson in navigation
--eh, Jo?"

"Aye, Cap'n," growled the hairy giant, "by cock, them was the
days, a fair wind, a quick eye an' no favour, aye, them was the
days, by cock's-body!"  So saying, he placed a flask of wine on
the table, together with a curious silver cup, and (at a sign
from Penfeather) left us together.

"And now, comrade," says Penfeather, filling the goblet, "draw up
your chair and do as I do."

And now as we sat facing each other (across the table) Penfeather
turns back his left sleeve and, whipping out a knife, nicked
himself therewith on the wrist and squeezed thence a few drops of
blood into the wine; which done, he passed the knife to me and I
(though misliking the extravagance of the thing) nevertheless did
the same.

"Martin," says he, "give me your hand--so!  Now swear as I do!" 
And thus, clasping each other's hands, we swore the oath of
brotherhood; and this as followeth, viz."

(1)  To keep ever each other's counsel.

(2)  To aid each other in all things against all men soever.

(3)  To cherish and comfort each other in every adversity.

(4)  To be faithful each to each unto the death.

Thereafter, at his command, I drank of the wine wherein our blood
was mingled and he did the like.

"And now," says he, leaning back in his chair and viewing me with
his pensive smile, "since we be brothers and comrades sworn, how
d'ye like me now?"

"Better than I did," says I, speaking on impulse, "for sure you
are the strangest picaroon that ever cheated the gallows."

"Ah," says he, pinching his chin, "an I am neither hanged nor
murdered you shall one day find me a worshipful magistrate,
Martin, Justice o' the Peace and quorum--custos rotulorum and the
rest on't, there my ambition lies.  As for you, Martin, Lord
Wendover, there is your enemy, ha?--bloody vengeance and murder
and what beside?"

"That is mine own concern!" I retorted angrily.  "And look 'ee,
since comrades we are, you will forget who and what I am!"

"Why so I have, Martin, so I have.  Art a poor, destitute rogue
that might be a man and rich but for this vengeful maggot i' thy
brain.  Howbeit thou'rt my comrade sworn and brother-in-arms and
as such I shall trust thee--to the death, Martin."

"And shall find me worthy, Adam--despite thy curst tongue."

"Death is an ill thing, Martin!"

"Is it?" says I, and laughed.

"Aye," he nodded, "an ill thing to him that hath ambitions above
the brute.  See here!"  Unbuttoning his doublet he showed me a
shirt of fine chain-mail beneath his linen.  "'Twill turn any
point ever forged and stop a bullet handsomely, as I do know."

"Why, sure," says I, a little scornful, "you avowed yourself a
cautious man--"

"True, Martin, I have another shirt the like o' this for you. 
And as for caution, I have need, d'ye see, comrade.  The arrow
that flieth by day is an ill enough thing, but the knife that
stabbeth i' the dark is worse.  This shirt hath turned death
thrice already--once i' the breast here and twice 'twixt the
shoulders.  I am a man marked for death, Martin, murder creepeth
at my heels, it hath dogged me overseas and found me here in Kent
at last, it seems.  And, comrade, henceforth the steel that
smiteth me shall smite you also, belike."

"And why is your life sought thus?"

"By reason of a secret I bear about me; wherefore (saving only my
good friend Nicholas Frant who...perished) I have ever been a
solitary man walking alone and distrustful of my fellows.  For,
Martin, I have here the secret of a treasure that hath been the
dream and hope of roving adventurers along the Main this many a
year--a treasure beyond price.  Men have sought it vainly, have
striven and fought, suffered and died for it, have endured
plague, battle, shipwreck, famine, have died screaming 'neath
Indian tortures, languished in Spanish dungeon and slaveship, and
all for sake of Bartlemy's Treasure.  And of all that ever sought
it, but one man hath ever seen this treasure, and I am that man,
Martin.  And this treasure is so marvellous well hid that without
me it shall lie unfound till the trump of doom.  But now, since
we are brethren and comrades, needs must I share with thee the
treasure and the secret of it."

"No, no, Adam!" says I.  "Keep it to yourself, I'll none of it."

"Share and share!" says he.  "'Tis the law of the Coast."

"None the less I want nought of it."

"'Tis the law," he repeated, "and moreover with such vast wealth
a man shall buy anything in this world--even vengeance, Martin. 
Look'ee now, here's the secret of our treasure."  Hereupon he
thrust his hand into his breast and drew out a small oilskin
packet or bag, suspended about his lean throat by a thin steel
chain, and from this he drew forth a small roll of parchment.

"Here 'tis, Martin," says he softly, "here's that so many lusty
men have perished for--not much to look at, shipmate, torn, d'ye
see and stained, but here's wealth, Martin, fame, honours, all
the vices and all the evils, and chief among 'em--vengeance!"

So saying, he unrolled the small scrap of parchment, and holding
it before me, I saw it was a rough chart.

"Take it, Martin, and study it the while I tell you my story."


CHAPTER XI

ADAM PENFEATHER, HIS NARRATIVE

"Mine is a strange, wild story, Martin, but needs must I tell it
and in few words as may be.  Fifteen years agone (or thereabouts)
I became one of that league known as the Brotherhood of the Coast
and swore comradeship with one Nicholas Frant, a Kent man, even
as I.  Now though I was full young and a cautious man, yet,
having a natural hatred of Spaniards and their ways, I wrought
right well against them, and was mighty diligent in many
desperate affrays against their ships and along the Coast.  'Twas
I (and my good comrade Nick Frant) with sixteen lusty lads took
sea in an open pinnace and captured the great treasure galleon
'Dolores del Principe' off Carthagena, and what with all this,
Martin, and my being blessed with some education and a gift of
adding two and two together, I got me rapid advancement in the
Brotherhood until--well, shipmate, I that am poor and solitary
was once rich and with nigh a thousand bully fellows at command. 
And then it was that I fell in with that arch-devil, that master
rogue whose deeds had long been a terror throughout the Main, a
fellow more bloody than any Spaniard, more treacherous than any
Portugal, and more cruel than any Indian--Inca, Mosquito, Maya or
Aztec, and this man an Englishman, and one of birth and breeding,
who hid his identity under the name of Bartlemy.  I met him first
in Tortuga where we o' the Brotherhood lay, six stout ships and
nigh four hundred men convened for an expedition against Santa
Catalina, and this for two reasons, first, because 'twas a
notable rich city, and second, to rescue certain of the
Brotherhood that lay there waiting to be burnt at the next auto-
de-fe.  Well, Martin, 'tis upon a certain evening that this
Bartlemy comes aboard my ship and with him his mate, by name
Tressady.  And never was greater difference than 'twixt these
two, Tressady being a great, wild fellow with a steel hook in
place of his left hand, d'ye see, and Bartlemy a slender, dainty-
seeming, fiendly-smiling gentleman, very nice as to speech and
deportment and clad in the latest mode, from curling periwig to
jewelled shoe-buckles.

"'Captain Penfeather,' says he, 'Your most dutiful, humble--ha,
let me parish but here is curst reek o' tar!' with which, Martin,
he claps a jewelled pomander to the delicate nose of him. 
'You've heard of me, I think, Captain,' says he, 'and of my ship,
yonder, the "Ladies' Delight?"'  I told him I had, Martin,
bluntly and to the point, whereat he laughs and bows and
forthwith proffers to aid us against Santa Catalina, the which I
refused forthwith.  But my council of captains, seeing his ship
was larger than any we possessed and exceeding well armed and
manned, overruled me, and the end of it was we sailed, six ships
of the Brotherhood and this accursed pirate.

"Well, Martin, Santa Catalina fell according to my plans, and the
Governor and Council agreeing to pay ransom, I drew off my
companies, and camped outside the walls of the town till they
should collect the money.  Now the women of this place were
exceeding comely, Martin, in especial the Governor's lady, and
upon the second night was sudden outcry and uproar within the
city, whereupon I marched into the place forthwith and found this
curst Bartlemy and his rogues, grown impatient, were at their
devil's work.  Hastening to the Governor's house I found it
gutted and him dragged from his bed and with the life gashed out
of him--aye, Martin, torn body and throat, d'ye see, as by the
fangs of some great beast!  That was the first time I saw what a
steel hook may do!  As for this poor gentleman's lady, she was
gone.  Hereupon, we o' the Brotherhood fell upon these pirate
rogues and fought them by light o' the blazing houses (for they
had fired the city), and I, thus espying the devil Bartlemy, met
him point to point.  He was very full o' rapier tricks, but so
was I, Martin (also I was younger), and winged him sore and had
surely ended him, but that Tressady and divers others got him
away, and what with the dark night and the woods that lie
shorewards he, together with some few of his crew, got them back
aboard his ship, the "Ladies' Delight," and so away; but twelve
of his rogues we took (beyond divers we slew in fight) and those
twelve I saw hanged that same hour.  A week later we sailed for
Tortuga with no less than ninety and one thousand pieces of eight
for our labour, but I and those with me never had the spending of
a single piece, Martin, for we ran into a storm such as I never
saw the like of even in those seas.  Well, we ran afore it for
three days and its fury nothing abating all this time I never
quit the deck, but I had been wounded, and on the third night,
being fevered and outworn, turned in below.  I was awakened by
Nick Frant roaring in my ear, for the tempest was very loud and
fierce:

"'Adam!' cried he, 'We're lost, every soul and the good money! 
we've struck a reef, Adam, and 'tis the end and O the good
money!'  Hereupon I climbed 'bove deck, the vessel on her beam
ends and in desperate plight and nought to be seen i' the dark
save the white spume as the seas broke over us.  None the less I
set the crew to cutting away her masts and heaving the ordnance
overboard (to lighten her thereby), but while this was doing
comes a great wave roaring out of the dark and dashing aboard us
whirled me up and away, and I, borne aloft on that mighty,
hissing sea, strove no more, doubting not my course was run.  So,
blinded, choking, I was borne aloft and then, Martin, found
myself adrift in water calm as any millpond--a small lagoon, and
spying through the dark a grove of palmetto trees presently
managed to climb ashore, more dead than alive; and, lying there,
I prayed--a thing I had not done for many a year.  As the dawn
came I saw the great wave had hurled me over the barrier reef
into this small lagoon, and beyond the reef lay all that remained
of my good ship.  I was yet viewing this dolorous sight (and much
cast down for the loss of my companions, in especial my sworn
friend Nicholas Frant) when I heard a sound behind me and turning
about, espied a woman, and in this woman's face (fair though it
was) I read horror and sadness beyond tears, and yet I knew her
for the same had been wife to the murdered governor of Santa
Catalina.

"'Go back!' says she in Spanish, pointing to the surf that
thundered beyond the reef.  'Go back!  Here is the devil--the sea
hath more mercy--go back whiles ye may!'  And now she checked all
at once and falls a-shivering, for a voice reached us, a man's
voice a-singing fair to hear, and the song he sang was this,

'Hey cheerly O and cheerly O
And cheerly come sing O!
While at the mainyard to and fro--

and knowing this voice (to my cost) I looked around for some
weapon, since I had none and was all but naked, and whipping up a
jagged and serviceable stone, stood awaiting him with this in my
fist.  And down the beach he comes, jocund and debonair in his
finery, albeit something pale by reason of excess and my rapier
work.  And now I come to look at you, Martin, he was just such
another as you as to face and feature, though lacking your beef
and bone.  Now he beholding me where I stood, flourishes off his
belaced hat and, making me a bow, comes on smiling.

"'Ah,' says he gaily, ''tis Captain Penfeather of the
Brotherhood, a-collogueing with my latest wife!  Is she not a
pearl o' dainty woman-ware, Captain, a sweet and luscious piece,
a passionate, proud beauty worth the taming--ha, Captain?  And
she is tamed, see you.  To your dainty knees, wench--down!'  Now
though he smiled yet and spake her gentle, she, bowing proud
head, sank to her knees, crouching on the ground before him,
while he looked down on her, the devil in his eyes and his
jewelled fingers toying with the dagger in his girdle, a strange
dagger with a hilt wrought very artificially in the shape of a
naked woman--"

"How," says I, leaning across the table, "A woman, Penfeather?"

"Aye, shipmate!  So I stood mighty alert, my eyes on this dagger,
being minded to whip it into his rogue's heart as chance might
offer.  'I wonder,' says he to this poor lady, 'I wonder how long
I shall keep thee, madonna, a week--a month--a year?  Venus
knoweth, for you amuse me, sweet.  Rise, rise, dear my lady, my
Dolores of Joy, rise and aid me with thy counsel, for here hath
this misfortunate clumsy Captain fool blundered into our amorous
paradise, this tender Cyprian isle sacred to our passion.  Yet
here is he profaning our joys with his base material presence. 
How then shall we rid ourselves of this offence?  The knife--this
lover o' men of mine?  The bullet?  Yet 'tis a poor small naked
rogue and in two days cometh my 'Ladies' Delight' and Tressady
with his hook.  See, my Dolores, for two days he shall be our
slave and thereafter, for thy joy, shall show thee how to die, my
sweet--torn 'twixt pimento trees or Tressady's hook--thou shalt
choose the manner of't.  And now, unveil, unveil, my goddess of
the isle--so shall--'  Ha, Martin!  My stone took him 'neath the
ear, and as he swayed reeling to the blow, lithe and swift as any
panther this tortured woman sprang, and I saw the flash of steel
ere it was buried in his breast.  Even then he didn't fall, but,
staggering to a pimento tree, leans him there and falls a-
laughing, a strange, high-pitched, gasping laugh, and as he
laughed thus, I saw the silver haft of the dagger that was a
woman leap and quiver in his breast.  Then, laughing yet, he,
never heeding me, plucked and levelled sudden pistol, and when
the smoke cleared the brave Spanish lady lay dead upon the sands.

"'A noble piece, Captain!' says he, gasping for breath, and then
to her, 'Art gone, my goddess--I--follow thee!'  And now he sinks
to his knees and begins to crawl where she lay, but getting no
further than her feet (by reason of his faintness) he clasps her
feet and kisses them, and laying his head upon them--closes his
eyes.  'Penfeather!' he groans, 'my treasure--hidden--dagger--'

"Then I came very hastily and raised his head (for I had oft
heard talk o' this treasure), and in that moment he died.  So I
left them lying and coming to the seaboard sat there a great
while watching the break o' the seas on what was left o' the
wreck, yet seeing it not.  I sat there till noon, Martin, until,
driven by thirst and hunger and heat of sun, I set off to seek
their habitation, for by their looks I judged them well-fed and
housed.  But, and here was the marvel, Martin, seek how I might I
found no sign of any hut or shelter save that afforded by nature
(as caves and trees), and was forced to satisfy my cravings with
such fruits as flourished in profusion, for this island, Martin,
is a very earthly paradise.  That night, the moon being high and
bright, I came to that stretch of silver sand beside the lagoon
where they lay together rigid and pale and, though I had no other
tool but his dagger and a piece o' driftwood, made shift to bury
them 'neath the great pimento tree that stood beside the rock,
and both in the same grave.  Which done, I betook me to a dry
cave hard by a notable fall of water that plungeth into a lake,
and there passed the night.  Next day, having explored the island
very thoroughly, and dined as best I might on shell-fish that do
abound, I sat me down where I might behold the sea and fell to
viewing of this silver-hilted dagger."

"The which was shaped like to a woman!" says I.

"Aye, Martin.  And now, bethinking me of Bartlemy's dying words
anent this same dagger, and of the tales I had heard full oft
along the Main regarding this same Bartlemy and his hidden
treasure, I fell to handling this dagger, turning and twisting it
this way and that.  And suddenly, shipmate, I felt the head turn
upon the shoulders 'twixt the clasping hands; turn and turn until
it came away and showed a cavity, and in this cavity a roll of
parchment, and that parchment none other than this map with the
cryptogram, the which I could make nought of.

"Now as I sat thus, studying this meaningless jumble of words, I
of a sudden espied a man below me on the reef, a wild, storm-
tossed figure, his scanty clothing all shreds and tatters, and as
he went seeking of shell-fish that were plenteous enough, I knew
him for my sworn comrade, Nick Frant.  And then, Martin, I did
strange thing, for blood-brothers though we were, I made haste
(and all of a tremble) to slip back this map into its hiding-
place, which done, I arose, hailing my comrade and went to meet
him joyously enough.  And no two men in the world more rejoiced
than we as we clasped hands and embraced each other as only
comrades may.  It seemed the hugeous sea that had caught me had
caught him likewise and hurled him, sore bruised, some mile to
the south of the reef.  So now I told him of the deaths of
Bartlemy and the poor lady, yet Martin (and this was strange) I
spoke nothing of knife or treasure; I told him of the expectation
I had of the pirate's ship return, and yet I never once spake o'
the map and chart.  And methinks the secret cast a shadow betwixt
us that grew ever deeper, for as the days passed and no sail
appeared, there came a strangeness, an unlove betwixt us that
grew until one day we fell to open quarrel, disputation and
deadly strife, and the matter no more than a dead man's shirt
(and that ragged) that had come ashore.  And we (being in rags
and the sun scorching) each claimed this shirt, and from words
came blows.  He had his seaman's knife and I Bartlemy's accursed
dagger, and so we fought after the manner of the buccaneers, his
leg bound fast to mine, and Martin, though he was a great fellow
and strong and wounded me sore, in the end I got in a thrust
under the armpit and he fell a-dying, and I with him.  Then I
(seeing death in his eyes, Martin) clasped him in my arms and
kissed him and besought him not to die, whereat he smiled. 
'Adam!' says he, "Why Adam, lad--' and so died.

"Then I took that accursed dagger, wet with my comrade's life-
blood, and hurled it from me, and so with many tears and
lamentations I presently buried poor Nick Frant in the sands, and
lay there face down upon his grave wetting it with my tears and
groaning there till nightfall.  But all next day, Martin (though
my heart yearned to my slain friend) all next day I spent seeking
and searching for the dagger had killed him.  And as the sun set,
I found it.  Thereafter I passed my days (since the pirate ship
came not, doubtless owing to the late tempest) studying the
writing on the chart here, yet came no nearer a solution, though
my imagination was inflamed by mention of diamonds, rubies and
pearls, as ye may see written here for yourself.  So the time
passed till one day at dawn I beheld a great ship, her mizzen and
fore-topmasts gone, standing in for my island, and as she drew
nearer, I knew her at last for that accursed pirate ship called
"Ladies' Delight."  Being come to anchor within some half-mile or
so, I saw a boat put off for the reef, and lying well hid I
watched this boat, steered by a knowing hand, pass through the
reef by a narrow channel and so enter the lagoon.  Now in this
boat were six men and at the rudder sat Tressady, and I saw his
hook flash in the sun as he sprang ashore.  Having beached their
boat, they fell to letting off their calivers and pistols and
hallooing:

"'Oho, Captain!' they roared, 'Bartlemy, ahoy!'  And this outcry
maintained they for some while.  But none appearing to answer,
they seemed to take counsel together, and thereafter set off
three and three, shouting as they went.  And now it seemed they
knew no more of Bartlemy's hiding-place than I, whereat I
rejoiced greatly.  So lay I all that forenoon watching their
motions and hearing their outcries now here, now there, until,
marvelling at the absence of Bartlemy, they sat down all six upon
the spit of sand whereby I lay hid and fell to eating and
drinking, talking the while, though too low for me to hear what
passed.  But all at once they seemed to fall to disputation,
Tressady and a small, dark fellow against the four, and
thereafter to brawl and fight, though this was more butchery than
fight, Martin, for Tressady shoots down two ere they can rise,
and leaping up falls on the other two with his hook!  So with aid
from the small, dark fellow they soon have made an end o' their
four companions, and leaving them lying, come up the beach and
sitting below the ledge of rock whereon I lay snug hidden, fell
to talk.

"'So, Ben, camarado mio, we be committed to it now!  Since these
four be dead and all men well-loved by Bartlemy, needs must
Bartlemy follow 'em!'

"'Aye!' says the man Ben, 'when we have found him.  Though
Bartlemy's a fighting man!'

"'And being a man can die, Ben.  And he once dead we stand his
heirs--you and I, Ben, I and you!'

"'Well and good!' says Ben.  'But for this treasure where lieth
it, and for that matter, Roger, where is Bartlemy?'

"'Both to find, Ben, so let us set about it forthwith.'  The
which they did, Martin; for three days they sought the island
over and I watching 'em.  On the third day, as they are sitting
'neath the great pimento tree I have mentioned (and I watching
close by) Tressady sits up all at once.

"'Ben!' says he, 'What be yon?' and he pointed to a mound of sand
hard by.

"'Lord knoweth!' says Ben.

"'Yon's been digging!' says Tressady, 'and none so long since!'

"'Aye,' said Ben, 'and now what?'

"'Now,' says Tressady, 'let us dig likewise.'

"'Aye, but what with?' says Ben.

"'Our fingers!' says Tressady.  So there and then they fell to
digging, casting up the loose sand with their two hands, dog-
fashion, and I, watching, turned my head that I might not see.

"'Ha!' says Tressady, in a while, 'Here is foul reek, Ben, foul
reek.'

"'Right curst!' says Ben, and then uttered a great, hoarse cry. 
And I, knowing what they had come upon, kept my face turned away. 
''Tis she!' says Ben in a whisper.

"'Aye, and him!' says Tressady.  'Faugh!  Man, 'tis ill thing but
needs must--his dagger, Ben, his dagger.'

"'Here's no dagger,' says Ben.  'Here's empty sheath but no steel
in't!'

"''Tis fallen out!' says Tressady in a strangled voice.  'Seek,
Ben, seek!'  So despite the horror of the thing, they sought,
Martin, violating death and careless of corruption they sought,
and all the time the thing they sought was quivering in this
right hand.

"'Ben,' says Tressady, when they were done.  'Ben--how came he
dead--how?'

"'Who shall say, Roger?  Mayhap they did each other's business.'

"'Why then--where's the dagger o' the woman--the silver goddess--
where?  And how came they buried?'

"'Aye, there's the rub, Roger!'

"'Why,' says Tressady, 'look'ee, Ben, 'tis in my mind we're not
alone on this island--'

"'And who should be here, Roger?'

"'The man that slew our Captain!'  Here there was silence awhile,
then the man Ben arose and spat.

"'Faugh!' says he.  'Come away, Roger, ere I stifle--come, i' the
devil's name!'  So they went and I, lying hid secure, watched
them out of sight.

"Now when they were gone I took counsel with myself, for here
were two desperate, bloody rogues, very well armed, and here was
I, a solitary man with nought to my defence save for Nick's knife
and the silver-hilted dagger, which was heavy odds, Martin, as
you'll agree.  Now I have ever accounted myself a something timid
man, wherefore in cases of desperate need and danger I have been
wont to rely on my wit rather than weapons, on head rather than
hands.  So now as I looked upon this cursed dagger wherewith I
had slain my poor friend, beholding this evil silver woman whose
smile seemed verily to allure men to strife and bloodshed--the
end of it was I stole from my lurking-place and set the dagger
amid the gnarled roots of the great pimento tree, where it might
have slipped from dying fingers, and so got me back into hiding. 
And sure enough in a while comes the big man Tressady a-stealing
furtive-fashion and falls to hunting both in the open grave and
round about it but, finding nothing, steals him off again. 
Scarce was he out of eye-shot, Martin, than cometh the little
dark fellow Ben, who likewise fell to stealthy search, grubbing
here and there on hands and knees, yet with none better fortune
than his comrade.  But of a sudden he gives a spring and,
stooping, stands erect with Bartlemy's dagger in his hand.  Now
scarce had he found it than comes Tressady creeping from where he
had lain watching.

"'Ha, Ben!' says he jovially.  'How then, lad, how then?  Hast
found what we sought?  Here's luck, Ben, here's luck!  Aye, by
cock, 'tis your fortune to find it and your fortune's my fortune,
eh, Ben--us being comrades, Ben?'

"'Aye,' says Ben, turning the dagger this way and that.

"'Ha' ye come on the chart, Ben, ha' ye found the luck in't Ben?'

"'Stay, Roger, I've but just picked it up--'

"'And was coming to your comrade with it, eh, Ben--share and
share--eh, Benno--Bennie?'

"'Aye,' says Ben, staring down at the thing, 'but 'twas me as
found it, Roger!'

"'And what then, lad, what then?'

"'Why then, Roger, since I found it, 'tis mine,' says he gripping
the dagger in quivering fist and glancing up sideways.

"'Hilt and blade, Ben!'

"'And the chart, Roger?'

"'Aye, and the chart, Ben!' says Tressady, coming a pace nearer,
and I saw his hook glitter.

"'And the treasure, Roger!' says Ben, making little passes in the
air to see the blue gleam of the steel.

"'All yours, Ben all yours, and what's yours is mine, according
to oath, Ben, to oath!  But come, Ben, you hold the secret o' the
treasure in your fist--the silver goddess.  Come, the chart, lad,
out wi' the chart and Bartlemy's jewels are ours--pearls, Ben--
diamonds, rubies--aha, come, find the chart--let your comrade aid
ye, lad--'

"'Stand back!' says Ben and whips a pistol from his belt. 
'Look'ee, Roger, says he, 'I found the dagger without ye and I'll
find the chart--stand back!'

"'Why here's ill manners to a comrade, Ben ill manners, sink me--
but as ye will.  Only out wi' the chart and let's go seek the
treasure, Ben.'

"'D'ye know the secret o' this thing, Roger?'

"'Not I, Ben!'

"'Why then must I break it asunder.  Hand me yon piece o' of
rock,' says Ben, pointing to a heavy stone that chanced to be
near.

"'Stay, Ben lad, 'twere pity to crush the silver woman, but if
you will, you will Ben--take a hold!'  So saying, Tressady picked
up the stone, but, as his comrade reached to take it, let it
fall, whereupon Ben stooped for it and in that moment Tressady
was on him.  And then--ha, Martin, I heard the man Ben scream,
and as he writhed, saw Tressady's hook at work...the man screamed 
but once...and then, wiping the hook on his dead comrade's coat
he took up the dagger and began to unscrew the head.  But now,
Martin, methought 'twas time for me to act if I meant to save my
life, for I had nought but Nick Frant's knife, while within
Tressady's reach lay the dead man's pistols and divers
musquetoons and fusees on the beach behind him, which put me to
no small panic lest he shoot me ere I could come at him with my
knife.  Thus, as I lay watching, I took counsel with myself how I
might lure him away from these firearms wherewith he might hunt
me down and destroy me at his ease; and the end of it was I
started up all at once and, leaning down towards him, shook the
parchment in his face.  'Ha, Tressady!' says I, 'Is this the
thing you've murdered your comrade for?'  Now at this Tressady
sprang back, to stare from me to the thing in my hand, Martin,
and then--ha, then with a wild-beast roar he sprang straight at
me with his hook--even as I had judged he would.  As for me, I
turned and ran, making for a rocky ledge I knew, with Tressady
panting behind me, his hook ringing on the rocks as he scrambled
in pursuit.  So at last we reached the place I sought--a shelf of
rock, the cliff on one side, Martin, and on the other a void with
the sea thundering far below--a narrow ledge where his great bulk
hampered him and his strength availed little.  And there we
fought, his dagger and hook against my dead comrade's knife, and
thus as he sprang I, falling on my knee, smote up beneath raised
arm, heard him roar and saw him go whirling over and down and
splash into the sea--"

"And he had the dagger with him, Adam!" says I in eager question.

"Aye, Martin, which was the end of an ill rogue and an evil
thing."

"The end," says I, "the end, Adam?  Why then--what o' this?"

So saying I whipped the strange dagger from my wallet and held it
towards him balanced upon my palm.  Now, beholding this,
Penfeather's eyes opened suddenly wide, then narrowed to slits
as, viewing this deadly thing, he drew back and back, and so sat
huddled in his chair utterly still, only I heard his breath hiss
softly 'twixt clenched teeth.

"Martin," says he in the same hushed voice, "when a man's dead
he's dead, and the dead can never come back, can they, shipmate?"

But now, as we sat thus, eyeing the evil thing on the table
betwixt us, my answer died on my lips, for there came a sharp,
quick rapping of fingers on the lattice.


CHAPTER XII

TELLETH OF A FIGHT IN THE DARK

Penfeather was at the casement, had whipped open the lattice and,
pinning the intruder by the throat, thrust a pistol into his face
all in a moment; and then I recognised Godby the peddler.

"Let be, Adam!" I cried, springing forward.  "Let be, here's a
friend!"  Saying nothing, Penfeather thrust away the weapon, and
gripping the little man in both hands, with prodigious strength
jerked him bodily in through the window; which done, he clapped
to the lattice and drawing the curtain stood fronting Godby grim-
lipped.

"And now what?" says he softly.

"Lord!" gasped Godby, "Lord love me, but here's a welcome to a
pal, here's the second pistol I've had under my nose this night--
throttle me in a hayband else!"

"What d'ye seek?"

"My pal Martin, 'cording to his word."

"D'ye know this fellow, Martin?"

"Aye!" I nodded and told briefly how and where we had met.

"God-be-here Jenkins am I, master," said Godby, "and well beknown
to Joel Bym as keepeth this house, strangle me else--ask Joel! 
And if you're Master Penfeather I've first, this here for ye, and
second, a warning."  And speaking, Godby drew a letter from the
breast of his leathern jerkin.

"A warning?" says Penfeather, glancing at the superscription,
"Against whom?"

"A black dog as goes erect on two legs and calls himself Gregory
Bragg."

"You mean Lady Brandon's under-bailiff?"

"I do so.  Well, he be no friend o' yourn, and what's more, he's
hand and fist wi' others as be no friends o' yourn either, cut-
throat sailor-men and black rogues every one."

"How d'ye know 'em for sailor-men?"

"By their speech, master--I was a mariner once--and moreover by a
ranting, hell-fire chorus."

"Ha!" says Penfeather, shooting a glance at me.  "A chorus, was
it?"

"Aye, master, concerning murder and what not."

"And the words running like this--

'Two on a knife did part wi' life
And three a bullet took O!
But three times three died plaguily
A-wriggling on a hook O!'

Was that the way of it?"

"Smother me if it weren't!" quoth Godby, staring.

"Sit down, Godby, and tell me how you chanced on this," says
Adam, seating himself at the table.

"Well, master, I happened to lie snug hid 'neath a heap o' straw
--and for why, says you?  Says I to you, by reason o' two lousy
catchpolls as won't let poor Godby be.  Now this straw chanced to
be in my Lady Brandon's stables--and why there, says you?  Says I
to you, because these lousy catchpolls being set on poor Godby by
this black dog Gregory, and him my lady's man, my lady's stables
is the last place catchpolls would come a-seeking Godby.  Well
now, as I lie there I fall asleep.  Now I'm a light sleeper and
presently I'm roused by the sound o' your name, master."

"Mine?" says Penfeather, softly.

"Aye.  'Here's a black passage to Captain Penfeather--curse him!"
says a voice.  'Aye,' says another, 'by knife or bullet or--' and
here he falls to singing of a knife and a bullet and a hook. 
'Avast!' says a third voice.  'Belay that, Abny, you'll be having
all the lubbers about the place aboard of us!'  'Why,' says the
man Abny, 'since you're wi' us well and good, but don't forget we
was hard in his wake, aye, and ready to lay him aboard long
before you hove in sight and damn all, says I.'  'Some day, Abny,
some day,' says the other, "I shall cut out that tongue o' yourn
and watch ye eat it, lad, eat it--hist, here cometh Gregory at
last--easy all.'  Now the moon was very bright, master, and
looking out o' my hay-pile as the door opened I spied this rogue
Gregory--"

"Did ye see aught o' the others?" questioned Adam.

"No master, not plain, for they kept to the dark, but I could see
they was four and one a very big man.  'Ha' ye got it, friend,
ha' ye got it?' says the big rogue.  'No, plague on't!' says
Gregory.  'Look how I will, I can find nought.'  'Here's luck!'
says the big fellow, 'Bad luck, as I'm a soul.  Where's he lie?' 
'Can't say,' says Gregory.  'His messages go to the Conisby Arms,
but he aren't there, I know.'  'The Faithful Friend, was it,'
says the big fellow, 'a-lying off Deptford Creek?'  'Aye, the
Faithful Friend,' says Gregory, and then chancing to look
outside, claps finger to lip and comes creeping into the shadow. 
'Lie low!' says he in a whisper--here's my lady!'  And then,
master, close outside comes my lady's voice calling 'Gregory! 
Gregory!'  'Answer, fool!' whispers the big man.  'Quick, or
she'll be athwart our cable!'  'Here, my lady!' says Gregory and
steps out o' the stable as she's about to step in.  'Gregory,'
says she in hesitating fashion, 'have ye seen a stranger
hereabouts to-night?'  'Not a soul, my lady!' says Gregory. 'A
tall, wild man,' says she, 'very ragged and with yellow hair?'
'No, my lady,' says Gregory.  Here she gives a sigh.  'Why then,'
says she, 'bear you this letter to Master Penfeather--at once.' 
'To the Conisby Arms, my lady?' says Gregory.  'No,' says she,
'to the Peck-o'-Malt by Bedgebury Cross.  And, Gregory, should
you see aught of the poor man that suffered lately in the
pillory, say I would speak with him.  And now saddle and begone
with my letter.'  'To Bedgebury,' says Gregory, 'the Peck-o'-
Malt--to-night, my lady?'  'This moment!' says she, mighty sharp. 
'And, Gregory, I hear tales of your hard dealing with some of the
tenantry:  let me hear no more or you quit my service!'  And away
she goes, leaving Gregory staring after her, letter in hand. 
''Twas she!' says the big man in a whisper.  'I'd know her voice
anywhere--aye, 'twas she whipped it from my girdle, my luck,
shipmates--our luck, but we'll find it if we have to pull the
cursed house down brick and brick.'"

"Godby," says Adam suddenly, leaning forward, "did ye get no
glimpse o' this man's face?"

"Nary a one, master, and for why?--the place was dark and he wore
a great flapped hat."

"Why then," says Adam, pinching his chin, "did ye chance to see
his hands?"

"No whit, master, and for why?--he wore a loose cloak about him."

"And what more did ye hear?"

"No more, master, and for why?--because, as luck would have it a
straw tickled my nose and I sneezed loud as a demi-culverin, and
there's poor Godby up and running for his life and these
murderous rogues after poor Godby.  Howbeit they durst not shoot
lest they should alarm the house, and I'm very light on my feet
and being small and used to dodging catchpolls and the like
vermin, I got safe away.  Having done which and bethinking me of
my pal Martin, I made for the Peck-o'-Malt.  Now as luck would
have it, Gregory overtakes me (as I had purposed he should, I
being minded to get even wi' him for good and all).  Down he gets
from the saddle and me by the collar, and claps a great
snaphaunce under my nose.  'So it was you, ye rogue, was it?'
says he.  'That same,' says I, 'but who's that peeping over the
hedge there?'  The fool turns to see, I twist the pistol out of
his grip, and have him very neatly trussed and gagged with his
belt and my girdle, and so, heaving him i' the ditch, into the
saddle and here I am."

"Godby," says Penfeather, viewing him keen-eyed, "I need men--
will ye sail with us for the Main?"

"Does Martin sail?"

"He does!  Will ye along?"

"Heartily, captain, heartily!"

"Are ye armed, Godby?"

"I've Gregory's dag here," says Godby, pulling out a long-
barrelled pistol.

"Joel shall find ye another to go with it.  And ye know the sea?"

"Aye, Captain, I sailed with Captain Myddleton as gunner and will
lay you a gun with any man from a murdering-piece or minion to a
great culverin."

"Good!" says Penfeather and summoned Joel Bym, who, beholding the
peddler, stared, bellowed jovial greeting, and at nod from
Penfeather, departed with him, arm in arm.

"Well, Martin," says Adam when the door had closed, "and what
d'ye make o' this tale of sailor-men?"

"That they're the same rogues I fell out with."

"Beyond doubt, Martin.  And what more?"

"That like enough they're on their road hither."

"Beyond any peradventure, shipmate."

"Well?"

"Well, let 'em come, Martin, let 'em come.  There's somewhat here
I don't understand and I mislike mystery.  So let them come, here
in this little room, in light or dark, I ask no better."

"And you such a timid man, Adam!"

"True, Martin, but there's occasion when a worm turneth."  Here
he took up the letter Godby had brought and breaking the seal,
read it through, once with a glimmer of his grim smile, read it
again and frowned and frowning, glanced across at me:

"Here's matter concerning you, Martin, hark'ee!"  And he read
this:

"To MASTER ADAM PENFEATHER:

Should you chance upon the poore man that suffered lately in the
pillory (by no order or will of mine) you will I charge you do
all you may to succour him in any manner soever:  This letter I
do write in much haste to instruct you that I purpose to sail in
the 'Faithfull Friend' along with you and my good cuzen Sir
Rupert in this quest for my father.  Moreover I will you should
sail as speedily soon as may be.

As regardeth the poore young man afore-mentioned, if he be quite
destitute as I do think him, and will take no money as I do judge
most like, then Master Adam you shall offer to him such employ in
my ship the 'Faithfull Friend' as he will accept.

And this is my wish and command.

JOAN BRANDON.

He is great and tall and fierce with yellow hair and cruell
mouth, yet seemeth more cruell than he trulie is."

"So there you are to a hair, Martin, and here's our enterprise
brought to nought if she sail on this venture!"

"Why then she mustn't sail!" says I.

"'Tis her ship, Martin, and she's a Brandon!"

"Then sail without her."

"And be taken before we're clear o' the Downs and strung up at
Execution Dock for piracy."

"Why then if she goeth aboard I don't!"

"And wherefore not, Martin?"

"I'll take no service with a Brandon!"

"Aye verily there's your pride, Martin, which is cumbersome
cargo."

"Call it what you will, I'll not sail."

"And your oath, comrade?  Sail along o' me you must and shall! 
But having respect for your high-stomached pride you shall stow
away in some hole or corner and she never know you're aboard."

Hereupon I scowled, but perceiving him so serene albeit a little
grim, I said no more and he fell to pacing slowly back and forth,
head bowed and hands locked behind him.

"I need you, Martin," says he at last, "aye, I need you even more
than I thought, the one man I may trust to in a pinch.  For,
Martin, here's that I don't understand."

So saying he halted by the table, and presently taking up the
dagger (and with a strange reluctance) fell to twisting it this
way and that; finally he gave a sudden twist and the smiling head
of the silver woman coming away, showed a hollow cavity, running
the length of the haft, roomy and cunningly contrived.  Slowly he
fitted the head into place again and, laying the weapon down,
shook his head:

"Here's Bartlemy's dagger true enough, Martin," says he, touching
its keen point.  "Here's what found Bartlemy's black heart--aye,
and many another!  Here's what went hurtling over cliff in
Tressady's fist--and yet here it lies--which is great matter for
wonder, Martin.  And, since 'tis here--why then--where sis the
vile rogue Tressady?  Which is matter for painful speculation,
Martin--where?"

"Snoring, likely enough!" says I, "Not so far hence, or tramping
hither."

"If so, Martin, then Death cannot touch him, the which is out of
all reason!"

"'Tis more like the fall did not kill him, Adam."

"Had you but seen the place, shipmate!  But if water won't drown
him and steel won't harm him--"

"Like you, he wears a chain-shirt, Adam, that I do know. 
Moreover, the devil cherisheth his own, I've heard."

"Why here's reason, Martin, plain reason I grant, and yet--but
'tis late and you'll be for sleep, and there's reason in that
too.  Come, I'll show your bed--"

"Spare yourself--I want no bed," says I bitterly.  "'Twere a
luxury wasted on the likes o' me.  My couch shall be the corner
yonder."

"Ah, prideful youth!  'Tis sweet to be young, Martin!" says
Penfeather with his sudden, whimsical half-smile and clapping his
hand on my shoulder.  "Sleep where ye will, that corner is as
good as another.  See, there stands my tuck, a Spanish blade of
notable good temper, it hath been a true friend to me many a time
ere now and should be a trusty bedfellow.  As for me, I'm for a
feather-bed.  And, Martin," says he, pausing to pinch his chin
and view me sideways, "if aught should chance to me--at any time-
the chart and treasure will be yours.  So good-night, comrade,
and sleep sound, for 'tis like we shall wake betimes."

Saying which he turned, slow and thoughtful, and went out,
closing the door softly behind him.  As for me, being very
drowsy, I wrapped myself in my weather-worn cloak, blew out the
candles and, lying down in the corner, was presently fast asleep.

Now as I slept I dreamed that Penfeather's long rapier, standing
in the dark corner close by, was stealthily endeavouring to free
itself from its leathern scabbard with intent to skewer me to the
floor as I lay; and, striving thus to draw itself, made soft,
strange noises and rustlings insomuch that I presently woke, and
staring motionless into the darkness above, knew that these
sounds were real.  Somewhere close by was a furtive whisper of
sound that came and went, a soft-drawn breath, a scraping of
fingers on the panelling above me in the darkness; and in that
moment also I became aware that the lattice yawned wide upon a
square of glimmering blackness.  Suddenly a sly-creeping foot
touched me unseen and then (even as the owner of this foot
tripped over me) came the roaring flash of a pistol hard by,
followed immediately by another and, as I lay deafened and half-
dazed, the floor quivered to the soft, vicious thud of leaping,
swift-trampling feet, and on the air was a confused scuffling,
mingled with an awful, beast-like worrying sound.  And now
(though I was broad-awake and tingling for action) I constrained
myself to lie still, nothing stirring, for here (as I judged) was
desperate knife-play, indeed more than once I heard the faint
click of steel.  And now rose shouts and cries and a tramp of
feet on the stair without.  Someone reeled staggering across the
room, came a-scrabbling at the open casement and, as I leapt up,
the door burst open and Joel Bym appeared flourishing a naked
hanger and with Godby behind bearing a lanthorn, whose flickering
light showed Adam, knife in hand, where he leaned panting against
the wall, a smear of blood across his pallid face and with shirt
and doublet torn in horrid fashion.

"The window!" he gasped.  "Shutters!  'Ware bullets!"  I sprang
forward, but Joel was before me, and crouching beneath the open
lattice swung the heavy shutters into position, but even as he
did so, a bullet crashed through the stout oak.

"Doors all fast, Joel?"

"Aye, Cap'n!  But who's here--is't the preventive?  And me wi'
the cellars choke-full.  My cock!  Is't the customs, Cap'n?"

"Worse, Joel!" says Penfeather, wiping sweat from him.

"Art hurt, Adam?" I questioned, eyeing his wild figure, and now I
saw that the thin, steel chain was gone from his sinewy throat.

"No, shipmate.  But the dagger, look ye--'tis clean disappeared,
Martin."

"And good riddance," quoth I.  "But, Adam--what o' your chart--
gone along o' the dagger, has it?"

"Tush, man!" says he, sheathing his knife, "'Tis snug in that
wallet o' yours."

"My wallet!" I cried, clapping hand on it where it hung at my
girdle.

"Aye, shipmate.  I slipped it there as I bid ye good-night!  But,
Martin--O Martin, the dead is alive again--see how I'm all gashed
with his hook."

"Hook?" quoth Joel, shooting great, hairy head forward.  "Did ye
--say a--hook, Cap'n?"

"Aye, Joel--Tressady's alive again."

"God love us!" gasped the giant and sank into a chair.


CHAPTER XIII

WE SET OUT FOR DEPTFORD POOL

Penfeather drew clenched hand across his brow, and coming to the
table reached the half-emptied flagon and drank what remained of
the wine thirstily, while Bym, his great body huddled in the
chair, stared at the bullet hole in the shutter with starting
eyes:  as to me, I picked up Penfeather's fallen pistols and laid
them on the table, where Godby had set the lanthorn.

"Tressady!" says Bym at last in a hoarse whisper, "Tressady--O
Cap'n, be ye sarten sure?"

"Sure!" says Penfeather, in the same hushed manner, and reaching
powder and bullets from a cupboard he began methodically to
reload his pistols.  'He'll be outside now where the shadows be
thickest, waiting me with Abnegation and Sol and Rory, and God
knoweth how many more."

"Then he aren't dead, Cap'n?"  Penfeather's black brows flickered
and his keen eyes glanced from his rent doublet round about the
room:

"Howbeit--he was here, Joel!" said he.

"Why then, Cap'n, the dying woman's curse holds and he can't
die?" says Bym, clawing at his great beard.

"He was here, Joel, in this room," says Penfeather, busy with
powder-horn, "man to man, knife to knife--and I missed him. 
Since midnight I've waited wi' pistols cocked and never closed
eye--and yet here was he or ever I was aware; for, as I sat there
i' the dark by the window above the porch, which is therefore
easiest to come at, I spied Mings and him staring up at the
lattice of this chamber.  So here creeps I and opening the door
saw him move against the open lattice yonder--a shot no man could
miss."

"Aye, Cap'n--aye?"

"And I--missed him, Joel--with both weapons and I within three
yards of him, aye, I missed him with both pistols."

"Which is small wonder," says I, "for as you fired he tripped
over me, Adam--"

"And why should he trip just then--at the one and only moment,
Martin?  Chance, says you?  Why, when he came leaping on me in
the black dark should his hook meet and turn my knife from his
throat?  Chance again, says you?  Why, when he flung me off and
made for the window--why must I catch my foot 'gainst that staff
o' yours and bring up against the wall with all the strength and
breath knocked out o' me, and no chance for one thrust as he
clambered through the lattice?  By the Lord, Martin, here's more
than chance, says I."

"Aye, by cock!" muttered Joel, shaking his head.  "'Tis 'witched
he be!  You'll mind what I told ye, Cap'n--the poor lady as died
raving mad aboard the 'Delight,' how she died cursing him wi'
life.  And him standing by a-polishing o' that hook o' his--ah,
Cap'n, I'll never forget the work o' that same hook...many's the
time...Bartlemy's prisoners...men and women...aboard that cursed
'Ladies' Delight!'  By cock, I dream on't sometimes and wake all
of a sweat--"

"Here's no time for dreams!" says Penfeather, ramming home the
charge of his second pistol, "Is the passage clear?"

"Save for the matter of a few kegs, Cap'n, but 'twill serve."

"We start in half an hour, Joel."

"The three o' you, Cap'n?"

"Aye, we must be aboard as soon as maybe now."

"Captain," says Godby, "speaking as a master-gunner, a mariner
and a peddler, I'm bold to say as there's nought like bite and
sup to hasten a man for a journey or aught beside--flog me else! 
And there's nought more heartening than ham or neat's tongue, or
brisket o' beef, the which I chanced to spy i' the kitchen--"

"Why then, master-gunner," says Penfeather, "go you and engage
those same in close action and I'll join ye as soon as I've
shifted these rags o' mine."

"Adam," says I, unstrapping my wallet as Bym and Godby descended
the stair, "if we are to have our throats cut to-night, 'twere as
well I handed back your chart first"; and I laid it on the table.

"Why 'tis as safe with you, comrade--but as you will!" says he,
slipping the chain about his neck.  "As for any throat-slitting,
Martin, you'll find that with danger my inborn caution groweth to
timidity--"

"Ha, yes!" I nodded.  "Such timidity as walks under the very
noses of desperate, well-armed rogues of a moonlight night."

"Why, the moon is down--or nearly so, Martin.  And then, besides,
this trim little inn hath divers exits discreetly non-apparent. 
'Twas a monastery once, I've heard."

"And now a smuggling-ken it seems, Adam."

"Even so, comrade, and no place better suited!  And there's the
Bo's'n hailing!" says he, as a hoarse roar of "Supper O!" reached
us.  "Go down, Martin, I stay but to make things ship-shape!" and
he nodded towards the books and papers that littered the table. 
Upon the stairs I met Godby, who brought me to a kitchen, very
spacious and lofty, paved with great flagstones and with groined
arches supporting the roof, and what with this and the wide
fireplace flanked with fluted columns and enriched by carvings, I
did not doubt that here had once stood a noble abbey or the like.

"Pal," said Godby, as I stared about me, "you'd never guess as
there be nigh three hundred kegs stowed hereabouts besides bales
and the like, choke me else!  Ha, many's the good cargo I've
helped Jo and the lads to run--eh, Joel?"

"So you're a smuggler, Godby," says I.

"Cock," says Bym reproachfully, and setting a goodly cheese on
the table with a bang, "say free-trader, cock--t'other 'un's a
cackling word and I don't like cackle--"

"Aye," nodded Godby, "that's the word, 'free-trader,' Mart'n.  So
I am and what then?  'Twas summat o' the sort as got me
suspicioned by Gregory and his catchpolls, rot 'em."  But here
Adam entered, very soberly dressed in sad-coloured clothes, and
we sat down to sup forthwith.

"Do we sail soon, Captain?" questioned Godby in a while.

"I hope to be clear o' the Downs a few days hence," says Adam.

"And you so short-handed, Cap'n," quoth Bym.

"Sir Rupert hath 'listed thirty new men, I hear, and rogues every
one I'll be sworn."

"Sir Rupert--?" says I.

"My lady's cousin, Martin, and captain of the expedition."

"Is he a sailor, Adam?"

"No, Martin, like most o' your fine gentlemen-adventurers, he
knows no more of navigation than this cheese, which is just as
well, Martin, aye, mighty well!"

"How so?"

"Who shall say, Martin, who shall say?"  And here he took a long
draught of ale.  In a while, our meal being ended, Penfeather
rose:

"As to arms, Martin, ha' ye aught beside your knife?"

"My staff and this pistol," says I, taking out the silver-mounted
weapon my lady Brandon had thrust upon me.

"Is't loaded, Martin?"  I examined charge and priming and nodded. 
"Good!" says Adam, "Here's five shot betwixt us, that should
suffice.  Up wi' the trap, Jo, and we'll out."  Hereupon Bym
lighted his lanthorn and putting aside the great settle by the
hearth, stooped and raised one of the flagstones, discovering a
flight of worn, stone steps, down which we followed him and so
into a great cellar or vaulted crypt, where stood row upon row of
barrels and casks, piled very orderly to the stone roof.  Along
the narrow way between strode Bym, and halting suddenly, stooped
and lifted another flagstone with more steps below, down which we
followed him into a passage-way fairly paved, whence divers other
passages opened right and left.  And when we had gone some
distance Adam halted.

"Best bring the light no further, Jo, says he.  "And hark'ee,
Joel, as to this black rogue--this--y'know who I mean, Jo?"

"Aye--him, Cap'n!"

"That same, Jo.  Well, keep an eye lifting and if you find out
aught worth the telling, let one o' your lads ride post to
Deptford, Jo."

"Aye, Cap'n.  Aboard ship?"

"Aboard ship."

"Cap'n," quoth he, grasping Adam's hand, "I'm man o' few words,
an' thanks t' you I'm snug enough here wi' my wife and darter as
is away till this cargo's run, but, say the word, and I'll sail
along o' you come battle, murder or shipwreck--"

"Or a hook, Joel?" says Penfeather softly, whereat Joel clawed at
his beard and blinked into the lanthorn; finally he gives a great
tug to his beard and nods:

"Aye, Cap'n," says he, "for you--even that, by cock!"

"Good lad," says Penfeather, clapping him on brawny shoulder. 
"Bide where you are, Jo, and Fortune with you and yours.  This
way, Martin."

So having taken our leave of Bym, Godby and I followed Adam along
the passage, guided by the Bo's'n's lanthorn until, turning a
sudden, sharp corner, we plunged into pitchy gloom wherein I
groped my way until Penfeather's voice stayed me:

"Easy all!" says he, softly.  "Have your pistols ready and heed
how you come."  Creeping cautiously I found myself amid leaves
that yielded before me, and stepping through this natural screen,
I stumbled into a bush and presently found myself standing in a
small copse dim-lighted by a waning moon; and never a sound to be
heard save the soft whisper of leaves about us and the faint, far
cry of some night-bird.

"Ha! says Adam at last, gazing away to the sinking moon, "So our
journey begins, and from the look o' things, Martin, from the
look o' things here's going to be need of all your resolution and
all my caution ere we can see the end.  Come!"


CHAPTER XIV

HOW I CAME ABOARD THE "FAITHFUL FRIEND"

We followed a roundabout course, now across broad meadows, now
treading green cart-tracks, now climbing some grassy upland, anon
plunging into the shadow of lonely wood or coppice until the moon
was down, until was a glimmer of dawn with low-lying mists
brimming every grassy hollow and creeping phantom-like in leafy
boskages; until in the east was a glory, warming the grey mist to
pink and amber and gold, and the sun, uprising, darted his level
beams athwart our way and it was day.

And now from coppice and hedgerow, near and far, was stir and
flutter, a whistling and a piping that rose ever louder and
swelled to a trilling ecstasy of gladness.

"Hark to 'em--O pal, hark to 'em!" quoth Godby, lifting head to
watch a lark that soared aloft.  "Here's music, Martin, here's
cure for the megrims, hope for the downcast and promise o' joys
to come.  O hark to 'em!"

All the day Penfeather led us on by lonely ways, never seeming to
weary and never at a loss, silent for the most part as one in
profound thought, and I speaking little as is my wont, but Godby
talked and sang and laughed for the three of us.

It was as we sat outside a little ale-house snugged 'mid trees,
eating of bread and cheese, that Penfeather turned suddenly and
gripped my arm:

"Martin," says he, "'twill be plaguy business carrying women
aboard ship--along o' these lambs o' mine--there's scarce a rogue
but cheats the gallows with his every breath!"

"Why then, tell her so, Adam, plain and to the point."

"'Twould be vain breath, Martin, I know her too well--and she is
a Brandon!"

"A curse on the name!" says I, whereupon Godby choked into his
ale, stared in surprise and would fain have questioned me, but
meeting my eye, spake no word.

"D'ye know aught of navigation, Martin?" says Adam suddenly.

"No whit, Adam, but I'll handle a boat with any man."

"Ha!" says he, and sat there pinching his chin until, our hunger
being appeased and the ale all drank, we fared on again.  So we
tramped, and though our road was long I will here make short work
of it and say that at last we came, very hot and dusty, into the
village of Lewisham, where we would fain have baited awhile at
the 'Lion and Lamb,' a fair inn; but this Adam would by no means
permit, so, leaving the village, we presently turned aside from
the main road into a lane very pleasantly shaded by tall trees
and bloomy hedgerows, the which (as I do think) is called Mill
Lane.  In a while we reached a narrow track down which Adam
turned, and now as we went I was aware of strange sounds, a
confused hubbub growing ever louder until, deep amid the green,
we espied a lonely tavern before which stood a short, stout man
who alternately wrung his hands in lamentation, mopped at bloody
pate and stamped and swore mighty vehement, in the midst of
which, chancing to behold Penfeather, he uttered joyful shout and
came running.

"Master Penfeather," cried he, "O Master Penfeather, here's fine
doings, love my eyes!  Here's your rogues a-fighting and a-
murdering of each other, which is no great matter, but here's
them a-wrecking o' my house, which is great matter, here's them
has broke my head wi' one o' my own pottlepots, which is greater
matter, here's me dursen't set of it i' the place and my wife and
maids all of a swound--O Master Penfeather, here's doings, love
my limbs!"

"Ha," says Penfeather, "fighting, are they, Jerry?"

"Like devils, Captain, your rogues and the rogues as my Lord
Dering 'listed and brought here yesterday--O love my liver--look
at yon!"  As he spoke was a crash of splintered glass and a
broken chair hurtled through the wide lattice.

"So!" says Adam, striding towards the inn, and I saw a pistol in
his hand.  Following hard on his heels I entered the inn with him
and so to the scene of the riot.

A long, low room, full of swirling dust, and amid this choking
cloud a huddle of men who fought and struggled fiercely, roaring
blasphemy and curses.  Two or three lay twisted among overturned
chairs and tables, others had crawled into corners to look to
their hurts, while to and fro the battle raged the fiercer. 
Leaning in the doorway Penfeather surveyed the combatants with
his quick keen glance, and then the hubbub was drowned by the
roar of his long pistol; the thunderous report seemed to stun the
combatants to silence, who, falling apart, turned one and all to
glare at the intruder.  And, in this moment of comparative
silence while all men panted and stared, from Penfeather's grim
lips there burst a string of blistering sea-oaths such as even I
had scarce heard till now; for a long minute he reviled them, the
smoke curling from his pistol, his black brows knit across
glittering eyes, his thin nostrils a-quiver, the scar glowing on
his pallid cheek, his face indeed so changed and evil that I
scarce knew him.

"...ye filthy scum, ye lousy sons o' dogs!" he ended.  "Ha, will
ye fight agin my orders, then--mutiny is it?"

"And who a plague are you and be cursed to ye!" panted a great
fellow, flourishing a broken chair-leg threateningly and scowling
in murderous fashion.

"He'll tell ye--there, behind ye, fool!" snarled Penfeather,
pointing sinewy finger.  The big man turned, Penfeather sprang
with uplifted pistol and smote him, stunned and bleeding, to the
floor, then bestriding the prostrate carcass, fronted the rest
with head viciously out-thrust.

"And who's next--come!" says he softly, scowling from one to
other of the shrinking company.  "You, Amos Penarth, and you,
Richard Farnaby, aye and half a dozen others o' ye, you've sailed
wi' me ere now and you know when I say a thing I mean it.  And
you'd fight, would ye, my last words to you being 'see to it
there be no quarrelling or riot.'"

"Why, Cap'n," says one, "'tis all along o' these new 'listed
rogues--"

"Aye, master," says another, "and that's gospel-true, theer
aren't a right sailor-man among 'em--"

"Then we'll learn 'em to be!" says Penfeather.  "Stand forward
the new men--show a leg and bustle, ye dogs!"  Scowling and
muttering, some twelve unlovely fellows obeyed.  "I' faith!" says
Penfeather, looking them over, "Here's fine stuff for the
gallows!  And where's the rest of 'em?"

"Gone aboard this morning along o' Toby Hudd the bo's'un!"

"See here, my bright lads," quoth Penfeather, eyeing each
scowling face in turn, "learn this--when you come aboard my ship
and I say to one o' ye do this or do that, he does it, d'ye see,
or--up to the yard-arm he swings by his thumbs or his neck as
occasion warrants.  D'ye get me, my bully roarers?"

Not a man of them spake a word, but all stood shifting uneasily
beneath Penfeather's quick bright eye, shuffling their feet and
casting furtive glances on their fellows.

"Now as to this lump o' roguery," says Penfeather, spurning the
still unconscious man with his foot, "have him into the yard and
heave a bucket o' water over him.  As to you, Farnaby, muster the
hands, and stand by to go aboard in half an hour--every unhung
rascal."

Without we came on the misfortunate landlord still in the deeps
of gloom, but upon Adam's assurance that all damages should be
made good, he brought us up a pair of stairs to a fair chamber
and there served us a most excellent meal.

Scarce had we risen from table than comes the man Penarth a-
knocking, cap in hand, to say the men stood ready to go aboard. 
We found some score fellows drawn up before the inn, and a
desperate lot of cut-throats they looked, what with their hurts
and general hang-dog air as they stood there in the light of a
rising moon.  Having looked them over each and every, Penfeather
spat, and setting them in Godby's charge, ordered them to go on
before.

"Well, Martin," says he as we followed together, "and how think
ye of my lambs?"

"Call them raging tigers, rather--"

"Nay," says he, "tigers be cleanly creatures, I've heard."

"'A God's name, Adam, why truck with such ill rogues?  Sure there
be many honest mariners to be had?"

"Why as to that, Martin, good men be scarce and ever hard to come
by--moreover these scum are a means to an end, d'ye see?"

"How so?"

"Just that, Martin," says he, glancing at me in his furtive
manner, "a means to an end."

"What end?"

"Ah, who may tell, Martin?" he sighed, shaking his head.  Now
when I would have questioned him further he put me off thus with
side answers, until we were come to the waterside, which is
called Deptford Creek.  Here, having seen the others safe
embarked we took boat also, and were soon rowing between the huge
bulk of ships where dim lights burned and whence came, ever and
anon, the sound of voices, the rattle of a hawser, a snatch of
song and the like, as we paddled betwixt the vast hulls. 
Presently we were beneath the towering stern of a great ship, and
glancing up at this lofty structure, brave with carved-work and
gilding, I read the name,

THE FAITHFULL FRIEND.

At a word from Adam the oars were unshipped and we glided
alongside her high-curving side where hung a ladder, up which I
followed Adam forthwith.  She was a great ship (as I say) of some
two hundred tons at least, with high forecastle and lofty stern,
though I saw little else ere, at a sign from Adam I followed him
down the after-gangway where, taking a flickering lanthorn that
hung from a deck-beam, he led me 'twixt a clutter of stores not
yet stowed, past the grim shapes of great ordnance, and so down
and down to a noisome place beneath the orlop.

"'Tis not over sweet, Martin," says he, "but then bilge-water
never is, you'll mind.  But you'll grow used to it in time,
shipmate, unless, instead o' swallowing this unholy reek you'll
swallow your pride and 'list as master's mate."

"I've no knowledge of navigation," says I.

"But I've enough for the two of us, Martin.  'Tis a comrade at my
back I need.  What's the word?"

"No!" says I, mighty short.

"As you will, shipmate," he sighed, "as you will.  Pride and
bilge-water go well together!" which said he brought me to a dark
unlovely hole abaft the mizzen.  "'Tis none too clean, Martin,"
says he, casting the light round the dingy place, "but that shall
be remedied and Godby shall bring ye bedding and the like, so
although 'tis plaguy dark and wi' rats a-plenty still, despite
the stench, you'll lie snug as your pride will permit of.  As for
me, shipmate, I shall scarce close an eye till we be clear o' the
Downs, so 'tis a care-full man I shall be this next two days,
heigho!  So good-night, Martin, I'll send Godby below with all
you lack."

Saying which Penfeather turned, and groping his way into the
darkness, left me scowling at the flickering lanthorn.


CHAPTER XV

TELLETH OF A NAMELESS BLACK SHIP

And now within my gloomy hiding-place, dim-lit by flickering
lanthorn, I passed many weary hours, while all about me was a
stir and bustle, a confused sound made up of many, as the never-
ending tread of feet, the sound of hoarse voices now faint and
far and anon clear and loud, the scrape of a fiddle, snatches of
rough song, the ceaseless ring and tap of hammers--a very babel
that, telling of life and action, made my gloomy prison the
harder to endure.  And here (mindful of what is to follow) I do
think it well to describe in few words the place wherein I lay. 
It was indeed a very dog-hole, just below the orlop, some ten
feet square (or thereabouts) shut in 'twixt bulkheads, mighty
solid and strong, but with a crazy door so ill-hung as to leave a
good three inches 'twixt it and the flooring.  It had been a
store-room (as I guessed), and judging by the reek that reached
me above the stench of the bilge, had of late held rancid fat of
some sort; just abaft the mizzen it lay and hard against the
massy rudder-post, for I could hear the creek and groan of the
pintles as the rudder swung to the tide.  Against one bulkhead I
had contrived a rough bunk with divers planks and barrels, the
which with mattress and bedding was well enough.

Now opposite my berth, within easy reach of my hand, was a knot-
hole the which, by some trick of the grain, had much the look of
a great staring eye, insomuch that (having no better employ) I
fell to improving on nature's handiwork with my knife, carving
and trimming around it; and in betwixt my sleeping, my eating and
drinking (for Adam and Godby kept me excellent well supplied) I
would betake me to my carving and fashioning of this eye and with
my initials below it, the which foolish business (fond and futile
though it was) served in no small measure to abate my consuming
impatience and the dreary tedium.

Howbeit on the third day, my situation becoming unbearable, I
stumbled out from my dog-hole, and groping my way past kegs and
barrels firm-wedged in place against the rolling of the vessel, I
climbed the ladder to the orlop.  Here I must needs pause, for,
dim though it was, the light from the open scuttle nigh blinded
me.  In a while, my eyes growing strong, I got me to the main-
deck, where again I must stay to shade my eyes by reason of the
radiance that poured through an open gun-port.  Glancing around
after some while, I saw no one and wondered, for here was the
main gun-deck.  Ten great pieces a side I counted, with ports for
divers more.  I was yet wondering at the emptiness about me when
I heard sudden uproar from the deck above my head, shouts, cries,
a rush and patter of many feet, and above all Penfeather's
furious hail.

Wondering, I came to the open port, and leaning out saw it was
evening with a heavy mist creeping down upon the waters, and
through the mist loomed a great, black ship drifting lubberly
across our hawse.  Louder and more furious grew the shouting
above, answered by a hail aboard the great, black craft as,
broadside on, she swung towards us.

And now, creeping in the mist, I beheld a small boat with a
great, shapeless bundle in the stern-sheets and rowed by a single
waterman who swung easily to his oars, scanning now the "Faithful
Friend," now the great black ship, like one who bided the
inevitable crash.  Sudden I heard the roar of one of Penfeather's
ever-ready pistols followed by his voice up raised in vicious
sea-curses, and glancing up saw the black ship right aboard of us
and braced myself for the impact; came a shock, a quiver of
creaking timbers and the groan of our straining hawsers as the
black ship, falling off, drifted by in a roaring storm of oaths
and blasphemy.  Now when her battered stern-gallery was nigh lost
in the mist, bethinking me of the boat I had seen, I glanced
about and beheld matter that set me wondering; for he was the
fellow plying his oars with a will and so near that I might have
tossed a biscuit aboard him; moreover the great misshapen bundle
had lain in the stern-sheets was there no longer, which set me
mightily a-wondering.  Long after man and boat were swallowed up
in the fog I sat there lost in thought, insomuch that I started
to feel a hearty clap on the shoulder and, turning, beheld Godby,
a pair of great gold rings in his ears, and very sailor-like in
all things from sea-boots to mariner's bonnet.

"Here's a ploy, Mart'n!" says he with a round oath.  "Here's yon
curst lubberly craft carried away our starboard cat-head and six-
feet o' the harpings wi't, sink him!  And us but waiting for my
lady to come aboard to trip anchor and away.  And now here's we
shorebound for another two days at the least as I'm a gunner! 
And all on account of yon black dog, burn him!  A plaguy fine
craft as sails wi' no name on her anywheres, keelhaul me else! 
But Penfeather winged one o' the lubberly rogues, praise God,
Mart'n!  Which done and with due time to curse 'em, every
mother's son of 'em, he turns to--him and the carpenter and his
mates--there and then to repair damages.  Ha, a man o' mark is
Captain Adam, pal."

"Godby," says I, "did ye chance to see aught of a boat carrying a
great bundle in the stern-sheets and rowed by a man in a red
cap?"

"Nary a blink, Mart'n--why?"

"I'm wondering what came of that same bundle--"

"Hove overboard belike, pal--there's many a strange thing goes a-
floating out to sea from hereabouts, Mart'n--drownd me!"

"Belike you're right!" says I.

"Mart'n, Sir Rupert's ashore to meet her ladyship, so you'm free
to come 'bove deck if so minded?"

"Nay, I'll bide where I am, Godby."

"Why then come, Mart'n, clap your eye on my beauties--here's
guns, Mart'n, six culverins and t'others sakers, and yonder
astern two basilisks as shall work ye death and destruction at
two or three thousand paces; 'bove deck amidships I've divers
goodly pieces as minions, falcons and patereros with murderers
mounted aft to sweep the waist.  For her size she's well armed is
the 'Faithful Friend,' Mart'n!"

Thus Godby, as he led me from gun to gun slapping hand on breech
or trunnion, and as I hearkened 'twas hard to recognise the merry
peddler in this short, square, grave-faced gunner who spake with
mariner's tongue, hitched ever and anon at the broad belt of his
galligaskins, and rolled in his gait already.

"She's a fair ship!" says I, seating myself on one of the great
guns mounted astern.

"She is so, Mart'n.  There's no finer e'er sailed from Deptford
Pool, which is saying much, split me if it isn't.  Though, when
all's said, Martin, I could wish for twenty more men to do
justice to my noble guns, aye thirty at the least."

"Are we so short?"

"We carry but ninety and two all told, pal, which considering my
guns is pity--aye, vast pity, plague me else!  'Twould leave me
shorthanded to serve my guns should they be necessary, which is
fair and likely, Martin."

"And black rogues they are!" says I.

"Never clapped eyes on worse, pal, kick me endwise else!  But
Captain Adam's the man for such and I mean to work 'em daily,
each and every, at my guns as soon as we be well at sea.  Ah,
there soundeth Toby Hudd's pipe--all hands on deck--this should
be her ladyship coming aboard.  So here's me aloft and you alow,
and good luck to both, pal."  Saying which he nodded, gave a
hitch to his wide galligaskins and rolled away.  Now coming to
the gun-port I have mentioned I must needs pause there awhile to
look out across the misty river already darkening to evening; and
thus presently beheld a boat, vague and blurred at first, but as
it drew nearer saw in the stern-sheets four gallants who laughed
and talked gaily enough, and the muffled forms of two women, and
in one, from the bold, free carriage of her head, I recognised,
despite hood and cloak, my Lady Joan Brandon; nay, as the boat
drew in, I heard the sweet, vital tones of her voice, and with
this in my ears I caught up my lanthorn and so descended to the
orlop.  Now as I paused at the narrow scuttle that gave down to
my noxious hiding-place, I thought to hear a step somewhere in
the gloom below.

"Ha, Godby!" says I.  "Are you down there, man?"  But getting no
answer, I descended the ladder, bethinking me of the rats
(whereof I had no lack of company), and coming into my dog-hole,
closed the rickety door, and having supped, cast myself down upon
my bed and blew out the light, and despite the rustle and scutter
away there in the dark beyond my crazy door I was very soon
asleep.

And in my sleep what must I dream of but rats with eyes that
glared in the dark, that crawled ever nearer, while one that
crept upon my bosom grew and swelled into a great fellow with a
steel hook in place of one hand, a face with flashing white teeth
and glowing eyes that peered close ere eyes and teeth vanished,
and I sunk down and down into a black emptiness of dreamless
slumber.


CHAPTER XVI

TELLS HOW WE WERE DOGGED BY THE BLACK SHIP

I awoke in panic and, leaping up groped in the pitch-dark until
my eager fingers closed on the haft of the sheath-knife under my
pillow, and with this naked in my hand I crouched awaiting I knew
not what; for all about me was direful sound, groans and cries
with wailings long drawn out in shuddering complaint.  Then, all
at once, my panic was lost in sudden great content, and thrusting
away the knife I took flint and steel and therewith lighted my
lanthorn; since now indeed I knew these dismal sounds nought but
the creak and groan of the stout ship, the voice of her travail
as she rose to the seas.  And as I hearkened, every individual
timber seemed to find a voice, and what with this and the uneasy
pitching and rolling of the ship I judged we were well under
weigh and beyond the river-mouth.  This (bethinking me of the
damage we had sustained from the great black ship) set me to
wondering, insomuch that I reached for my lanthorn, minded to
steal on deck that I might know our whereabouts and if it were
day or night, since here in the bowels of the ship it was always
night.  So (as I say) I reached for the lanthorn, then paused as
above all other sounds rose a cheery hail, and under the door was
the flicker of a light.  Hereupon I opened the door (though with
strangely awkward fingers) and thus espied Godby lurching towards
me.

"What, Mart'n pal," says he, sitting beside me on my berth and
setting down the food and drink he had brought, "are ye waking at
last?"

"Have I slept long, Godby?"

"You've slept, Mart'n, a full thirty hours."

"Thirty hours, Godby?"

"Split me crosswise else, pal!"

"Mighty strange!" says I, reaching for the flask he had brought,
for I felt my mouth bitterly parched and dry, while, added to the
consuming thirst, my head throbbed miserably.

"Well, here we be, pal, clear o' the river this twelve hours and
more.  And, Mart'n, this is a ship--aye, by hokey, a sailer!  So
true on a wind, so sweet to her helm, and Master Adam's worthy of
her, blister me else!"

"'Tis strange I should sleep so long!" says I, clasping my aching
head.

"Why, you'm wise to sleep all ye can, pal, seeing there be nought
better to do here i' the dark," says he, setting out the viands
before me.  "What, no appetite, Mart'n?"  I shook my head.  "Lord
love ye, 'tis the dark and the curst reek o' this place, pal--
come aloft, all's bowmon, the fine folk han't found their sea-
legs yet, nor like to while this wind holds, Mart'n--so come
aloft wi' Godby."

Nothing loth I rose and stumbled towards the ladder, marvelling
to find my hands and feet so unwieldy as I climbed; the higher I
went the more the rolling and pitching of the ship grew on me, so
that when at last I dragged myself out on deck it was no wonder
to find the weather very blusterous and with, ever and anon,
clouds of white spray lashing aboard out of the hissing dark with
much wind that piped shrill and high in cordage and rigging.

Being sheltered by the high bulwark hard beside the quarter-deck
ladder, I leaned awhile to stare about me and drink in great
draughts of sweet, clean air, so that in a little my head grew
easier and the heaviness passed from me.  Ever and anon the moon
peeped through wrack of flying cloud, by whose pale beam I caught
glimpses of bellying sails towering aloft with their indefinable
mass of gear and rigging, and the heel and lift of her looming
forecastle as the stately vessel rose to the heaving seas or
plunged in a white smother of foam.

"She rides well, Mart'n!" roared Godby in my ear.  "Aha, here's
duck of a ship, pal!"

"Where's Adam?" I questioned.

"To'-gallant poop, Mart'n.  Lord love ye, it's little sleep he's
had since we hove anchor.  Hark'ee, pal--he's got it into his
head as we'm being dogged!"

"Dogged, man--by what?"

"By that same great black ship as fouled us--he has so, pal--
roast me else!  But come your ways."  So saying, Godby climbed to
the quarter-deck and I after him, and mounting the poop-ladder,
presently came on Penfeather, peering hard over our lee.

"Ha, is it you, shipmate!" says he, drawing me out of the wind. 
"Look yonder, d'ye see aught of a rag o' sail, Martin?" 
Following his pointing finger, I stared away into the distance
across a tumbling spume of waters vague in the half-light.  "D'ye
glimpse aught, Martin?"

"Nothing, Adam!"

"Wait for the moon, shipmate--now, look yonder!"  As the light
grew, I swept the distant horizon with my eyes until, all at once
against the night, I saw the sheen of distant canvas that gleamed
and was gone again as a cloud veiled the moon.  "You saw it,
Martin?"

"Plainly!" says I, whereupon he sprang away to the men at the
helm; came the hoarse roar of speaking-trumpet, and decks and
waist below seemed alive with scurrying, dim figures; and now was
a chorus of shouts and yo-ho-ing as the "Faithful Friend,"
obedient to his commands, swung off upon an altered course.

"Godby," says Adam, beckoning us where stood the compass or
bittacle, "look'ee, as she bears now we should be nigh enough yon
curst ship to learn more of her by peep o' dawn."

"Aye, Cap'n--and then?"

"Then you shall try what you can do wi' one o' those long guns o'
yours."

"Lord love ye, Cap'n, that's the spirit!" cried Godby, hitching
joyously at his broad belt, "All I asks is a fair light and no
favour!"

"And you have the middle watch, Godby man, so I'll get a wink o'
sleep," says Adam, "but do you call me so soon as we raise her
hull.  As for you, Martin, you'll have slept your fill, I judge."

"And yet I'm plaguy drowsy still!" says I.

"There's a spare berth in the coach, comrade, an you're so
minded!"

"Nay, Adam, I'll watch awhile with Godby."

"Good!  You've keen eyes, Martin--use 'em!" says he, and goes
down the ladder forthwith.

And now, pacing the lofty poop beside Godby, I was aware that the
"Faithful Friend" was dark fore and aft, not a light twinkled
anywhere.

"How comes this, Godby!" says I, pointing to the dim shapes of
the great stern lanthorns above us.

"Cap'n's orders, Mart'n!  We've been dark these two nights, and
yet if yon craft is what we think, 'twould seem she follows us by
smell, pal, smell.  As how, say you?  Says I, last night she was
fair to be seen having closed us during the day, so out go our
lights and up goes our helm and we stand away from her.  At dawn
she was nowhere and yet--here she is again--if yon ship be the
same."

"Which we shall learn in an hour or so, Godby."

"Aye, Mart'n, if she don't smell us a-coming and bear away from
us.  And yet she must be a clean, fast vessel, but we'll overhaul
her going roomer or on a bowline."

"Roomer?  Speak plain, Godby, I'm no mariner!"

"Time'll teach ye, pal!  Look'ee now, 'roomer' means 'large,' and
'large' means 'free,' and 'free' means wi' a quartering-wind, and
that means going away from the wind or the wind astarn of us;
whiles 'on a bowline' means close-hauled agin the wind, d'ye
see?"

"Godby, 'tis hard to believe you that same peddler I fell in with
at the 'Hop-pole.'"

"Why, Mart'n, I'm a cove as adapts himself according.  Give me a
pack and I'm all peddler and j'y in it, gi'e me a ship and I'm
all mariner to handle her sweet and kind and lay ye a course wi'
any--though guns is my meat, Mart'n.  Fifteen year I followed the
sea and a man is apt to learn a little in such time.  So here
stand I this day not only gunner but master's mate beside of as
tight a ship, maugre the crew, as ever sailed--and all along o'
that same chance meeting at the 'Hop-pole.'"

"And though a friend of Bym you knew little of Adam Penfeather?"

"Little enough, Mart'n.  Joel be no talker--but it do seem Jo was
one of the Coast-Brotherhood once when Cap'n Penfeather saved his
life and that, years agone.  So Joel comes home and sets up
marriage, free-trade and what not, when one day lately Master
Adam walks into the 'Peck o' Malt,' and no whit changed for all
the years save his white hair.  And here comes rain, Mart'n--"

"And wind!" says I as the stout ship reeled and plunged to the
howling gust.

"No, Mart'n," roared Godby above the piping tumult, "not real
wind, pal--a stiffish breeze--jolly capful."

Slowly the night wore away and therewith the buffeting wind
gentled somewhat; gradually in the east was a pale glimmer that,
growing, showed great, black masses of torn cloud scudding fast
above our reeling mastheads and all about us a troubled sea.  But
as the light grew, look how I might, nowhere could I descry aught
of any ship upon that vast horizon of foaming waters.

"Ha!," says Godby, venting huge sigh, "there's to be no play for
my guns this day, Mart'n."

"Nay but," says I, mighty perplexed, "what's come of her?  She
could never have marked our change of course at the distance and
'twas black dark beside, and we bore no lights."

"Mayhap she smelt us, pal, as I said afore.  Howbeit, 'tis beyond
me, cram me wi' rope-yarn else!"

Now, as he spoke, up came the sun, turning lowering sky and
tempestuous ocean to glory; every ragged cloud became as it were
streaming banners enwrought of scarlet and gold, every foaming
billow a rolling splendour rainbow-capped, insomuch that I stood
awed by the very beauty of it all.

"I love the good, kind earth, Mart'n, wi' its green grass and
flowers a' peep, 'tis a fair resting-place for a man when all's
done and said, but yonder, pal--ah, there's glory for ye!  Many's
the time I've watched it, dawn and sunset, and, minding all the
goodly ships and the jolly lads as are a-sleeping down below, at
such times, Mart'n, it do seem to me as if all the good and glory
of 'em came aloft for eyes to see awhile--howbeit, 'tis a noble
winding-sheet, pal, from everlasting to everlasting, amen!  And
by that same token the wind's veering, which meaneth a fair-
weather spell, and I must trim.  Meantime do you rouse Master
Adam."  And here, setting hands to mouth, Godby roared high above
the wind:

"Watch ho!  Watch!  Brace about--bowse away there!"

As I crossed the deck, up the poop ladder comes Adam himself, his
red seaman's bonnet tight-drawn about his ears and a perspective-
glass under his arm.  "'Tis as I thought, Martin," says he,
pinching his chin and scowling away to leeward, "she changed
course as we did."

"Nay but, Adam, how should she know we changed and the night so
black?"

"Very easily, shipmate, by means of a light--"

"We bore no lights, Adam."

"None the less someone aboard this ship signalled yon black craft
by means of a lanthorn, 'tis beyond doubt!"

"And why should she follow us, think ye?"

"Why am I a marked man, shipmate, why have I been dogged hither
and yon across seas?  Come into the coach and I'll tell ye a
thing.  Godby!" says he, coming where Godby stood beside the
steersman, "lay her on her old course.  'Tis Merrilees takes next
watch, I think--tell him to warn me as soon as we raise her
accursed topsails."

"What," says I, as we climbed from the lofty poop, "you think she
will dog us still, then?"

"I know it, Martin!" says he gloomily, and so brought me into a
smallish cabin under the top-gallant poop; here were bunks to
larboard and starboard with a table mid-way furnished with
calendars, charts, a cross-staff, an astrolabe, with globes and
the like, while against the walls stood rows of calivers,
musquetoons and fusees, set in racks very orderly.  "Aye,
shipmate," says he, noting my gaze, "every firelock aboard is
either here or in the arm-chests i' the round-house below, and
our powder is all stored well aft, by reason that I am a cautious
man, d'ye see!  Sit ye, Martin!  Now as to this black ship--first
of all she fouls us in the river, the which was no accident,
Martin, though just what the motive was I'm yet a-seeking. 
Second, as she drifted past us whom should I see aboard her but
Abnegation Mings and pulled trigger a moment too late, but winged
another o' the rogues.  Third, when we'd repaired our damage and
got us clear of the river what should we see but this same black
ship hove short waiting us, for she presently stands after us. 
And so she's dogged us ever since and so dog us she will to the
world's end unless I can bring her to action."

"She's a fighting ship by her looks and heavily armed!" says I.

"So are we, Martin!"

"And our men, Adam?"

"Ah!" says he, pinching his chin, "there it is, Martin, there it
is!  Look'ee, shipmate, in all this crew there are no more than
twenty men I can count on, nay, less--ten only can I swear by. 
See now, here's you and Merrilees and Godby, here's Farnaby and
Toby Hudd the bo'sun, Treliving the carpenter, and McLean his
mate, here's Robins and Perks and Taffery the armourer--good
mariners all.  These I can trust, shipmate, but never another
one!"

"And what of the captain, Sir Rupert Dering?"

"That, Martin!" says Penfeather, snapping his fingers.  "A very
gentleman-like fool, d'ye see, a bladder of air--like his three
fellows."

"So we have four gentlemen aboard, Adam?"

"Aye--princocks all that do nothing but vie in court to her
ladyship!  Now look'ee, Martin, what with one thing or another,
and this hell-fire ship on our heels in especial, there's stir
and disaffection among the crew, a-whispering o' corners that I
don't like, and which is apt to spread unless looked to. 
Wherefore this morning I ordered a certain red-haired rascal
fifty lashes athwart a gun.  But the bo'sun had laid on but poor
ten and the fellow roaring lustily when into the 'tween-decks
cometh my lady in mighty taking, and seeing the rogue's back a
little bloody, ordered him freed and thereafter cossets him wi'
dainties from her own table.  Lord love ye!  Which cometh o'
women aboard ship!"  And here Adam sighed mighty dismal.

"Why then," says I, "here's work for me, belike."

"As how, Martin?"

"Nay, leave it to me, being little better than rogue myself I
should know how to outmatch roguery!"

"Meaning you'll spy on 'em, shipmate?"

"And lie and cozen and join fellowship with 'em if need be. 
Howbeit there's aught afoot I'll bottom it, one rascally fashion
or t'other."

"'Tis desperate risk, Martin, and should they suspicion you--"

"Why, look, Adam, my life's none so sweet or precious that I'd
cherish it in lavender.  Besides I've a feeling I may not die
until--at least, not yet."

"Wait!" says he, as I rose.  "Bide a while, Martin!"  And,
opening a locker beneath his bunk, he took thence a shirt of fine
chain-work like that he himself wore.  Shaking my head I would
have put it by but he caught my arm in his powerful grip and
shook me insistent.  "Take it, Martin," says he, "take it, man,
'tis easy and pleasant as any glove, yet mighty efficacious
'gainst point or edge, and you go where knives are sudden!  Stay
then, take it for my sake, shipmate, since trusty comrades be few
and mighty hard come by."  So in the end I did it on beneath my
doublet and found it to irk me nothing.  "And now, what?" he
questioned, as I opened the door.

"Sleep," says I, yawning.

"There's a bunk yonder, Martin," says he, eyeing me 'twixt
narrowed lids.

"Nay, I'm for my dog-hole, Adam."

"You seem to sleep much and mighty well, despite stench and rats,
shipmate."

"I'm grown used to 'em," says I, with another yawn, "and as to
sleeping I do little else of late--'tis the dark, belike, or bad
air, or lack of exercise."  Now as I rose to be gone, the deck
seemed to heave oddly beneath my feet and the cabin to swing
dizzily round, so that I must needs grip at the table to steady
myself, while Adam peered at me through a haze as it were.

"What's here, Martin, are ye sick?" he questioned.

"A vertigo!" I mumbled, "I'll into the air!"  In a little the
dizziness abating, I got me out on deck and found in the rushing
wind mighty comfort and refreshment, while Adam steadied me with
his arm.  "Let be!" says I, shaking off his hold.  "'Twas nought
--I'll go sleep again."  And waiting for no more I stumbled down
the quarter-ladder; but even as I went, the haze seemed to close
about me thicker than ever, and groping my way to the ship's side
I sank across the bulwark and was miserably sick.  This agony
passing, I made my way below until I reached the orlop; but now
feeling my sickness upon me again I crept away into a dark corner
and cast me down there.  And lying thus in my misery I little by
little became aware of someone weeping hard by, a desolate
sobbing very pitiful to hear.  Insomuch that (maugre my weakness)
I got up and going whence this sobbing proceeded, presently came
on a small, huddled figure, and stooping, saw it was a little
lad.  At my step he started to his knees, elbow upraised as if
expecting a blow.

"Why d'ye weep, boy?" I questioned.  "What's your trouble?"

"Nowt!" says he, cowering away; but taking him by his little,
thin shoulders I lifted him into the dim light of a swinging
lanthorn, and looked into a small, pallid face swollen and
disfigured by cuts and bruises wrought by some brutal hand.

"Who did this?" I demanded.

"Nobody!" says he, gulping a sob.

"Who are you?"

"'Tween-decks boy."

"How old are you, child?"

At this he stared up at me out of his swollen eyes, then covering
his face in ragged sleeve broke into convulsive sobbing.

"What now?" says I, drawing him beside me.  "What now?"

"She used to call me 'child'--my mother--" and here his grief
choked him.  Now as I looked down upon this little, pitiful
creature, I forgot my sickness in sudden, fierce anger.

"Boy," said I, "who's been flogging you--speak!"

"Red Andy," he gasped, "'e be always a' doin' of it 'e be--wish I
was dead like my mother!"

"Jim, ho Jimmy," roared a voice from somewhere in the gloom
forward, "Jim--plague seize ye, show a leg, will 'ee--"  Here
(and before I could stay him) the boy started up and pattered
away drying his tears as he ran.  Now as I lay there I kicked off
my shoes and hearkened expectant.  Thus, all at once I heard a
murmur rising to a wail that ended in a shrill scream, and
getting to my feet I crept stealthily forward.  Past main and
foremasts I crept, past dark store-rooms and cubby-holes, and so
to a crack of light, and clapping my eye thereto, espied two
fellows rolling dice and beyond them the boy, his hands lashed
miserably to a staple in the bulkhead, his little body writhing
under the cruel blows of a rope's-end wielded by a great, red-
headed fellow.

Now in my many desperate affrays with my fellow-slaves (those
two-legged beasts) I had learned that it is the first blow that
tells; wherefore groping for the latch I stealthily opened the
door and, or ever the red-headed fellow was aware, I was upon him
from behind and, giving him no chance for defence, I smote him a
buffet under the ear that tumbled him against the bulkhead whence
he sank to hands and knees.  Then while, half-dazed, he strove to
rise, I kicked him down again, and setting my foot upon his
chest, caught up the rope's-end he had dropped and beat him
therewith until he roared, until he groaned and lay writhing,
face hid beneath his crossed arms.  Then, whipping out my knife,
I fronted his two mates, the one a doleful, bony man with a
squint, the other a small, mean, black-eyed fellow in a striped
shirt who, closing one bright eye, leered at them with the other;
all at once he nodded, and pointing from the knife in my fist to
the fellow groaning beneath my foot, drew a long thumb across his
own stringy throat, and nodded again.  Hereupon I stooped above
my captive and set the flat of my blade to his forehead just
below his thick, red hair.

"Look'ee, dog!" I panted, while he glared up at me beneath his
bruised arms, "Set so much as a finger on yon pitiful brat again
and I'll cut a mark in your gallows-face shall last your life
out."

"His throat, cully--quick's the word!" breathed a voice in my
ear.  But now as I turned and the little black-eyed fellow leapt
nimbly back, was a creaking and groaning of the ladder that led
to the main-deck above, and down comes a pair of prodigious stout
legs, and after these a round body, and last of all a great, flat
face small of mouth, small of nose, and with a pair of little,
quick eyes that winked and blinked betwixt hairless lids.

The fat fellow having got him down the ladder (and with wondrous
ease for one of his bulk) stood winking and blinking at me the
while he patted one of his plump cheeks with plump fingers.

"Love my limbs!" says he in soft, high-pitched voice.  "Perish
and plague me, but who's the friend as be a rope's-ending o' ye,
Andy lad--you as be cock o' the ship?"  Here the fellow beneath
my foot essays to curse, but groans instead.  Bless my guts!"
says the fat man, blinking harder than ever, "So bad as that,
Andy lad?  Wot then, hath this fine, upstanding cock o' cocks
thrashed all the hell-fire spirit out o' ye, Andy lad?  Love my
innards--I thought no man aboard could do as much, Andy."

"He jumped me from behind!" says the fellow Andy 'twixt snarl and
groan and writhing under my 'prisoning feet.

"And where," says the fat man, smiling at me, "where might you
ha' come from, my bird o' price?  The bo'sun's mate Samuel
Spraggons is me, friend--Sam for short, called likewise Smiling
Sam--come, come, never scowl on Sam--nobody never quarrels with
the Smiler, I'm friends wi' everyone, I am, friend."

"Why then--loose the child!" says I.

"Child?  Ha, is't this little rogueling ye mean, friend?"  As he
spoke (and smiling yet) he caught the boy's ear and wrung it
'twixt vicious thumb and finger, whereon I whirled the rope's-
end, but he sprang out of reach with wondrous agility and stood
patting plump cheek and smiling more kindly than ever, the while
I cut the cords that bound the boy's wrists, who, with an up-
flung, wondering look at me, sped away into the orlop and was
gone.

"Now mark ye, Spraggons," says I, "harm the child again--any of
ye--and I'll beat your fat carcass to a jelly."

"No, no!" quoth he, "you can't quarrel wi' me, the Smiler don't
never quarrel wi' none.  You'd never strike Smiling Sam, friend!"

"Stand still and see!" says I.  But hereupon he retreated to the
ladder and I, feeling my sickness upon me again, contented me by
throwing the rope's-end at the fellow and stepping out backward,
clapped to the door.  So with what speed I might I got me down
into the hold and to my dog-hole.  And here I saw I had left my
lanthorn burning, and found in this light strange comfort.  Now
being mighty athirst I reached the demijohn from the corner and
drank deep, but the good water tasted ill on my parched tongue;
moreover the place seemed strangely close and airless and I in
great heat, wherefore I tore off my sleeved doublet and, kicking
off my shoes, cast myself upon my miserable bed.  But now as I
lay blinking at the lanthorn I was seized of sudden, great dread,
though of what I knew not; and ever as my drowsiness increased so
grew my fear until (and all at once) I knew that the thing I
dreaded was Sleep, and fain would I have started up, but, even
then, sleep seized me, and strive how I would my eyes closed and
I fell into deep and fear-haunted slumber.


CHAPTER XVII

TELLETH HOW AN EYE WATCHED ME FROM THE DARK

It is not my intention to chronicle all those minor happenings
that befell us at this time, lest my narrative prove over-long
and therefore tedious to the reader.  Suffice it then that the
fair weather foretold by Godby had set in and day by day we stood
on with a favouring wind.  Nevertheless, despite calm weather and
propitious gale, the disaffection among the crew waxed apace by
reason of the great black ship that dogged us, some holding her
to be a bloody pirate and others a phantom-ship foredooming us to
destruction.

As to myself, never was poor wretch in more woeful plight for,
'prisoned in the stifling hold where no ray of kindly sun might
ever penetrate, and void of all human fellowship, I became a prey
to wild, unholy fancies and a mind-sickness bred of my brooding
humours; my evil thoughts seemed to take on stealthy shapes that
haunted the fetid gloom about me, shapes of horror and murder
conjured up of my own vengeful imaginations.  An evil time indeed
this, of long, uneasy sleepings, of hateful dreams and ill
wakings, of sullen humours and a horror of all companionship,
insomuch that when came Godby or Adam to supply my daily wants, I
would hide myself until they should be gone; thereafter, tossing
feverishly upon my miserable bed, I would brood upon my wrongs,
hugging to myself the thought of vengeance and joying in the
knowledge that every hour brought me the nearer its fulfilment.

And now it was that I became possessed of an uneasy feeling that
I was not alone, that beyond my crazy door was a thing, soft-
breathing, that lurked watchful-eyed in the gloom, hearkening for
my smallest movement and following on soundless feet
whithersoever I went.  This unease so grew upon me that when not
lost in fevered sleep I would lie, with breath in check,
listening to such sounds as reached me above the never-ceasing
groaning of the vessel's labour, until the squeak and scutter of
some rat hard by, or any unwonted rustling beyond the door, would
bring me to an elbow in sweating panic.

To combat the which sick fancies it became my custom to steal up
from my fetid hiding-place at dead of night and to prowl soft-
footed about the ship where none stirred save myself and the
drowsy watch above deck.  None the less (and go where I would) it
seemed I was haunted still, that behind me lurked a nameless
dread, a silent, unseen presence.  Night after night I roamed the
ship thus, my fingers clenched on the knife in my girdle, my ears
on the strain and eyes that sought vainly every dark corner or
patch of shadow.

At last, on a night, as I crouched beside a gun on the 'tween-
decks I espied of a sudden a shape, dim and impalpable-seeming in
the gloom, that flitted silently past me and up the ladder to the
deck above.  Up started I, knife in hand, but in my haste I
stumbled over some obstacle and fell; but up the ladder I sprang
in pursuit, out into moonlight, and hastening forward came face
to face with Adam.

"Ha-rogue!" I cried, and sprang at him with up lifted knife; but
as I came he stepped aside (incredibly quick) and thrusting out a
foot tripped me sprawling.

"Easy, shipmate, easy!" says he, thrusting a pistol under my
nose.  "Lord love you, Martin, what would you now?"

"So you'll follow me, will you!" I panted.  "You'll creep and
crawl and spy on me, will you?" 

"Neither one nor t'other, Martin."

"'Twas you climbed the gangway but now!"

"Not I, Martin, not I."  And as I scowled up at him I knew he
spoke truth, and a new fear seized me.

"And you saw no one, Adam?  Nothing--no shape that flitted up the
ladder hitherwards and no sound to it?"

"Never a thing, Martin, save yourself."

"Why then," says I, clasping my temples, "why then--I'm mad!"

"How so, comrade?"

"Because I'm followed--I'm watched--spied upon sleeping and
waking!"

"Aye, but how d'ye know?" he questioned, stooping to peer at me.

"I feel it--I've known it for days past, and to-night I saw it. 
I'm haunted, I tell you!"

"Who by, shipmate?"

"Aye!" I cried.  "Who is it--what?  'Tis a thing that flits i'
the dark and with never a sound, that watches and listens.  It
mounted the ladder yonder scarce a moment since plain to my
sight--"

"Yet I saw nothing, Martin.  And not a soul stirring, save the
watch forward, the steersman aft, and myself."

"Why then I'm verily mad!" says I.

"Not you, shipmate, not you.  'Tis nought but the solitude and
darkness, they take many a man that way, so ha' done with 'em,
Martin!  My lady's offer of employ yet holdeth good, so 'list
with me as master's mate, say but the word and--"

"No!" says I, fiercely.  "Come what may I take no service under
an accursed Brandon!"  Saying which I got me to my feet and
presently back to the haunted dark.

Thus the days dragged by all unmarked by me (that took no more
heed of time) for my fevered restlessness gave place to a
heaviness, a growing inertia that gripped me, mind and body; thus
when not lost in troubled sleep I would lie motionless, staring
dully at the dim flame of the lanthorn or blinking sightless on
the dark.

This strange sickness (as hath been said) I then set down to no
more than confinement and my unwholesome situation, in the which
supposition I was very far beside the mark, as you shall hear. 
For there now befell a thing that roused me from my apathy once
and for all, and thereby saved me from miserably perishing and
others with me, and the manner of it thus:

On a time as I lay 'twixt sleep and wake, my glance (and for no
reason in the world) chanced upon that knot-hole in the opposite
bulkhead, the which (as already told) I had wrought into the
likeness of a great eye.  Now, as I stared at it, the thing
seemed, all at once, to grow instinct with life and to stare back
at me.  I continued to view it (dully enough) until little by
little I became aware of something strange about it, and then as
I watched this (that was no more than a knot-hole) the thing
winked at me.  Thinking this but some wild fancy or a trick of
the light I lay still, watching it beneath my lowered lids, and
thus I suddenly caught the glitter of the thing as it moved and
knew it for a very bright, human eye that watched me through the
knot-hole.  Now this may seem a very small matter in the telling,
but to me at that moment (overwrought by my long sojourn in the
dark) it was vastly otherwise.

For maybe a full minute the eye stared at me, fixed and
motionless and with a piercing intensity, then suddenly was gone,
and I lying there, my flesh a-tingle, my heart quick-beating in a
strange terror, so that I marvelled to find myself so shaken. 
Leaping up in sudden fierce anger I wrenched open the door and
rushed forth, only to fall headlong over some obstacle; and lying
there bruised and dazed heard the soft thud and scamper of rats
in the dark hard by.  So I got me back to my bunk, and lying
there fell to a gloomy reflection.  And the more I thought, the
fiercer grew my anger that any should dare so to spy upon me.

Thus it was in one of my blackest humours that Godby found me
when, having set down the victuals he had brought, he closed the
crazy door and seated himself on the cask that served me as
chair, and bent to peer at me where I lay.

"Mart'n," said he, speaking almost in a whisper, "be ye awake at
last?"  For answer I cursed him heartily.  "Avast, pal!" says he
shaking his head, "look'ee, Mart'n, 'tis in my mind the devil's
aboard this ship."

"And what then?" I demanded angrily.  "Am I a raree show to be
peeped at and watched and spied upon?"

"Anan, pal--watched, d'ye say?"

"Aye, stared at through the knot-hole yonder awhile since by you
or Penfeather."

"Never knowed there was a knot-hole, Mart'n," said he in the same
hushed voice and staring at the thing, "and as for Cap'n Adam he
aren't been anigh you this two days.  But 'tis all one, pal, all
one--this ship do be haunted.  And as for eyes a-watching of ye,
Martin, who should it be but this here ghost as walketh the ship
o'nights and makes away wi' good men."

"How d'ye mean?" I questioned, reaching the ale he had brought. 
"What talk is this of ghosts?"

"What's yon?" he whispered, starting up, as a rustling sounded
beyond the door.

"Mere rats, man!"

"Lord love ye, Mart'n," says he, glancing about him, "'tis a
chancy place this.  I don't know how ye can abide it."

"I've known worse!" said I.

"Then ye don't believe in spectres, Mart'n--ghosts, pal, nor yet
phantoms?"

"No, I don't!"

"Well, Mart'n, there be strange talk among the crew o' something
as do haunt the 'tween-decks--"

"Aye, I've overheard some such!" I nodded.  "But, look ye, I've
haunted the ship myself of late."

"And yet you've seen nowt o' this thing, pal?"

"No.  What thing should I see?"

"Who knows, Martin?  But the sea aren't the land, and here on
these wild wastes o' waters there's chancy things beyond any
man's wisdom as any mariner'll--ha, what's yon?" says he under
his breath and whipping round, knife in hand.  "'Twas like a
shoeless foot, Mart'n...creeping murder...'Tis there again!" 
Speaking, he tore open the door and I saw his knife flash as he
sprang into the darkness beyond; as for me I quaffed my ale. 
Presently back he comes, claps to the door (mighty careful) and
sinking upon the upturned cask, mops at his brow.

"Content you, Godby," says I, "here be no ghosts--"

"Soft, lad--speak soft!" he whispered.  "For--Lord love you,
Mart'n, 'tis worse than ghosts as I do fear!  Dog bite me, pal,
here's been black and bloody doings aboard us this last two
nights."

"How so, Godby?" I questioned, lowering my voice in turn as I met
his look.

"I mean, lad, as this thing--call it ghost or what ye will--has
took three men these last two nights.  There's Perks o' Deptford,
McLean as hails from Leith, and Treliving the Cornishman--three
good men, Mart'n--lost, vanished, gone!  And, O pal, wi' never a
mark or trace to tell how!"

"Lost!  D'ye mean--overboard?"

"No, Mart'n, I mean--lost!  And each of them i' the middle watch
--the sleepy hour, Mart'n, just afore dawn.  In a fair night,
pal, wi' a calm sea--these men vanish and none to see 'em go. 
And all of 'em prime sailor-men and trusty.  The which, Mart'n,
sets a cove to wondering who'll be next."

"But are you sure they are gone?"

"Aye, Mart'n, we've sought 'em alow and aloft, all over the ship,
save only this hole o' yourn--the which you might ha' known had
ye slept less."

"Have I slept so much, then?"

"Pal, you've done little else since you came aboard, seemingly. 
All yesterday, as I do know, you slept and never stirred nor took
so much as bite or sup--and I know because while we was a'
turning out the hold a-seekin' and a-searchin' I come and took a
look at ye every now and then, and here's you a-lyin' like a dead
man but for your snoring."

"Here's strange thing, and mighty strange!  For until I came
aboard I was ever a wondrous light sleeper, Godby."

"Why, 'tis the stench o' this place--faugh!  Come aloft and take
a mouthful o' good, sweet air, pal."

"You say you sought these men everywhere--even down here in the
hold?"

"Aye, alow and aloft, every bulkhead and timber from trucks to
keelson!"

"And all this time I was asleep, Godby?"

"Aye--like a log, Mart'n."

"And breathing heavily?"

"Aye, ye did so, pal, groaning ye might call it--aye, fit to
chill a man's good blood!"

"And neither you nor Adam nor the others thought to search this
dog-hole of mine?"

"Lord love ye--no, Mart'n!  How should three men hide here?"

"Three men?  Aye, true enough!" says I, clasping my head to stay
the rush and hurry of my thoughts.

"Come aloft, pal, 'tis a fair evening and the fine folk all a-
supping in the great cabin.  Come into the air."

"Yes," I nodded, "yes, 'twill clear my head and I must think,
Godby, I must think.  Reach me my doublet," says I, for now I
felt myself all shivering as with cold.  So Godby took up the
garment where it lay and held it out to me; but all at once let
it fall and, drawing back, stood staring down at it, and all with
never a word; whiles I sat crouched upon my bed, my head between
my clenched fists and my mind reeling beneath the growing horror
of the thought that filled me.  And now, even as this thought
took dreadful shape and meaning--even as suspicion grew to
certainty, I heard Godby draw a gasping breath, saw him reach a
stealthy, fumbling hand behind him and open the door, and then,
leaping backwards, he was swallowed in the dark, and with a hurry
of stumbling feet, was gone.

But I scarcely heeded his going or the manner of it, so stunned
was I by the sudden realisation of the terror that had haunted my
ghastly slumbers and evil wakings, a terror that (if my dreadful
speculations were true) was very real after all, a peril deadly
and imminent.

The truth of which I now (and feverishly) set myself to prove
beyond all doubt, and reached for the lanthorn.  Now in so doing
my foot caught in the doublet lying where Godby had dropped it,
and I picked it up out of the way; but as I lifted it into the
light I let it fall again (even as Godby had done):  and now,
staring down at it, felt my flesh suddenly a-creep for, as it lay
there at my feet, I saw upon one sleeve a great, dark stain that
smeared it up from wrist to elbow--the hideous stain of new-spilt
blood.


CHAPTER XVIII

CONCERNING THE MARK OF A BLOODY HAND AND HOW I LAY IN THE BILBOES
ON SUSPICION OF MURDER

It was with an effort at last that I dragged my gaze from the
hateful thing at my feet, only to meet the wide stare of that
great eye my knife had wrought and (albeit no human eye now
glittered there) yet it seemed none the less to watch my every
move so persistently that I snatched off my neckerchief and
pinning it against the bulkhead with my knife, hid the thing from
sight.  Which done, I spurned my blood-stained doublet into a
corner and getting to hands and knees with the light beside me,
began my search.

My bunk was formed of boards supported by four up-ended casks and
stretched the whole length of my small chamber.  Upon these
boards was a pallet covered by a great blanket that hung down to
the very flooring; lifting this, I advanced the lanthorn and so
began to examine very narrowly this space beneath my bed.  And
first I noticed that the flooring hereabouts was free of dust as
it had been new-swept, and presently in the far corner espied a
blurred mark that, as I looked, took grim form and semblance;
stooping nearer I stared at this in the full glare of the
lanthorn, then, shrank back (as well I might) for now I saw this
mark was indeed the print of a great, bloody hand, open at full
stretch.  Crouching thus, I felt again all the horror I had known
in my dreams, that dread of some unseen, haunting presence
seeming to breathe in the very air about me, a feeling of some
evil thing that moved and crept in the dark beyond the door, of
ears that hearkened to my every move and eyes that watched me
unseen.  And this terror waxed and grew, until hearing a faint
stirring behind me, I whirled about in panic to see the
neckerchief gently a-swing against the bulkhead where I had
pinned it; and though this was caused by no more than the motion
of the ship (as I judged), yet in my then state of mind I whipped
out my pistol and, levelling at the knot-hole, pulled the
trigger, whereon was a mere flash in the pan and no more.  This
of itself steadied me, and sitting on my bed I found that the
charge had been withdrawn.

Laying by the useless weapon (for I had neither powder nor ball)
I fell to profound meditation.  And now indeed many things were
plain; here (methought) had been the ghost, here had lain the
murderer of three men, here in the one and only safe place for
him in the whole ship, viz., beneath my bed, the while I lay
there in drugged sleep.  It would be simple matter to steal
hither in my absence and drug my food, and would explain the
strange nausea had so afflicted me of late.  Here then I had the
secret of my day-long sleeping, my vapours and black humours,
here the explanation of my evil dreams and ghastly visions while
Death, in human guise, crept about my couch or stooped above my
unconscious form.  But (I reasoned) I was not to be murdered,
since I was of more use to him alive than dead and for three
reasons (as I judged).  First, that in his stealthy comings and
goings he might be mistaken for me and thus left alone; secondly,
that dressed in my habit he might haply father his crimes on me;
and thirdly, that I (lying here drugged and asleep) might afford
him the one and only escape from pursuit and capture.  And yet
(thinks I) what manner of man (or rather devil) should this be
who, clad in my doublet, could make away with three lusty fellows
and no one the wiser?  Hereupon (and all in a flash) I seemed to
see again the great black ship drifting down on us in the river
and the man who rowed the skiff with the misshapen bundle in the
stern-sheets--the bundle that had vanished so inexplicably.

"By the living God," says I in a whisper, "here's an end to all
the mystery at last!"  And so remained a great while sitting
motionless on my bed, being mightily cast down and utterly
confounded.  Rousing myself at last I drew my knife from the
bulkhead and put out the light; then very cautiously set wide the
door, and thus lapped in the pitchy dark (and mighty thankful for
the good chain-shirt beneath my jerkin) stood holding my breath
to listen.  But hearing no more than the usual stir and bustle of
the ship, I stole forward silent in my stockinged feet, and
groping before me with my left hand, the knife clenched in my
right, began to steal towards the ladder.  And now, despite shirt
of mail, I felt a cold chill that crept betwixt my twitching
shoulder-blades as I went, for that which I feared was more
hateful than any knife.

Howbeit, reaching the ladder, I got me to the orlop (and mighty
thankful) and so to the upper deck, to find a wondrous fair night
breathing a sweet and balmy air and with a round moon uprising
against a great plenitude of stars.  The moon was low as yet and,
taking advantage of the shadows, I got me into the gloom of the
mainmast where the boats were stowed; and here (being well
screened from chance view) I sat me down to drink in the glory of
sea and sky, and to wait for chance of speech with Adam.  And
huge joy was it to behold these vast waters as they heaved to a
slumberous swell and all radiant with the moon's loveliness; or,
gazing aloft, through the maze of ropes and rigging, marvelled at
the glory of the heaven set with its myriad starry fires.  And,
contrasting all this with the place of black horror whence I had
come, I fell to a very ecstasy.  And now, even as I sat thus lost
in pleasing wonderment, from the quarter-deck hard by came the
sweet, throbbing melody of a lute touched by skilled fingers and
therewith a voice richly soft and plaintive, yet thrilling with
that strange, vital ring had first arrested me and which I should
have known the world over.  So she sang an air that I knew not,
yet methought it wondrous sweet; anon she breaks off, all at
once, and falls to the song I had heard her sing before now,
viz.:

"A poor soul sat sighing by a green willow tree."

Now as I hearkened, my gaze bent aloft, the starry heavens grew
all sudden blurred and misty on my sight, and I knew again that
deep yearning for a life far different from that I (in my blind
selfishness) had marked out for myself. "Here truly" (thinks I)
"is one of Godby's 'times of stars,' the which are good times
being times of promise for all that are blessed with eyes to see
--saving only myself who (though possessing eyes) am yet not as
other men, being indeed one set apart and dedicated to a just act
of vengeance.  But for this, I too might have been happy
perchance and with a hope of greater happiness to be."

Something the like of this was in my thoughts while the song was
a-singing, and I half-blinded by tears that would not be blinked
away.  Howbeit, the song ending, I was aware of a man's voice
something high-pitched and precise:

"I vow and protest, dear madam, 'tis rare--a night angelic and an
angel here to sing us to an ecstasy."

"Faith, Joan," says another voice, "your singing might draw any
man's heart out of him, sweet cousin."

"And that is but bald truth, I vow, my lady!" spoke a third.

"Why then, gentlemen," says she, laughing, "here's an angel will
to bed ere so ill a chance befall you."

Now here (being minded to steal a look upon her) I rose, and
creeping to the great mast, edged myself into the shadow and so
beheld one that crouched there already, and knew him for that
same red-headed fellow I had belaboured with the rope's-end.  He
was staring up at the quarter-deck and, following his look, I saw
my lady stand leaning upon the rail, her shapely figure outlined
against the moonlight, her face upraised to the sky.  So stood
she awhile, the gentlemen beside her (very brave in their velvets
and new-fangled great periwigs) until came her maid Marjorie;
then she sighed, acknowledged the gentlemen's bows and flourishes
with a graceful curtesy, and bidding them a laughing "good-night"
went her way, her shapely arm about Marjorie's trim waist. 
Hereupon the red-headed fellow uttered a sound 'twixt a sigh and
groan, and beholding him now as he yet stared after her, I saw
his face convulse and a look in his eyes as he tongued his lips
as made my very gorge rise, and I crept a pace nearer.

"Be that you, Smiler?" says he, his gaze still fixed.  "O mate,
yon's a rare dainty bit--a sweet armful, Smiler--"

"Dog!" I cried in sudden choking fury.  At this he leapt back,
hardly escaping my fist.

"Ha--is't you again!" cries he, and with the words sprang at me
and fetched me a staggering buffet in the mouth.  At this
(forgetting all prudence) I closed with him, and, heedless of his
blows, secured the wrestling grip I sought and wrenching him down
and across my knee, saw his face suddenly be-splashed with the
blood from my cut mouth the while I strove to choke him to
silence.  But he struggled mightily and thrice he cried "murder"
in despite of me, whereupon the cry was taken up by one here and
others there, until the very ship seemed to roar "murder."

Followed a rush of feet, a confusion of voices all about me and,
loosing my adversary, I reeled back to the mast under a rain of
blows.

"Stand away--back all!" cried a voice.  "Gi'e mea shot at the
rogue!" and the muzzle of a caliver was thrust into my face, only
to be dashed aside as Adam sprang before me.

"Hold off!" says he, whereupon they shrank back from me, one and
all, before his levelled pistol, and there came a moment's
silence wherein I heard Godby utter a gasp, and letting fall the
caliver he stared at me a-gape.  "Here's no murderer, ye fools!"
says Adam, scowling round on them, "'Tis no more than--ha, way
for Sir Rupert--make way for the Captain, there!"

"Pray what's to do, Master Penfeather?" demanded Sir Rupert,
hasting forward with drawn sword and the three gentlemen behind
him.  "What's all this riot?"

"Nought but a stowaway rogue, Sir Rupert, and one beknown to me
in England."

"Ha!" says Sir Rupert, stroking a curl of his great peruke, "How
cometh he brawling with the watch?"

"Look'ee, my masters," cried the red-headed fellow (gasping and
making great to-do of gurgling and clasping his throat where I
had squeezed him) "look'ee, sirs, at my bloody face--all bloodied
I be and nigh done for by yon murdering rogue.  Here's me on my
watch and no thought o' harm, and suddenly out o' nowhere he
takes him and grips me from behind and would ha' murdered me as
he murdered t'others!"

"Ha!" cried Sir Rupert, "The man reeks blood, observe, Master
Penfeather, and here's grave charge beside!"

Now as I leaned there against the mast I saw a figure flit down
the quarter-ladder and fain would have fled, yet seeing this
vain, hung my head and cowered in a very agony of mortified
pride.

"And you know this man, you say, Master Adam?" questioned Sir
Rupert.

"Aye I do, sir, for a desperate fellow, and so doth my Lady
Brandon--and yourself also."

"Ha?  Bring him forward where I may get look of him."  The which
being done, Sir Rupert starts back with sword-point raised.

"By heaven!" he cried, "How cometh this fellow aboard?"

"A stowaway as I said, sir," quoth Adam.  "You mind him very
well, it seemeth."

"Aye, verily!" says Sir Rupert, tapping me lightly with his sword
as I stood between my captors.  "Ha--you're the rogue stood i'
the pillory!"

"Aye!" I nodded, scowling at his dainty person.  "And you're the
one that set me there!"

"'Tis a rogue ingrain!" said Sir Rupert, frowning in turn.  "O a
very desperate fellow as you say, Master Adam, and like enough
the murderer we are a-seeking."  Hereupon I laughed and was
kicked (unseen) therefor by Adam.

"My lady!" says he, turning where she stood hard by, "You have
seen this fellow, I think."

"Yes," says she readily.  "And indeed, Cousin Rupert, I know more
of this--of him than you do, and very sure am I he is no
murderer--nor ever will be!"  Here for a moment her glance rested
on me, and meeting that look I forgot my wounded vanity and
degradation awhile.

"Sweet my lady," says Sir Rupert, "Your gentle woman's heart may
not brook scenes the like of this.  Go seek thy tender pillow and
leave such to us of sterner mould."

"Nay, cousin, my gentle woman's heart knoweth innocence from
guilt, methinks, and here standeth innocent man, stowaway though
he be."

"Why then as stowaway will I entreat him, fair cousin.  Master
Penfeather, clap him in irons till the morning, away with him--
nay, I myself will see him safely lodged."  Here, and without
further parley, I was led below, watched by the whole ship's
company, and so to a dismal place abaft the lazarette, where the
armourer, Master Taffery, duly locked me into the manacles (arm
and leg) beneath the eyes of Penfeather and Sir Rupert who,
seeing me this secure, presently left me to darkness and my
solitary reflections.

Howbeit, after some while I heard the sound of key turning and
Adam re-entered bearing a light; having locked the door on us, he
set down the lanthorn on the floor and, seating himself on the
bench whereto I was shackled, falls into a passion of cursing
both in English, Spanish (and Indian for aught I know) for never
had I heard the like words or such deep fervour.

"Adam," says I (he being at a pause), "'tis hard to think you
were ever a student of divinity!"

Hereupon he glances at me from the corners of his eyes and shakes
his head:

"Your face is bloody, Martin, are ye hurt?"

"My belly's empty, Adam."

"Why, I guessed as much, shipmate, Godby's bringing ye the
wherewithal to fill it.  In the meantime I'll free you o' your
bilboes awhile, though I must lock you up again that you may be
found snug and secure in the morning."  So saying he took a key
from his pocket and therewith set me at liberty.

"Ah, Martin," quoth he, as I stretched myself, "why must ye go a-
raising of tumults above deck under our very noses?  Here's
mighty ill plight you've got yourself into, and here's me a-
wondering how I am to get ye out again.  Here's been murder done,
and, look'ee, this coxcombly captain hath got it into his skull
that you're the murderer--aye, and what's worse, every soul
aboard likewise save only Godby and myself."

"And my lady!" says I.

"True, shipmate, true!  She spoke for ye, as I guessed she
might."

"And how should you guess this, Adam?"

"By adding one and one, Martin.  But even so, comrade, even
though she stand by you--what can she do, or Godby and I for that
matter, 'gainst a whole ship's company crazed wi' panic fear--
fear, aye and small wonder, Martin!  Death is bad enough,
murder's worse, but for three hearty fellows to disappear and
leave no trace--"

"Aye, but was there no trace, Adam?"

"None, shipmate, none!"

"No blood anywhere?"

"Never a spot, shipmate!"

"Why then is there ever a man aboard with a wounded hand, Adam?"

"Not one to my knowing and I've turned up the crew on deck twice
these last two days--every man and boy, but saw not so much as
cut finger or stained garment among 'em--and I've sharp eyes,
Martin.  But why d'ye ask?"

"Because the man who made away with these three fellows was
wounded in the hand, Adam--howbeit that hand was bloody."

"Hand, shipmate," says Penfeather softly, "would it be a right
hand--ha?"

"It was!" I nodded.  "The mark of a great right hand."

"Aye, aye!" says Adam, pinching his chin.  "A right hand, Martin. 
And where was the mark, d'ye say?"

"Beneath my bed."

"Bed, Martin--your bed!"  Here he caught his breath and rose up
and stood looking down at me betwixt narrowed lids and a-pinching
at his square chin.

"Aye--there, Adam, the only place in the ship you never thought
to search--there he lay safe hid and I above him in a drugged
sleep!"

"Drugged!" says Adam, betwixt shut teeth.  "Aye...drugged...crass
fool it was not to ha' guessed it ere this."  And now he falls
silent and stands very still, only his sinewy fingers pinched and
pinched at his chin as he stared blindly down at the floor.  So
now I told him of my fevered dreams and black imaginations, of my
growing fears and suspicions, of the eye had watched me through
the knot-hole and of the man on the river with the boat wherein
was the great mis-shapen bundle which had vanished just after the
black ship ran foul of us.

"Lord!" says Adam at last.  "So the mystery is resolved!  The
matter lies plain as a pikestaff.  Ha, Martin, we've shipped the
devil aboard it seems!"

"Who weareth a steel hook, Adam!"

"And yet, Martin, and yet," says he, looking at me from the
corners of his eyes, "herein, if we seek far enough, we may find
the hand of Providence, I think--"

"How?" says I.  "Providence, d'ye call it?"

"Aye, Martin--if we do but seek far enough!"  Here he turned in
answer to a furtive rapping, and opening the door, I heard
Godby's voice.   "Come in, man, come in," says Adam, "here's only
Martin."

"Aye," quoth I heartily, "come in, God-be-here Jenkins that was
my friend."  At this in he comes unwillingly enough and with
never so much as a glance in my direction.

"Here's the wittles, Cap'n," says he, and setting down the food
and drink he had brought, turned away.

"What, Godby, ha' ye no word for a poor murderer in his
abasement?" says I.  Whereat he shakes his head mighty gloomy and
keeping his gaze averted.  As for Adam he stood pinching his chin
the while his quick, bright eyes darted from one to other of us.

"How, are ye going and never a word?" quoth I as Godby crossed to
the door.

"Aye, I am!" says he, with gaze still averted.

"Why you left me in mighty hurry last time, Godby,"

"Aye, I did!" says he.

"Why then tell us wherefore--speak out, man."

"Not I, Martin, not I!" says he, and touching his bonnet to
Penfeather hasted away.

"Ha!" says Adam, closing and locking the door.  "And what's the
riddle, Martin?"

"My doublet.  Godby, chancing to take it up, finds it all a-smear
with blood and incontinent suspects me for this black murderer,
which comes hard since here's an end of Godby's faith and my
friendship."

"Why look now, Martin, his suspicions are in reason seeing that
what with drugs, deviltries and what not, you've been mighty
strange o' late and more unlovely company than usual, d'ye see!"

"Howbeit!" says I, scowling and reaching for the food, "Here's an
end to my friendship for Godby.  Now as to you--what d'you say?"

"I think, shipmate, that your doublet bloody and you the grimly,
desperate, gallowsy, hell-fire rogue you strive so hard to
appear, Martin, I say here's enough to hang you ten times over. 
One thing is sure, you must leave this ship."

"Not I, Adam!"

"The long-boat's astern, victualled and ready."

"No matter!" says I.

"'Twill be no hard matter to get you safe away, Martin."

"Howbeit, I stay here!" says I, mighty determined.  "I'm no
murderer!"

"But you're a man to hang and hanged you'll be and you can lay to
that, d'ye see?"

"So be it!" says I.

"Very fine, shipmate, but as I was saying the long-boat is towing
astern, a good boat and well stored.  The moon will be down in an
hour--"

"And what of it?" I demanded.

"'Twill be easy for you to slip down from the stern gallery."

"Never in the world!" quoth I.

"And as luck will have it, Martin, Bartlemy's Island--our island
--lieth scarce eighty miles south-westerly.  Being thither you
shall come on our treasure by the aid of the chart I shall give
you, and leaving the gold, take only the four coffers of
jewels--"

"You waste your breath, Adam!"

"Then, shipmate, with these jewels aboard you shall stand away
for another island that beareth south a day's sail--"

"Look you, Adam," says I, clenching my fists, "once and for all,
I do not leave this ship, happen what may."

"Aye, but you will, shipmate."

"Ha, d'ye think to force me, then?"

"Not I, Martin, but circumstances shall."

"What circumstances?"

Here and all at once Adam started up as again there came a soft
knocking at the door.  "Who's there?" he cried.  And then in my
ear, "'Tis she, Martin, as I guess, though sooner than I had
expected--into the bilboes with you."  Thus whispering and with
action incredibly quick, he clapped and locked me back in my
shackles, whisked food, platter and bottle into a dark corner and
crossed to the door.  "Who's there?" he demanded gruffly.  Ensued
a murmur whereupon he turned the key, set wide the door and fell
back bowing, bonnet in hand, all in a moment.

"Good Master Adam!" says she gently, "Pray you leave us awhile
and let none intrude on us."  At this Adam bows again very low
with a whimsical glance at me, and goes out closing the door
behind him.


CHAPTER XIX

CONCERNING THE PRINCESS DAMARIS

For a while she stood looking down on me, and I, meeting that
look, glanced otherwhere yet, conscious of her regard, stirred
uneasily so that my irons rattled dismally.

"Sir," says she at last, but there I stayed her.

"Madam, once and for all, I am no 'sir!'"

"Martin Conisby," she amended in the same gentle voice, "Master
Penfeather telleth you refused the honourable service I offered--
I pray you wherefore?"

"Because I've no mind to serve a Brandon."

"Yet you steal aboard my ship, Master Conisby, you eat the food
my money hath paid for!  Doth this suffice your foolish, stubborn
pride?"  Here, finding nought to say, I scowled at my fetters and
held my peace, whereat she sighed a little, as I had been some
fretful, peevish child:  "Why are you here in my ship?" she
questioned patiently.  "Was it for vengeance?  Tell me," she
demanded, "is it that you came yet seeking your wicked
vengeance?"

"Mine is a just vengeance!"

"Vengeance, howsoever just, is God's--leave it unto God!"  At
this I was silent again, whereupon she continued, her voice more
soft and pleading:  "Even though my father had...indeed...wronged
you and yours...how shall his death profit you--?"

"Ha!" I cried, staring up at her troubled face, "Can it be you
know this for very truth at last?  Are you satisfied of my wrongs
and know my vengeance just?  Have ye proof of Sir Richard's black
treachery--confess!"  Now at this her eyes quailed before my look
and she shrank away.

"God forgive him!" she whispered, bowing stately head.

"Speak!" says I, fiercely.  "Have ye the truth of it at last?"

"'Tis that bringeth me here to you, Martin Conisby, to confess
this wrong on his behalf and on his behalf to offer such
reparation as I may.  Alas! for the bodily sufferings you did
endure we can never atone, but...in all other ways--"

"Never!" says I, scowling.  "What is done--is done, and I am--
what I am.  But for yourself his sin toucheth you no whit."

"How?" cried she passionately.  "Am I not his flesh--his blood? 
'Twas but lately I learned the truth from his secret
papers...and...O 'twas all there...even the price he paid to have
you carried to the plantations!  So am I come pleading your
forgiveness for him and for me...to humble myself before
you...see thus...thus, upon my knees!"

Now beholding all the warm beauty of her as she knelt humbly
before me, the surge and tumult of her bosom, the quiver of her
red lips, the tearful light of her eyes, I was moved beyond
speech, and ever she knelt there bowed and shaken in her mute
abasement.

"My Lady Joan," said I at last, "for your pure self I can have
nought to forgive--I--that am all unworthy to touch the latchet
of your shoe...Rise, I pray."

"And for--my father?" she whispered, "Alas, my poor, miserable
father--"

"Speak not of him!" I cried.  "Needs must there be hate and
enmity betwixt us until the end."  So was silence awhile nor did
I look up, dreading to see her grief.

"Your face is cut, Martin!" said she at last, very softly,
"Suffer that I bathe it."  Now turning in amaze I saw her yet
upon her knees, looking up at me despite her falling tears: 
"Wilt suffer me to bathe it, Martin?" says she, her voice
unshaken by any sob.  I shook my head; but rising she crossed to
the door and came back bearing a small pannikin of water.  "I
brought this for the purpose," says she.

"Nay, indeed, I--I am well enough--"

"Then I will make you better!"

"No!" says I, angrily.

"Yes!" says she patiently, but setting dimpled chin at me.

"And wherefore, madam?"

"Because I'm so minded, sir!"  So saying she knelt close beside
me and fell a-bathing my bruised face as she would (and I
helpless to stay her) yet marvelling within me at the gentle
touch of her soft hands and the tender pity in her tear-wet eyes. 
"Martin," says she, "as I do thus cherish your hurts, you shall
one day, mayhap, cherish your enemy's--"

"Never!," says I.  "You can know me not at all to think so."

"I know you better than you guess, Martin.  You think it strange
belike and unmaidenly in me that I should seek you thus, that
your name should come so readily to my lip?  But I have
remembered the name 'Martin' for the sake of a boy, long years
since, who found a little maid (she was just ten year old) found
her lost and wandering in a wood, very woeful and frightened and
forlorn.  And this boy seemed very big and strong (he was just
eleven, he said) and was armed with a bow and arrows 'to shoot
outlaws.'  And yet he was very gentle and kindly, laying by his
weapons the better to comfort her sorrows and dry her tears.  So
he brought her to a cave he called his 'castle' and showed her a
real sword he kept hidden there (albeit a very rusty one) and
said he would be her knight, to do great things for her some day. 
Then he brought her safely home; and he told her his name was
Martin and she said hers was Damaris--"

"Damaris!" said I, starting.

"Often after this they used to meet by a corner of the old park
wall where he had made a place to go up and down by--for six
months, I think, they played together daily, and once he fought a
great, rough boy on her behalf, and when the boy had run away she
bathed her champion's hurts in a little brook--bathed them with
her scarf as thus I do yours.  At last she was sent away to a
school and the years passed, but she never forgot the name of
Martin, though he forgot her quite...but...you...you remember
now, Martin--O, you remember now?" says she with a great sob.

"Aye, I remember now!" quoth I, hoarsely.

"It is for the sake of this boy, Martin, so brave, so strong, yet
so very gentle and kindly--for him and all he might have been
that I pray you forego your vengeance--I beseech you to here
renounce it--"

"Never!" I cried, clenching my shackled hands.  "But for my enemy
this boy might now be as other men--'stead of outcast rogue and
scarred galley-slave, he might have come to love and win love--to
have known the joy of life and its fulness!  Howbeit he must go
his way, rogue and outcast to the end."

"No!" she cried, "No!  The wrong may be undone--must--shall be--
wounds will heal and even scars will fade with time."

"Scars of the body, aye--belike!" said I, "But there be scars of
the mind, wounds of the soul shall never heal--so shall my just
vengeance sleep not nor die whiles I have life!"

Here for awhile she was silent again and I saw a tear fall
sparkling.

"And yet," said she at last and never stirring from her humble
posture, "and yet I have faith in you still for, despite all your
cruel wrongs and grievous suffering, you are so--young,
headstrong and wilful and very desolate and forlorn.  Thus whiles
I have life my faith in you shall sleep not nor die, yet greatly
do I pity--"

"Pity?" says I fiercely, "You were wiser to hate and see me
hanged out of hand."

"Poor soul!" she sighed, and rising, laid one white hand upon my
shackled fist.  "And yet mayhap you shall one day find again your
sweet and long-lost youth--meanwhile strive to be worthy a
sorrowing maid's honest pity."

"Pity?" says I again, "'Tis akin to love--so give me hate, 'tis
thing most natural 'twixt your blood and mine."

"Poor soul!" she repeated, viewing me with her great, calm eyes
albeit their lashes were wet with tears, "How may I hate one so
wretched?"  Here, seeing mayhap how the words stung me she must
needs repeat them:  "Poor wretched soul, thou'rt far--far beneath
my hate."

"Belike you'll come to learn in time!" says I, beside myself.  At
this I saw the white hand clench itself, but her voice was tender
as ever when she answered:

"Sorrow and suffering may lift a man to greatness if he be strong
of soul or debase him to the brute if he be weak."

"Why then," says I, "begone to your gallants and leave me to the
brutes."

"Nay, first will I do that which brought me!" and she showed the
key of my gyves.

"Let be!" I cried, "I seek no freedom at your hands--let be, I
say!"

"As you will!" says she, gently.  "So endeth my hope of righting
a great wrong.  I have humbled myself to you to-night, Martin
Conisby.  I have begged and prayed you to forego your vengeance,
to forgive the evil done, not so much for my father's sake as for
your own, and this because of the boy I dreamed a man ennobled by
his sufferings and one great enough to forgive past wrongs, since
by forgiveness cometh regeneration.  Here ends my dream--alas,
you are but rogue and galley-slave after all.  So shall I ever
pity you greatly and greatly despise you!"

Then she turned slowly away and went from me, closing and locking
the door, and left me once more in the black dark, but now full
of yet blacker thoughts.

To be scorned by her!  And she--a Brandon!

And now I (miserable wretch that I was) giving no thought to the
possibility of my so speedy dissolution, raged in my bonds,
wasting myself in futile imprecations against this woman who (as
it seemed to me in my blind and brutish anger) had but come to
triumph over me in my abasement.  Thus of my wounded self-love
did I make me a whip of scorpions whereby I knew an agony beyond
expression.


CHAPTER XX

HOW I CAME OUT OF MY BONDS AND OF THE TERRORS OF A FIRE AT SEA

The Devil, ever zealous for the undoing of poor Humanity, surely
findeth no readier ally than the blind and merciless Spirit of
Mortified Pride.  Thus I, minding the Lady Joan's scornful look
and the sting of her soft-spoke words, fell to black and raging
fury, and vowed that since rogue and galley-slave she had named
me, rogue she should find me in very truth henceforward if I
might but escape my perilous situation.

And now it was that Chance or Fate or the Devil sent me a means
whereby I might put this desperate and most unworthy resolution
into practice; for scarce had I uttered this vow when a key
turned softly in the lock, the door opened and closed stealthily,
and though I could not see (it being pitch-dark) I knew that
someone stood within a yard of me, and all with scarce a sound
and never a word.  And when this silence had endured a while, I
spoke sudden and harsh:

"What now?  Is it the noose so soon, or a knife sooner?"

I heard a quick-drawn breath, a soft footfall, and a small hand,
groping in the dark, touched my cheek and crept thence to my
helpless, manacled fist.  "Who is it?" I demanded, blenching from
the touch, "Who is it?  Speak!"

"Hush!" whispered a voice in my ear, "It be only me, master. 
Jimmy--little Jim as you was good to.  Red Andy don't beat me no
more, he be afeared o' you.  Good to me you was, master, an' so's
she--took me to be her page, she 'ave--"

"Whom d'you mean, boy?"

"I mean Her!  Her wi' the beautiful, kind eyes an' little feet! 
Her as sings!  Her they calls 'my lady.'  Her!  Good t' me she
is--an' so's you, so I be come to ye, master."

"Ha--did she send you?"

"No, I just come to save you from being hung to-morrow like they
says you must."

"And how shall you do this, boy?"

"First wi' this key, master--"

"Stay!  Did she give you this key?"

"No, master--I took it!"  So, albeit 'twas very dark, the boy
very soon had freed me of my shackles; which done (and all a-
quiver with haste) he seizes my hand and tugs at it:

"Come, master!" he whispered, "This way--this way!"  So with his
little, rough hand in mine I suffered him to bring me whither he
would in the dimness, for not a lanthorn burned anywhere, until
at last he halted me at a ladder propped against a bulkhead and
mounting before, bade me follow.  Up I climbed forthwith, and so
to a narrow trap or scuttle through which I clambered with no
little to-do, and found myself in a strange place, the roof so
low I could barely sit upright and so strait that I might barely
lie out-stretched.

"Lie you here, master!" he whispers, "And for the love o' God
don't speak nor make a sound!"  Saying which, he got him back
through the scuttle, closing the trap after him, and I heard the
clatter of the ladder as he removed it.

Hereupon, lying snug in my hiding-place, I presently became aware
of a sweetness that breathed upon the air, a fragrance very faint
but vastly pleasing, and fell a-wondering what this should be. 
My speculations were banished by the opening of a door near by
and a light appeared, by which I saw myself lying in a narrow
space shut off by a valance or curtain that yet showed a strip of
carpet beyond, and all at once upon this carpet came a little,
buckled shoe.  I was yet staring on this in dumb amaze when a
voice spoke softly:

"Are you there, Martin Conisby?  Hush, speak low I do command
you!"

For answer I dragged myself into the light and stared up at the
Lady Joan Brandon.

"Where am I?" I demanded.

"In my cabin," says she, meeting my scowl with eyes serene and
all untroubled.  "I had you brought hither to save you--"

"To save me!  Ha, you--you to save me--"

"Because you are not man enough to die yet," she went on in her
calm, grave voice, "so I will save you alive that haply you may
grow more worthy."

"So 'twas by your orders?  The boy lied then!" says I choking
with my anger.  "'Twas you gave him the key!  'Twas you bade him
bring me hither--"

"Where none shall dare seek you!" says she, all unmoved by my
bitter rage, "So do I give you life, Martin Conisby, praying God
you may find your manhood one day--"

"Life!" quoth I, getting to my feet, "My life at your hands?  Now
look ye, madam, rather will I hang unjustly, rather will I endure
again the shame of the lash--aye by God's light, rather will I
rot in chains or perish of plague than take my life at your
hands.  So now, madam, I'll out of this perfumed nest and hang if
I must!" saying which I turned to the door, but she checked me
with a gesture.

"Stay!" she commanded, "Would you shame me?"  And now though she
fronted me with proud head erect, I saw her cheek flush
painfully.

"Aye, verily!" quoth I, "A lady's honour is delicate ware and not
to be cheapened by such poor rogue as I!  Fear nothing, lady, I
will go as--"  I stopped all at once, as came footsteps without
and a light tapping on the door.

"Who is it?" she called, lightly enough, and shot the bolt with
nimble fingers.

"Only I, sweet coz," answered a gay voice, "And I come but to
warn you not to venture on deck to-morrow till justice hath been
done upon our prisoner."

"Shall you--hang him, Rupert?"

"Assuredly!  'Tis a black rogue and merits a worse fate."

"Is he then tried and condemned already, Rupert?"

"Nay, though 'twill be soon done.  We have come on such evidence
of his guilt as doth condemn him out of hand."

"What evidence, cousin?"

"His doublet all besmirched with his victim's blood.  The man is
a very devil and must hang at dawn.  So, Joan, stir not abroad in
the morning until I come to fetch you.  A fair, good night, sweet
coz, and sweet dreams attend thee!"  And away trips Sir Rupert
and leaves us staring on one another, she proud and gracious in
all her dainty finery and I a very hang-dog fellow, my worn
garments smirched by the grime of my many hiding-places.

"Was this indeed your doublet?" she questioned at last.

"It was."

"How came it stained with blood?"  For answer I shrugged my
shoulders and turned away.  "Have you nothing to say?"

"Nothing, madam."

"You would have me think you this murderer?"

"I would have you think of me none at all," I answered, and
smiled to see how I had stirred her anger at last.

"Nay," sighs she, "needs must I think of you as the poor, mean
thing you are and pity you accordingly!"

"Howbeit," says I, scowling blacker than ever, "I will get me out
of your sight--"

"Aye, but the ladder is gone!"

"No matter," says I, "better a broken neck to-night than a noose
to-morrow.  To-morrow, aye, the dawn is like to see an end of the
feud and the Conisbys both together--"

"And so shameful an end!" says she.  At this, I turned my back on
her, for anger was very strong in me.  So, nothing speaking, I
got to my knees that I might come at the trap beneath her berth;
but next moment I was on my feet glaring round for some weapon to
my defence, for on the air was sudden wild tumult and hubbub, a
running of feet and confused shouting that waxed ever louder. 
Then, as I listened, I knew it was not me they hunted, for now
was the shrill braying of a trumpet and the loud throbbing of a
drum:

"Martin--O Martin Conisby!"  She stood with hands clasped and
eyes wide in a dreadful expectancy, "What is it?" she panted, "O
what is it?  Hark--what do they cry!"

Rigid and motionless we stood to listen; then every other emotion
was 'whelmed and lost in sudden, paralysing fear as, above the
trampling rush of feet, above the shrill blast of tucket and
rolling of drum we caught the awful word "Fire!"

"Now God help us all!" cries she, wringing her hands; then
sinking to her knees, she leaned, half-swooning, against the
door, yet I saw her pallid lips moving in passionate
supplication.

As for me (my first panic over) I sat me on her bed revolving how
I might turn the general confusion to the preservation of my
life.  In this I was suddenly aroused by my lady's hand on my
bowed shoulder.

"Hark!" cries she, "Hark where they cry for aid!"

"Why so they do," says I.  "And so they may!"

"Then come, let us out.  You are a strong man, you will help to
save the ship."

"And hang thereafter?  Not I, madam!"

"Will you do nothing?" cried she, clenching her hands.

"Verily, madam.  I shall do my earnest endeavour to preserve this
poor rogue's body o' mine from noose and flame.  But as for the
ship--let it burn, say I."

"Spoke like a very coward!" says she in bitter scorn.  "And a
coward is selfish always."  So saying she crossed to the door and
reached her hand to the bolt; but in a leap I was beside her and
caught this hand, 'prisoning it there:

"Hark'ee, madam!" quoth I, "You tell me that to hang is a
shameful death, and the noose as good as round my neck.  But,
before God, madam, I'll see this ship go up in flame and perish
with it ere that noose shall strangle the life out of me and my
wrongs unavenged.  So the ship may burn an it will.  Meantime do
you seek your salvation and leave me to seek mine!"  Then opening
the door I stood aside to give her way; instead she stood a
moment looking on me great-eyed:

"O blind!" says she at last, "To treasure life for your wicked
vengeance!  O blind, blind!"  Then, and very suddenly she sped
out and away.

Left alone I stood hearkening to the distant uproar and casting
about in my mind how best I might contrive my preservation.  And
now in my desperate need it seemed there was but one hope for me
and this but slender, viz., to steal myself up to Adam's lodgment
under the poop and that as soon as might be.  To this end I
stepped forth of the cabin and so into a narrow passage-way with
divers doors to right and left that opened upon other cabins, in
one of which I espied a cloak and feathered hat lying where their
owner had dropped them; whipping the cloak about me I clapped on
the hat and, staying for no more, hasted on breathing an air
acrid with drifting smoke.  Reaching a broad stairway I climbed
at speed and found myself out upon the lofty poop, whence I might
look down on the decks through a haze of smoke that poured up
through the after hatchway, mounting in billowy wreaths against
the splendour of the moon.  Here it seemed was gathered the whole
ship's company with mighty stir and to-do, and none with eyes to
spare for me.  Howbeit, I stayed for no second glance, but
running to Adam's cabin, found the door unlocked, the which I
closed and bolted after me, in the doing of which I noticed (to
my comfort) that this door was mighty thick and strong and in it
moreover a loophole newly cut, with others in the bulkheads to
right and left and all very neatly plugged from within; and what
with this and the musquetoons that stood in racks very orderly,
the place, small though it was, had all the virtues of a fort or
citadel.  Here then, so far as might be, I was safe whatever
chanced, since I had but to lift the trap in the floor and
descend into the roundhouse below, whence I might gain the stern-
gallery and so the sea itself.  And now, laying by the hat and
cloak I cast myself on Adam's bed and there outstretched in great
content, hearkened to the distant voices and tramp of feet where
they laboured to put out the fire.

Little by little these sounds became merged with the droning of
the wind and the never-ceasing surge and hiss of the seas; lulled
by this and the sense of my comparative safety, I presently fell
a-slumbering.  And sleeping thus, dreamed myself young again and
playing with the child Damaris, thrilling to the clasp of her
little, childish hands, joying in the tones of her clear, sweet
child voice--she that grown up I knew for none other than Joan
Brandon.


CHAPTER XXI

TELLETH HOW THE SAID FIRE CAME ABOUT

"Lord love me, shipmate, here's you to hang at peep o' day and a-
smiling in your dreams!"

"What--Adam!" says I, sitting up.

"In few short hours, Martin, here will be ninety odd souls
earnestly seeking to swing you up to the main-yard and you a-
slumbering sweet as any innocent babe, and burn me, shipmate, I
love you the better for't!"

"What of the fire, Adam?"

"Why, 'twas an excellent fire, Martin, and smoked bravely! 
What's more it served its divers purposes whiles it lasted."

"Is it out then, Adam?"

"This two hours."

"And what might you mean by its purposes?"

"Well, mayhap you were one o' them, Martin.  Here's the second
time fire hath served ye well, you'll mind."

"How!" I cried, starting to my feet, "Will you be telling me
'twas you set this fire going?"

"As to the other purpose, shipmate, 'tis yonder--hark to it!" 
And smiling grimly, Adam held up a sinewy finger, as, from
somewhere forward, rose a confused and dismal wailing.

"In heaven's name what's toward now, Adam?"

"The crew are singing, Martin, likewise they dance, presently
they shall fall a-quarrelling, then grow pot-valiant, all in
regular and accepted order.  Already one poor rogue hath been aft
to demand the women of us d'ye see, and--"

"To demand the women!" says I in gasping astonishment.

"Aye, the women, Martin--my Lady Joan and her maid, d'ye see."

"God's love, Adam!" I cried, gripping his arm, "And you--what
said you to the vile dog?"

"Nought!  I shot him!"

"Is the mutiny broke out then?"

"Not yet, shipmate, but 'tis coming, aye 'tis coming, which is
very well--"

"And what hath brought things to this pass?"

"Rum, Martin!  The fire was in the store-room where there is rum
a-plenty, d'ye see, and what was to prevent the rogues making off
with a keg or so that chanced to lie handy--not I, shipmate, not
I!"

"And why not, in the Devil's name?"

"Because, Martin," says Adam, sitting at the table and beginning
to set his papers in order, "because there's nought like liquor
for putting the devil into a man, and of all liquor commend me to
rum with a dash o' tobacco or gunpowder, d'ye see.  We shall be
heaving dead men overboard ere dawn, I judge, and all along of
this same rum, Martin.  Black mutiny, murder and sudden death,
shipmate, and more's the pity say I.  But if Providence seeth fit
why so be it."

"Providence!" quoth I, scowling down into his impassive face,
"Dare ye talk of Providence?  'Twas you set this bloody business
a-foot."

"Aye, Martin, it was!" says he nodding.  "As to Providence--
look'ee now, if you can ape Providence to your own ends, which is
vengeance and bloody murder, I can do as much for mine, which is
to save the lives of such as stand true to me and the ship--not
to mention the women.  There's Tressady skulking below, and I
have but contrived that the mutiny should come in my time rather
than his and theirs.  As it is, we are prepared, fifteen stout
lads lie in the round-house below with musquetoon and fusee, and
every gun and swivel that will bear (falconet and paterero) aimed
to sweep the waist when they rush, as rush they will, Martin,
when the drink hath maddened 'em properly--"

"And having maddened them with your hellish decoctions you'll
shoot the poor rogues down?"

"Aye, Martin, I will so, lest peradventure they shoot me.  Then
besides, shipmate, what o' the women?  I have the Lady Joan and
her maid to think on, 'twould be an ill fate theirs in the hands
of yon filthy rabblement.  Hark to 'em yonder, hark what they
sing!"

For a while I could hear nought but a clamour of fierce shouts
and hallooing, then, little by little, this wild, hoarse tumult
rose and swelled to a fierce chaunt:

"Some swam in rum to kingdom come,
Full many a lusty fellow.
And since they're sped, all stark and dead,
They're flaming now in hell O.
So cheerly O,
Hey cheerly O,
They're burning down in hell O!"

"D'ye hear it, Martin, did ye hear it?  Shoot the poor rogues
d'ye say?  Sink me, but I will so if Fortune be so kind. 
Yonder's short shrift and quick dispatch for me, shipmate, and
then--the women!  Think of my Lady Joan writhing in their
clutches.  Hark'ee to the lewd rogues--'tis women now--hark to
'em!"  And here again their vile song burst forth with much the
same obscenity as I had once heard sung by Abnegation Mings in a
wood, and the which I will not here transcribe.

"Well, shipmate," says Adam, glancing up from his papers, "last
of all, there's yourself!  Here's you with the rope in prospect
unless you quit this ship, and yonder, Martin, yonder is the
long-boat towing astern, all stored ready, a calm sea and a fair
wind--"

"No more of that!" says I angrily.

"But will ye dangle in a noose, Martin, when you might be away in
the long-boat as tows astern of us, and with a fair wind as I say
and--"

"Have done!" says I clenching my fists.

"'Twill be the simplest thing in the world, Martin," he went on,
leaning back in his chair and nodding up at me mighty pleasant,
"aye, a very simple matter for you to drop down from the stern-
gallery yonder d'ye see, and setting a course south-westerly you
should make our island in four-and-twenty hours or less what with
this wind and the sea so calm--"

"Never!" cried I in growing fury, "Come what will I stay aboard
this ship until we reach our destination!"

"Hum!" says he, pinching his chin and eyeing me 'twixt narrowed
lids, "Are ye still bent on nought but vengeance then?  Why
look'ee, Martin, 'tis none so far to seek, for seeing you may not
reach the father why not smite him through the daughter?  She'd
make fine sport for our beastly crew--hark to 'em roaring!  Sport
for them and a mighty full vengeance for you--"

The table betwixt us hampered my blow and then, as I strove to
come at him, I brought up with the muzzle of his pistol within a
foot of my brow.

"Easy, shipmate, easy!" says he, leaning back in his chair but
keeping me covered.

"Damned rogue!" I panted.

"True!" he nodded, "True, Martin, vengeance is kin to roguery,
d'ye see.  If you're for murdering the father what's to hinder
you from giving the proud daughter up to--steady, Martin, steady
it is!  Your sudden ways be apt to startle a timid man and my
finger's on the trigger.  Look'ee now, shipmate, if your scheme
of fine-gentlemanly vengeance doth not permit of such methods
towards a woman, what's to prevent you going on another track and
carrying her with you, safe from all chance of brutality? 
There's stowage for her in the long-boat, which is a stout, roomy
craft now towing astern, stored and victualled, a smooth sea, a
fair wind--"

"Hark'ee, Adam Penfeather," says I, choking with passion, "once
and for all I bide on this ship until she brings up off
Hispaniola."

"But then, Martin, she never will bring up off Hispaniola, not
whiles I navigate her!"

"Ha!" I cried, "Doth my lady know of this?  Doth Sir Rupert?"

"Not yet, Martin."

"Then, by Heaven, they shall learn this very hour!"

"I think not, Martin."

"And I swear they shall.  Let them hang me an they will, but
first they shall hear you intend to seize the ship to your own
purposes--aye, by God, they shall know you for the pirate you
are!"

Now as I turned and strode for the door, I heard the sudden
scrape of Adam's chair behind me, and whirling about, saw his
pistol a-swing above my head, felt the vicious, staggering blow,
and reeling to the door, sank weakly to my knees, and thence
seemed to plunge into a black immensity and knew no more.


CHAPTER XXII

TELLETH HOW WE WERE CAST ADRIFT

I awoke to a wind on my brow, very pleasant and sweet, and in my
ears the soft and drowsy ripple of water right soothing to hear,
and thus would have slumbered on but for another sound that broke
out at intervals, a thunderous roar that seemed to shake me where
I lay.  Therefore I opened my eyes to see above me a great
multitude of stars, and lay staring up at them in vague and
dreamy wonderment until, roused again by another thunderclap, I
raised myself and saw I lay in the stern-sheets of a large, open
boat that rocked to a gentle swell, and all about me a misty sea
grey with the dawn.  Now as I gazed around me, greatly troubled
and amazed, I beheld, far away across these dim waters, a flash
of red flame, and after some while heard again the thunder of a
gun.

Little by little, as the light waxed, I made out the loom of two
ships and, despite the distance, I knew the foremost for the
"Faithful Friend."  Ever and anon would come the faint crack of
caliver or petronel from her high poop, and the thunder of her
stern-chase guns.  And with my mind's eyes I seemed to espy Adam
firing from his loopholes to sweep the decks forward, the while
Godby and his few gunners served the great basilisks aft, aiming
them at a tall, black ship that stood hard in their wake, yawing
now and then to bring her fore-chase to bear on them in answer.

Suddenly up flamed the sun turning sea and sky to glory; but I
crouched miserable in my helplessness, for now I saw the
"Faithful Friend" steered a course that was taking her rapidly
away from me upon the freshening wind.  Perceiving which bitter
truth, beholding myself thus befooled, bubbled and tricked (and
my head throbbing from the blow of Penfeather's pistol-butt) a
mighty anger against him surged within me, and shaking my fists I
fell to fierce curses and revilings, like any madman, until what
with my aching head and lack of breath, I cast myself face down
and lay there spent with my futile ravings.  Yet even so,
bethinking me of all my fine schemes and purposes thus brought to
nothingness and myself drifting impotent at the mercy of wind and
wave, I sought to spit my puny anger against the God that made
me, in blasphemies and bitter imprecations.

"O shame, shame on you, Martin Conisby!  The God you rail upon is
my God also.  Have done, I say!  Be silent, nor tempt His mercy
with your childish clamours!"

Up-starting I turned and beheld the Lady Brandon upon her knees
within a yard of me, saw her shrink before my gaze and the
griping passion of my hands; for now, reading in her look all her
scorn and loathing for the thing I was, I must needs turn my fury
upon her and did that the which shames me to this day, for even
as she fronted me, all defenceless but with head erect and eyes
unflinching despite the sick pallor of her cheeks, I seized her
in cruel hold and, dragging her to me, bent her backward across a
thwart.

"Ha!" I gasped, "Will ye dare cry shame on me?  Will ye mock--
will ye flout--will ye scorn me still--and you but a lying,
thieving Brandon!  Would you trample me 'neath your proud
feet--."

"All this!" says she, staring up into my eyes, "But I do pity you
most for--what you are become.  O--kill me if you will, 'twould
be very easy for you and, mayhap, best for me, and I do not fear
to die.  So do as you will, Martin Conisby, I do not fear you
since Death is my kind friend and shall free me of the shame of
you if need be!"

Hereupon I loosed her and, crouched again in the stern-sheets,
bowed my head upon my fists, whiles she, kneeling patiently
beside the midship thwart, ordered her wrenched garments with
shaking hands.

And, after some while, her voice with its sweet, vital ring,
pierced to those black deeps where lay the soul of me:

"'Tis growing very rough.  What must we do?"

Lifting my head, I saw that the sea was risen considerably, and
the boat drifting broadside to the wind, so that the waves,
taking us abeam, spilled aboard us ever and anon.  So I arose and
made shift to step the mast and hoist sail, nothing heeding her
proffered aid; then shipping the tiller, I put our little vessel
before the wind.  And now, from a log pitching and rolling at
mercy of the waves, this boat became, as it were, alive and
purposeful, lifting to the seas with joyous motion, shaking the
water from her bows in flashing brine that sparkled jewel-like in
the early sun, her every timber thrilling to the buffets of the
waters that rushed bubbling astern all rainbow-hued and with a
sound like elfin laughter, until what with all this and the
strong, sweet air, even I felt the joy of it; but though my black
humour lifted somewhat, my shame was sore upon me, wherefore I
kept my gaze for the peak of the sail, the cloudless heaven, the
deep blue of the seas, and never so much as glanced at the
patient, solitary figure amidships.

"Whither do we sail?" she questioned at last.

"What matter?" says I sullenly.

"Aye, true!" she sighed.

"Besides, I have no compass."

"There is one in the locker here, and with it a packet and a
letter writ to you.  Shall I bring them?"

"As you will," says I, keeping my gaze averted.  So she makes her
way over to me (and mighty dexterous) despite the motion of the
boat, and setting the compass beside me, gives me the letter.  It
was sealed, and subscribed thus:

"To my well-loved, trusty friend, comrade and brother-adventurer
Martin, these:"

Breaking the seal, I read as follows:

"For your sore head, Martin, I grieve, but the blow I regret no
whit seeing it was struck to our mutual advantage hereafter.  Now
you (reading this) being at sea betwixt the parallels 70 and 65
in an open boat and all by reason of circumstances proving too
strong for you, Martin, it much behoveth you to mark and heed
well these my directions, to wit:  You shall lay your course
south-westerly, and that for these several and sufficing reasons,
viz., (1) You lie out of the track of ships.  (2) These be
treacherous seas, given to sudden furies of wind and raging
tempest.  (3) I like not the look of the weather.  (4) Our Island
lieth scarce twenty-four hours' sail due south-westerly.  Whereof
I have drawn for your guidance a chart of these waters, together
with a plan of our Island (very just and exact).  Also a chart of
the passage or channel through the barrier-reef, for saving this
passage, there is no landing upon the island that I know of.  Nor
shall you attempt this passage except at the flood and the seas
calm.  Being landed, Martin, you shall, with due regard to rest
and refreshment, forthwith secure our Treasure (the secret
whereof I have included with this my letter).  Thereupon, and
with all dispatch, you shall, troubling not for the gold or
silver, take but the four caskets of jewels, and, setting them
aboard your boat, sail away due West (three days) until you shall
fetch up with another island, the which you shall know by its
three several hills plain to be seen, and called Gibbet Island,
since 'twas there I hanged one Juan Maldonada (and richly
deserved it!).  Here then you shall bury our Treasure (four
caskets) in such place as seemeth to you proper, and there await
my coming.  And if I join you not within two months, then shall
this mighty treasure three-quarters thereof be yours.  And if I
come not within six months, then shall this fortune be wholly
yours since I shall be beyond all need of it.  So now, Martin,
good Fortune attend you.  Your boat (chosen by me long since, and
for this very purpose) is staunch, and an excellent sea-boat and
very well stored with everything for your needs, as arms,
clothes, food and the like.  Moreover within the treasure-cave is
all manner of stores, so that a man even though he bides on the
land to his life's end need suffer no lack, but have his every
comfort supplied.

And now, as to your head, Martin, 'twill be none the worse by
this, I judge.  And for the blow, 'twas no harder than called
for, and very well intentioned, as you shall confess one day,
mayhap, unless you be greater fool and blinder than I take you
for.  Howbeit I trust you, Martin, and in bidding you farewell
for the nonce, subscribe myself,

Your faithful friend and comrade to serve,

Adam Penfeather."

Having read this wordy missive, I crumpled it in angry fist and
thrust it into my pocket.  But now she gives me the packet named
therein, the which I forthwith tossed overboard (like the wilful
fool I was).  Thereby involving us in divers and many great
dangers and difficulties, as you shall learn hereafter.

Howbeit (the wind serving) I altered our course and stood away
south-westerly even as Adam had directed, since I perceived the
weather thickening behind us and the sea heaving with uneasy
motion.  And presently my companion questions me again:

"Whither do we sail?"

"South-westerly."

"Aye, but whither?"

"To an island."

"Is it far?"

"Two days' journey or thereabouts."

"Do you know this island?"

"I have never seen it."

"Then why sail thither?"

"'Tis thereabouts Penfeather would meet with us again if he may."

"And being there, what then?"

"God knoweth!"

Here was silence again save for the creak of mast and timbers as
we rose to the gentle swell and the ripple of water 'neath our
keel, while the sun, high risen, blazed down from the blue, his
fierce beams tempered by the cool, sweet wind.

"Are you hungry, Martin?"

"Is there aught to eat?"

"Plenty!"  So saying she opened one of the lockers and brought
thence a loaf of fine white bread, a neat's tongue, a flask of
wine, and a small barrico of water, upon which I, for one, made
an excellent meal.  Which done, she sets all things away again,
very orderly, and sits elbow on knee, staring away into the
distance and with her back to me.  Hereupon, I opened the stern-
locker and found therein a couple of musquetoons, a brace of
pistols, a sword with belt and hangers, and divers kegs of powder
and ball.

"How came you lying stunned in the boat?" says my companion at
last, but without turning her head.

"By roguery!" I answered.  "But how and when did the mutiny
start?"

"'Twas when we went to fetch the boy, my little page, Marjorie
and I.  He lay hurt and crying on the deck; so we ran out to him
and took him up betwixt us, and then I heard shouts and rush of
feet, and they were all about us--drunken men singing and
dancing.  And they struggled with us till came Master Penfeather,
with Godby and others, and after much bitter fighting brought us
away.  But Marjorie, my dear, faithful Marjorie, had taken a blow
aimed at me and died...in my arms...And the great cabin choking
with powder-smoke...and wounded men who cried and shouted.  My
dear, brave Marjorie!  With the dark the fight began again, and
twice I feared they would break in upon us.  Then Master Adam
brought me into the stern-gallery and lowered me into the boat
where I might lie secure, and so got him back into the battle. 
But in a little I saw a hand in the gloom cutting at the tow-
rope, and I screamed, but none heard.  And so the boat drifted
away, and with the dawn I found you lying under a boat-cloak."

When she had done, I sat awhile staring up at the peak of the
sail:

"My Lady Brandon," says I at length, "Fate hath set you in scurvy
company, for I am an ill rogue, very rough and rude-mannered, and
no fit company for any woman, as you do very well know.  Howbeit,
I swear that henceforth, so long as we company together, I will
trouble you no more than I may, either by act or speech, you to
your place in the bows yonder in mine here at the tiller, you to
your thoughts, I to mine.  And thus methinks we shall do well
enough until we can go our several ways."

"Must we not speak?" she questioned, keeping her face turned from
me.

"When needful, madam!"

"Am I but to answer when you deign me notice?  Will it plague you
if I sing?  Am I to sit with my hands folded henceforth and do
nought but think?  Must I stay in the bows until you summon me
thence?" says she, and all in the same small, soft voice, so that
I perceived my fine speech had been thrown away; wherefore I
stared up at the sail and with never a word in answer.

But presently, chancing to look at her, I found her regarding me
with her dimpled chin set mighty resolute; "Because," says she,
meeting my look, "I shall talk when I will and sing when so
minded, Martin Conisby.  I shall not sit in the bows for 'tis wet
there, and I shall not fold my hands, but you shall teach me how
to steer and handle the boat and do my share of the labour.  For
look now, here are we, by no will of our own, God knoweth,
companions in misfortune, let us then aid each other that our
troubles be the easier.  And O pray do you forget Martin Conisby
his woes awhile."  And away she goes, and getting to her knees
before one of the lockers, begins rearranging the contents,
singing away the while merry as any grig.

As the day wore on, the skies clouded over with a wind very
sudden and blusterous, wherefore, misliking the look of things, I
was for shortening sail, but feared to leave the helm lest the
boat should broach to and swamp while this was a-doing.  But the
wind increasing, I was necessitated to call my companion beside
me and teach her how she must counter each wind-gust with the
helm, and found her very apt and quick to learn.  So leaving the
boat to her manage I got me forward and (with no little to-do)
double-reefed our sail, leaving just sufficient to steer by;
which done I glanced to my companion where she leaned to the
tiller, her long hair streaming out upon the wind, her lithe body
a-sway to the pitching of the boat and steering as well as I
myself.  From her I gazed to windward where an ominous and ever-
growing blackness filled me with no small apprehensions;
wherefore I made fast all our loose gear, as oars, spare sail,
spars and the like.  Now in the bows were stowed her belongings,
a leathern trunk and divers bundles, the which I proceeded to
secure in their turn.  This done, I got me aft again, but when I
would have relieved her of the tiller, she shook her head.

"Nay, let me steer a while," she cried, looking up through her
wind-tossed hair, "'tis joy to me!  Lay you down and rest a while
and trust the boat to me."  And seeing how quick she was to meet
each send of the seas (that were already running high) glad
enough was I to humour her whim, and clambered forward again. 
And there (having nought better to do) I set about rigging a
rough awning athwart the bows, with canvas and a stout spar,
which methought should keep out the spray and any chance sea that
might break forward; though indeed the boat seemed mighty
staunch, and sea-worthy to a miracle.

With every hour the wind waxed in fury and therewith the sea
rose, huge, rolling billows that came roaring up astern to whirl
us aloft amid hissing brine and passing, left us deep-plunged in
great, foaming hollows.  Being got back aft at last and with no
small exertion (by reason of the boat's pitching) I stared amazed
to hear my companion singing right joyously.

"O Martin!" she cried, her voice a-thrill with the clear, vital
ring I knew so well, "O Martin, the wonder and glory of it!  See
yonder on these mighty waters, Death rides crying to us.  But God
is there also, and if these rushing surges 'whelm us we, dying,
shall find God there."  And beholding her as she sat, her face
uplifted to the tempest, her sea-wet hair upborne upon the wind,
I marvelled within myself.  "And the boat, Martin!" cries she as
we rose on a hissing wave-crest, "This dear, brave boat!  See how
nobly she rides--indeed and indeed I do love her every timber!"

And verily to me, awed by these mighty waters, it was wonderful
to see how our little craft rose to the seas, buoyant as any
cork; now poised 'mid hissing foam high in air, now plunging
dizzily down; and ever the wind gathered fury until the very air
seemed full of whirling spindrift.

In a while I took the tiller, and wondered to see my companion
droop all at once with head bowed upon her hands.

"Are you sick?" I cried.

"'Tis but weariness," she answered, "I slept no wink last night."

"Why then go forward and lie down!" says I.  The which she did
forthwith, and made less business of it than I.  Reaching the
mast she paused thereby to behold my handiwork, then going on her
knees crept beneath the awning and vanished from my view.

Left alone I stared around me on the raging tumult, and beholding
all its terrors my mind was full of wonder of this maid who could
sing so blithely with Death all about her and behold God, as it
were, riding on the wings of the storm.

Presently she comes and sits close beside me that we might talk,
for the wind was very loud.

"It was kind of you to make me so fair a shelter, Martin, and a
bed also, kind and very thoughtful, but I shall not sleep to-
night unless it be here."

"And why here?"

"Death hath more terrors in the dark and I grow a little fearful,
Martin."  So saying she wrapped a boat-cloak about her and,
spreading out the other, lay down thereon and so near that I
might have touched her where she lay.

And in a while Night rushed down upon us and it was dark; but
from the dark her voice reached me where she lay, her head
pillowed at my feet, and I, crouching above her, strove to
shelter her somewhat from the lashing spray and buffeting wind. 
Thus in despite of raging tempest we contrived to make each other
hear though with difficulty, talking on this wise:

She:  Are you afraid?

Myself:  No.

She:  Have you then no fears of death?

Myself:  I have prayed for it, ere now.

She:  And vainly!  For God, instead, hath made you very hale and
strong.

Myself:  Aye, for a purpose.

She:  What purpose?

Here, seeing I held my peace, she questioned me again:  "Was your
purpose the slaying of my father?  He is an old man and feeble!"

Myself:  He plotted the downfall of our house and slew my father!

She:  And so you have prayed for vengeance?

Myself:  I have.

She: And God hath denied you this also.  Should you die to-night
you go to him innocent of your enemy's blood. 

Myself:  Aye, but if I live--?

She:  You shall grow wiser, mayhap, and forgetting the ill that
lies behind you, reach out to the good that lieth before.

Myself:  And what of my just vengeance?

She:  Vengeance is but for the weak of soul, 'tis only the strong
can forgive.

Myself:  What of my sacred vow?  What of my many prayers for
vengeance?

She:  Empty breath!

Myself:  Dare you say so?

She:  I dare more, for lying here with Death all about us I tell
you, Martin Conisby, despite your size and strength, you are no
better than a pitiful, peevish child--"

"Ha!" cried I fiercely, bending over her in the dimness until I
might stare into her eyes, wide and dark in the pale oval of her
face, "Will ye dare--"

"A child," says she again, nodding at me, "lost and wilful and
very selfish with no thought above Martin Conisby and his wrongs. 
Nay, scowl not nor grind your teeth, 'tis vain!  For how may I,
that fear not God's dreadful tempest, stoop to fear poor Martin
Conisby?"

"Stoop, madam?" I cried hoarsely.

"Aye, stoop," says she.  "The wrongs you have endured have
plunged you to the very deeps, have stripped you of your manhood. 
And yet--yours is no murderer's face even when you scowl and
clench your fist!  'Twas so you looked when you fought that rough
boy on my behalf so many years ago when you were Sir Martin the
Knight-errant and I was Princess Damaris.  And now, Martin, you
that were my playmate and had forgot--you that were so ready to
fight on my behalf--in this desolation there is none you may do
battle with for my sake saving only--Martin Conisby!"

Now here she turned, her face hid from me 'neath a fold of the
great boat-cloak, and spake no more.  And I, crouched above her,
staring down at her muffled form outstretched thus at my mercy,
felt my quivering fist relax, felt my brutish anger cower before
her trust and fearlessness.  And so, leaning across the tiller, I
stared away into the raging dark; and now it seemed that the soul
of me had sunk to deeps more black and, groping blindly there,
hungered for the light.

So all night long we drove before the tempest through a pitchy
gloom full of the hiss of mighty seas that roared past us in the
dark like raging giants.  And all night long she lay, her head
pillowed at my feet, sleeping like a wearied child, and her long,
wind-tossed hair within touch of my hand.


CHAPTER XXIII

DIVERS PERILS AND DANGERS AT SEA

Towards dawn the wind abated more and more and, glancing into the
lightening East, I saw the black storm-clouds pierced, as it
were, by a sword of glory, a single vivid ray that smote across
the angry waters, waxing ever more glorious until up flamed the
sun before whose joyous beams the sullen clouds scattered, little
by little, and melted away.

And now I (that was doomed to be my own undoing) instead of
thanking that merciful God who had delivered us from such dire
peril, must needs scowl upon this kindly sun and fall again to my
black humours.  For, the immediate dangers past, I began to
ponder the future and inwardly to rage against that perverse fate
the which was driving me whither it would.  So, crouched chin on
fist, scowling across these tempestuous waters (for though the
wind was fallen the seas ran very high) within myself I cursed
Adam Penfeather and all his works.

"You are hungry, Martin!"  Turning about I beheld my companion
sitting up regarding me with eyes that belied her solemn mouth.

"How should you know this?"

"You frown, Martin!  Though the storm is done and we alive, yet
you frown!  Have patience and you shall eat and sleep."

"I want neither one nor other!" I began.

"And you are wet, Martin!"

"'Tis no matter!"

"And cold!"

"The sun shall warm me."

"So you shall eat, and lie here i' the sunshine, and sleep!"  And
away she goes to vanish under the dripping pent-house forward
(the which had served its purpose admirably well) whiles I,
perceiving the waves subsiding and the wind blowing steady and
fair, laid our course due south-westerly again, and lashing the
helm, went forward to shake out the reefs, finding it no easy
task what with the stiffness of my cramped limbs and the pitching
of the boat; howbeit, 'twas done at last but, coming back, I
tripped across a thwart and fell, cursing.

"Are you hurt?" she questioned, stooping over me; whereupon (for
very shame) I turned my back answering short and ungraciously,
and sat frowning like the sullen rogue I was whiles she busily
set forth the wherewithal to break our fast, and singing softly
to herself.

"I told you I was an ill rogue and rough!" says I, bitterly.

"Why so you did," says she, meeting my scowl with her wide, calm
gaze.  "Also you are hungry, and the food is unspoiled despite
the storm--come and eat!"

So I ate (though with mighty ill grace) and found little savour
in the food for all my hunger; but she waited on my wants with
heedful care, my surliness notwithstanding.

"Whose was the hand set this boat adrift, think you?" says I
suddenly.

"Nay, 'twas too dark to see!"

"'Twas Penfeather!" says I, clenching my fist.  "Aye it was Adam,
I'll stake my life on't!"

"Then Poor Master Adam!" she sighed.

"How?  Will you pity a rogue?"

"I speak of Master Penfeather," says she.  "If he indeed cut the
boat adrift it was doubtless because the battle was going against
him and he did this to save me!"  Hereupon I laughed and she,
flushing angrily, turns her back on me.

"Pray you," she questioned, "when may we hope to reach the island
and be free of each other?"

"To-night or to-morrow, unless the storm hath driven us further
than I judge."  And now, our meal done, she sets away everything
in its appointed place and thereafter sat watching the sea all
foam and sparkle beneath the young sun.  And presently a sigh
brake from her and she turned, her anger forgotten quite.

"O!" cries she, "'Tis joy to be alive, to breathe such air, and
behold such a glory of sea and sky!  Look around us, Martin, and
give thanks!"  And truly the sea was smooth enough save for a
long, rolling swell out of the East, and with a soft and gentle
wind to abate the sun's generous heat.  "Are you not glad to be
alive, Martin?" says she.

"To what end?" I answered.  "Of what avail is life to me cast
away on a desolate island."

"Desolate?" says she, starting.  "Do you mean we shall be alone?"

"Aye, I do."

"But surely," says she with troubled look, "surely Master Adam
will fetch us away?"

"There is a chance!"

"And--if not?"

"God knoweth!" says I gloomily, "'Tis a small island as I learn,
little known and out of the track of vessels."

"Yet a ship may come thither to our relief?"

"And if one doth not?"

"Then must we tempt the sea again in our boat."

"I am no navigator, and these seas are strange to me."

"Howbeit," says she, bravely, "we have good store of provisions."

"And when they are gone--how then, think you?"

"I think you do lack for sleep.  Go, take your rest, mayhap you
shall waken a little bolder and less despairing."

"And you," says I, "you that so look on all this as a joyous
adventure--"

"Joyous?  Ah God!" she cried, "Do you think because I do not weep
that my heart is not full of misery and grief to lose thus home
and friends and country and live 'prisoned and solitary with such
as you, that think but on your own selfish woes and in your big
body bear the soul of a fretful babe?  I hate you, Martin
Conisby, scorn and despise you!  And now give me the tiller and
begone to your sleep!"  Saying which she pointed where she had
spread the cloaks hard by the midship thwart and I, amazed by her
fierce outburst, suffered her to take the tiller from my hold,
and coming amidships laid myself down even as she had commanded.

But no thought of sleep had I, rather I lay that I might watch
her (furtively, beneath my arm) where she sat head aloft, cheeks
flushed and bosom tempestuous.  And (despite her beauty) a very
termagant shrew I thought her.  Then, all at once, I saw a tear
fall and another; and she that had sung undaunted to the tempest
and outfaced its fury, sat bitterly weeping like any heart-broke
maid, yet giving due heed to our course none the less. 
Presently, chancing to look my way, she catches me watching her
and knits her slender brows at me:

"Get you to sleep!" says she.  "O get you to sleep nor trouble my
grief!"

Hereupon (and feeling mighty guilty) I pillowed my head and,
closing my eyes, presently fell to sweet and dreamless slumber.


CHAPTER XXIV

HOW WE CAME TO BLACK BARTLEMY'S ISLAND

"Martin, Martin--look!"

I started up, and rubbing sleep from my eyes, turned to gaze
whither she pointed; and there, faint and far, above the rolling
blue of the seas rose a blue shape.  "'Tis the island, Martin! 
Our voyaging is nigh ended."

"Aye, 'tis the island!" says I.

"'Tis like an island of dream, Martin."

"Nay, 'tis real enough!" quoth I, "And solitary!"

"There is a perspective glass in the locker, yonder, Martin."

"Master Adam was vastly thoughtful!" quoth I, bitterly.  And
reaching the glass I gave it to her.

"Will you not look at the island?" she questioned wonderingly.

"Nay, I shall see more than enough of it ere long!  Do you give
me the tiller and view it as you will."

"I see rocks!" says she, after some while.

"Ha, a barren place, as I thought."

"Nay, there are trees--many trees!  O 'tis wonderful!"  And so
she sat viewing it all untiring, every moment discovering some
new marvel; but I fell to my old, black humour, since to me this
island was no better than a prison.

By mid-day we were come so close that I might see the place very
well; a smallish island with sheer cliffs very jagged and grim
where the seas broke in foam and crowned with many and divers
trees, beyond which rose greeny slopes with more trees that
mounted up and up to a lofty summit of rocks and brush.  Being
within some two miles of these forbidding cliffs I steered to
fetch a compass about the island, and so presently opened a bay
of white sand with tree-clad cliffs beyond, and before a sheet of
placid water or lagoon shut off from the sea by a semicircular
barrier-reef, such as Adam had described in his story.

And now, bethinking me that (by his account) this was the only
means of landing upon the island, I stood for this reef, against
which the foaming seas dashed with a mighty roaring, looking for
that narrow channel through the reef, that opening amid these
breakers whereby we might steer into those calm waters beyond.

And presently, sure enough, I espied it well-nigh in the middle
of the reef, even as Adam had said, and, putting up the helm, ran
for it straightway.  An evil enough place it looked, perilously
narrow and with mighty seas that broke in thunderous spray to
right and left of it; insomuch that heedful of Adam's warning
(and all too late) I was minded to bear up and stand away, plying
off and on, until the waves should have moderated.  But in my
folly I had sailed too near and now, swept onward by some
current, the boat, responding no more to her helm, was borne on
at ever-increasing speed.  So thus helpless and at mercy of the
seas we drove straight for this perilous channel until I had some
desperate hope that she might make it; on we sped, nearer and
nearer, until the spume of the breakers was all about us and I
well-nigh deafened by their roar; but this roar was pierced
suddenly by a cry:

"O Martin!  God pity us--look!"  Turning my head, I saw a hugeous
wave hard upon us, felt my companion's arms about me, and then--
deafened, blinded, choking, I was whirled aloft on this mighty
sea, tossed, buffeted, hurled into blinding sunlight, buried
beneath green deeps and, expectant of death, suddenly found
myself face down on warm sands wherein my griping fingers
clutched desperately against the back-rush of the sea.

So lay I gasping and gripping this kindly earth and waited to do
battle for what remained of life, hearkening for the fierce hiss
of that great wave that was to bear me back to the horror of
those green deeps the which should bury me for ever; instead I
heard the gentle, drowsy lapping of water all about me, and
opening my eyes beheld myself lying on the edge of those white
sands that bordered the lagoon, while behind me the seas
thundered impotent against the reef.  And now, little by little,
I saw that the great wave must have borne me hither in miraculous
fashion; and lying thus bruised and spent I must needs remember
how Adam had experienced the like.

But all at once I staggered up to my feet and began staring
hither and thither; then as my brain cleared and strength came
back, I took to running along the edge of the lagoon like one
demented, staring down into those placid waters and searching the
white sands with eyes of dreadful expectancy, yet nowhere could I
discover sign or trace of my companion.  None the less I
continued to run aimlessly back and forth, heedless of my going,
slipping and stumbling and often falling, but never staying my
search until the sweat poured from me.  And ever as I ran I kept
repeating these words to myself over and over again, viz.,
"Adam's comrade, Nicholas Frant, was cast safe ashore with him!" 
Thus I ran to and fro gasping these words to myself until,
tripping over a piece of driftwood I lay bruised and well-nigh
spent.  Howbeit, I forced myself up again and re-commenced my
search, and this time with more method, for I swore to myself
that I would find her or perish also.  To this end I determined
to get me out upon the reef; now to come thither I must needs
climb over certain rocks, so came I thither and, breathless with
haste, made shift to mount these rocks heedless of bruises or
bleeding hands, and reaching the summit at last, paused all at
once.

She lay face down almost below these rocks, outstretched within a
little cove and her long, wet hair wide-tossed like drifted
seaweed all about her.  Now, seeing how still she lay, a great
sickness seized me so that I sank weakly to my knees and crouched
thus a while, and with no strength nor will to move.  At last,
and very slowly, I made my way a-down the rocks, and being within
the little cove, found myself all trembling and holding my
breath.  Then, though the soft sand deadened all sound of my
going, I crept forward.  So came I where she lay, her wet
draperies clinged fast about her; and standing above this stilly
form I looked down upon her slender shapeliness yet feared to
touch her.  And now I saw that one sleeve was torn away and upon
her round, white arm the marks my cruel hands had wrought.

"Damaris!" says I, falling on my knees beside her, and the word
was a groan.  And in that moment she raised her head and looked
at me, and in her eyes methought to read wonder and a sudden,
great joy:

"Martin!" she whispered, "O thank God!"  And so hid her face
again.  Now, being yet on my knees, I looked from her to the blue
heaven and round about me like one that wakes upon a new world.


CHAPTER XXV

HOW I WAS HAUNTED OF BLACK BARTLEMY

"Are you hurt?" says I, at last.

"Indeed," she answered, "all over.  Yet am I alive and there's
the wonder.  The wave cast me into the lagoon and I crept ashore
here.  Then methought you surely dead and I alone within these
solitudes and so I swooned, Martin."

"Being afraid of the loneliness?"

"Yes, Martin."

"Even fellow as rough as I is better than loneliness?"

"Yes, Martin."

"Though your arms be bruised by my handling!  For this I--I would
crave your pardon--"

"'Tis all forgot!" says she, making shift to cover up her arm. 
"But your hand is bleeding--"

"A scratch!"

"Have you no other hurts?"

"A bruise or so."

"And did you come a-seeking me, Martin?"

"Yes."

"Are you glad to find me alive?"

"Yes."

"Even a Brandon is better than nobody, Martin?"  But at this I
arose, albeit stiffly, and turned away.  "Whither would you go?"
she questioned.

"To seek some shelter ere night catch us."

"Shall I not come with you?"

"Can you walk?"

Hereupon she made to rise, but getting to her knees, flinched and
bit her lip:

"I'm so bruised, Martin!" says she.

"Why then, bide you here, yonder cleft i' the rock should serve
for to-night.  Howbeit I'll go look."  So I limped across the
beach to where showed a great fissure in the cliff hard beside a
lofty tree; being come within this cleft I found it narrow
suddenly, and at the end a small cave very dry and excellent
suited to our purpose.  Moreover, close at hand was a little rill
that bubbled among mossy rocks, mighty pleasant to be heard.  And
hereabouts grew all manner of vines, sweet-smelling shrubs and
fern; of these I gathered goodly quantity and strowing them
within the cave therewith made a very passable bed; which done, I
went back where she lay a-drying her wet garments in the warm sun
as well as she might.

"Martin," says she, mighty doleful, "I have lost my comb and all
my hairpins."

"I will fashion you others."

"Aye, but the boat, Martin, our dear, brave boat!"

"To-morrow I will seek what remains of her."

"And our stores--all lost, Martin!"

"I can find more."

"Where?"

"Among the rocks and on the trees.  There should be no lack of
fruit and fish according to Adam."

"Nay but," sighed she, shaking woeful head, "even though we
contrive to live thus, yet here must we 'bide far from our kind
with small hopes of relief and destitute of all things to our
comfort."

"Why look now," says I, "here in my pocket is a tinder box, the
which is a very comfortable thing, here in my belt a good, stout,
knife, which is another comfortable thing, and yonder is a cave,
dry and airy, shall make you a goodly chamber; so take comfort
to-night, at least."  And drawing my knife I betook me to
whetting the blade on the sole of my damp shoe.  Glancing up at
last I found my companion regarding me with strange expression.

"Methinks you are greatly changed!" says she.

"How changed?"

"In the boat you did nought but cry out and rail 'gainst fortune,
but now, Martin--"

"Now," says I, "the sun is low and night cometh apace in these
latitudes, let me know you sheltered ere it be dark!" and
sheathing my knife I rose.  Then seeing what effort she made to
come to her knees, I reached her my hand aiding her up to her
feet.  So she takes a step and, stifling a cry of pain, would
have fallen but for my arm.

"O Martin," says she, with rueful shake of the head, "I fear I
cannot walk."

"Lean on me--"

"'Tis vain," says she, catching her breath, "I cannot set this
foot to ground."

"Have you any bones broke?"

"Nay, 'tis none so bad as that--"

"Where's your hurt?"

"My knee--my ankle!  And I'm direly bruised, Martin."

But you cannot sleep out here!"

"I needs must.  The sand is warm and soft to my bed."

"There is a better waiting you in the cave yonder."

"But--if I cannot walk, Martin--"

"Why then," says I, "why then you must suffer that I carry you."

"I fear I am--greatly heavy, Martin!"

"As to that--" says I, and lifting her as gently as I might,
began to bear her across the beach.  And after we had gone thus
some way she spoke:

"I fear me I am vastly heavy!"

"No!" says I, keeping my gaze before me.

"Yet you go very slowly."

"'Tis that I would not jostle you."

"And the sand is ill-going, belike, Martin?"

"Most true!" says I, pretending to stumble.

"Why then, I pray you take your time."  At this I ventured to
glance down at her, but saw no more than the curve of a cheek and
the tip of a little ear; and staring at this came very near
blundering into a rock.  So I bore her into the rocky cleft
already full of shadow, taking due heed in my going yet mighty
conscious of all the yielding softness of her none the less.

"Your clothes are very damp!" says I.

"They will be dry ere morning," she answered, her voice muffled.

"I had best light a fire then!"

"There is no need, 'tis very warm, I do think."

"'Tis good against wild beasts and the like," says I.

"Why then, as you will, Martin."

Reaching the little cave at last she would have had me set her
down; but I bade her lie still, and getting to my knees within
the cave I laid her upon her ferny bed, whereat she uttered a
little cry of pleasure.

"Why, Martin," says she, snugging down, here is wondrous soft bed
and fragrant."

"'Twill serve until I can contrive a better," quoth I, and coming
without the cave, stood looking down on her, while the night
deepened about us apace.

"And what of you, Martin?"

"I shall sleep here, beyond the fire."

"Do you think there be any wild beasts hereabouts?"

"God knoweth!" says I.  "Howbeit you may sleep secure and fear
nothing."

"I know that, O I know that!" says she gently.

"Do you lack for aught?"

"Only sleep, Martin."

"Why then, I'll set about making the fire."  So I fell to
gathering twigs and driftwood, of which there was no lack, and
taking out my tinder-box (albeit the tinder was still damp) soon
contrived to have the fire crackling right merrily.  This done
and with store of fuel to hand, I scooped me out a hollow in the
warm sand and lying therein found myself very well, the aches of
my many bruises notwithstanding.  The night air struck chill
through my damp garments, but now, stretched in the comfort of
the fire, there grew within me a great wonder at our miraculous
deliverance; and this led me to ponder upon our present
situation, cast thus destitute upon this lonely island where,
devoid of every comfort and necessity, we must needs live in
barbarous fashion as best we might until either Penfeather should
come to our relief or we be taken off by some chance vessel.  And
supposing (thinks I) that neither chance befall and we doomed to
drag out our days to their miserable end?  Here I must needs
bethink me of all the woeful tales I had heard of marooners or
poor, shipwrecked mariners who, by reason of wretchedness and
hardship, had run mad or become baser than the brutes.  And now,
I must needs take out and read Penfeather's crumpled letter, and
bethinking me how (in my wicked folly) I had cast overboard the
packet of instructions whereby we must at least have found all
those stores he made mention of, from cursing him I straightway
fell to bitter recriminations of my vain self.

"Are you asleep, Martin?"

"No!"  Here I heard her sigh, and a rustle as she turned on her
leafy couch.

"O Martin, surely God hath had us in His care to bring us safe
through so many dangers, and methinks His gentle hand will be
over us still."

"Have you no fear of what is to be?"

"None, Martin--not now.  But had I found myself alone here--hurt
and helpless in the dark--and really alone, O methinks I should
have died indeed, or lost my wits and perished so.  O truly,
truly, God is infinitely merciful!"

Thus (and all unknowing) she rebuked my ungrateful despondency. 
For (thinks I) if she, a woman accustomed to ease and comfort,
may thus front our desperate fortunes undismayed and with faith
unshaken, how much more should I, a man inured to suffering and
hardened by privation?  Thus, checking my gloomy foreboding, I
too breathed a prayer to God for His infinite mercies, and
thereafter fell to pondering how I might supply our more pressing
needs with such small means as I possessed; and so in a while,
dozed off to sleep.

I started up, knife in hand, to find the moon very big and
bright, flooding the world with a radiance wondrous to behold;
and blinking drowsily, I wondered what had waked me.  Now as I
gazed about me the place seemed all at once to take on an evil
look, what with its steepy sides a-bristle with tangled vines and
bushes and pierced here and there with black holes and fissures,
and I shivered.  The fire being low I, minded to replenish it,
was groping for my fuel when I started and remained peering up at
the cliff above, with ears on the stretch and every nerve a-
tingle.  The night was very calm and still, for the wind had died
away, and save for the distant murmur of the surf beyond the
reef, nought was to hear; then and all at once, from one of those
black holes in the rock above I heard a long-drawn, sighing
breath and therewith a faint scuffling.  Slowly and cautiously I
got to my feet and, with knife gripped ready, began to creep
thither; and now within one of these gloomy crevices in the rock-
face I saw a crouching shape that, as I drew nearer, sprang away
with a snort and clatter, and I saw this was a large goat.

And surely no poor wight ever more relieved than I as, sheathing
my knife, I wiped the sweat from me; and now to relief was added
a mighty satisfaction, for where was one goat would be others. 
Thus, my fears allayed, and bethinking me how savoury was a mess
of goat's-flesh, I fell a-watering at the mouth like the hungry
animal I was.

Having no more mind to sleep (and the moon so marvellous bright)
I wandered forth of these shadowy rocks and, being upon the
sands, stood to look about me.  Before me stretched the wide
ocean, a desolation of heaving waters that, rolling shorewards,
broke in splendour 'neath the moon; to my right lay a curve of
silver beach backed by cliffs and groves of stately palms; and to
my left and hard beside these bush-girt rocks was a great and
lofty tree.

Now observing this tree more closely, its mighty writhen branches
and gnarled roots, and how it stood close against the opening in
the cliff, an uneasy feeling possessed me that this tree and its
immediate surroundings were all familiar, almost as I had seen it
before, though I knew this could not be.  So stood I chin in
hand, staring about me and ever my unease grew; and then:

"So that night, Martin, the moon being high and bright, I came to
that stretch of silver sand where they lay together rigid and
pale, and though I had no tool but his dagger and a piece of
driftwood, I contrived to bury them 'neath the great pimento tree
that stood beside the rock-cleft, and both in the same grave."

It was, for all the world, as though Adam had repeated the words
in my ear, insomuch that I glanced round as almost expecting to
see him.  So then it was here Black Bartlemy had died at the
hands of the poor, tortured Spanish lady; and here they lay
buried, their bones mouldering together within a yard of me.  And
standing in this dismal spot I must needs mind Adam's narrative
and great was my pity for this poor Spanish lady.

In a while I got me back to the fire and, lying down, fain would
have slept, but my mind was full of Adam's story.  Howbeit after
some while, what with fatigue and the warmth of the fire, slumber
took me.

But in my sleep the dead arose and stood fronting each other
beneath a pallid moon, Bartlemy in all the bravery of velvet and
lace and flowing periwig, and the Spanish lady tall and proud and
deadly pale.  And now as she shrank from his evil touch, I saw
that her face was the face of Joan Brandon.  Sweating in dumb
anguish I watched Bartlemy grip her in cruel hands and bend her
backward across his knee, while she stared up at him with eyes of
horror, her lips moving in passionate entreaty.  But, as he bent
over her, was a flash of steel, and deep-smitten he staggered
back to the great tree and, leaning there, fell into a fit of
wild laughter so that the silver dagger-hilt that was shaped like
a woman seemed to dance and leap upon his quick-heaving breast;
then as he swayed there laughing his life out, he raised his face
to the pale moon, and I saw that the face of Black Bartlemy was
my own.


CHAPTER XXVI

WE COME UPON GRIM EVIDENCES OF ADAM PENFEATHER

Waking to a glory of sun, I found my companion looking down on me
all anxious-eyed where she knelt, her hand upon my shoulder.

"Why, Joan," says I drowsily, "my lady--"

"You are groaning, Martin, so I came to you."

"Groaning?" says I, flinching from her touch.  "'Twas nought!  An
ill fancy--a dream, no more.  But here is the sun well up and I
a-snoring--"

"Nay, you groaned and cried out, Martin.  And 'tis yet full
early."

"And you'll be mighty hungry and for that matter so am I!"  So
saying I rose and, without more ado, strode away across the sands
towards the reef.  Now as I went, I chanced upon a great turtle-
shell (to my joy!) and divers others marvellously shaped and
tinted, and chose such as might serve us for cups and the like. 
With these beneath my arm I clambered out upon the reef and (the
tide being out) saw many rocks, amongst which I had soon
collected good store of shell-fish as limpets, oysters, and
others much like to a periwinkle though larger.  Filling my
turtle-shell with these I took it 'neath my arm again and went
on, following the curve of the reef, clambering over these slimy
rocks, and found it no small labour what with my burden and the
heat of the sun; but I persevered, seeking some fragment of our
boat or the stores wherewith she had been so well laden.  Yet,
and search how I might, found nought to reward me.  Having thus
traversed the whole reef and explored the rocks beyond very
thoroughly, I cast me down beside the lagoon to bathe my hands
and face and rest myself awhile.  Presently, chancing to turn my
head, I saw a place of trees hard by, and started up, my
weariness clean forgotten.  For divers of these trees bore great
clusters of yellowish fruit, the which I knew for a sort of
plantain, very wholesome and of delicate savour.  So, casting out
my limpets and periwinkles, I hasted to pluck good store of this
fruit, and with my turtle-shell thus well laden, hastened back to
our refuge very well content.

My companion being absent I seated myself in the shade and began
opening the oysters with my knife as well as I might; in the
which occupation she presently found me, and grew very merry at
my clumsy efforts.  And now I noticed that she had wrought her
long hair into two braids very thick and glossy, also she had
somehow contrived to mend the rents in her gown and her torn
sleeve.

"Why, you have combed your hair!" says I wondering and speaking
my thought aloud.

"With my fingers, they must be my comb until you can make me a
better--alack, my poor hair!"

"Why then, you must have a comb so soon as I can contrive one. 
But now see the breakfast nature hath provided us withal!"

And who so full of pleased wonderment as she, particularly as
regarded the fruit which she pronounced delicious, but my shell-
fish she showed small liking for, though I found them eatable
enough.  Seeing her so pleased I told her I hoped to provide
better fare very soon, and recounted my adventure with the goat.

"But," says she, "how shall you go a-hunting and no firearms?"

"With a bow and arrows."

"Have you found these also?"

"No, I must make them.  I shall look out a sapling shaped to my
purpose and trim it with my knife.  For the cord of my bow I will
have leather strips cut from my jerkin."

"Aye, but your arrows, Martin, how shall you barb them without
iron?"

"True!" says I, somewhat hipped.  But in that moment my eye
lighted on a piece of driftwood I had gathered for fuel and,
reaching it, I laid it at her feet.  "There," says I, pointing to
the heads of divers rusty bolts that pierced it, "here is iron
enough to arm a score of arrows."

"But how shall you make them, Martin?"

"Heat the iron soft and hammer it into shape."

"But you have neither hammer nor anvil."

"Stones shall do."

"O wonderful!" she cried.

"Nay, it is not done yet!" says I, a little shamefaced.

"And how may I help you?"

"Watch me work."

"Indeed and I will keep your fire going.  So come let us begin."

Our meal done, I gathered twigs for kindling and a great pile of
driftwood of which was no lack, and with small boulders I builded
a fireplace against the cliff where we soon had a fire drawing
merrily, wherein I set my precious piece of timber.  Having
charred it sufficiently I found it an easy matter to break out
the iron bolts and nails; five of them there were of from four to
eight inches in length, and though the ends were much corroded by
the sea, there yet remained enough sound iron for my purpose. 
And now, my bolts ready for the fire, I began to look for some
stone that might serve me for hammer, and my companion likewise. 
Suddenly, as I sought and mighty diligent, I heard her cry out to
me, and beholding her leaning in the cave mouth, all pale and
trembling, came running:

"What is't?" cries I, struck by the horror of her look.

"O Martin!" she gasped.  "O Martin--'tis in there--all huddled--
in the darkest corner!  And I--I slept with it--beside me all
night!"  Coming within the cave I looked whither her shaking hand
pointed and saw what I took at first for a monstrous egg and
beyond this the staves of a small barrel; then, bending nearer, I
saw these were the skull and ribs of a man.  And this man had
died very suddenly, for the skeleton lay face down one bony arm
folded under him, the other wide-tossed, and the skull, shattered
behind, showed a small, round hole just above and betwixt the
cavernous eye-sockets; about the ribs were the mouldering remains
of a leathern jerkin girt by a broad belt wherein was a knife and
a rusty sword; but that which pleased me mightily was a thing
still fast-clenched in these bony fingers, and this no other than
a heavy hatchet.  So, disturbing these poor bones as little as
need be, I took the hatchet and thereafter sword and knife; and
then, turning to go, stopped all at once, for tied about the bony
neck by a leathern thong I espied a shrivelled parchment. 
Wondering, I took this also, and coming without the cave, found
my companion leaning as I had left her and very shaky.

"O Martin!" says she, shivering, "and I slept within touch of
it!"

"But you slept very well and he, poor soul, is long past harming
you or any."  So saying I smoothed out the crackling parchment
and holding it in her view, saw this writ very bold and clear:

"Benjamin Galbally
Slain of necessity June 20, 1642
This for a sign to like Rogues.

"Adam Penfeather."

"Will this be our Adam Penfeather, Martin?"

"Indeed," says I, "there is methinks but one Adam Penfeather in
this world, the which is just as well, mayhap."

"Then he murdered this poor man?"

"Why the fellow had this hatchet in his fist, it hath lain
rusting in his grasp all these years, methinks his blow came
something too late!  Though he must be mighty quick who'd
outmatch Penfeather, I guess.  No, this man I take it died in
fight.  Though why Adam must set this placard about the poor
rogue's neck is beyond me."

"Let us go away, Martin.  This is an evil place."

"It is!" says I, glancing at the great pimento tree that marked
the grave of the poor Spanish lady and Black Bartlemy.  "Truly we
will seek out another habitation and that at once.  Howbeit, I
have gotten me my hammer."  And I showed her the hatchet, the
which, unlike the ordinary boarding-axe, was furnished with a
flat behind the blade, thus:

(Line drawing of the hatchet.)


CHAPTER XXVII

DIVERS ADVENTURES ON THE ISLAND

Seeing my companion so anxious to be gone, I left my fire to burn
out and, giving her my hand, forthwith turned my back on this
place of death, nor sorry to do it.

Following the base of the cliff we found an opening in the rock
vaulted and arched by nature so that it was of white sands,
bordering the lagoon, the which we there and then agreed to call
"Deliverance" in memory of our escape.  What with the soft sand
and scattered rocks it was ill-going for my companion, but though
she limped painfully she held bravely on nevertheless, being of a
mighty resolute mind as this narrative will show.

Now as we went slowly thus, I pointed out caves a-plenty and very
proper to our purpose, but she would have none of them and was
forever lifting her eyes to the cliffs and tree-clad, greeny
slopes beyond.

"Let us seek above," says she, "where there be trees and mayhap
flowers, for, Martin, I do love trees."

"Nay but," says I, "none save a bird or a goat may climb yonder."

"Let us be patient and seek a way, Martin."

"And you all bruised and lame!"

"Nay, I am very well and--see yonder!"  Looking whither she would
have me, I saw, beyond this great jutting rock, a green opening
in the cliffs with a gentle ascent.

"O Martin!" cries she, stopping suddenly, "O Martin, 'tis like
England, 'tis like one of our dear Kentish lanes!"  And indeed so
it was, being narrow and grassy and shady with trees, save that
these were such trees as never grew on English soil.

"Let us go, Martin, let us go!"

So we began the ascent and (despite the blazing sun) the slope
being gradual, found it easier than it had looked.  On we went,
and though she often stumbled she made nought of it nor stayed
until we were come to a green level or plateau, whence the ground
before us trended downwards to a wondrous fertile little valley
where ran a notable stream 'twixt reedy banks; here also bloomed
flowers, a blaze of varied colours; and beyond these again were
flowery thickets a very maze of green boskages besplashed with
the vivid colour of flower or bird, for here were many such birds
that flew hither and thither on gaudy wings, and filling the air
with chatterings and whistlings strange to be heard.

Now beholding all this, my companion sank to the ground and sat
very still and silent like one rapt in pleasing wonder.

"O!" says she at last and very softly.  "Surely here is an
earthly paradise, O Martin, the beauty of it!"

"Yet these flowers have no smell!" says I.  "And for these gaudy
birds I would give them all for one honest English robin or
sweet-throated black bird!"

But she, chin in hand, sat a-gazing upon this prospect as she
would never tire.  As for me, I began to look around and, the
more I looked, the better I liked this place, pleasantly shaded
as it was by trees and affording from this eminence a wide view
of the sea, the lagoon, and Deliverance Beach below.  Moreover, I
heard near by the pleasant sound of falling water and, drawn by
this, came to a flowery thicket, and forcing my way through,
paused suddenly, as well I might, for before me, set in the face
of a rock, was a door.  All askew it hung and grown over with a
riot of weed and vines; and behind the weatherworn timber I saw
the gloom of a cavern.

Approaching this door I found it built with ship's timbers
exceeding stout and strong, joined by great battens clamped with
bolts and nails, and in the midst a loophole; and besides this I
saw divers shot-marks in these timbers the which set me a-
wondering.  Now having my hatchet in hand, I set about cutting
away bush and vines, and forcing wide the door (the which swung
'twixt great beams like jambs, clamped to the rock) I stepped
into the cool dimness beyond.  The place was irregular of shape
but very spacious and lighted by a narrow, weed-choked crevice
high up that admitted a soft, greeny glow very pleasing after the
glare of the sun; by which light I perceived that from this cave
two smaller caves opened.  Now seeing this place had once been
the abode of some poor castaway, I sought high and low in hopes
of finding something to our use if no more than a broken cup, but
came on nothing save the ruin of a small table; the place was
bare as my hand.  I was yet busied in my fruitless search when
comes my companion all pleased-eyed wonderment.

"Why, 'tis as good as any cottage!" cries she.

"And better than some," says I, "for here is no thatch to leak
and no windows to break and let in the rain!"

"O Martin, for a broom!" says she, looking around upon the floor
ankle-deep in dead leaves, twigs and the like.  "O for a broom!"

"These leaves be well enough--"

"But better for a broom, Martin."

"Why then, a broom you shall have," says I, and coming without
the cave I cut twigs sufficient to my purpose, and divers lengths
of vine, very strong and tough, and therewith bound my twigs
about a stick I had trimmed for a handle; whiles she, sitting
upon a great stone that lay hard by, watched me with mighty
interest.

"You are very clever, Martin!" says she.

"'Tis very rough, I doubt."

"I have seen many a worse broom used in England, Martin."

"Why, 'twill serve, mayhap."

"'Tis excellent!" says she, and taking the broom from me away she
limps with it forthwith and I, standing without the cave,
presently heard her sweeping away (despite her bruises) and
singing sweet as any mounting lark.  I now set out to bring away
such things as I had left behind, as my iron and the turtle-shell
(the which I held of more account than all the jewels in Adam's
treasure) and on my way stopped to cut a stout, curved branch
that I thought might furnish me a powerful bow; and another that,
bladed with iron, should become a formidable spear.  Though why
my mind should run to weapons of offence seeing that the island,
so far as I knew, was deserted, and no wild beasts, I know not. 
Reaching Deliverance Sands I paused to look about me for such
pieces of driftwood as might serve us, and came on several full
of nails and bolts; some of these timbers being warped with age
and others comparatively new.  And looking on these poor remains
of so many noble ships and thinking of the numberless poor souls
that had manned them and gone to their account, I could not but
feel some awe for these storm-rent timbers as I handled them. 
And presently as I laboured I spied a piece new-painted, and
dragging it forth from sand and seaweed, knew it for the gunwale
of our own boat.  This put me in great hopes that I might come
upon some of our stores, but, though I sought diligently then and
for days after, I never found anything but this poor fragment. 
Having laid by such timbers as shewed iron of any sort, I went my
way and so at last reached our first shelter.  And what should I
espy upon a ledge of rock just above me but a goat; for a moment
the creature blinked at me, chewing busily, then scrambled to its
feet; but in that instant I caught up a heavy stone that chanced
handy and hurled it; the poor beast bleated once, and rolling
down the rock thudded at my feet, where I despatched it with my
knife.  My next care was to skin it, which unlovely task I made
worse by my bungling, howbeit it was done at last and I reeking
of blood and sweat.  None the less I persevered and, having
cleaned the carcass I cut therefrom such joints as might satisfy
our immediate needs, and setting them in my turtle-shell with my
irons, hung up the carcass within the coolest part of the cave
out of reach of any prowling beast.  This done, I went down to
the lagoon and laved my arms and hands and face, cleansing myself
as well as I might, and so, taking my well-laden turtle-shell
under one arm and the reeking skin beneath the other, I set off. 
Now it was mid-day and the sun very hot, insomuch that the sweat
poured from me, and more than once I must needs pause to moisten
my hair to keep off the heat.  At last, espying a palmetto that
grew adjacent, I made shift to get me a leaf, whereof, with twigs
to skewer and shape it, I made me the semblance of a hat and so
tramped on again.  Being come to the plateau I set down my
burdens, very thankful for the kindly shade and the sweet, cool
wind that stirred up here, and turned to find my companion
regarding me pale-cheeked and with eyes wide and horror-struck.

"Why, what now?" says I taking a step towards her; but seeing how
she shrank away I paused and, glancing down at myself, saw my
clothes all smirched with the blood of the goat.  "How, is it
this?" says I.  "Well, a little blood is no great matter!"  But
she still eyeing me mightily askance I grew angry.  "Ha!" quoth
I, "You'll be thinking doubtless of the murders aboard ship and
my bloody jerkin?  Why then, madam, think and grow as wise as you
may!"  Saying which I strode off; and thus I presently heard the
soothing sound of falling water, yet look where I might could see
none save that in the little valley below.  Being direly athirst
I began to seek for this unseen rill, and little by little was
led up a steep, bush-grown acclivity until, all at once, I found
myself in a right pleasant place; for here, all set about with
soft mosses, fern and flowers, I beheld a great oval basin or
rocky hollow some twelve feet across and brim-full of pellucid
water through which I might see the bottom carpeted with mosses
and in this water my image mirrored; and what with the blood that
fouled me, my shaggy hair and beard and the shapeless thing upon
my head, an ill-enough rogue I looked.

This pool was fed by a little rill that gurgled down from rocks
above and, having filled the basin, flowed out through a wide
fissure and down the cliff to lose itself amid flowery banks
'twixt which it ran bubbling joyously to meet the river.  And
now, having satisfied my thirst and found the water very sweet
and cool, I stripped and bathing me in this pool, found great
solace and content, insomuch that (to my great wonder) I
presently found myself whistling like any boy.  At last I got me
forth mightily refreshed, and that the wind and sun might dry me,
strove to cleanse my garments, but finding it a thankless task I
got dressed at last, but my chain-shirt I left folded beside the
pool and I much more comfortable therefor.

Following the dancing rill, I clambered down the rocks and so
into the little valley where ran the stream.  Fording this, I
came amid thickets where was a glory of flowers of all colours,
but one in especial I noticed, white and trumpet-shaped.  And
here I was often stayed by quickset and creeping plants, their
stems very pliant and strong and of the bigness of my little
finger.  On went I haphazard through a green twilight of leaves,
for here (as hath been said) were many trees both great and
small, some of which were utterly strange to me, but others I
knew for cocos-palms, plantain and bread-fruit, the which
rejoiced me greatly; and hereabouts I found growing great bunches
of black fruit like to grapes, though smaller, and which I would
not dare touch until, seeing divers birds peck at them, I
ventured to taste and found them excellent.  So, gathering some
of these to stay my hunger I pressed on, despite the heat, for
from somewhere before me was the roar of great waters, and forced
me a passage with my hatchet until this denser wood gave place to
a grove of mighty palm trees, and beyond these I came suddenly
upon a great, barren rock that overhung a lake, whose dark waters
were troubled by a torrent hard by that poured into it with a
great rushing sound, a torrent of prodigious volume though of no
great height.  "So here" (thinks I) "is Adam's 'notable fall of
water,'" and sitting down, I fell to viewing the place, munching
my grapes the while.  Opposite me the lake was bounded by a high-
sloping sandy beach with trees beyond, while beyond these again
rose that high, tree-clad hill whose barren, rocky dome we had
seen from afar.  Now the waters of this lake flooded away through
a great rent in the surrounding rocks betwixt which I might catch
a glimpse of the distant sea; and beholding this rushing cataract
I must needs fall a-wondering where so great a body of water
should come from, and to ponder on the marvels of nature.  And
from this I got to considering how we might cross this stream,
supposing we should explore the island.  I was yet puzzling this
when, glancing up, I found the sun already westering, wherefore
(not minded to be caught in the dark) I rose and, turning my back
on these troubled waters, set out on my return.  Ever and anon as
I went I caught glimpses of that rocky eminence with its silver
thread of falling water whence I had come, and, guided by this,
strode on amain, bethinking me how best I might cook the goat's-
flesh for (despite the grapes) I was mightily an hungered.  But
reaching the denser woods I lost my way, for here nought was to
see but the greeny gloom of tangled thickets and dense-growing
boskages where I must needs cut a path, yet even so I troubled
myself with divers bunches of grapes that my companion might
prove my discovery.  Thus my progress was slow and wearisome, and
night found me still forcing my way through this tangled
underwood.  Being lost and in the dark, I sat me down to wait for
the moon and stayed my hunger with the grapes meant for better
purpose, but one bunch that methought the better I preserved. 
Soon this leafy gloom glowed with a silvery radiance, and by this
light I went on and so at last came upon the stream.  But
hereabouts it ran fast and deep and I must needs seek about till
I found a ford.  Thus the moon was high as, after desperate
scramble, I came out upon our grassy plateau and saw the welcome
glow of a fire.  Moreover, as I approached I smelt right savoury
and most delectable savour, and hurrying forward saw my companion
crouched upon that stone I have mentioned, her head bowed upon
her hands.  Hearing my step she glanced up and rose to her feet.

"Are you come at last, Martin?" says she in her sweet voice. 
"Supper is ready this hour and more!"

"Supper!" says I.

"The goat's-flesh.  I made a stew, but fear 'tis spoiled."

"Indeed," says I, "it smells mighty appetising!"

"I had no salt nor spices, Martin, but in a little garden yonder
that is all run wild, I found some sage and sweet herbs."

"Good!" says I.  So she brought me to the fire and there in our
great turtle-shell was as savoury a stew as ever greeted eyes of
hungry man.

By her directions, and will all due care, I lifted this from the
fire, and propping it with stones we sat down side by side.  And
now she shows me two of my smaller shells, and dipping hers into
the stew I did the like, and though we had no salt (the which set
my wits at work) and though we lacked for bread, a very excellent
meal we made of it, and the moon shedding its glory all about us.

The meal done, and while she cleansed the things at a rill that
murmured hard by, I made up the fire (for after the heat of the
day, night struck chill) and by the time she came back I had the
flame crackling merrily.  And now as she sat over against me on
the stone, I saw she had been weeping.  And she, knowing I saw
this, nodded her head, scorning all subterfuge.

"I feared you had met with some mischance and lay hurt, Martin--
or worse--"

"You mean dead?"

"Aye, dead."

"Would it have mattered so much?"

"Only that I should have died likewise!"

"Because of the loneliness?" says I.

"Indeed," she sighed, staring into the fire, "because of the
loneliness."

"I serve some purpose, then, in the scheme of things?"

"Yes, Martin, you teach a woman how, even in this desolation,
being weak and defenceless she may trust to a man's honour and
find courage and great comfort in his strength.  'Twas foolish of
me to be horror-struck at your stained garments when you had been
slaying that I might eat."

"'Tis all forgot!" says I, hastily.

"And as for the murders on the ship--O Martin, as if you might
ever make me believe you had committed murder--or ever could. 
You that under all your bitterness are still the same gentle boy
I knew so long ago."

"And why should you be so sure of all this and I but what I am?"
says I, staring also into the fire.

"Mayhap because I am a woman with all a woman's instinct to know
the evil from the good."

Hereupon I began telling her of my exploration and describing the
wonders I had seen, as the fruit-trees and waterfall.  Whereupon
she grew eager to explore the island so soon as she might.  In a
while I arose, and drawing my knife turned where I knew was fern
a-plenty.

"Where away?" she questioned, rising also.

"I must make you a bed."

"'Tis done, Martin, and yours also."

"Mine!" says I, staring.  "How should you do all this?"

"With the old, rusty sword, Martin.  Come and see!"

So she brought me to the cave, the moon flooding the place with
its pale radiance, and I espied a goodly bed of fern very neatly
contrived, in one corner.

"Bravely done!" says I.

"At least, Martin, 'twill be more easy than your bed of sand, and
methinks you shall have no ill dreams to-night."

"Dreams!" quoth I, and bethinking me of my last night's hateful
visions (and now beholding the beauty of her) I shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"No!"

"Why then, good-night, Martin."

"Wait!" says I, "Wait!"  And hasting out, I brought her the
grapes I had saved, telling her that though small she would find
them sweet and wholesome.

"Why, Martin!" says she, under her breath as one greatly
surprised, "Why, Martin!" and so vanishes into her little cave
forthwith, and never a word of thanks.

Now being yet haunted by my dreams of yesternight, I went forth
into the moonlight and walked there awhile, my eyes uplifted to
the glory of the heavens; and now I must needs bethink me of
Godby's star-time, of the dark, lonely road, of the beckoning
light beyond and the welcoming arms of love.  And hereupon I
scowled and turned to stare away across the placid sea dimpling
'neath the moon, at the stilly waters of the lagoon, and the
white curve of Deliverance Beach below; but, look where I would,
I could see only the proud, lovely face and the great, truthful
eyes of this woman Joan Brandon, even when my scowling brows were
bent on that distant pimento tree beneath whose towering shadow
Black Bartlemy had laughed his life out.  So in a while I came
within the cave and found it dim, for the moonbeam was there no
longer, and cast myself upon my bed, very full of gloomy
thoughts.

"Martin, I thank you for your grapes.  To-morrow we will gather
more!"

"Aye, to-morrow!"

"I found a shirt of chain-work by the pool, Martin--"

"'Tis mine."

"I have set it by against your need."

"Nay, I'm done with it, here is no fear of knives in the back."

"Are you sleepy, Martin?"

"No, but 'tis plaguy dark."

"But you are there," says she, "so I do not fear the dark."

"To-morrow I will make a lamp."  Here she fell silent and I think
to sleep, but as for me I lay long, oppressed by my thoughts. 
"Aye, verily," says I at last, speaking my thought aloud as had
become my custom in my solitude, "to-morrow I will contrive a
lamp, for light is a goodly thing."  Now here I heard a rustle
from the inner cave as she had turned in her sleep, for she spake
no word; and so, despite my thoughts, I too presently fell to
blessed slumber.

Now if there be any who, reading this my narrative, shall think
me too diffuse and particular in the chapters to follow, I do
hereby humbly crave their pardon, but (maugre my reader's
weariness) shall not abate one word or sentence, since herein I
(that by my own folly have known so little of happiness) do
record some of the happiest hours that ever man knew, so that it
is joy again to write.  Therefore to such as would read of rogues
and roguish doings, of desperate fights, encounters and affrays,
I would engage him to pass over these next few chapters, for he
shall find overmuch of these things ere I make an end of this
tale of Black Bartlemy's Treasure.  Which very proper advice
having duly set down, I will again to my narrative.


CHAPTER XXVIII

I BECOME A JACK-OF-ALL-TRADES

Early next morning, having bathed me in the pool and breakfasted
with my companion on what remained of our goat's-flesh, I set to
work to build me a fireplace in a fissure of the rock over
against the little valley and close beside a great stone, smooth
and flat-topped, that should make me an anvil, what time my
companion collected a pile of kindling-wood.  Soon we had the
fire going merrily, and whilst my iron was heating, I chose a
likely piece of wood, and splitting it with the hatchet, fell to
carving it with my knife.

"What do you make now, Martin?"

"Here shall be a spoon for you, 'twill help you in your cooking."

"Indeed it will, Martin!  But you are very skilful!"

"Nay, 'tis simple matter!" says I, whittling away but very
conscious of her watchful eyes:  "I have outworn many a weary
hour carving things with my knife.  Given time and patience a man
may make anything."

"Some men!" says she, whereat I grew foolishly pleased with
myself.  The wood being soft and dry and my knife sharp the spoon
grew apace and her interest in it; and because it was for her
(and she so full of pleased wonder) I elaborated upon it here and
there until, having shaped it to my fancy, I drew my iron from
the fire and with the glowing end, burned out the bowl, scraping
away the charred wood until I had hollowed it sufficiently, and
the spoon was finished.  And because she took such pleasure in
it, now and hereafter, I append here a rough drawing of it.

(Drawing of a spoon.)

"'Tis wonderful!" cries she, turning it this way and that.  "'Tis
admirable!"

"It might be better!" says I, wishing I had given more labour to
it.

"I want no better, Martin!"  And now she would have me make
another for myself.

"Nay, mine can wait.  But there is your comb to make."

"How shall you do that, Martin?"

"Of wood, like the Indians, but 'twill take time!"

"Why then, it shall wait with your spoon, first should come
necessities."

"As what?"

"Dear Heaven, they be so many!" says she with rueful laugh.  "For
one thing, a cooking-pot, Martin."

"There is our turtle-shell!" says I.

"Why, 'tis very well, Martin, for a turtle-shell, but clumsy--a
little.  I would have a pan--with handles if you could contrive. 
And then plates would be a good thing."

"Handles?" says I, rubbing my chin.  "Handles--aye, by all means,
a pan with handles, but for this we must have clay."

"And then, Martin, platters would be useful things!"

"So they will!" I nodded.  "These I can fashion of wood."

"And then chairs, and a table, Martin."

"True!" says I, growing gloomy.  "Table and chairs would be easy
had I but a saw!  I could make you shelves and a cupboard had I
but fortuned to find a saw instead of this hatchet."

"Nay, Martin," says she, smiling at my doleful visage.  "Why this
despond?  If you can make me so wondrous a spoon with nought but
your knife and a piece of driftwood, I know you will make me
chairs and table of sorts, saw or no, aye, if our table be but a
board laid across stones, and our chairs the same."

"What more do we need?" says I, sighing and scowling at my
hatchet that it was not a saw.

"Well, Martin, if there be many goats in the island, and if you
could take two or three alive, I have been thinking we might use
their milk in many ways if we had pans to put the milk in, as
butter and cheese if you could make me a press.  Here be a-plenty
of ifs, Martin, and I should not waste breath with so many if you
were not the man you are!"

"As how?" I questioned, beginning to grind the hatchet on a
stone.

"A man strong to overcome difficulty!  And with such clever
hands!"

Here I ground my hatchet harder than before, but scowled at it no
longer.

"And what more would you have?" I questioned.

"If you could make our front door to open and shut?"

"That is easily done!  And what else beside?"

"Nay, here is enough for the present.  We are like to be very
busy people, Martin."

"Why, 'twill pass the time!" says I.

"And work is a very good thing!" quoth she thoughtfully.

"It is!" says I, grinding away at my hatchet again.

"O Martin!" sighs she after awhile, "I grow impatient to explore
our island!"

"And so you shall so soon as you are strong enough."

"And that will be very soon!" says she.  "The sea-water is life
to me, and what with this sweet air, I grow stronger every day."

"Meantime there is much to be done and here sit I in idleness."

"Nay, you are sharpening your axe and I am talking to you and
wondering what you will make next?"

"A lamp!" says I.

"How, Martin?"

"With a shell, the fat of our goat rendered down, and cotton from
my shirt."

"Nay, if you so yearn for a lamp I can do this much."

"Good!" says I, rising.  "Meantime I'll turn carpenter and to
begin with, try my hand at a stool for you."

"But if you have no saw, Martin--?"

"I will make me a chisel instead."  Crossing to the fire I found
my iron red-hot, and taking it betwixt two flat pieces of wood
that served me for tongs I laid it upon my stone anvil, and fell
forthwith to beating and shaping it with the hammer-back of my
hatchet until I had beaten out a blade some two inches wide. 
Having cooled my chisel in the brook I betook me to sharpening it
on a stone moistened with water, and soon had wrought it to a
good edge.  I now selected from my timber a board sufficiently
wide, and laying this on my anvil-stone began to cut a piece from
the plank with hammer and chisel, the which I found a work
requiring great care, lest I split my wood, and patience, since
my chisel, being of iron, needed much and repeated grinding. 
Howbeit it was done at last, and the result of my labour a piece
of wood about two feet square, and behold the seat of my stool!

Now was my companion idle for, while all this is a-doing, she
sets the turtle-shell on the fire with water and collops of meat
cut with my knife, and, soon as it simmers, breaks into it divers
herbs she had dried in the sun; and so comes to watch and
question me at my work, yet turning, ever and anon, to stir at
the stew with her new spoon, whereby I soon began to snuff a
savour methought right appetising.  As time passed, this savour
grew ever more inviting and my hunger with it, my mouth a-
watering so that I might scarce endure, as I told her to her no
small pleasure.

"Had I but a handful of salt, Martin!" sighs she.

"Why, comrade," says I, pausing 'twixt two hammer-strokes,
"Wherefore this despond?  If you can make stew so savoury and
with nought but flesh of an old goat and a few dried herbs, what
matter for salt?"  At this she laughed and bent to stir at her
stew again.

"There's plenty of salt in the sea yonder," says she presently.

"True, but how to come at it?"

"How if we boiled sea-water, Martin?"

"'Tis method unknown to me," says I, whittling at a leg of my
stool, "but we can try."

And now in the seat of my stool I burned three good-sized holes
or sockets, and having trimmed three lengths of wood, I fitted
these into my socket-holes, and there was my stool complete. 
This done, I must needs call her from her cooking to behold it;
and though it was no more than a square of roughish wood set upon
three pegs, she praised and viewed it as it had been a great
elbow chair and cushioned at that!  Hereupon, puffed up with my
success, I must immediately begin to think upon building us a
table and chairs, but being summoned to dinner I obeyed her
gladly enough.  And she seated on her stool with me on the ground
beside her and our turtle-shell dish before us, we ate with
hearty good-will until, our hunger appeased, we fell to talk:

She:  'Tis marvellous how well I eat.

Myself:  'Tis the open air.

She:  And the work, Martin.  I have swept and dusted our cottage
every hole and corner.

Myself:  And found nothing left by its last tenant?

She:  Nothing.

Myself:  Had he but thought to leave us a saw our chairs and
table would have been the better.

She:  Then you will make them, Martin?

Myself:  Aye--with time.

She:  O 'tis bravely determined.

And here, for a moment, I felt the light touch of her hand on my
shoulder.

Myself:  They will be very unlovely things--very rough--

She:  And very wonderful, Martin.

Myself:  As to these goats now, 'tis an excellent thought to
catch some alive and rear them.

She:  I could make you excellent cheese and butter.

Myself:  If I cannot run them down, I must contrive to wound one
or two with arrows.

She:  Why then, Martin, why not head your arrows with pebbles in
place of iron points?

Myself:  Good again!  Or I might make a couple of gins, running
nooses cut from the goat-skin.  Howbeit, I'll try!

Herewith I arose and she also; then while she busied herself to
scald out our turtle-shell, I set off to get my goat-skin.  And
finding it where I had left it hanging on a rock to dry, I fell
a-cursing to myself for very chagrin; for what with the heat of
the rock and the fierce glare of the sun, here was my goat-skin
all shrivelled and hard as any board.  So stood I scowling at the
thing, chin in hand, and mightily cast down, and so she presently
found me; and beholding my disconsolate look falls a-laughing.

"O Martin," says she, "'tis well there are some things you cannot
do!"  Saying which, she takes up the skin (albeit it smelt none
too sweet) and away she goes with it into the cave.  So I got me
back to my carpentry, and selecting as many boards as I required
for the width of my table, fell to cutting them to their proper
lengths with hammer and chisel.  And despite the shade of the
mighty trees that girt us round and the soft wind that stirred,
plaguy hot work I found it; but ever and anon she would bring me
water, in one of our shells, cool from the spring, or would sit
beside me as I laboured, aiding me in a thousand ways and showing
herself vastly capable and quick-witted; thus as the sun sank
westwards I had all my boards cut to an even size and two of the
legs, though these, being square, I must needs chop asunder with
the hatchet; yet I persevered, being minded to complete the work
ere nightfall if possible.

"But where are your nails?" says she, where she sat watching.

"Our nails be too few and precious," quoth I, pausing to re-
sharpen my hatchet.  "I shall burn holes and pin our table
together with pegs."

"Why then," says she readily, "let me split and shape you some
pegs."

"Spoke like a true comrade!" says I impulsively.  "Sometimes I do
forget you are--"

"A woman?" she questioned as I paused; and I wondered to see her
eyes so bright and shining.  "Here is twice you have named me
your comrade, Martin, and so will I be so long as I may.  You
sometimes would call me your comrade when we played together
years ago, and 'tis a good name, Martin.  Come now, teach me how
I must make these pegs for our table."  So I showed her how to
split divers lengths of wood and shape these as round and smooth
as might be, the while I bored holes for them with a heated iron;
and thus we sat side by side at our labour, seldom speaking, yet
I (for one) very well content.

At length, with her assistance, I began setting the framework of
our table together, joining and pinning it with my wooden pegs
driven mighty secure; last of all I laid the boards across and,
pinning these in place, there was our table; and though it was
rude and primitive so far as looks went, yet very serviceable we
were to find it.

"Well, Martin," says she, when I had borne it into our cave,
"methinks my shelves and cupboard are none so far to seek!"  Here
she falls to patting this unlovely thing and viewing it as it
were the wonder of the world; and I must needs leap upon it to
prove its strength.

"'Tis over-heavy," says I, giving it a final shake, "but 'twill
serve!"

"To admiration!" says she, smoothing its rough surface with
gentle hand. "To-night we will sup from it.  Which reminds me
that supper is to cook and our meat nearly all gone, Martin,
though we have plenty of plantains left."  So I told her I would
go fetch what remained of the carcass after supper, so soon as
the moon rose.  And now whiles she bustled to and fro, I chose me
a little piece of wood, and sitting where I might watch her at
her labours, began to carve her the hair pin I had promised.

"Our third cave should make us a very good larder!" says she busy
at her new table preparing supper.

"Aye."

"'Tis so marvellous cool!"

"Aye."

"I think, because the pool lieth above it."

"Mayhap!"

"Indeed, these are wonderful caves, Martin."

"They are."

"Who lived here before us, I wonder?"

"Penfeather, like as not."

"Why should you think this?"

"Well, that door yonder was never a carpenter's work, yet 'tis
well made and furnished with a loop-hole, narrow and horizontal
to give a lateral fire, the which I have seen but once ere this. 
Then again the timbers of this door do carry many marks of shot,
and Adam Penfeather is no stranger to such, violence and danger,
steel and bullet seem to follow him."

"Why so, Martin?  He hath ever seemed a man very quiet and
gentle, most unlike such rough sailor-men as I have seen
hitherto."

"True," says I, "but 'neath this attitude of mind is a wily
cunning and desperate, bloodthirsty courage and determination
worthy any pirate or buccaneer of them all."

"Why, courage and determination are good things, Martin.  And as
for Master Penfeather, he is as I do know a skilful navigator and
very well read, more especially in the Scriptures, and methought
your friend?"

"For his own purposes!" quoth I.

"And what are these, Martin?"

At this I merely scowled at the wood I was carving, whereupon she
questions me further:

"Master Adam is such a grave and sober man!"

"True!" says I.

"And so wise in counsel--"

"Say, rather, cunning!"

"Though to be sure he once had a poor man beaten cruelly."

"Wherein he was exactly right!" says I, grinding my teeth at
memory of Red Andy.  "Aye, there Penfeather was very right, this
fellow was a vile and beastly rogue!"

"What dreadful thing had he done, Martin?"

"Stared at you!" says I, and stopped; and glancing up, found her
regarding me with look mighty strange.

"Did you mind so much?" she questioned.

"No whit, madam.  Why should I?"

"Aye, why indeed!" says she and turns to her cooking again and I
to my carving, yet in a little, hearing her gasp, I glanced up to
find her nigh stifled with her laughter.

"Ha, why must ye laugh, madam?" I demanded.

"O Martin!" says she, "And must this poor man be whipped--and for
a mere look?  And you so fierce withal!  I fear there be many men
do merit whipping if this be sin so great."

"I see no reason in your laughter, my lady!" quoth I, scowling up
at her.

"Because you have no gift of laughter, my lord!" says she, and
turns her back on me.

Here I came nigh to tossing her half-finished hairpin into the
fire; but seeing her turn her head, carved on for very shame.

"And are you so very angry, Martin?"  I bent to sharpen my knife. 
I would that you might laugh yourself--once in a while, Martin." 
I tested my knife on my thumb.  "You are always so grave, Martin,
so very solemn and young!"  Finding my knife still blunt, I went
on sharpening it.  Here and all suddenly she was beside me on her
knees and clasps my knife-hand in hers.  "Indeed I had no thought
to anger you.  Are you truly angered or is it only that you are
so very--hungry?"  Now here I glanced at her and beholding all
the roguish mischief in her eyes, try how I might, I could not
but smile too.

"A little of both, comrade!" says I.  "Though verily I am a surly
animal by nature."

"Indeed yes, Martin," she sighs, "yet a very comfortable animal,
and though strong and fierce and woefully trying at times, a very
gentle animal to such as know you."

"And do you know me so well?"

"Better than you think, O a great deal better!  Because I am a
woman.  And now are we friends again?"

"Yes!" says I heartily, "Yes!"  And away she goes to her cooking
and I mighty glad I had not destroyed her hairpin, the which (my
knife being sharp) I began to ornament with all sorts of
elaborations.  Presently back she comes, spoon in one hand, stool
in the other, and sits to watch me at work.

"What do you make now, Martin?"

"A pin for your hair."

"Why, 'tis beautiful!"

"'Tis scarce begun yet!"

Here she must needs lavish all manner of praises on my skill
until I came nigh cutting myself.

"How many will you make me, Martin?"

"As many as you will."

"Three should suffice."

"Why, you have a prodigious lot of hair."

"Do you think so, Martin?" says she, glancing down at the two
great braids that fell over her bosom well-nigh to her waist. 
"'Twas well enough in England, but here 'tis greatly in my way
and hampers me in my work.  I had thought of cutting it off."

"Then don't!"

"Why not, Martin?"

"Well," says I, glancing at the nearest braid that showed coppery
lights where the setting sun caught it.  "Well, because--" and
finding nought else to say I fell to my carving again and away
she goes to her cooking.

"Martin," says she at last, "what do you know of Master
Penfeather?  Where did you fall in with him, and why is his life
so threatened?"

"All by reason of Black Bartlemy's treasure!"

"Treasure!" says she; and back she comes and onto her stool, all
in a moment.  "Tell me of it, Martin!"

"'Tis a great treasure of gold and jewels in such."

"And who is Black Bartlemy?"

"A foul rogue of a pirate that was killed by a poor Spanish lady,
and lieth buried with her under the great pimento tree on the
beach yonder."

"O Martin!" says she, getting up that she might behold the tree,
"O Martin, I knew, I knew 'twas an evil place!  And the poor lady
died too?"

"He killed her after she had stabbed him!"

"How do you know of this?"

"Adam Penfeather told me, he saw it done!"  Hereupon she sits
down and is silent awhile.

"And where is this great treasure?"

"On this island!"

"Here?" says she, starting to her feet again, "Here, Martin?"

"Aye, 'twas this I was despatched to secure, after I had been
rapped over the head with a pistol-butt!"

"And how must you find it?"

"I never shall, the secret of it was in the packet I tossed
overboard.  Adam may find it himself an he will."

"And you have no desire for this treasure?"

"None in the world."  And now (at her earnest solicitation) I
told her all my association with Adam, of my haunted days and
nights aboard ship and my suspicions of Tressady; only I spoke
nothing of Adam's avowed intent to steal the "Faithful Friend" to
his own purposes.

"O wonderful!" says she, when I had done, and then again, "O
wonderful!  So this was why we were cut adrift.  Truly Master
Penfeather hath quick and subtle wits."

"A guileful rogue--and very wily!" says I, clenching my fist.

But wherein is he rogue, Martin?"

"How!" quoth I, "was it not a wicked, vile and most roguish act
to set you adrift thus, to run the peril of sea and a desolate
island--"

"What other could he do, Martin, and the ship good as taken by
the mutineers?  I heard them shouting--for me!" and here she
shivered.  "True, we have faced perils, have lost all our stores,
but at least here am I--safe with you, Martin!"  Saying which she
rose and presently summoned me to our evening meal.

Having supped, I took beneath my arm my rusty sword (the which I
had sharpened and burnished as well as I might) being minded to
fetch what remained of our goat:  but now she comes very earnest
to go with me, and I agreeing readily enough, we set out together
forthwith.


CHAPTER XXIX

OF MY ENCOUNTER BENEATH BARTLEMY'S TREE

The moon was very bright, casting great, black shadows athwart
our way, and now, once our familiar surroundings were left
behind, we fell silent or spake only in low voices, awed by the
universal hush of all things; for the night was very still and
hot and breathless, not a leaf stirred and no sound to hear save
the unceasing roar of the surf.

"Martin," says she, very softly, "here is a night of such
infinite quiet that I grow almost afraid--"

"Of what?" I demanded, pausing to look down on her where she
limped beside me.  And then, 'twixt my teeth, "Is it me you
fear?"

"Ah no, no!" cries she, slipping her hand within my arm, "Never,
never that, you foolish Martin!"  And here she looks at me with
such a smile that I must needs glance otherwhere, yet methought
her cheeks showed pale in the moonlight.

"Why then, what's amiss?" I questioned as we went on again and I
very conscious of her hand yet upon my arm.

"I know not," she sighed, "'tis the stillness, mayhap, the
loneliness and dreadful solitude, I feel as though some danger
threatened."

"A storm, belike," says I, glancing round about us and across the
placid sea.

"O Martin, 'tis hateful to be a woman!  Why should I fear thus
and no reason, 'tis folly!"  And here she must pause to stamp her
foot at herself.  "And yet I do fear!" says she after a while. 
"O Martin, glad am I to have man like you beside me."

"Though another man might serve as well!" says I, "Of course?"

"Of course, Martin!"

At this I turned to scowl at the placid sea again.

"Any man?" says I at last.

"O Martin, no--how foolish under grow--'any man' might be evil as
Black Bartlemy."

"I've heard I am much like him in looks."

"But then you are Martin and he was--Black Bartlemy."

After this we were silent a great while nor spoke again until we
had traversed the whole length of Deliverance Sands, then:

"What manner of man?" I demanded.

Now at this she turns to look at me and I saw their lips quiver
to a little smile that came but to vanish again.

"Something your sort, Martin, but without your gloom and evil
tempers and one who could laugh betimes."

"Sir Rupert?" quoth I.

"He was very gay and merry-hearted!" says she.

"Yet suffered you to be beguiled and cast adrift to your great
peril!"

"But stayed to do his share of the fighting, Martin."

"Ha!" says I scowling, "'Tis great pity we may not change places,
he and I!"

"Would you change places with him--willingly, Martin?"


"Aye--I would so!"  At this she whipped her hand from my arm and
turned to frown up at me whiles I scowled sullenly on her.

"Why then, Master Conisby," says she, "I would you were anywhere
but here.  And know this--when you scowl so, all sullen-eyed, I
know you for the very image of Black Bartlemy!"

Now as she spake thus, we were standing almost in the very shadow
of that tall pimento tree beneath which Bartlemy had laughed and
died, and now from this gloomy shadow came something that whirred
by my ear and was gone.  But in that moment I had swept my
companion behind a rock and with sword advanced leapt straight
for the tree; and there, in the half-light, came on a fantastic
shape and closed with it in deadly grapple.  My rusty sword had
snapped short at the first onset, yet twice I smote with the
broken blade, while arm locked with arm we writhed and twisted. 
To and fro we staggered and so out into the moonlight, and I saw
my opponent for an Indian.  His long hair was bound by a fillet
that bore a feather, a feather cloak was about him, this much I
saw as we strove together.  Twice he broke my hold and twice I
grappled him, and ever we strove more fiercely, he with his knife
and I with my broken sword, and once I felt the searing pain of a
wound.  And now as we swayed, locked together thus, I saw, over
his bowed shoulder, my lady where she crouched against a rock to
watch us, and knowing myself hurt and my opponent very mighty and
strong, great fear seized me.

"Run, Joan!" cried I, gasping, "O Damaris--run back!"

"Never, Martin--never without you.  If you must die--I come with
you!"

Mightily heartened by her voice I strove desperately to secure
the hold I sought, but my antagonist was supple as any eel,
moreover his skin was greased after the manner of Indian
warriors, but in our struggling we had come nigh to the rock
where crouched my lady and, biding my time, I let go my broken
sword, and seizing him by a sort of collar he wore, I whirled him
backward against the rock, saw his knife fly from his hold at the
impact, felt his body relax and grow limp, and then, as my grasp
loosened, staggered back from a blow of his knee and saw him leap
for the lagoon.  But I (being greatly minded to make an end of
him and for good reasons) set after him hot-foot and so came
running hard behind him to the reef; here, the way being
difficult, I must needs slack my pace, but he, surer footed, ran
fleetly enough until he was gotten well-nigh to the middle of the
reef, there for a moment he paused and, looking back on me where
I held on in pursuit, I saw his dark face darker for a great
splash of blood; suddenly he raised one hand aloft, shaking it to
and fro, and so vanished down the rocks.  When I came there it
was to behold him paddling away in a long piragua.  Panting I
stood to watch (and yearning for a bow or firelock) until his
boat was hardly to be seen amid the moonlit ripples that furrowed
the placid waters, yet still I watched, but feeling at hand touch
me, turned to find my lady beside me.

"Martin," says she, looking up at me great-eyed, "O Martin, you
are wounded!  Come let me cherish your hurts!"

"Why, Damaris," says I, yet panting with my running, "You said
this to me when I fought the big village boy years agone."

"Come, Martin, you are bleeding--"

"Nought to matter...and I let him go...to bring others like
enough...to-morrow I will make my bow...nay...I can walk."  But
now indeed sea and rocks grew all blurred and misty on my sight,
and twice I must needs rest awhile ere we came on Deliverance
Sands.  And so homewards, a weary journey whereof I remember
nothing save that I fell a-grieving that I had suffered this
Indian to escape.

So came we to the plateau at last, her arm about me and mine upon
her shoulders; and, angered at my weakness, I strove to go alone
yet reeled in my gait like a drunken man, and so suffered her to
get me into our cave as she would.  Being upon my bed she brings
the lamp, and kneeling by me would examine my hurt whether I
would or no, and I being weak, off came my shirt.  And then I
heard her give a little, gasping cry.

"Is it so bad?" says I, finding my tongue more unready than
usual.

"Nay, 'tis not--not your--wound, Martin.

"Then what?"

"Your poor back--all these cruel scars!  O Martin!"

"Nought but the lash!  They whipped us well aboard the
'Esmeralda' galleass."  In a while I was aware of her soft,
gentle hands as she bathed me with water cool from the spring;
thereafter she made a compress of moss and leaves, and laying it
to my wound bound it there as well as she might, the which I
found very grateful and comforting.  This done she sits close
beside me to hush and soothe me to sleep as I had been a sick
child.  And I, lying 'twixt sleep and wake, knew I might not rest
until I told her what I had in mind.

"Damaris," says I, "this night I lied to you...I would not have
another man in my place...now or...ever!" and so sank to sleep.


CHAPTER XXX

OF MY SICK HUMOURS

Next day I awoke early and my wound very painful and troublesome;
this notwithstanding, I presently got me out into the early
sunshine and, to my wonder, found the fire already lighted and no
sign of my companion.  Hereupon I fell to shouting and hallooing,
but getting no answer, sat me down mighty doleful, and seeing her
stool where it stood straddled on its three legs I cursed it for
its unsightliness and turned my back on it.  And now crouched in
the sunlight I grew mightily sorry for myself thus solitary and
deserted, and the hurt in my shoulder all on fire.  And in a
little, my self-love gave place to a fretful unease so that I
must needs shout her name again and again, listening for sound of
her voice, for some rustle to tell me she was nigh, but heard
only the faint booming of the surf.  So I arose and (albeit I
found my legs mighty unwilling) came out upon the plateau, but
look how and where I might, saw only a desolation of sea and
beach, whereupon, being greatly disquieted, I set out minded to
seek her.  By the time I reached Deliverance the sun was well up,
its heat causing my wound to throb and itch intolerably, and I
very fretful and peevish.  But as I tramped on and no trace of
her I needs must remember how I had sought her hereabouts when I
had thought her dead, whereupon a great and unreasoning panic
seized me, and I began to run.  And then, all at once, I spied
her.  She was sitting upon a rock, her head bowed wearily upon
her hands, and seeing how her shoulders heaved I knew she was
bitterly a-weeping.  Therefore I stopped, and glancing from her
desolate figure round about upon her desolate surroundings, knew
this grim solitude for the reason of her tears.  At this thought
a wave of hot anger swept over me and a rage that, like my panic,
reasoned not as, clenching my fists, I strode on.  Suddenly she
looked up and seeing me, rose at once, and lifting the great
turtle-shell limped wearily towards me with this borne before
her.

"Ha," says I, viewing her tear-wet cheeks as she came, "must ye
weep, madam, must ye weep?"

"May I not weep, Martin?" says she, head pitifully a-droop. 
"Come, let us go back, you look very pale, 'twas wrong of you to
come so far!  Here is our breakfast, 'tis the best I can find." 
And she showed me a few poor shellfish.

"Give me the turtle-shell!" says I.

"Indeed I can bear it very easily, Martin.  And you so white and
haggard--your wound is troubling you.  Come, let me bathe it--"

"Give me the turtle-shell!"

"No, Martin, be wise and let us--"

"Will you gainsay me--d'ye defy me?"

"O Martin, no, but you are so weak--"

"Weak!  Am I so?"  And stooping, I caught her up in my arms,
upsetting the turtle-shell and spilling the result of her
labours.  So with her crushed to me I turned and set off along
the beach, and she, lying thus helpless, must needs fall to
weeping again and I, in my selfish and blind folly, to plaguing
the sweet soul therewith, as:

"England is far away, my Lady Joan!  Here be no courtly swains,
no perfumed, mincing lovers, to sigh and bow and languish for
you.  Here is Solitude, lady.  Desolation hath you fast and is
not like to let you go--here mayhap shall you live--and die!  An
ill place this and, like nature, strong and cruel.  An ill place
and an ill rogue for company.  You named me rogue once and rogue
forsooth you find me.  England is far away--but God--is
farther--"

Thus I babbled, scowling down on her, as I bore her on until my
breath came in great gasps, until the sweat poured from me, until
I sank to my knees and striving to rise found I might not, and
glaring wildly up saw we were come 'neath Bartlemy's cursed
pimento tree.  Then she, loosing herself from my fainting arms,
bent down to push the matted hair from my eyes, to support my
failing strength in tender arms, and to lower my heavy head to
her knee.

"Foolish child!" she murmured, "Poor, foolish child!  England is
very far I know, but this I know also, Martin, God is all about
us, and here in our loneliness within these great solitudes doth
walk beside us."

"Yet you weep!" says I.

"Aye, I did, Martin."

"Because--of the--loneliness?"

"No, Martin."

"Your--lost friends?"

"No, Martin."

"Then--wherefore?"

"O trouble not for thing so small, a woman's tears come easily,
they say."

"Not yours, Joan.  Yet you wept--"

"Your wound bleeds afresh, lie you there and stir not till I
bring water to bathe it."  And away she hastes and I, burning in
a fever of doubt and questioning, must needs lie there and watch
her bring the turtle-shell to fill it at the little rill that
bubbled in that rocky cleft as I have described before.  While
this was a-doing I stared up at the pimento tree, and bethinking
me of Black Bartlemy and the poor Spanish lady and of my hateful
dream, I felt sudden great shame, for here had I crushed my lady
in arms as cruel well-nigh as his.  This put me to such remorse
that I might not lie still and strove to rise up, yet got no
further than my knees; and 'twas thus she found me.  And now when
I would have sued her forgiveness for my roughness she soothed me
with gentle words (though what she spake I knew not) and gave me
to drink, and so fell to cherishing my hurt until, my strength
coming back somewhat, I got to my feet and suffered her to bring
me where she would, speaking no word, since in my fevered brain I
was asking myself this question, viz.,

"Why must she weep?"

Now whether the Indian's knife was poisoned or no I cannot say,
but for two days I lay direly sick and scarce able to crawl,
conscious only of the soothing tones of her voice and touch of
her hands.  But upon the third day, opening my eyes I found
myself greatly better though marvellous weak.  And as I stirred
she was beside me on her knees.

"Drink this, Martin!" says she.  And I obeying, found it was
excellent broth.  And when I had drunk all I closed my eyes
mighty content, and so lay a while.

"My Lady Joan," says I at last, "wherefore did you weep?"

"O Martin!" she sighed, "'Twas because that morning I had sought
so long and found so little to give you and you so sick!"  Here
was silence a while.

"But whence cometh the broth?" quoth I at last.

"I caught a young goat, Martin; in a noose of hide set among the
rocks; and then--then I had to kill it--O Martin!"

"You--caught and--killed a goat!"

"Yes, Martin.  You had to be fed--but O, the poor thing--!"

"Surely," said I at last, "O surely never had man so brave a
comrade as I!  How may I ever show you all my gratitude?"

"By going to sleep, Martin.  "Your wound is well-nigh healed,
sleep is all you need."  And sleep I did; though at that time and
for many nights to come my slumber was haunted by a fear that the
Indian was back again, and others with him, all stealing upon us
to our torment and destruction.  But in this night I awoke
parched with thirst and the night very hot and with the moon
making pale glory all about me.  So I got to my feet, albeit with
much ado, being yet very feeble when her voice reached me:

"What is it, Martin?  Are you thirsty?"

"Beyond enduring!" says I.

"Bide you still!" she commanded, and next moment she flits soft-
footed into the moonlight with one of our larger shells to bring
me water from the rill near by; but seeing me on my feet, looks
on me glad-eyed, then shakes reproving head.

"Lie you down!" says she mighty serious, "Lie you down!"

"Nay, I'll go myself--"  But she was past me and out of the cave
or ever I might stay her; but scarce had I seated myself upon my
bed than she was back again, the shell brimming in her hands; so
I drank eagerly enough but with my gaze on the sheen of white,
rounded arm and dimpled shoulder.  Having emptied the shell I
stooped to set it by, and when I looked again she had vanished
into her own small cave.

"I am glad you are so greatly better, Martin," says she from the
dark.

"Indeed, I am well again!" quoth I.  "To-morrow I make my bow and
arrows.  Had I done this before, the Indian should never have got
away."

"Think you he will return and with others, Martin?"

"No," says I (albeit my mind misgave me).  "Yet 'tis best to be
prepared, so I will have a good stout pike also in place of my
broken sword."

"And strengthen our door, Martin?"

"Aye, I will so, 'tis a mighty stout door, thank God."

"Thank God!" says she mighty reverent.  "And now go to sleep,
Martin."  So here was silence wherein I could hear the murmur of
the breakers afar and the soft bubbling of the rill hard by, and
yet sleep I could not.

"And you caught and killed a goat!" says I.

"Nay, Martin, 'tis a horror I would forget."

"And you did it that I might eat?"

"Yes, Martin.  And now hush thee."

"Though indeed," says I in a little, "thus much you would have
done for any man, to be sure!"

"To be sure, Martin--unless he were man like Black Bartlemy. 
Good-night and close your eyes.  Are they shut?"

"Yes," says I.  "Good-night to thee, comrade."


CHAPTER XXXI

I TRY MY HAND AT POTTERY

Next morning, having bathed me in the pool, I descended thence to
find breakfast a-cooking, two noble steaks propped before the
fire on skewers stuck upright in the ground, a device methought
very ingenious, and told her so; the which did seem to please her
mightily.

"Are you hungry, Martin?"

"'Tis a poor word for it!" says I, sniffing at the roasting
steaks.

"Alas!  Our poor turtle-shell is all perished with the fire. 
Martin, if you could but contrive me a pan with handles!  I have
found plenty of clay along the river bank yonder."  Here she
gives me my steak on a piece of wood for platter, and I being so
sharp-set must needs burn my mouth in my eagerness, whereon she
gravely reproves me as I had been a ravenous boy, yet laughs
thereafter to see me eat with such huge appetite now a bite of
plantain, and now a slice of steak cut with my knife.

"As to your pan with handles," says I, my hunger appeased
somewhat, "I will set about it as soon as I have made my bow and
arrows--"

"There is no need of them," quoth she, and rising, away she goes
and presently comes back with a goodly bow and quiver full of
arrows.

"Lord love you!" says I, leaping up in my eagerness.  "Here's
mighty good weapon!"  As indeed it was, being longer than most
Indian bows and of good power.  Moreover it was tufted with
feathers rare to fancy and garnished here and there with fillets
of gold-work, very artificially wrought as were also the arrows. 
Nine of these there were in a quiver of tanned leather, adorned
with featherwork and gold beads, so that I did not doubt but that
their late owner had been of some account among his fellows.

"I found them two days ago, Martin, but kept them until you
should be well again.  And this I found too!"  And she showed me
a gold collar of twisted wire, delicately wrought.  All of the
which put me in high good humour and I was minded to set off
there and then to try a shot at something, but she prevailed upon
me to finish my meal first; the which I did, though hastily.

"There was a knife also," says I suddenly.

"Yes, Martin, but I threw it into the lagoon."

"O folly!" says I.

"Nay, we have two knives already, and this as I do think was
poisoned."

"No matter, 'twas a goodly knife--why must you throw it away?"

"Because I was so minded!" says she, mighty serene and regarding
me with her calm, level gaze.  "Never scowl, Martin, though
indeed 'twas goodly knife with handle all gold-work."  At this I
scowled the more and she must needs laugh, calling me Black
Bartlemy, whereon I turned my back on her and she fell a-singing
to herself.

"Think you these arrows are poisoned also?" says she as I rose. 
At this, I emptied them from the quiver, and though their iron
barbs looked innocent enough, I held each in the fire until I
judged I had rendered them harmless if poisoned they were indeed.

And now, though sore tempted to try my skill with this good bow,
I followed her down to the river-bank to try my hand at pottery,
though taking good care to carry my bow with me.

Being come to the river I laid aside bow and quiver, and cutting
divers lumps of clay (the which seemed very proper to my purpose)
I fell to kneading these lumps until I had wrought them to a
plastic consistency, and so (keeping my hands continually
moistened) I began to mould and shape a pot to her directions. 
And now, since I was about it, I determined to have as many as
need be and of different sizes.  My first was a great ill-looking
thing, and my second little better, but as I progressed I grew
more skilful so that after some while I had six pots of varying
size and shape, and each with handles; and, though ill things to
look at, my lady found them all she desired.

"Surely they are very clumsy?" says I, viewing them doubtfully.

"But very strong, Martin!"

"And very ponderous!"

"But they have handles, Martin!"

"And very ill-shaped!"

"'Tis no matter so long as they will hold water, Martin."

Hereupon, heartened by her encouragement, I tried my hand at a
set of dishes, platters and the like, for as I grew more expert
at the art, my interest increased.  So I laboured all the
morning, working 'neath a tree upon the river-bank, and my pots
set out to dry in the full glare of the sun all of a row, and I,
in my heart, not a little proud of them.  But turning to look at
them after some while I saw divers of them beginning to crack and
gape here and there with the sun's heat, whereon my vain pride
gave place to sudden petulant anger, and leaping up I demolished
them, one and all, with a couple of savage kicks.

'O Martin!" cries my lady, desponding, "Is all your labour
wasted?  Are you done?"

"No!" says I, clenching my teeth, "I begin now!"  And down I sat
to my clay-kneading again.  But this time I worked it more
thoroughly, and so began to mould my pots and pipkins over again,
and she aiding me as well as she might.  This time the thing came
easier, at the which my companion did admire and very full of
encouragement as the vessels took shape under my hands.

"Come, Martin," says she at last, "'tis dinner-time!"

"No matter!" quoth I.

"Will you not eat?"

"No!" says I, mighty determined.  "Here sit I nor will I go eat
till I can contrive you a pot worthy the name."  And I bent to my
work again; but missing her from beside me, turned to see her
seated upon the grassy bank and with two roasted steaks set out
upon two great green leaves, a delectable sight.

"Pray lend me your knife, Martin."

"What, have you brought dinner hither?" says I.

"To be sure, Martin."

"Why then--!" says I, and laving the clay from my hands came
beside her and, using our knife alternately, a very pleasant meal
we made of it.

All that afternoon I wrought at our pots until I had made a dozen
or so of all sizes, and each and every furnished with one or more
handles; and though I scowled at a crack here and there, they
looked none the less serviceable on the whole, and hardening
apace.

"And now, comrade," quoth I, rising, "now we will fire them."  So
having collected wood sufficient, I reached for my biggest pot
(the which being made first was the hardest-set), and taking it
up with infinite care off tumbled the handles.  At this I was
minded to dash the thing to pieces, but her touch restrained me
and I set it down, staring at it mighty discomfited and downcast;
whereat she laughs right merrily.

"O Martin," says she, "never gloom so, 'tis an excellent pot even
without handles, indeed I do prefer it so!"

"No," says I, "handles you wanted and handles you shall have!" 
So taking a stick that lay handy, I sharpened it to a point and
therewith bored me two holes beneath the lip of the pot and other
two opposite.  "This pot shall have iron handle," says I, "unless
it perish in the fire."  Then setting the pots as close as might
be, I covered them with brushwood and thereupon (and with
infinite caution) builded a fire and presently had it a-going. 
Now I would have stayed to tend the fire but my companion showed
me the sun already low, vowed I had done enough, that I was
tired, etc.  So, having set upon the fire wood enough to burn
good time, I turned away and found myself weary even as she said.

"Goat's-flesh," says I as we sat side by side after supper,
"goat's-flesh is an excellent, wholesome diet and, as you cook
it, delicious."

"'Tis kind of you to say so, Martin, but--"

"We have had it," says I, "we have had it boiled and baked--"

"And roast and stewed, and broiled across your iron bolts,
Martin, and yet 'tis always goat's-flesh and I do yearn for a
change, and so do you."

"Lord!" says I, "You do read my very thoughts sometimes."

"Is that so wonderful, Martin?"

"Why, a man's thoughts are but thoughts," says I, watching where
she braided a long tress of her hair.

"Some men's thoughts are so easily read!" says she.

"Are mine?"

"Sometimes, Martin!"  Now at this I blenched and well I might,
and she smiled down at the long tress of hair she was braiding
and then glances at me mighty demure; quoth she:  "But only
sometimes, Martin.  Now, for instance, you are wondering why of
late I have taken to wearing my hair twisted round my head and
pinned with these two small pieces of wood in fashion so
unsightly!"

"Aye, truly," says I wondering, "indeed and so I was!  Though I
do not think it unsightly!"

"I wear it so, Martin, first because my hairpins are yet to make,
and second because I would not have you find my hairs in your
baked goat, boiled goat, roast, fried or stewed goat.  And
speaking of goat brings us back where we began, and we began
yearning for a change of food."

"As to that," says I, taking her half-finished hairpin from my
pocket and drawing my knife, "the lagoon is full of fish had I
but a hook--"

"Or a net, Martin."

"How should we contrive our net?"

"In the woods all about us do grow vines very strong and pliable
--would these serve, think you?"

"Ha--an excellent thought!" says I.  "To-morrow we will attempt
it.  As to fish-hooks, I might contrive them out of my nails
hammered small, though I fear they'd be but clumsy.  Had I but a
good stout pin--"

"I have two, Martin, here in my shoe-buckles."

"Show me!"  Stooping, she slipped off one of her shoes and gave
it to me; and turning it over in my hand I saw the poor little
thing all cut and torn and in woeful estate.

"I must contrive you other shoes and soon!" says I.

"Can you make shoes, Martin?"

"I'll tell you this to-morrow."

"O Martin, 'twould be wonderful if you could, and a great comfort
to me."

"Why then, you shall have them, though unlovely things they'll
be, I fear."

"No matter so long as they keep out sharp stones and briars,
Martin."

"Your foot is wonderfully small!" says I, studying her shoe.

"Is it, Martin?  Why 'tis a very ordinary foot, I think.  And the
pins are behind the buckles."  Sure enough I found these silver
buckles furnished each with a good stout pin well-suited to my
design; so breaking them from the buckles, I had soon bent them
into hooks and (with the back of my knife and a stone) I shaped
each with a small ring a-top whereby I might secure them to my
line; and though they had no barbs I thought they might catch any
fish were I quick enough.

"How shall you do for a line, Martin?"

"I shall take the gut of one of our goats and worsted unravelled
from my stocking."

"Will worsted be strong enough?"

"I shall make it fourfold."

"Nay, I will plait it into a line for you!"

"Good!" quoth I.  And whipping off one of my stockings I
unravelled therefrom sufficient of the worsted.

"But what shall you do for stockings?" says she, while this was
a-doing.

"I will make me leggings of goat's-skin."  So she took the
worsted and now, sitting in a patch of radiant moonlight, fell to
work, she weaving our fish-line with fingers very quick and
dexterous, and I carving away at the pin for her hair.

"How old are you, Martin?" says she suddenly.

"Twenty-seven."

"And I shall be twenty-six to-morrow."

"I judged you older."

"Do I look it, Martin?"

"Yes--no, no!"

"Meaning what, Martin!"

"You do seem older, being no silly maid but of a constant mind,
and one to endure hardship.  Also you are very brave in peril,
very courageous and high-hearted.  Moreover you are wise."

"Do you think me all this?" says she softly.  "And wherefore?"

"I have never heard you complain yet--save of me, and I have
never seen you afraid.  Moreover you caught a goat and killed
it!"

"You are like to make me vain of my so many virtues, Martin!"
laughs she; yet her laugh was very soft and her eyes kind when
she looked at me.

"This hairpin shall be my birthday gift to you," says I.

"And surely none like to it in the whole world, Martin!"

After this we worked a great while, speaking no word; but
presently she shows me my fish-line very neatly plaited and a
good five feet long, the which did please me mightily, and so I
told her.

"Heigho!" says she, leaning back against the rock, "Our days grow
ever more busy!"

"And will do!" quoth I.  "Here is strange, rude life for you,
days of hardship and labour unceasing.  Your hands shall grow all
hard and rough and yourself sick with longing to be hence--"

"Alas, poor me!" she sighed.

"Why, 'twill be no wonder if you grieve for England and ease,"
says I, "'twill be but natural."

"O very, Martin!"

"For here are you," I went on, beginning to scowl up at the
waning moon, "here are you bred up to soft and silken comfort,
very dainty and delicate, and belike with lovers a-plenty,
courtly gallants full up of fine phrases and eager for your
service--."

"Well, Martin?"

"Instead of the which you have this island!"

"An earthly paradise!" says she.

"And myself!"

"A foolish being and gloomy!" says she.  "One that loveth to be
woeful and having nought to grieve him for the moment must needs
seek somewhat!  So will I to bed ere he find it!"

"Look now," quoth I, as she rose, "in losing the world you do
lose everything--."

"And you also, Martin."

"Nay," says I, "in losing the world of yesterday I may find more
than ever I possessed!"

"Meaning you are content, Martin?"

"Is anyone ever content in this world?"

"Well--I--might be!" says she slowly.  "But you--I do fear you
will never know true content, it is not in you, I think."

And off she goes to bed leaving me very full of thought.  Howbeit
the moon being very bright (though on the wane) I stayed there
until I had finished her hairpin, of the which I give here a cut,
viz.:--

{Sketch of a hairpin.)


CHAPTER XXXII

TELLS HOW I FOUND A SECRET CAVE

Next morning I was up mighty early and away to the little valley,
first to view my pots and then to pick some flowers for her
birthday, remembering her great love for such toys.  Coming to
the ashes of the fire, I must needs fall a-cursing most vilely
like the ill fellow I was, and to swearing many great and vain
oaths (and it her birthday!).  For here were my pots (what the
fire had left of them) all swollen and bulged with the heat,
warped and misshapen beyond imagining.

So I stood plucking my beard and cursing them severally and all
together, and fetched the nearest a kick that nigh broke my toe
and set the pot leaping and bounding a couple of yards, but all
unbroken.  Going to it I took it up and found it not so much as
scratched and hard as any stone.  This comforted me somewhat and
made me to regret my ill language, more especially having regard
to this day, being as it were a day apart.  And now as I went on,
crossing the stream at a place where were stepping-stones, set
there by other hands than mine, as I went, I say, I must needs
think what a surly, ill-mannered fellow I was, contrasting the
gross man I was become with the gentle, sweet-natured lad I had
been.  "Well but" (thinks I, excusing myself) "the plantations
and a rowing-bench be a school where a man is apt to learn nought
but evil and brutality, my wrongs have made me what I am.  But
again" (thinks I--blaming myself) "wrong and hardship, cruelty
and suffering do not debase all men, as witness the brave
Frenchman that was whipped to death beside me in the 'Esmeralda'
galleass.  Wrong and suffering either lift a man to greatness, or
debase him to the very brute!  She had said as much to me once. 
And she was right" (thinks I) "for the Frenchman had died the
noble gentleman he was born, whiles I, as well-born as he and
suffering no greater wrong than he, according to his own account,
I had sullied myself with all the vileness and filth of slavedom,
had fought and rioted with the worst of them!"  And now
remembering the shame of it all, I sat me down in the shade of a
tree and fell to gloomy and sad reflection, grieving sorely over
things long past and forgotten until now, and very full of
remorse and scorn of myself.

"Howbeit" (thinks I) "if rogue and brute I am" (which is beyond
all doubt) "I will keep such for my own kind and she shall know
nought of it!"  And here, getting upon my knees I took a great
and solemn oath to this effect, viz., "Never by look, or word, or
gesture to give her cause for shame or fear so long as we should
abide together in this solitude so aid me God!"  This done I
arose from my knees and betook me to culling flowers, great
silver lilies and others of divers hues, being minded to lay them
on the threshold of her door to greet her when she should arise. 
With these in my arms I recrossed the brook and stepping out from
a thicket came full upon her ere she was aware; and seeing her so
suddenly I stood like any fool, my poor flowers hidden behind me. 
She had taken up one of my misshapen pots and was patting it
softly as she viewed it, and a little smile on her red lips.  All
at once she turned and, spying me, came towards me all smiling,
fresh and radiant as the morning.

"O Martin," says she, turning the pot this way and that, "O
Martin, 'tis wonderful--"

"'Tis an abomination!" quoth I.

"And 'twill hold water!"

"'Tis like an ill dream!" says I.

"And so strong, Martin."

"True, 'tis the only merit the things possess, they are like
stone--watch now!"  And here, to prove my words, I let one drop,
though indeed I chose a soft place for it.

"And they will be so easy to carry with these handles, and--why,
what have you there?"  Saying which she sets down the pot, gently
as it had been an egg-shell, and comes to me; whereupon I showed
her my posy, and I more fool-like than ever.

"I chanced to--see them growing," says I, "and thought--your
birthday--they might pleasure you a little, mayhap--"

"Please me?" says she, taking them.  "Please me--O the dear,
beautiful things, I love them!"  And she buries her face among
them.  "'Twas kind of you to bring them for me, Martin!" says
she, her face hidden in the flowers, "Indeed you are very good to
me!  After all, you are that same dear Martin I knew long ago,
that boy who used to brandish his rusty sword and vow he'd suffer
no evil to come near me, and yearned for ogres and dragons to
fight and slay on my behalf.  And one day you caught a boy
pulling my hair."

"It was very long hair even then!" says I.

"And he made your lip bleed, Martin."

"And I hit him on the nose!" says I.

"And he ran away, Martin."

"And you bathed my lip in the pool and afterwards you--you--"

"Yes I did, Martin.  Though 'tis a long time to remember."

"I--shall never forget!" says I.  "Shall you?"

Here she buries her face in her flowers again.

"As to the pots, Martin, there are four quite unbroken, will you
help me bear them to our refuge, breakfast will be ready."

"Breakfast is a sweet word!" quoth I.  "And as to these things,
if you will have them, well and good!"

And thus, she with her flowers and I with the gallipots, we came
to our habitation.

"What do we work at to-day?" she questioned as we rose from our
morning meal.

"To-day I make you a pair of shoes."

"How may I aid you, Martin?"

"In a thousand ways," says I, and I plucked a great fan-shaped
leaf that grew adjacent.  "First sit you down!  And now give me
your foot!"  So, kneeling before her, I traced out the shape of
her foot upon the leaf and got no further for a while, so that
presently she goes about her household duties leaving me staring
at my leaf and scratching my head, puzzling out how I must cut
and shape my goat-skin.  Well-nigh all that morning I sat
scheming and studying how best I might achieve my purpose, and
the end of it was this:

(Sketch of a leaf cut to shape.)

This shape I cut from the leaf and with it went to find my lady;
then, she sitting upon the stool, I took off one of her shoes
(and she all laughing wonderment) and fitting this pattern to her
foot, found it well enough for shape, though something too large.
I now took the goat-skin and, laying it on the table, cut
therefrom a piece to my pattern; then with one of my nails ground
to a sharp point like a cobbler's awl, I pierced it with holes
and sewed it together with gut in this fashion:

(Four sketches of shaped hide showing stages of manufacture.)

This is quickly over in the telling, but it was long a-doing, so
that having wrought steadily all day, night was at hand ere her
shoes were completed, with two thicknesses of hide for soles and
all sewed mighty secure.

Now though they were not things of beauty (as may plainly be seen
from my drawing herewith) yet, once I had laced them snug upon
her feet, they (shaping and moulding themselves to her slender
ankles and dainty feet) were none so ill-looking after all.  And
now she, walking to and fro in them, must needs admire at their
construction and the comfort of them, and very lavish in her
praise of them and me; the which did pleasure me mightily though
I took pains to hide it.

"Why, Martin" says she, thrusting out a foot and wagging it to
and fro (very taking to behold), "I vow our cobbler surpasseth
our carpenter!  Dian's buskins were no better, nay, not so good,
judging by pictures I have seen."

"They will at least keep out any thorns," says I, "though as to
looks--"

"They look what they are, Martin, the shoes of a huntress.  You
will find her very swift and sure-footed when her bruises are
quite gone."

"I'm glad they please you," says I, yet upon my knees and
stooping to view them 'neath her petticoat, "though now I see I
might better them by trimming and shaping them here and there."

"No, no, Martin, leave well alone."

But now and all at once I started to feel a great splash of rain
upon my cheek, and glancing up saw the sky all overcast while
seaward the whole horizon was very black and ominous; great
masses of writhing vapour and these threatening clouds lit ever
and anon by a reddish glow, and pierced by vivid lightning
flashes.  All of which took us mightily by surprise, we having
been too intent upon these new buskins to heed aught else.

"Yonder is storm and tempest," says I, "see how it sweeps towards
us!"  And I pointed where, far across the dark sea, a line of
foam marked the oncoming fury of the wind.  And presently we
heard it, a faint hum, growing ever louder and fiercer.

"O Martin, see yonder!" and she pointed to the onrushing of the
foaming waters.  "'Tis very awful but very grand!"

"Let us go in!" says I, catching up my tools.  "Come, soon will
be roaring havoc all about us!"

"Nay, let us stay awhile and watch."

As she spoke it seemed as the sea gathered itself into one great
and mighty wave, a huge wall of foaming waters that rolled onward
hissing and roaring as it would 'whelm the very island beneath
it.  On it rushed, swelling ever higher, and so burst in thunder
upon the barrier reef, filling the air with whirling foam.  And
then--then came the wind--a screaming, howling, vicious titan
that hurled us flat and pinned me breathless and scarce able to
move; howbeit I crawled where she crouched somewhat sheltered by
a rock, and clasping her within my arm lay there nor dared to
stir until the mad fury of the wind abated somewhat.  Then, side
by side, on hands and knees, we gained our rocky fastness, and
closing the door, which was screened from the direct force of the
tempest, I barred it with the beam I had made for the purpose,
and stood staring at my companion and she on me, while all the
world about us roared and clamoured loud and louder until it
seemed here was to be an end of all things.  And now suddenly
came darkness; and in this darkness her hand found mine and
nestled there.  Thus we remained a great while hearkening to the
awful booming of this rushing, mighty wind, a sound indescribable
in itself, yet one to shake the very soul.  In a while, the
tumult subsiding a little we might distinguish other sounds, as
the rolling of thunder, the rending crash of falling trees hard
by, and the roar of mighty waters.  And presently her voice came
to me:

"God pity all poor mariners, Martin!"

"Amen!" says I.  And needs must think of Adam and Godby and
wonder where they might be.

"'Tis very dark, shall we not have a light?" she questioned.

"If I can find our lamp," says I, groping about for it.

"Here is a candle!"

"A candle?" says I, "And where should we find a candle?"

"We have three, Martin.  I made them with tallow from our goat,
though they are poor things, I fear."

Taking out my tinder-box I very soon had these candles burning,
and though they smoked somewhat, a very excellent light we
thought them.  "And now for supper!" says she, beginning to
bustle about.  "Our meat is in the larder, Martin."  Now this
larder was our third and smallest cave, and going therein I was
immediately struck by the coldness of it, moreover the flame of
the candle I bore flickered as in a draught of air, insomuch
that, forgetting the meat, I began searching high and low,
looking for some crack or crevice whence this draught issued, yet
found none.  This set me to wondering; for here was the cave some
ten feet by twelve or more, and set deep within the living rock,
the walls smoothed off, here and there, as by hand, but with
never a crack or fissure in roof or walls so far as I might
discover.  Yet was I conscious of this cold breath of air so that
my puzzlement grew the greater.

Presently as I stood thus staring about, to me comes my lady:

"Good lack, Martin," says she, "if we sup on goat to-night we
must eat it raw, for we have no fire!"

"Fire?" says I.  "Hum!  Smoke would do it, 'tis an excellent
thought."

"Do what, Martin!"

"Look at the candle-flame and hark!"

And now, the booming of the wind dying down somewhat, we heard a
strange and dismal wailing and therewith a sound of water afar.

"O Martin!" she whispered, clasping her hands and coming nearer
to me, "What is it?"

"Nought to fear, comrade.  But somewhere in this larder of ours
is an opening or fissure, the question is--where?  And this I go
to find out."

"Aye, but how?" she questioned, coming nearer yet, for now the
wailing had sunk to a groan, and this gave place to a bubbling
gasp mighty unpleasant to hear.

"With smoke," says I, setting the candle in a niche of rock, "I
will light a fire here."

"But we have no fuel, Martin."

"There is plenty in my bed."

"But how will you sleep and no bed?"

"Well enough, as I have done many a time and oft!"

"But, O Martin, 'twill make such dire mess and this our larder!"

"No matter, I'll clean it up.  Howbeit I must learn whence cometh
this cold-breathing air.  Besides, the fire shall cook our supper
and moreover--"

But here I checked speaking all at once, for above the dismal
groans and wailing I had heard a sudden fierce whispering:

"O Martin, O Martin!" sighed my companion, "We are not alone--
somewhere there are people whispering!  Did you hear, Martin, O
did you hear?"  And I felt her all of a-tremble where she leaned
against me.

"'Tis gone now!" says I, speaking under my breath.

"But 'twas there, Martin--a hateful whispering."

"Aye, I heard it," says I fierce and loud, "and I'll find out who
or what--"

"Who or what!" hissed a soft voice.  Hereupon I sheathed the
knife I had drawn and laughed, and immediately there came another
laugh, though very soft.

"Ahoy!" I shouted, and presently back came the answer "Ahoy!" and
then again, though much fainter, "Ahoy!"  "'Tis nought but an
echo," says I laughing (yet mighty relieved all the same).

"Thank God!" says she faintly, and would have fallen but for my
arm.

"Why, comrade, how now?" says I; and for a moment her soft cheek
rested against my leathern jerkin.

"O Martin," says she, sighing, "I do fear me I'm a monstrous
craven--sometimes!  Forgive me!"

"Forgive you?" says I, and looking down on her bowed head,
feeling her thus all a-tremble against me, I fell a-stammering,
"Forgive you, nay--where--here was an unchancy thing--'tis small
wonder--no wonder you should grow affrighted and tremble a
little--"

"You are trembling also," says she, her voice muffled against me.

"Am I?"

"Yes, Martin.  Were you afraid likewise?"

"No--Yes!" says I, and feeling her stir in my hold, I loosed her.

And now, bringing fern and bracken from my bed I kindled a fire
and, damping this a little, made a smoke the which, rising to a
certain height, blew back upon us but always from the one
direction; and peering up thither I judged here must be a space
'twixt the roof and the face of the rock, though marvellous well-
hid from all observation.  Hereupon, the place being full of
smoke I must needs stamp out the fire lest we stifle; yet I had
discovered what I sought.  So whilst my companion busied herself
about supper, I dragged our table from the outer cave, setting it
in a certain corner and, mounted thereon, reached up and grasped
a ledge of rock by which I drew myself up and found I was in a
narrow opening or tunnel, and so low that I must creep on hands
and knees.

"Will you have a candle, Martin?"  And there was my lady standing
below me on the table, all anxious-eyed.  So I took the candle
and creeping through this narrow passage suddenly found myself in
another cavern very spacious and lofty; and now, standing in this
place, I stared about me very full of wonder, as well I might be,
for I saw this:  Before me a narrow door, very stout and pierced
with a loophole, and beyond this a rocky passage that led steeply
down:  on my right hand, in a corner, a rough bed with a bundle
of goat-skins and sheets that looked like sailcloth; on my left a
table and armchair, rough-builded like the bed, and above these,
a row of shelves against the rocky wall whereon stood three
pipkins, an iron, three-legged cooking-pot, a candlestick and an
inkhorn with pen in it.  Lastly, in a corner close beside the
bed, I spied a long-barrelled firelock with bandoliers complete. 
I was about to reach this (and very joyously) when my lady's
voice arrested me.

"Martin, are you there?  Are you safe?"

"Indeed!" says I.  "And, Damaris, I have found you treasure
beyond price."

"O Martin, is it Bartlemy's treasure--the jewels?"

"Better than that a thousand times.  I have found you a real
cooking-pot!"

"O wonderful!  Show me!  Nay, let me see for myself.  Come and
aid me up, Martin."

Setting down my candle I crawled back where she stood all eager
impatience, and clasping her hands in mine, drew her up and on
hands and knees brought her into the cave.

"Here's a goodly place, comrade!" says I.

"Yes, Martin."

"With a ladder to come and go by, this should make you a noble
bedchamber."

"Never!" says she.  "O never!"

"And wherefore not?"

"First because I like my little cave best, and second because
this is too much like a dungeon, and third because I like it not
--and hark!" and indeed as we spoke the echoes hissed and
whispered all about us.

"Why, 'tis airy and very dry!"

"And very dark by day, Martin."

"True enough!  Still 'tis a wondrous place--"

"O very, Martin, only I like it not at all."

"Why then, the bed, the bed should serve you handsomely."

"No!" says she, mighty vehement.  "You shall make me a better an
you will, or I will do with my bed of fern."

"Well then, this pot--here is noble iron pot for you, at least!"

"Why yes," says she, smiling to see me all chapfallen, "'tis
indeed a very good pot, let us bring it away with us, though
indeed I could do very well without it."

"Lord!" says I gloomily.  "Here have I found you all these goodly
things, not to mention chair and table, thinking to please you
and instead--"

"I know, Martin, forgive me, but I love not the place nor
anything in it.  I am very foolish belike, but so it is."  And
here she must needs shiver.  "As to these things, the bed, the
chair and table and the shelves yonder, why you can contrive
better in time, Martin; and by your thought and labour they will
be doubly ours, made by you for our two selves and used by none
but us."

"True," says I, greatly mollified, "but this pot now, I can never
make you so brave a pot as this."

"Why, very well, Martin," says she smiling at my earnestness,
"bring it and let us begone."  So I reached down the pot and
espied therein a long-barrelled pistol; whipping it out, I blew
off the dust and saw 'twas primed and loaded and with flint in
place albeit very rusty.  I was yet staring at this when my lady
gives a little soft cry of pleasure and comes to me with somewhat
hidden behind her.

"Martin," says she, "'tis a good place after all, for see--see
what it hath given you!" and she shewed me that which I had
yawned for so bitterly, viz. a good, stout saw.  Tossing aside
the pistol, I took it eagerly enough, and, though it was rusty, a
very serviceable tool I found it to be.

"Ha, comrade!" says I, "Now shall you have a chair with arms, a
cupboard, and a bed fit to lie on.  Here is all the furniture you
may want!"

"And now," says she, "let us begone, if you would have your
supper, Martin."  So I followed her through the little tunnel
and, having lowered her on to the table, gave her the pot and
then (albeit she was mighty unwilling) turned back, minded to
bring away the firelock and pistol and any such odds and ends as
might serve me.

Reaching the cave, I heard again the dismal groans and wailing,
but much louder than before, and coming to the door, saw it
opened on a steep declivity of rock wherein were rough steps or
rather notches that yet gave good foothold; so I began to descend
this narrow way, my candle before me, and taking vast heed to my
feet, but as I got lower the rock grew moist and slimy so that I
was half-minded to turn back; but having come this far,
determined to see where it might bring me, for now, from the
glooms below, I could hear the soft lapping of water.  Then all
at once I stopped and stood shivering (as well I might), for
immediately beneath me I saw a narrow ledge of rock and beyond
this a pit, black and noisome, and full of sluggish water.

For a long while (as it seemed) I stared down (into this water)
scarce daring to move lest I plunge into this dreadful abyss
where the black water, lapping sluggishly, made stealthy menacing
noises very evil to hear.  At last I turned about (and mighty
careful) and so made my ways up and out of this unhallowed place
more painfully than I had come.  Reaching the cave at last (and
very thankful) I sought to close the door, but found it to resist
my efforts.  This but made me the more determined to shut out
this evil place with its cold-breathing air, and I began to
examine this door to discover the reason of its immobility.  Now
this (as I have said) was a narrow door and set betwixt jambs and
with lintel above very strong and excellent well contrived; but
as I lifted my candle to view it better I stopped all at once to
stare up at a something fixed midway in this lintel, a strange
shrivelled black thing very like to a great spider with writhen
legs updrawn; and now, peering closer, I saw this was a human
hand hacked off midway 'twixt wrist and elbow and skewered to the
lintel by a great nail.  And as I stood staring up at this evil
thing, from somewhere in the black void beyond the door rose a
long, agonised wailing that rose to a bubbling shriek; and though
I knew this for no more than some trick of the wind, I felt my
flesh tingle to sudden chill.  Howbeit I lifted my candle higher
yet, and thus saw beneath this shrivelled, claw-like hand a
parchment nailed very precisely at its four corners, though black
with dust.  Wiping this dust away I read these words, very fair
writ in bold, clear characters:

JAMES BALLANTYNE

HIS HAND
WHEREWITH HE FOULLY MURDERED A GOOD
MAN.
THIS HAND CUT OFF BY ME THIS JUNE 23 1642.
THE SAME BALLANTYNE HAVING PERISHED SUDDENLY BY A
PISTOL SHOT
ACCORDING TO MY OATH.
LIKE ROGUES--TAKE WARNING.

ADAM PENFEATHER.

In a while I turned from this hateful thing, and coming to the
bed began to examine the huddle of goatskins, and though full of
dust and something stiff, found them little the worse for their
long disuse; the same applied equally to the sailcloth, the
which, though yellow, was still strong and serviceable.  Reaching
the firelock from the corner I found it to be furnished with a
snaphaunce or flintlock, and though very rusty, methought cleaned
and oiled it might make me a very good weapon had I but powder
and shot for it.  But the bandoliers held in all but two poor
charges, which powder I determined to keep for the pistol. 
Therefore I set the musket back in the corner, and doing so
espied a book that lay open and face down beneath the bedstead. 
Taking it up I wiped off the dust, and opening this book at the
first page I came on this:

ADAM PENFEATHER

HYS JOURNAL

1642.

Hereupon, perceiving in it many charts and maps together with a
plan of the island very well drawn, I thrust it into my bosom,
and hearing my lady calling me, took pistol and bandolier and so
to supper.

Thus amidst howling storm and tempest we sat down side by side to
sup, very silent for the most part by reason of this elemental
strife that raged about our habitation, filling the world with
awful stir and clamour.

But in a while seeing her so downcast and with head a-droop I
must needs fall gloomy also, and full of a growing bitterness.

"Art grieving for England?" says I at last, "Yearning for home
and friends and some man belike that loves and is beloved again!"

"And why not, Martin?"

"Because 'tis vain."

"And yet 'twould be but natural."

"Aye indeed," says I gloomily and forgetting my supper, "for
contrasting all you have lost, home and friends and love, with
your present evil plight here in this howling wilderness, 'tis
small wonder you weep."

"But I am not weeping!" says she, flushing.

"Yet you well may," quoth I, "for here are you at the world's end
and with none but myself for company."

"Why, truly here is good cause for tears!" says she, flashing her
eyes at me.

"Aye!" I nodded.  "'Tis a pity Fate hath chosen you so ill a
companion."

"Indeed and so it is!" says she, and turns her back on me.  And
so we sat awhile, she with her back to me and I gloomy and
despondent hearkening to the howling of the wind.

"You eat no supper!" says I at last.

"Neither do you!"

"I am not hungry!"

"Nor I!"

Myself (speaking after some while, humbly):  Have I angered you?

She:  Mightily!

Myself:  Aye, but how?

She:  By your idle, foolish talk, for if I grow thoughtful
sometimes why must you ever dream me repining against my lot? 
To-night, hearkening to this dreadful tempest I was full of
gratitude to God that He had brought us to this safe harbourage
and set me in your companionship.  And if my heart cry out for
England sometimes 'tis because I do love England.  Yet my days
here are too full of labour for vain grieving and my labour, like
my sleep, is joy to me.  And there is no man I love in England--
or anywhere else.

Myself (and more humbly than ever):  Why then I pray you forgive
me, comrade.

At this she looks at me over her shoulder, frowning and a little
askance.

"For indeed," says I, meeting this look, "I would have you know
me ever as your comrade to serve you faithfully, seeking only
your friendship and nought beyond; one you may trust unfearing
despite my ungentle ways."

And now I saw her frown was vanished quite, her eyes grown
wondrous gentle and her lips curving to a smile; and so she
reached out her hand to me.

And thus we two poor, desolate souls found great solace and
comfort in each other's companionship, and hearkening to the roar
of this mighty tempest felt the bonds of our comradeship only
strengthened thereby.

When my lady was gone to bed I, remembering Adam's journal, took
it out, and drawing the candle nearer fell to examining the book
more closely.  It was a smallish volume but very thick, and with
very many close-written pages, its stout leathern covers battered
and stained, and an ill-looking thing I thought it; but opening
it haphazard, I forgot all save the words I read (these written
in Adam's small clerkly hand) for I came on this:

May 10.--Glory be and thanks unto that Providence hath been my
salvation and poured upon unworthy me His blessing in that I this
day have fought and killed this murderous rogue and detestable
pirate, Roger Tressady.

Here followed divers accounts of his labours, his discovery of
these caves and many cunning devices day by day until I came on
this:

May 28.--To-day a storm-beat pinnace standing in for my island,
and in it Abnegation Mings and divers others of Bartlemy's
rogues, survivors (as I judge) of that cursed ship "Lady's
Delight."  They landed, being fifteen in all and I in great fear
and distress therefore.  They leaving their boat unwatched I
stole thither and to my great joy found therein a watch-coat and
bonnet, 3 muskets, 2 swords, 5 pistols with powder and shot, all
of which did hide among the rocks adjacent (a cunning hiding-
place) where I may fetch them at my leisure, Providence aiding.

May 29.--This day 1 hour before dawn secured arms, powder, etc.,
and very grateful therefore.

May 30.--To-day set about strengthening and fortifying my door
since, though Roger Tressady is dead, there be other rogues yet
to slay, their evil minds being full of lust for Black Bartlemy's
Treasure and my blood.  And these their names:

A true list of these rogues each and every known to me aforetime
in Tortuga, viz.:

My enemies.                My equipment against the same.

Abnegation Mings (Mate of  A determined mind.
  the "Vengeance" galley)  3 Musquets with powder and shot
Benjamin Galbally            a-plenty.
Jasper Vokes               2 Swords.
Juliano Bartolozzi         1 Axe.
Benjamin Denton            2 Pikes.
Pierre Durand              5 Pistols.
John Ford                  A chain-shirt.
James Ballantyne
Izaac Pym
Robert Ball
William Loveday
Daniel Marston
Ebenezer Phips
A boy and one woman.

June 1.--This day, waked by a shot and the sounds of lewd
brawling, I to my lookout and mighty alarmed.  Upon the sands a
fire and thereby a woman and 6 or 7 of these rogues fighting for
her.  She, poor soul, running to escape falls shot and they to
furious fight.  But my hopes of their destroying each other and
saving me this labour vain by reason of Abnegation Mings bringing
them to accord.  Thereafter they to drinking and singing of this
lewd piratical rant of theirs.  Whereupon I tried a shot at them
with my long-barrelled arquebus to no purpose.  Have made me some
ink and do answer very well.

June 2.--Went a-hunting three of my destroyers, viz. the rogues
Galbally, Vokes and Bartalozzi.  But they well-armed and keeping
always in company did no more than harm Vokes in the leg by a
bullet, and so to my fort and mighty downcast.  Began to make
myself a chair with arms.  This day also wrote me out divers
parchments thus:

JASPER VOKES

SLAIN Of NECESSITY THIS [   ] DAY
LIKE ROGUES TAKE WARNING.

ADAM PENFEATHER.

and of these parchments 13 (the boy being already dead), with
every rogue his name fair writ that they might know me for man of
my word and leave me and my treasure in peace.

June 3.--The weather hot and I out after my bloodthirsty enemies. 
Came on the French rogue Durand and him sleeping.  Removed his
firearms and kicked him awake.  He to his sword and I to mine. 
Took him in quarte at the third passado through the right eye--a
shrewd thrust.  Tied a parchment about his neck and so to my
refuge very full of gratitude.

June 4.--To-day, guided by Providence, surprised Izaac Pym
gorging himself on wild grapes.  Spying me he whips out his
pistol, but I fired first.  Tied a parchment about his neck and
so left him.

June 5.--Evil days for me since these murderous rogues keep ever
together now and on their watch against me day and night.  My
great chair finished and all I could wish it.

June 9.--This night the moon full they assaulted my fort with
huge halloo and many shot, battering my door with a great log for
ram.  But I shooting one and wounding others they left me in
peace.

June 10.--All this day ventured not abroad fearing an ambuscado. 
And lighting a fire within my inner cave the smoke showed me how
I might hide from my bloodthirsty foes an need be.

June 11.--My would-be slayers camped all about my refuge and
howling for my blood, though keeping well out of my line of fire. 
So I to making me a ladder of ropes whereby to come at my new-
found sanctuary.  Determine to make this my bedchamber.

June 12.--My cruel enemies yet raging about me ravening for my
blood and I very fearful.  Have taken down my bed to set it
within my secret chamber.

June 13.--This morning early the rogue Benjamin Denton, venturing
within my fire-zone, took a bullet in his midriff, whereof he
suddenly perished.

June 14.--This morning having gotten all my furniture into my
secret chamber do find myself very comfortable.  But my stores
beginning to run low do put myself on half-rations.

June 15.--My murderers very silent with intent to lure me to my
death but I--

The rest of this page was so stained and blotted that I could
make nothing of it save a word or phrase here and there as:

..secret pass...pit of black water and very...fear of
death...head over ears...to my chin so that I...miserably
wet...on hands and knees being determined...wonderful beyond
thought for here...tlemy's Treasure...very great...this gold I
saw was...emeralds, diamonds and...pearls a-many...through my
fingers...like any poor crazed soul.  For here was treasure
greater...moreover and wealth undreamed...shaft of...suddenly
...the valley...sore annoyed I stood to...he knelt...seeking the
water...turned...our knives...through my forearm but I...broke
short against my chain-shirt and I...beneath the armpit.  So back
by the secret way to bind up my hurt and behold again my
treasure.

Here my candle dying out and I in the dark, I laid the book aside
and presently got me to sleep.


CHAPTER XXXIII

WE EXPLORE THE ISLAND

I opened my eyes to a great beam of sun pouring in at the open
doorway, whereby I judged my companion already astir.  So I arose
forthwith, and going out of the cave stood amazed to see the
havoc wrought by last night's storm.  For everywhere lay trees
torn and uprooted, and in divers of the more exposed places the
wind it seemed had swept them utterly away, so that the landscape
here and there wore an air unfamiliar and not to be recognised.
Though the wind was died away I saw the sea yet rolling
tempestuous to break in foam upon the reef and with dreadful
roar.  Looking down on Deliverance Beach I beheld its white sands
littered with piles of driftwood, and over all a cloudless blue
with the sun new-risen and very hot.

And now taking my hooks and line and a pliant bough for rod, I
went forth to angle for breakfast.  Reaching the lagoon great
wonder was it to behold these waters so smooth and placid while
the surf foamed and thundered beyond the reef.  I now baited my
hooks with fat of the goat and betook me to my angling; nor had I
long to wait ere I felt a jerk on my line, and tingling with the
joy of it I whipped my rod so furiously that my fish whirled
glittering through the air, and flying from my barbless hook lay
floundering on the sands behind me; and though of no great size
yet a very good fish I thought him.  And indeed I found the fish
to bite readily enough and mighty dexterous to filch my bait, and
though I lost a-many yet I, becoming more expert, contrived to
land five likely fish of different sizes and of marvellous
colouring.

So there sat I in the shade of a rock, mighty content and quite
lost in the joy of my sport until, chancing to lift my gaze, I
beheld my companion upon the rocks over against me gazing away
across the troubled ocean.  And beholding all the grace of her as
she stood there, her shapely figure poised and outlined against
the blue sky, her long hair rippling in the soft wind, I clean
forgot my fish, for indeed it seemed I had not noticed the
vigorous beauty of her until now.  And in this moment, as I sat
staring up at her, she turned and spying me, waved her hand in
cheery greeting and begins to descend these rocks, leaping sure-
footed from ledge to ledge, lithe and graceful as any fabled
nymph or goddess of them all.  But I, well knowing the danger of
these rocks, watched her with breath in check and mighty anxious
until she sprang nimbly to the sands and so came running all
joyous to meet me.  Hereupon I caught up my forgotten angle and
found my hook empty, whereat she must needs fall a-laughing at my
discomfiture.

"O Martin" says she, "what a glory of sun and sea and sky and the
wind so sweet!  Indeed it seems as nature would make us amends
for the cruel storm, for the poor trees have suffered greatly."

"Aye, comrade," quoth I, "so is there much fruit for us to gather
ere it rot, and great store of palm-nuts, which are good food and
useful in a thousand ways."

"But nature is very cruel, Martin, for I have seen many birds
lying dead and over yonder a poor goat crushed by a tree."

"Why then," says I, "these will we eat also, at least, such as we
may."

"Nay, Martin, your mind runneth overmuch on food, methinks."

"Mayhap!" says I.  "Howbeit here are fish to our breakfast." 
Hereupon she falls on her knees to behold my catch and very full
of wonder.

"Indeed," says she, "meseemeth we have strayed into Paradise, for
even the fish are beautiful.  Why stare you so, Martin?  Is it so
wonderful I joy in life and find it sweet in so fair a world and
on such a day?  Moreover I have been swimming--"

"How?" says I, "and the sea so rough!"

"I have found me a little bay where the waters run smooth and
deep.  But come, let us breakfast, for to-day, Martin, to-day we
will explore our island."

"Why, I had thought to try my saw to-day," says I, "I had
intended to begin a chair for you."

"Nay, let this rest awhile; Martin, to-day I yearn to adventure
the unknown, who can say what marvels and wonders lie waiting
us?"

"As you will!" says I, rising, and so away to the plateau.  Now
very soon I had the fire a-going and while she bustled to and fro
preparing breakfast and singing very sweet and blithe to hear, I
took the pistol, and having cleaned and oiled it, found it very
well; then I loaded it with one of my six bullets, using a strip
from my ragged shirtsleeve for wads.  This done I laid it by and,
going for Adam's journal, I cut therefrom the map of the island
and fell to studying it with a view to our forthcoming journey. 
The which map I give herewith:

(Map of the island.)

Hearing my companion call me I went out to find breakfast ready,
the fish broiled and very appetising.  While we ate I showed her
Adam's map and she greatly pleased therewith and anxious to know
how I came by it, all of which I told her.  And she, examining
this plan, grows but the more eager to be gone on this
expedition.

"But, Martin," says she all at once as she studied the map,
"Master Penfeather would seem to have been forced to slay a great
number of poor men, here be--one--two--three--O many men all dead
by his hand--and each marked with a little cross."

"Aye," I nodded, "and each and every 'slain of necessity'"...

"Which meaneth--what, Martin?"

"Murder, like as not, though 'tis all cunningly glozed in his
journal."

"I would fain see this journal, Martin."

"Why, so you shall and judge thereby whether he be rogue or no,
for 'tis beyond me."

"But now," says she rising, "let us make ready for our journey,
though 'twill be no great matter, for according to this plan the
island is no more than seven miles long and some five miles
wide."

"Even so," quoth I, "'twill be ill travelling by reason of woods
and tangled thickets, swamps and the like, so I judge 'twill take
the whole day."

"Why then," says she, leaping up, "the sooner we start the
better, Martin."

Hereupon, finding her so set on it I proceeded to equip myself
for the journey; in my belt I thrust my trusty knife and the
hatchet, these balanced by the pistol, and over my shoulder I
slung my bow and quiver of arrows and chose me a good stout
sapling for staff.  Soon cometh my companion, her slender middle
girt by a goatskin girdle whereto she had hung our other sheath-
knife and my wallet; so we set out together side by side. 
Reaching the little valley, we turned off to the right, or
westerly, according to Adam's map, following the stream that
rippled amid great boulders or flowed 'twixt banks adorned with
many-hued flowers most rare to be seen.  And here were bushes of
all kinds and trees a-plenty untouched by the gale, for the
little valley, being well secluded, it fortuned the wind had
passed over it.  Up rose the sun waxing ever hotter, so that,
reaching a grove of trees, I would have my companion rest awhile
in this right pleasant shade the whiles I, with certain great
leaves, contrived a covering for her head and another for my own;
which done, we fared on again and she very merry by reason of the
strange figures we cut.  Thus we presently came out of the valley
into a pleasant champain--a rolling grassy upland with dim woods
beyond, even as Adam had set forth in his map.  Wherefore, guided
by this map, we struck off north and so in a while came again to
the river and heard the roar of the waterfall away to our left;
and turning thither (I being minded to show her this wonder) we
saw before us a high land, well girt by bush and fern and
flowering shrubs, up which we scrambled forthwith, the roar of
the fall waxing louder as we climbed.  Reaching the summit we saw
it had once been covered by noble trees, some few of which the
storm had left standing yet, but for the most part they lay wind-
tossed in wild and tangled confusion.

"O Martin!" says my companion, "O Martin!" and so stood awed by
the destruction wrought by this mighty and pitiless tempest. 
Here was ill-going, but by dint of labour with my hatchet I
forced us a way through the wreckage until we suddenly came where
we might behold the fall that leapt from the adjacent rocks, all
rainbow-hued, to plunge into those deep and troubled waters
below.

And now instead of bursting forth into cries of delighted wonder,
as I had expected, my companion stood mute and still, her hands
tight-clasped, viewing now the splendour of these falling waters,
now the foam-sprent deeps below, like one quite dumbfounded.  At
last:

"O Martin," says she in my ear, for the noise of the fall was
very loud, "here is wonder on wonder!"

"As how, comrade?"

"This great body of water for all its weight yet disturbeth
yonder black depths very little--and how should this chance
except this dark lake be immeasurably deep?"

"Aye, true!" says I.  "Here belike was a volcano once and this
the crater."

Hard by, a great rock jutted out above the lake, that same barren
rock wherein I had sat the day I discovered this cataract; now as
I viewed this rock I was struck by its grotesque shape and then,
all at once, I saw it was hatefully like to a shrivelled head--
there were the fleshless jaws, the shrunken nose and great,
hollow eye-socket.  And now even as I stared at the thing my
companion spied it also, for I felt her hand on my arm and saw
her stand to view it wide-eyed.  So we, speaking no word, stared
upon this shape, and ever as we stared the nameless evil of it
seemed to grow, insomuch that we turned with one accord and
hasted away.

"Yonder was an ill sight, Martin."

"Indeed!" says I.  "'Twas like the face of one long dead!  And
yet 'tis no more than a volcanic rock!  Nature playeth strange
tricks sometimes, and here was one vastly strange and most
unlovely!"  After this we went on side by side and never a word
betwixt us until we had reached that pleasant champain country
where flowed the river shaded by goodly trees, in whose branches
fluttered birds of a plumage marvellously coloured and diverse,
and beneath which bloomed flowers as vivid; insomuch that my lady
brake forth ever and anon into little soft cries of delighted
wonder.  And yet despite all these marvels it was long ere we
shook off the evil of that ghastly rock.

Presently as we journeyed came a wind sweet and fresh from the
sea, offsetting the sun's immoderate heat to our great comfort,
so that, though ofttimes our way was toilsome, our spirits rose
notwithstanding, and we laughed and talked unfeignedly as only
good comrades may.

By noon we had reached a place of rocks where, according to
Adam's map should be a ford, though hereabouts the stream,
swollen by the late rains, ran deep.  Howbeit we presently came
upon the ford sure enough and, having crossed it, my lady must
needs fall to admiring at her new shoes again, finding them
water-fast.

"And they so comfortable and easy to go in, Martin!"

"Why, you have footed it bravely thus far!" says I, "But--"

"But?" says she, "And what then?  You shall find me no laggard
these days, Martin.  Indeed I could run fast as you for all your
long legs, sir."

So she challenges me to race her forthwith, whereupon (and
despite the sun) we started off side by side and she so fleet
that I might scarce keep pace with her; thus we ran until at last
we stopped all flushed and breathless and laughing for the pure
joy of it.

Presently in our going we came on a little dell, very shady and
pleasantly secluded, where flowers bloomed and great clusters of
wild grapes hung ripe for the plucking; and mighty pleasant
methought it to behold my companion's pleased wonderment.  Here
we sat to rest and found these grapes very sweet and refreshing.

Much might I tell of the marvels of this island, of fruit and
bird and beast, of the great butterflies that wheeled and hovered
resplendent, and of the many and divers wonders that beset us at
every turn; but lest my narrative grow to immoderate length (of
the which I do already begin to entertain some doubt) I will pass
these with this mere mention and hurry on to say that we tramped
blithely on until, the sun declining westwards, warned us to be
turning back; but close before us rose that high hill whose
summit towered above the island, and my companion mighty
determined that she must climb it.

"For, Martin," says she, scornful of all weariness, "once up
there we may behold all our domain spread out before us!"

So having skirted the woods and avoided tangled thickets as well
as we might, we began the ascent, which we found to be no great
matter after all.  And now I bethought me how Adam had sped
hotfoot up hereabouts on a time and with Tressady's glittering
hook ringing loud on the rocks behind him.  More than once as we
climbed we came on flocks of goats that scampered off at sight of
us; here, too, I remarked divers great birds and determined to
try a shot at one if chance should offer.  As to my companion, I
had all I could do to keep up with her until, flushed and
breathless, she turned to view me all radiant-eyed where we stood
panting upon the summit.  And now beholding the prospect below,
she uttered a soft, inarticulate cry, and sinking down upon the
sward, pushed the damp curls from her brow the better to survey
the scene outstretched before us.

A rolling, wooded country of broad savannahs, of stately groves
and mazy boskages, of dim woods and flashing streams; a blended
harmony of greens be-splashed, here and there, with blossoming
thickets or flowering trees, the whole shut in by towering, tree-
girt cliffs and bounded by a limitless ocean, blue as any
sapphire.

Viewing the island from this eminence I could see that Adam's map
was true in all essentials as to shape and general trend of the
country, and sitting beside my lady I fell to viewing the island
more narrowly, especially this eminent place; and looking about
me I called to mind how Adam (according to his story) had waged
desperate fight with Tressady hereabouts--indeed I thought to
recognise the very spot itself, viz., a narrow ledge of rock
with, far below, a sea that ran deeply blue to break in foam
against the base of these precipitous cliffs.  Away over hill and
dale I saw that greeny cliff with its silver thread of falling
water that marked our refuge, and beyond this again, on my right
hand, the white spume of the breakers on the reef.  And beholding
the beauties thus spread out before my eyes, and knowing myself
undisputed lord of it all, there grew within me a sense of joy
unknown hitherto.

At last, moved by a sudden thought, I turned from the beauties of
this our island to study the beauty of her who sat beside me; the
proud carriage of her shapely head 'neath its silky masses of
hair, the level brows, the calm, deep serenity of her blue eyes,
the delicate nose, full red lips and dimpled chin, the soft round
column of her throat, deep bosom and slender waist--thus sat I
staring upon her loveliness heedless of all else until she
stirred uneasily, as if conscious of my regard, and looked at me. 
Then I saw that her eyes were serene no longer, whiles all at
once throat and cheeks and brow were suffused with slow and
painful colour, yet even as I gazed on her she met my look
unflinching.

"What is it, Martin?" she questioned, a little breathless still.

"Suppose," says I slowly, "suppose we are never taken hence--
suppose we are destined to end our days here?"

"Surely this is--an ill thought, Martin?"

"Indeed and is it, my lady?  Can the world offer a home more
fair?"

"Surely not, Martin."

"Then wherein lieth the ill--Damaris?  Is it that you do yearn so
mightily for England?"

"There lieth my home, Martin!"

"Is home then so dear to you?"  Here, finding no answer, she grew
troubled.  "Or is it," says I, bending my staff across my knee
and beginning to frown, "or is it that there waits some man
yonder that you love?"

"No, Martin, have I not told you--"

"Why then," says I, "is it that you grow a-weary of my unlovely
ways and would be quit of me?"

"No, Martin--only--only--"  Here she fell silent and I saw her
flush again.

"Or is it that you fear I might grow to love you--in time?"

"To--love me!" says she, very softly, and now I saw her red lips
dimple to a smile as she stooped to cull a flower blooming hard
by.  "Nay!" says she lightly, "Here were a wonder beyond thought,
Martin!"

"And wherefore should this be so great wonder?" I demanded.

"Because I am Joan Brandon and you are a man vowed and sworn to
vengeance, Martin."

"Vengeance?" says I and, with the word, the staff snapped in my
hands.

"Is it not so, Martin?" she questioned, wistfully.  "Given
freedom from this island would you not go seeking your enemy's
life?  Dream you not of vengeance still?"

"Aye, true," says I, "true!  How should it be otherwise?  Come,
let us begone!"  And casting away my broken staff, I got to my
feet.  But she, sitting there, lifted her head to view me with
look mighty strange.

"Poor Martin!" says she softly.  "Poor Martin!"

Then she arose, albeit slow and wearily, and we went down the
hill together.  Now as we went thus, I in black humour (and never
a word) I espied one of those great birds I have mentioned within
easy range, and whipping off my bow I strung it, and setting
arrow on cord let fly and brought down my quarry (as luck would
have it) and running forward had very soon despatched it.

"Why must you kill the poor thing, Martin?"

"For supper."

"Supper waiteth us at home."

"Home?" says I.

"The cave, Martin."

"We shall not reach there this night.  'Twill be dark in another
hour and there is no moon, so needs must we bide here."

"As you will, Martin."

Hard beside the river that wound a devious course through the
green was a little grove, and sitting here I fell to plucking the
bird.

"Shall I not do that, Martin?"

"I can do it well enough."

"As you wish, Martin."

"You are weary, doubtless."

"Why, 'tis no great labour to cook supper, Martin."

"Howbeit, I'll try my hand to-night."

"Very well," says she and away she goes to collect sticks for the
fire whiles I sat feathering the bird and found the flesh of it
very white and delicate.  But all the while my anger swelled
within me for the folly I had uttered to her, in a moment of
impulse, concerning love.  Thus as she knelt to build the fire I
spoke my thought.

"I said a vain and foolish thing to you a while since."

"Aye, Martin you did!" says she, bending over her pile of sticks. 
"But which do you mean?"

"I mean that folly regarding love."

"O, was that folly, Martin?" she questioned, busy laying the
sticks in place.

"Arrant folly, for I could never love you--or any woman--"

"O, why not, Martin?"

"Because I have no gift for't--no leaning that way--nor ever
shall--"

"Why indeed, you are no ordinary man, Martin.  Shall I light the
fire?"

"No, I will."

"Yes, Martin!"  And down she sits with folded hands, watching me
mighty solemn and demure and I very conscious of her scrutiny. 
Having plucked and drawn my bird, I fell to trimming it with my
knife, yet all the time feeling her gaze upon me, so that what
with this and my anger I pricked my thumb and cursed beneath my
breath, whereupon she arose and left me.

Having thus prepared my bird for cooking I set it upon two sticks
and, lighting the fire, sat down to watch it.  But scarce had I
done so when back comes my lady.

"Martin," says she, "should you not truss your bird first,
Martin?"

"'Twill do as it is."

"Very well, Martin.  But why are you so short with me?"

"I am surly by nature!" quoth I.

"Aye, true!" she nodded, "But why are you angry with me this
time?"

"I ha' forgot."

"You were merry enough this noon and laughed gaily, and once you
fell a-whistling--"

"The more fool I!"

"Why then, methinks I do like your folly--sometimes!" says she
softly.  "But now see this river, Martin, 'tis called the Serpent
Water in the map, and indeed it winds and twists like any snake. 
But where should so much water come from, think you?  Let us go
look!"

"Nay, not I--here's the bird to tend--"

"Why then," says she, stamping her foot at me in sudden anger,
"stay where you are until you find your temper!  And may your
bird burn to a cinder!"  And away she goes forthwith and I
staring after her like any fool until she was out of sight.  So
there sat I beside the fire and giving all due heed to my
cooking; but in a while I fell to deep reflection and became so
lost in my thoughts that, roused by a smell of burning, I started
up to find my bird woefully singed.

This put me in fine rage so that I was minded to cast the carcass
into the fire and have done with it; and my anger grew as the
time passed and my companion came not.  The sun sank rapidly, and
the bird I judged well-nigh done; wherefore I began to shout and
halloo, bidding her to supper.  But the shadows deepening and
getting no answer to my outcries, I started up, clean forgetting
my cookery, and hasted off in search of my companion, calling her
name now and then as I went.  Following the stream I found it to
narrow suddenly (and it running very furious and deep) perceiving
which I began to fear lest some mischance had befallen my wilful
lady.  Presently as I hurried on, casting my eyes here and there
in search of her, I heard, above the rush of the water, a strange
and intermittent roaring, the which I could make nothing of,
until, at last, forcing my way through the underbrush I saw
before me a column of water that spouted up into the air from a
fissure at the base of the hill, and this waterspout was about
the bigness of a fair-sized tree and gushed up some twenty feet
or so, now sinking to half this height, only to rise again. 
Scarce pausing to behold this wonder I would have hasted on (and
roaring louder than the water) when I beheld her seated close by
upon a rock and watching me, chin in hand.

"Why must you shout so loud?" says she reprovingly.

"I feared you lost!" says I, like any fool.

Would it matter so much?  And you so angry with me and no
reason?"

"Howbeit, supper is ready!"

"I am not hungry, I thank you, sir."

"But I am!"

"Then go eat!"

"Not alone!" says I; and then very humbly, "Prithee, comrade,
come to supper, indeed you should be hungry!"

"And indeed, Martin," says she, rising and giving me her hand, "I
do think I am vastly hungry after all."  So back we went together
and, reaching the fire, found the accursed bird burned black as
any coal, whereupon I stood mighty downcast and abashed the while
she laughed and laughed until she needs must lean against a tree;
and I, seeing her thus merry at my expense, presently laughed
also.  Hereupon she falls on her knees, and taking the thing from
the fire sets it upon a great leaf for dish, and turns it this
way and that.

"Good lack, Martin!" says she, "'Tis burned as black e'en as I
wished!  This cometh of your usurpation of my duties, sir!  And
yet methinks 'tis not utterly spoiled!"  And drawing her knife
she scrapes and trims it, cutting away the burned parts until
there little enough remained, but that mighty delectable judging
by the smell of it.

So down we sat to supper forthwith and mighty amicable, nay
indeed methought her kinder than ordinary and our friendship only
the stronger, which did comfort me mightily.

But our supper done we spake little, for night was come upon us
very still and dark save for a glitter of stars, by whose
unearthly light all things took on strange shapes, and our
solitude seemed but the more profound and awesome.

Above us a purple sky be-gemmed by a myriad stars, a countless
host whose distant splendour throbbed upon the night; round about
us a gloom of woods and thickets that hemmed us in like a dark
and sombre tide, whence stole a sweet air fraught with spicy
odours; and over all a deep and brooding quietude.  But little by
little upon this silence crept sounds near and far, leafy
rustlings, a stirring in the undergrowth, the whimper of some
animal, the croak of a bird, and the faint, never-ceasing murmur
of the surge.

And I, gazing thus upon this measureless immensity, felt myself
humbled thereby, and with this came a knowledge of the futility
of my life hitherto.  And now (as often she had done, ere this)
my companion voiced the thought I had no words for.

"Martin," says she, softly, "what pitiful things are we, lost
thus in God's infinity."

"And doth it affright you, Damaris?"

"No, Martin, for God is all-merciful.  Yet I needs must think how
vain our little strivings, our hopes and fears, how small our
joys and sorrows!"

"Aye, truly, truly!" quoth I.

"But," says she, leaning towards me in the firelight and with her
gaze uplifted to the starry heavens, "He who made the heavens is
a merciful God, 'who hath made great lights...the moon and the
stars to govern the night.'  So, Martin, 'let us give thanks unto
the Lord for He is good, for His mercy endureth forever; and in
this knowledge methinks we may surely rest secure."

After this we fell silent again, I for one being very full of
troublesome thought and perplexity, and the sum of it this, viz.,
whether a woman, cast alone on a desolate island with a man such
as I, had need to fear him?  To the which question answer found I
none.  Wherefore I got me another speculation, to wit:  Whether a
man and woman thus solitary must needs go a-falling in love with
one another?  Finding no answer to this either, I turned, half-
minded to put the question to my companion, and found her fast
asleep.

She lay deep-slumbering in the light of the fire, her face half-
hid 'neath a tress of shining hair; and I viewing her, chin in
fist, saw in her only the last of her hated race and knew in that
moment that never might there be aught of true love, that pure
passion, high and ennobling, the which may lift man above his
baser self--never might this be 'twixt her blood and mine.  And
knowing this I knew also great doubt and fear of myself.  And in
my fear I lifted my gaze to the stars, those "great lights" set
there by the hand of God; and spake thus within myself:

"Lord God," quoth I, "Since love is not nor ever shall be 'twixt
this my companion and me, do Thou protect her from the devil
within me, do Thou aid me to keep the oath I sware in Thy name."

But now (and my prayer scarce uttered) the Devil sprang and was
upon me, and I, forgetting all my oaths and resolutions, yielded
me joyously to his will; stirring in her slumbers my lady sighed,
turned and, throwing her arm out it chanced that her hand came
upon my knee and rested there, and I, shivering at her touch,
seized this hand and caught it to my lips and began to kiss these
helpless fingers and the round, soft arm above.  I felt her
start, heard her breath catch in a sob, but, in my madness I
swept her to my embrace.  Then as I stooped she held me off
striving fiercely against me; all at once her struggles ceased
and I heard her breath come in a long, tremulous sigh.

"Martin!" says she, "O thank God 'tis you!  I dreamed these Black
Bartlemy's cruel arms about me and I was sick with fear and
horror--thank God 'tis you, dear Martin, and I safe from all
harms soever.  So hold me an you will, Martin, you that have
saved me from so much and will do till the end."

"Aye, by God!" says I, bending my head above her that she might
not see my face, "And so I will, faithfully, truly, until the
very end!"

"Do I not know it--O do I not know it!" says she in choking
voice, and here, lying beside me, she must take my hand and hold
it to her soft cheek.  "Indeed I do think there is no man like
you in the whole world."

At this, knowing myself so unworthy, I thought no man in the
world so miserable as I, as I would have told her but dared not.

"God make me worthy of your trust!" says I at last.

"'Tis a good prayer, Martin.  Now hear mine, 'tis one I have
prayed full oft--God make you strong enough to forgive past
wrongs and, forgetting vengeance, to love your enemy."

"'Tis thing impossible!" says I.

"Yet the impossible shall come to pass soon or late, Martin, this
am I sure."

"And why so sure?"

"My heart telleth me so!" says she drowsily, and looking down I
saw her eyes were closed and she on the verge of slumber.  And
beholding her thus, my self-hate grew, insomuch that her fingers
loosing their hold, I stole away my hand and, seeing her asleep,
crept from the place.  Being come to the stream I stood awhile
staring down at the hurrying waters, minded to cast myself
therein; but presently I turned aside, and coming amid leafy
gloom lay there outstretched, my face hidden from the stars and I
very full of bitterness, for it seemed that I was as great a
rogue and well-nigh as vile as ever Bartlemy had been.  And thus
merciful sleep found me at last.


CHAPTER XXXIV

HOW I STOOD RESOLUTE IN MY FOLLY

The day was still young when we reached our habitation, and both
of us glad to return, especially my lady.

"For truly I do grow to love this home of ours," says she, and
sets herself to sweeping out her three caves.  As for me I was
determined on making her an arm chair forthright; to the which
end I took my saw and set out for Deliverance Sands, there to cut
and select such timber as I needed from my store.  But scarce was
I come hither than I uttered a shout of joy, for there, cast up
high upon these white sands, lay a great mast in a tangle of
ropes and cordage.

Drawing near, I saw this for the mainmast of some noble ship but
lately wrecked, wherefore I hasted along the beach and out upon
the reef to see if haply any other wreckage had come ashore, but
found nothing to reward my search.  Returning to the mast I saw
to my joy that this cordage was all new and sound, though
woefully tangled.  Howbeit I had soon unravelled some fifty yards
of good stout twine, and abundance of more yet to hand together
with the heavier ropes such as shrouds and back-stays.  Taking
this line I came to that rocky cleft where I had killed the goat,
and clambering up the bush-grown cliff found it to be honey-
combed with caves large and small and with abundant evidences of
the animals I sought.  Wherefore, choosing me a narrow, well-worn
track I set there a trap formed of a running noose, and this did
I in divers other places, which done I returned to my labours on
the mast.  At the which occupation my lady, finding me, must
needs fall to work beside me, aiding as well as she might like
the true comrade she was.

Thus by late afternoon I had coiled and stowed safely away more
good hempen rope and cordage than I could ever want.  This
accomplished I found time to praise my companion's diligence; but
finding her all wearied out with such rough and arduous labour,
grew mighty vexed with my heedlessness, reproaching myself
therewith; but she (and all toilworn as she was) laughed her
weariness to scorn, as was ever her way:

"Why, Martin," says she, "labour is a good thing and noble since
it giveth health and strength to both mind and body.  And 'tis my
joy to share in your labours when I may and a delight to see how,
cast here destitute of all things, you have contrived so much
already.  The more I work and the harder, the more able am I for
work, so trouble not if I do grow a little weary sometimes!" 
This comforted me somewhat until, chancing to see her hands, I
caught them in mine and turning them saw these tender palms all
red and blistered with the ropes; and grieving over them I would
have kissed the poor little things had I dared (and indeed came
mighty nigh doing it) as she perceived, I think, for she flushed
and laughed and drew them from my hold.

"Nay, Martin," says she softly.  "I would have you forget my sex
--sometimes!"

"'Twere a thing impossible!" says I, whereat she, stealing a
glance at me, flushed all the hotter.

"Why then," says she, "You must not coddle and cosset me because
I am a woman--"

"Never, quoth I, "'tis not my nature to do so."

"And yet you do, Martin."

"As how?"

"O in many ways--these blisters now, why should your hands grow
rough and hard and not mine?  Nature hath formed me woman but
Fate hath made me your comrade, Martin.  And how may I be truly
your comrade except I share your toil?"

Now when I would have answered I could not, and turning from her
to stare away across the limitless ocean saw it a-gleam through a
mist as it were.

"Surely," says I at last, "O surely never had man so sweet and
true a comrade!  And I so rude and unlovely--and in all ways so
unworthy."

"But you are not, Martin, you are not!"

"Aye, but I am--beyond your guessing, you that are so pure, so
saintly--"

"Saintly?  O Martin!" and here she laughs albeit a little
tremulously.  "Surely I am a very human saint, for I do grow
mighty hungry and yearn for my supper.  So prithee let us go and
eat."

But on our way we turned aside to see if we had any fortune with
my snares; sure enough, coming nigh the place we heard a
shuffling and snorting, and presently discovered a goat fast by
the neck and half-choked, and beside her a little kid pitifully
a-bleating.

"O Martin!" cries my lady, and falling on her knees began
caressing and fondling the little creature whiles I secured the
dam, and mighty joyful.  The goat, for all its strangling, strove
mightily, but lashing its fore and hind legs I contrived to get
it upon my shoulders and thus burdened set off homewards, my lady
carrying the kid clasped to her bosom, and it very content there
and small wonder.

"'Tis sweet, pretty thing," says my lady, stroking its silky
hair, "and shall soon grow tame."

"And here is the beginning of our flock:  our cheese and butter
shall not be long a-lacking now, comrade."

"You must fashion me a press, Martin."

"And a churn," says I.

"Nay I can manage well enough with one of our pipkins."

"But a churn would be easier for you, so a churn you shall have,
of sorts."

This evening after supper, sitting by our fire, my lady (and
despite her weariness) was merrier than her wont and very full of
plans for the future, deciding for me what furniture I must
construct next, as chairs (two) a cupboard with shelves, and
where these should stand when made:

"And, Martin," says she, "now that we own goats I must have a
dairy for my cheese-making, and my dairy shall be our larder,
aye, and stillroom too, for I have been tending our garden lately
and found growing many good herbs and simples.  In time, Martin,
these caves shall grow into a home indeed and all wrought by our
own hands, and this is a sweet thought."

"Why so it is," says I, "in very truth--but--"

"But what, sir?" she questioned, lifting admonishing finger.

"There may come a day when we may weary of it, how then?"

"Nay we are too busy--"

"Can it--could it be"--says I, beginning to stammer--"that you
might live here thus content to the end of your days?"

"The end of my days?" says she staring thoughtfully into the
fire.  "Why, Martin, this is a long way in the future I do pray,
and our future is in the hands of God, so wherefore trouble?"

"Because I who have been stranger to Happiness hitherto, dread
lest it may desert me and leave me the more woeful."

"Are you then happy at last--and so suddenly, Martin?"

Now this put me to no little heart-searching and perplexity, for
casting back over the time since our landing on the island I knew
that, despite my glooms and ill-humours, happiness had come to me
in that hour I had found her alive.

"Why, I am no longer the miserable wretch I was," quoth I at
last.

"Because of late you have forgot to grieve for yourself and past
wrong and sorrows, Martin.  Mayhap you shall one day forget them
quite."

"Never!" quoth I.

"Yet so do I hope, Martin, with all my heart," says she and with
a great sigh.

"Why then, fain would I forget an I might, but 'tis beyond me. 
The agony of the rowing-bench, the shame of stripes--the blood
and bestiality of it all--these I may never forget."

"Why then, Martin--dear Martin," says she, all suddenly slipping
from her stool to kneel before me and reach out her two hands. 
"I do pray our Heavenly Father, here and now before you, that
you, remembering all this agony and shame, may make of it a crown
of glory ennobling your manhood--that you, forgetting nothing,
may yet put vengeance from you now and for ever and strive to
forget--to forgive, Martin, and win thereby your manhood and a
happiness undreamed--" here she stopped, her bosom heaving, her
eyes all tender pleading; and I (O deaf and purblind fool!)
hearing, heard not and seeing, saw nought but the witching beauty
of her; and now, having her hands in mine, beholding her so near,
I loosed her hands and turned away lest I should crush her to me.

"'Tis impossible!" I muttered.  "I am a man and no angel--'tis
impossible!"  Hereupon she rose and stood some while looking down
into the fire and never a word; suddenly she turned as to leave
me, then, sitting on her stool, drew out her hairpins and shook
down her shining hair that showed bronze-red where the light
caught it.  And beholding her thus, her lovely face offset by the
curtain of her hair, her deep, long-lashed eyes, the vivid
scarlet of her mouth, I knew the world might nowhere show me a
maid so perfect in beauty nor so vitally a woman.

"Martin!" says she very softly, as she began braiding a thick
tress of hair.  "Have you ever truly loved any woman?"

"No," says I, "No!"

"Could you so love, I wonder?"

"No!" says I again and clenching my hands.  "No--never!"

"Why, true," says she, more softly, "methinks in your heart is no
room for poor Love, 'tis over-full of Hate, and hate is a disease
incurable with you.  Is't not so, Martin?"

"Yes--no!  Nay, how should I know?" quoth I.

"Yet should love befall you upon a day, 'twould be love unworthy
any good woman, Martin!"

"Why then," says I, "God keep me from the folly of love."

"Pray rather that Love, of its infinite wisdom, teach you the
folly of hate, Martin!"

"'Tis a truth," says I bitterly, "a truth that hath become part
of me!  It hath been my companion in solitude, my comfort in my
shameful misery, my hope, my very life or I had died else!  And
now--now you bid me forget it--as 'twere some mere whimsy, some
idle fancy--this thought that hath made me strong to endure such
shames and tribulations as few have been forced to suffer!"

"Aye, I do, I do!" she cried.  "For your own sake, Martin, and
for mine."

"No!" quoth I, "A thousand times!  This thought hath been life to
me, and only with life may I forego it!"

At this, the busy fingers faltered in their pretty labour, and,
bowing her head upon her hand, she sat, her face hid from me,
until I, not doubting that she wept, grew uneasy and questioned
her at last.

"Nay, my lady--since this must be so--wherefore grieve?"

"Grieve?" says she lifting her head, and I saw her eyes all
radiant and her red lips up-curving in a smile.  "Nay, Martin, I
do marvel how eloquent you grow upon your wrongs, indeed 'tis as
though you feared you might forget them.  Thus do you spur up
slothful memory, which giveth me sure hope that one day 'twill
sleep to wake no more."

And now, or ever I might find answer, she rose and giving me
"Good-night" was gone, singing, to her bed; and I full of
bewilderment.  But suddenly as I sat thus, staring into the dying
fire, she was back again.

"What now?" I questioned.

"Our goat, Martin!  I may not sleep until I know her safe--come
let us go look!" and speaking, she reached me her hand.  So I
arose, and thus with her soft, warm fingers in mine we went amid
the shadows where I had tethered the goat to a tree hard beside
the murmurous rill and found the animal lying secure and placidly
enough, the kid beside her.  The which sight seemed to please my
lady mightily.

"But 'tis shame the poor mother should go tied always thus. 
Could you not make a picket fence, Martin?  And she should have
some refuge against the storms," to the which I agreed.  Thus as
we went back we fell to making plans, one project begetting
another, and we very blithe about it.


CHAPTER XXXV

HOW MY DEAR LADY WAS LOST TO ME

And now followed a season of much hard work, each day bringing
its varied tasks and we right joyous in our labour, so that
ofttimes I would hear her singing away in her sweet voice merry
as any grig, or find myself whistling lustily to the tap of my
hammer.  And now indeed my saw (and all rusty though it was)
served me faithfully and well, and my carpentry went forward
apace.  During this time also we added four goats and six kids to
our flock, so that we had good store of milk, and having with my
lady's help made our net with strands of cord knotted crosswise,
we caught therewith great plenty of fish.

Remembering my adventure with the Indian I furnished myself with
a good stout pike and a couple of javelins; moreover I set up
divers marks, like rovers, and every day I would shoot at these
with my bow, so that I soon became so dexterous I could bring
down a bird on the wing six times out of seven, though in
teaching myself this proficiency I lost four of my Indian arrows
beyond recovery.

Thus sped the time all too quickly, but with each day came a
greater understanding and a deeper amity betwixt my lady and me.

Now much and very much might I set down here concerning this my
sweet comrade, her many noble qualities, and how, as our
fellowship lengthened, I (that was a man selfish beyond thought)
finding her unselfish always and uncomplaining, seeing her so
brave in the face of adversity, and indomitable to overcome all
difficulty, yet ever and always a woman gracious and tender, I,
by my very reverence for her sweet womanhood, became in some
sense a better man.

I might tell how, when my black moods took me, the mere sight of
her, the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand, nay her very
nearness was enough to dispel them.

I might paint to your imagination the way her hair curled at her
temples, the trick she had of biting her nether lip when at all
put out, of the jut of her pretty chin when angered.  Then the
sweet, vibrant softness of her voice, her laughter, the wonder of
her changing moods--all these I would dilate upon if I might,
since 'tis joy to me, but lest I prove wearisome I will hasten on
to the finding of Black Bartlemy's Treasure, of all that led up
to it and all those evils that followed after it.  And this
bringeth me to a time whenas we sat, she and I, eating our
breakfast and the world all radiant with a young sun.

"To-night," says she, "if my calculations be right, should be a
new moon.  And I am glad, for I do love the moon."

"Aye, but how should you judge this?" says I, wondering.

"Because I have kept a record, Martin.  A stroke for each day and
a cross for every Sunday."

"Excellent!" quoth I.  "Then you will know how long we have lived
here?"

"Two months and five days, Martin."

"So long a time?" says I amazed.

"Hath it seemed so very long?" she questioned.

"No indeed!" says I.  "No, and there's the marvel!"

"'Tis no marvel, Martin, you have been too full of business to
heed time.  Let us reckon up what we have achieved thus far. 
First of all a three-legged stool for me--"

"Hairpins!" says I.

"A spoon, Martin, and shoes for me--"

"Lamps and candles!" quoth I.

"A table, Martin--"

"A fishing line and two hooks."

"Two armchairs, Martin, a cupboard and a press."

"A churn!" says I.

"You are forgetting our five pipkins, Martin."

"True," says I, "and clumsy things they are!"

"But very useful, sir!  Next a fishing-net, and a bed for me. 
Here is fine achievement, Martin!  Are you not proud to have
wrought so much and with so little?"

"But there is much yet to do!" quoth I.

"So much the better!" says she.  "Thus far I am well content."

"And happy?" I demanded.

"Aye, Martin--are you?"

"Now at this I fell to profound reverie and she also, and this
the subject of my musings, viz.,

In every man and woman born into this world (as it doth seem to
me) God putteth some of His infinite self whereby all things are
possible in degree greater or smaller; for to the God within us
all things are possible, 'tis our very humanity that limits our
potentialities.  Confidence in this power within us is a mighty
aid to all endeavour whereby we, our coward flesh
notwithstanding, may attempt great things, and though, being
human, we ofttimes fail, yet this very effort strengthens and
ennobles us.

"Who art thou," cries Flesh, "to adventure thing so great and
above thy puny strength to perform?  Who art thou?"  "I am God!"
answers Man-soul, "Since finite man am I only by reason of thee,
base, coward Flesh."  Thus (to my thinking) in every man is angel
and demon, each striving 'gainst each for the soul of him;
whereby he doeth evil or good according to the which of these
twain he aideth to victory.  Howbeit, thus it is with me, I
being, despite my seeming slowness, of quick and passionate
temper and of such desperate determination that once set on a
course needs would I pursue it though it led to my own
confounding and destruction.  For now, indeed, I wrought that the
which brought on my lady great sorrow and grievous peril, and on
myself shame, bloodshed and a black despair, and this the manner
of it.

"Are you not happy, Martin?" says she, 'Happy and proud to have
accomplished so much with so little?"

"No!" says I, and so bitterly-fierce that she blenched from me. 
"For look now," says I, clenching my fist, "here have we wrought
and slaved together day in and day out--and to what end?"

"That we may live--to our comfort--" says she a little
breathlessly.

"And to what end?" I demanded.  "To what purpose have you cozened
me to labour thus?"

"I?  I don't understand you, Martin!" says she unsteadily.

"Here's you cast alone with me on this island.  'He is a man,'
says you to yourself, 'and I a lonely woman.  So must I keep him
busy, his mind ever employed on some labour, no matter what, lest
peradventure he make love to me--'"

"Stop!" cries she angrily, leaping up to her feet all in a
moment.  "For shame, Martin Conisby!  You wrong me and yourself--
I am your comrade--"

"Nay, you are a woman, very subtle, and quick-witted as you are
beautiful.  So have you kept me in ploy thus, yearning meanwhile
for some ship--anything to bear you safe away from me!  Often
have I seen you staring seaward and praying for a sail."

"O you lie, Martin, you lie!  Ah, have I not trusted you?"

"Aye, as one might a tiger, by humouring me and distracting my
attention!  All these weeks I have scarce touched you and kissed
you never, nor had I thought to--but now by God--"

"Martin--O Martin, what would you--"

"Kiss you!" says I savagely, and caught her wrists.

"Nay, that you shall never do--with that look on your face!"
cries she, and twisted so strongly as nigh broke my hold; but
despite all her desperate striving, struggle how she might, I
dragged her to me, pinning her arms in my cruel embrace; but
still she withstood me and with such fury of strength that twice
we staggered and came near falling, until all at once she yielded
and lay all soft, her breath coming in little, pitiful, panting
groans.  So I kissed her as I would, her hair, her eyes, her
parted lips, her cool, soft throat, until sun and trees and green
grass seemed to spin and whirl dizzily about me, until my lips
were wet with her salt tears.

"O God--O God!" she whispered, "O Martin that I trusted so, will
you kill my faith and trust?  Will you shame your comrade?  You
that I loved--"

"Loved!" says I, catching my breath and staring down at her tear-
wet lashes, "Loved me--O Damaris--"

"Aye loved, and honoured you above all men until the beast broke
loose."

"And now?" cried I hoarsely, "And now--what?  Speak!"

"God's pity--loose me, Martin!"

"And now what--tell me.  Is't hate now, scorn and contempt--as
'twas aboard ship?"

"O Martin--let me go!" she sobbed.

"Answer me, is it hate henceforth?"

"Yes!" she panted, "Yes!" and tore herself from my hold.  But, as
she turned to fly me, I caught her back to me and, madman that I
was, bent her backward across my knee that I might look down into
her eyes; and, meeting my look, she folded her hands upon her
bosom and closing her eyes, spoke broken and humbled:

"Take--take your will of me--Black Bartlemy--I am not--brave
enough to stab you as--she did--"

Now at this I shivered and must needs cast my gaze towards that
great pimento tree that towered afar off.  So, then, my hateful
dream had come true, and now I knew myself for black a rogue as
ever Bartlemy had been.  So I loosed her and starting up, stood
staring across the desolation of ocean.

"O Damaris!" says I at last, "Here in my belt was my knife to
your hand, 'twere better you had stabbed me indeed and I, dying,
would have kissed your feet after the manner of yon dead rogue. 
As it is I must live hating myself for having destroyed the best,
the sweetest thing life could offer me and that, your trust. 
But, O my lady," says I, looking down where she knelt, her face
bowed upon her hands, "I do love you reverently and beyond my
life."

"Even greatly enough to forego your vengeance?" she questioned
softly, and without glancing up.

"God help me!" cried I, "How may I forget the oath I swore on my
father's grave?"

"You broke your oath to me!" says she, never stirring, "So do I
know that true love hath not touched you."

"Think of me as you will," quoth I, "but--"

"I know!" says she, raising her head at last and looking up at
me, "I am sure, Martin.  Where hate is, true love can never be,
and love howsoever vehement is gentle and reverent and, being of
God, a very holy thing!  But you have made of it a thing of
passion, merciless and cruel--'tis love debased."

"So will I get hence," says I, "for since I have destroyed your
faith how shall you ever sleep again and know yourself secure and
such rogue as I near you.  I'll go, Damaris, I'll away and take
your fears along with me."

Then, the while she watched me dumbly, I slung my bow and quiver
of arrows about me, set the hatchet in my girdle and, taking my
pike, turned to go; but, checking my haste, went into the cave
(she following me silent always) and taking the pistol from where
it hung, examined flint and priming and charge and laid it on the
table.

"Should you need me at any time, shoot off this pistol and I will
come" says I, "so good-bye, my lady!"  But scarce was I without
the cave than she comes to me with my chain-shirt in her hands,
and when I would have none of it, grew the more insistent.

"Put it on," says she gently, "who can tell what may befall you,
so put it on I pray!"  Thus in the end I donned it, though with
ill grace; which done, I took my pike across my shoulder and
strode away.  And when I had gone some distance I glanced back
and saw her standing where I had left her, watching me and with
her hands clasped tight together.

"Good-bye, Martin!" says she.  "O good-bye!" and vanished into
the gloom of the cave.

As for me I strode on at speed and careless of direction, for my
mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts and a bitter rage
against myself.  Thus went I a goodish while and all-unheeding,
and so at last found myself lost amidst mazy thickets and my
eight-foot pike very troublesome.  Howbeit I presently gained
more open ways and went at speed, though whither, I cared not. 
The sun was westering when, coming out from the denser woods, I
saw before me that high hill whose rocky summit dominated the
island, and bent my steps thitherward; and then all in a moment
my heart gave a great leap and I stood still, for borne to me on
the soft air came a sudden, sharp sound, and though faint with
distance I knew it for the report of a firearm.  At this thrice-
blessed sound an overwhelming great joy and gratitude surged
within me since thus, of her infinite mercy my lady had summoned
me back; and now as I retraced my steps full of thankfulness, I
marvelled to find my eyes a-watering and myself all trembling
eagerness to behold her loveliness again, to hear her voice,
mayhap to touch her hand; indeed I felt as we had been parted a
year rather than a brief hour.  And now I got me to dreaming how
I should meet her and how she would greet me.  She should find a
new Martin, I told myself.  Suddenly these deluding dreams were
shivered to horrible fear and myself brought, sweating, to a
standstill by another sound that smote me like a blow, for I knew
this for the deep-toned report of a musket.  For a moment I stood
leaning on my pike as one dazed, then the hateful truth of it
seized me and I began to run like any madman.  Headlong I went,
bursting my way through tangled vines and undergrowth, heedless
of the thorns that gashed me, cursing such obstacles as stayed
me; now o'erleaping thorny tangles, now pausing to beat me a way
with my pikestaff, running at breathless speed whenever I might
until (having taken a wrong direction in my frenzy) I came out
amid those vines and bushes that bordered the lake of the
waterfall, and right over against the great rock I have
mentioned.  But from where I was (the place being high) I could
see over and beyond this rock; and as I stood panting and well-
nigh spent, mighty distraught and my gaze bent thitherward, I
shivered (despite the sweat that streamed from me) with sudden
awful chill, for from those greeny depths I heard a scream, wild
and heartrending, and knowing this voice grew sick and faint and
sank weakly to my knees; and now I heard vile laughter, then
hoarse shouts, and forth of the underbrush opposite broke a wild,
piteous figure all rent and torn yet running very fleetly; as I
watched, cursing my helplessness, she tripped and fell, but was
up again all in a moment, yet too late, for then I saw her
struggling in the clasp of a ragged, black-bearded fellow and
with divers other men running towards them.

And now madness seized me indeed, for between us was the lake,
and, though my bow was strung and ready, I dared not shoot lest I
harm her.  Thus as I watched in an agony at my impotence, my lady
broke her captor's hold and came running, and he and his fellows
hard after her.  Straight for the rock she came, and being there
stood a moment to stare about her like the piteous, hunted
creature she was:

"Martin!" she cried, "O Martin!" and uttering this dolorous cry
(and or ever I might answer) she tossed wild arms to heaven and
plunged over and down.  I saw her body strike the water in a
clean dive and vanish into those dark and troubled deeps, and
with breath in check and glaring eyes, waited for her to
reappear; I heard vague shouts and cries where her pursuers
watched for her likewise, but I heeded them nothing, staring ever
and waiting--waiting.  But these gloomy waters gave no sign, and
so at last my breath burst from me in a bitter, sobbing groan. 
One by one the minutes dragged by until I thought my brain must
crack, for nowhere was sign of that beloved shape.  And then--all
at once, I knew she must be dead; this sweet innocent slain thus
before my eyes, snatched out of life and lost forever to me for
all time, lost to me beyond recovery.

At last I turned my haggard, burning eyes upon her murderers--
four of them there were and all staring into those cruel, black
waters below and not a word betwixt them.  Suddenly the black-
bearded man snapped his fingers and laughed even as my bowstring
twanged; then I saw him leap backwards, screaming with pain, his
shoulder transfixed by my arrow.  Immediately (and ere I might
shoot again) his fellows dragged him down, and lying prone on
their bellies let fly wildly in my direction with petronel and
musquetoon.  And now, had I been near enough, I would have leaped
upon them to slay and be slain, since life was become a hateful
thing.  As it was, crouched there 'mid the leaves, I watched them
crawl from the rock dragging their hurt comrade with them.  Then,
seeing them stealing off thus, a mighty rage filled me, ousting
all other emotion, and (my bow in one hand and pike in the other)
I started running in pursuit.  But my great pike proving over-
cumbersome, I cast it away that I might go the faster, trusting
rather to my five arrows and the long-bladed knife in my girdle,
and the thought of this knife and its deadly work at close
quarters heartened me mightily as I ran; yet in a while, the
passion of my anger subsiding, grief took its place again and a
hopeless desolation beyond words.  So ran I, blinded by scalding
tears and my heart breaking within me, and thus came I to a place
of rocks, and looking not to my feet it chanced that I fell and,
striking my head against a rock, knew no more; and lost in a
blessed unconsciousness, forgot awhile the anguish of my breaking
heart.


CHAPTER XXXVI

TELLETH SOME PART OF A NIGHT OF AGONY

When at last I opened my eyes I found myself in a place of gloom
and very stiff and sore; therefore I lay where I was nor sought
to move.  Little by little, as I lay thus 'twixt sleep and wake,
I was aware of a pallid glow all about me, and lifting heavy
head, saw the moon low down in the sky like a great golden
sickle.  And staring up at this, of a sudden back rushed memory
(and with it my hopeless misery) for now I remembered how, but a
few short hours since, my dear lady had prophesied this new moon. 
Hereupon, crouching there, my aching head bowed upon my hands, I
gave myself up to my despair and a corroding grief beyond all
comforting.

From where I crouched I might look down upon this accursed lake,
a misty horror of gloomy waters, and beholding this, I knew that
my gentle, patient comrade was gone from me, that somewhere
within those black and awful depths her tender body was lying. 
She was dead, her sweet voice for ever hushed, she that had been
so vitally alive!  And remembering all her pretty ways I grew
suddenly all blind with tears and, casting myself down, lay a
great while sobbing and groaning until I could weep no more.

At last, sitting up, I wondered to find my head so painful, and
putting up my hand found my face all wet and sticky with blood
that flowed from a gash in my hair.  And remembering how I had
fallen and the reason of my haste I started up and forthwith
began seeking my knife and hatchet, and presently found them hard
by where I had tripped.  Now standing thus, knife in one hand and
hatchet in the other, I turned to look down upon these dark and
evil waters.

"Goodbye, my lady!" says I, "Fare thee well, sweet comrade! 
Before to-morrow dawn we will meet again, I pray, and shalt know
me for truer man and better than I seemed!"  So, turning my back
on the lake I went to seek my vengeance on her destroyers and
death at their hands an it might be so.

In a while I came to that torrent where the water flowed out from
the lake, its bed strewn with tumbled rocks and easy enough to
cross, the water being less in volume by reason of the dry
weather.  All at once I stopped, for amid these rocks and
boulders I saw caught all manner of drift, as sticks and bushes,
branches and the like, washed down by the current and which, all
tangled and twisted together, choked this narrow defile, forming
a kind of barrier against the current.  Now as I gazed at this,
my eyes (as if directed by the finger of God) beheld something
caught in this barrier, something small and piteous to see but
which set me all a-trembling and sent me clambering down these
rocks; and reaching out shaking hand I took up that same three-
pronged pin I had carved and wrought for her hair.  Thus stood I
to view this through my blinding tears and to kiss and kiss it
many times over because it had known her better than I.  But all
at once I thrust this precious relic into my bosom and stared
about me with new and awful expectation, for the current which
had brought this thing would bring more.  So I began to seek
among these rocks where the stream ran fast and in each pool and
shallow, and once, sweating and shivering, stooped to peer at
something that gleamed white from a watery hollow, and gasped my
relief to find it was no more than a stone.  None the less sought
I with a prayer on my lips, dreading to find that white and
tender body mangled by the cruel rocks, yet searching feverishly
none the less.  Long I stayed there, until the moon, high-risen,
sent down her tender beam as though to aid me.  But of this time
I will write no more, since even now it is a misery to recall.

At last, I (that knew myself a man about to die) turned me
towards our habitation, those rocks she had called "home," and
reaching the plateau I stood still, swept alternately by grief
and passion, to see this our refuge all desecrated by vile hands,
our poor furniture scattered without the cave.  And presently I
espied her three-legged stool standing where she had been wont to
sit to watch and cheer me at my labour; coming thither I fell on
my knees, and laying my head thereon wetted this unlovely thing
with my tears and kissed it many times.  As I lay thus, much that
she had done and said (little things forgot till now) rushed upon
my memory; her sweet, calm presence seemed all about me soothing
away the passion of my grief.  And in this hour that was to end
my miserable life, I knew at last that I had loved her purely and
truly from the first, and with such love as might have lifted me
to heaven.  And kneeling thus, I spake aloud to this her sweet
presence that seemed to hover about me:

"O Damaris, beloved--as thou, to 'scape shame, hast chosen death
--in death I'll follow thee--trusting to a merciful God that I
may find thee again!"  Then uprising from my knees, I came out
from the shadows, and standing in the moon's radiance, looked
heedfully to the edge of my axe, and with it gripped in my hand,
went out to find death.


CHAPTER XXXVII

HOW I SOUGHT DEATH BUT FOUND IT NOT

Beyond Deliverance Sands I saw the glow of their fire, and
drawing thither knew them camped in the shadow of that great
pimento tree and within that rocky gorge the which had afforded
my dear lady and me our first night's shelter.  Being come
thither, I sat me down and took counsel how best to attack them
that I might slay as many as possible ere they gave me the death
I hungered for; and the end of it was I began to scale the cliff,
my goatskin buskins soundless and very sure amid the rocks.

As I mounted I heard the hoarse murmur of their voices and knew
by their very intonation (since I could hear no words as yet)
that they were speaking English.  Reaching the summit, and mighty
cautious, I came where I might look down into the cleft.

They lay sprawled about their fire, four grim-looking fellows,
ragged and unkempt, three of them talking together and one who
lay groaning ever and anon.

"Be damned, t'ye, Joel for a lily-livered dog!" growled a great,
bony fellow, "Here's good an island as man can want--"

"And full of bloody Indians--eh, Humphrey?" says a black-jowled
fellow, turning on the wounded man.  "Us do know the Indians,
don't us Humphrey?  Inca, Aztec, Mosquito and Cimaroon, we know
'em and their devil's ways, don't us, Humphrey?"

"Aye--aye!" groaned the wounded man.  "They tortured me once and
they've done for me at last, by God!  My shoulder's afire--"

"And the shaft as took ye, Humphrey, were a Indian shaft--a
Indian shaft, weren't it, lad?  And all trimmed wi' gold, aren't
it?  Here, ye may see for yourselves!  'Sequently I do know it
for the shaft of a chief or cacique and where a cacique is
there's Indians wi' him--O thick as thieves--I know and Humphrey
knows!  I say this curst island be full of Indians, thick as
fleas, curse 'em!  And they'll have us soon or late and torment
us.  So what I says is, let's away at the flood and stand away
for the Main--the sea may be bad now and then, but Indians be
worse--always and ever!"

"Why, as to that, Ned, the Indians ha' left us alone--"

"Aye!" cried the bony man, "And what o' the wench--her was no
Indian, I lay!  A fine, dainty piece she was, by hooky!  And
handsome, ah--handsome!  But for Humphrey's bungling--"

Here the man Humphrey groaned and cursed the speaker bitterly.

"Howbeit--'twas an Indian arrer!" says Ned.  "And that means
Indians, and Indians means death to all on us--ask Humphrey! 
Death--eh, Humphrey?"

"Aye--death!" groaned Humphrey, "Death's got his grapples aboard
me now.  I'm a-dying, mates--dying!  Get me aboard, death will
come easier in open water."

"Why, if ye must die, Humphrey," growled the bony man, "die, lad,
die and get done wi' it, the sooner the better.  As to Indians I
wait till I see 'em, and as for Death--"

"Death?" gasped Humphrey, "Here's for you first!" and whipping
out a knife he made a fierce thrust at the speaker; but the
others closed with him.  Then as they strove together panting and
cursing I rose to come at them; but the wounded man, chancing to
lift his head, saw me where I stood, the moonlight on my bloody
face, and uttered a hoarse scream.

"Death!" cries he, "'Tis on us mates--look, look yonder!  Death
and wounds--yonder he comes for all of us--O mates look!  Yon's
death--for all on us!"

But in this moment I leaped down upon them from above, sending
one man sprawling and scattering their fire, and 'mid whirling
sparks and smoke, within this dim rock-cleft we fought with a
merciless fury and desperation beyond words.  A pistol flashed
and roared and then another as I leapt with whirling axe and
darting knife.  I remember a wild hurly-burly of random blows,
voices that shouted hoarse blasphemies, screams and groans, a
whirl of vicious arms, of hands that clutched; once I reeled to
hard-driven sword-thrust, a knife flashed and stabbed beneath my
arm, but twice I got home with my knife and once a man sobbed and
went down beneath my hatchet--and then they were running and I
after them.  But I had taken a scathe in my leg and twice I fell;
thus they reached their boat with some hundred yards to spare,
and I saw their frantic struggles to launch it as I staggered
after them; but ere I could reach them they had it afloat and
tumbled aboard pell-mell.  Then came I, panting curses, and
plunged into the sea, wading after them up to my middle and so
near that, aiming a blow at one of them, I cut a great chip from
the gunwale, but, reeling from the blow of an oar, sank to my
knees, and a wave breaking over me bore me backward, choking. 
Thus when I found my feet again they were well away and plying
their oars lustily, whiles I, roaring and shouting, stood to
watch them until the boat was lost in the distance.  Now as I
stood thus, raging bitterly at my impotence, I bethought me that
I had seen but three men run and, turning about, hasted back to
deal with the fourth.  Reaching the scene of the struggle, I came
on the man Humphrey outstretched upon his back in the moonlight
and his face well-nigh shorn asunder.  Seeing him thus so
horribly dead, I went aside and fell to scrubbing my hatchet,
blade and haft, with the cleanly sand.

Then came I, and grasping this thing had been named Humphrey, I
dragged it a-down the sands and hove it forthwith into the sea,
standing thereafter to watch it borne out on the receding tide. 
Now as I watched thus, came a wave that lifted the thing so that
this dead man seemed to rise up and wave an arm to me ere he
vanished.

This done (and I yet alive!)  I took to wandering aimlessly
hither and thither, and chancing into the rocky cleft found lying
three muskets and four pistols with bandoliers full-charged,
together with a knife and a couple of swords; these I set orderly
together and so wandered away again.

All this night I rambled about thus, and dawn found me seated
'neath Bartlemy's tree staring at the ocean yet seeing it not.

So God had refused my appeal!  It seemed I could not die.  And
presently, chancing to look down at myself in the growing light I
understood the reason, for here was I armed in my shirt of mail
(forgotten till now) and scowling down at this, I saw its fine,
steel links scratched and scored by many blows and bedaubed here
and there with blood.  So then (thinks I) 'twas she had saved me
alive, and in this thought found me some small solace.  Hereupon
I arose and went down to the sea, limping by reason of my hurt
(an ugly gash above my knee) being minded to wash from me the
grime and smears that fouled me.  But or ever I reached the water
I stopped, for there, more hateful in sun than moonlight, lay
that ghastly thing that had been Humphrey.  There he lay, cast up
by the tide, and now, with every wave that broke, he stirred
gently and moved arms and legs in wanton, silly fashion, and
nodding with his shattered head as in mockery of me.  So I went
and, seizing hold upon the thing, swung it upon my back and, thus
burdened, climbed out upon the reef (and with mighty trouble, for
my strength seemed oozing out of me).  Reaching a place at last
where the water ran deep I paused, and with sudden, painful
effort whirled the thing above my head and hove it far out,
where, splashing, it fell with sullen plunge and vanished from my
sight.  But even so I was possessed of sudden, uneasy feeling
that the thing had turned on me and was swimming back to shore,
so that, drawing my knife, I must needs sit there awhile to watch
if this were so indeed.  At last I arose, but being come to
Deliverance Sands, whirled suddenly about, expectant to behold
that dead thing uprising from the surge to flap derisive arms at
me.  And this did I many times, being haunted thus all that day,
and for many weary hours thereafter, by this dead man Humphrey. 
Presently, as I went heedless of all direction and the sun very
hot, I began to stagger in my gait and to mutter her name to
myself and presently to shouting it, until the cliffs gave back
my cries and the hollow caves murmured, "Damaris!  O Damaris!"

And now was a mist all about me wherein dim forms moved mocking
me, and ever and anon methought to behold my lady, but dim and
very far removed from me, so that sometimes I ran and oft-times I
fell to moaning and shedding weak and impotent tears.  Truly a
black and evil day for me this, whereof I have but a vague memory
save only of pain, a hopeless weariness and intolerable thirst. 
Thus it was sunset when I found myself once more upon that grassy
plateau, creeping on hands and knees, though how I came thither I
knew not.  I remember drinking from the little rill and
staggering within the cave, there to fall and lie filling the
place with my lamentations and oft-repeated cry of "Damaris!  O
Damaris!"  I remember a patch of silver light, a radiance that
crept across the gloom, and of dreaming my lady beside me as of
old, and of babbling of love and forgiveness, of pain and
heartbreak, whiles I watched the beam of light creeping nigh me
upon the floor; until, sobbing and moaning, yet gazing ever upon
this light, I saw grow upon it a sudden dark shape that moved,
heard a rustle behind me, a footstep--a cry!  And knowing this
for the man Humphrey come upon me at last in my weakness, I
strove to rise, to turn and face him, but finding this vain,
cried out upon him for murderer.  "'Twas you killed her--my love
--the very soul of me--'twas you, Humphrey, that are dead--come,
that I may slay you again!"  Then feeling his hands upon me I
strove to draw my knife, but could not and groaned, and so
knowledge passed from me.


CHAPTER XXXVIII

CONCERNING THE DEAD MAN HUMPHREY AND HOW I SAW A VISION IN THE
MOONLIGHT

My next memory was of sun and a dance of leafy shadows on the
wall of the cave, the which shadows held my attention so that I
had no will to look otherwhere; for these were merry shadows that
leapt in sportive gambols, that danced and swayed, pleasing me
mightily.  And as I watched these antic shadows I could hear the
pleasant murmur of the little rill without the cave, that bubbled
with sweet, soft noises like small, babbling voices and brake
ever and anon into elfin laughter.  And presently, mingled with
this pretty babblement, I seemed to hear a whisper:

"Martin!  Dear Martin!"

And now I saw my lady plunge to death from the rock, and started
up, filling the place with my lamentations, until for very
weakness I lay hushed and heard again the soft rippling of the
brook and therewith her voice very sweet and faint and far away:

"Martin!  Dear Martin!"

I remember a season of blackness in which dim-seen, evil things
menaced me, and a horror of dreams wherein I, fettered and fast
bound, must watch my sweet lady struggle, weeping, in the arms of
vile rogues whiles I strove desperately to break my bonds, and
finding this vain, fell to raging madness and dashed myself
hither and thither to slay myself and end my torment.  Or, axe in
hand, amid smoke and flame, I fell upon her murderers; then would
I smite down the man Humphrey only for him to rise to be smitten
again and yet again, nodding shattered head and flapping
nerveless arms in derision of me until, knowing I might never
slay him--he being already dead--I turned to flee, but with him
ever behind me and in my ears his sobbing cry of "Death for all
of us--death!"  And feeling his hands on me I would fall to
desperate struggle until the blackness closed over me again thick
and stifling like a sea.

And behind all these horrors was a haunting knowledge that I was
going mad, that this man Humphrey was waiting for me out beyond
the surf beckoning to me with flapping arms, and had cast on me a
spell whereby, as my brain shrivelled to madness, my body was
shrivelling and changing into that of Black Bartlemy.  Always I
knew that Humphrey waited me beyond the reef, watchful for my
coming and growing ever more querulous and eager as the spell
wrought on me so that he began to call to me in strange, sobbing
voice, hailing me by my new name:

"Bartlemy, ahoy!  Black Bartlemy--Bartlemy ho!  Come your ways to
Humphrey, that being dead can die no more and, knowing all, doth
know you for Bartlemy crept back from hell.  So come, Bartlemy,
come and be as I am.  And there's others here, proper lads as
wants ye too, dead men all--by the rope, by the knife, by the
bullet--oho!

There be two at the fore,
At the main be three more,
Dead men that swing all of a row;
Here's fine, dainty meat
For the fishes to eat:
Black Bartlemy--Bartlemy ho!

There's a fine Spanish dame,
Joanna's her name,
Must follow wherever ye go;
Till your black heart shall feel
Your own cursed steel:
Black Bartlemy--Bartlemy ho!"

And I, hearkening to this awful sobbing voice, sweating and
shivering in the dark, knew that, since I was indeed Black
Bartlemy, sooner or later I must go.

Thus it befell that of a sudden I found myself, dazzled by a
fierce sun, supporting me against a rock and my breath coming in
great gasps.  And in a while, my eyes growing stronger, I stared
away to the reef where this man Humphrey waited me with his "dead
men all"; and since I must needs go there I wept because it was
so far off.

Now as I stood grieving thus, I saw one stand below me on
Deliverance, looking also towards the reef, a woman tall and very
stately and habited in gown of rich satin and embroidery caught
in at slender waist with golden girdle, and about her head a
scarf of lace.  And this woman stood with bowed head and hands
tight-clasped as one that grieved also; suddenly she raised her
head and lifted folded hands to the cloudless heaven in
passionate supplication.  And beholding her face I knew her for
the poor Spanish lady imploring just heaven for vengeance on me
that had been her undoing; and uttering a great cry, I sank on my
knees:

"Mercy, O God--mercy!  Let me not be mad!"

Yet, even as I prayed, I knew that madness was upon me ere I
plunged again into the dreadful dark.

But God (whose mercy is infinite) hearkened to my distressful
cry, for, in a while, He brought me up from that black abyss and
showed me two marvels, the which filled me with wonder and a
sudden, passionate hope.  And the first was the bandage that
swathed my thigh; and this of itself enough to set my poor wits
in a maze of speculation.  For this bandage was of linen, very
fine and delicate, such as I knew was not to be found upon the
whole island; yet here was it, bound about my hurt, plain and
manifest and set there by hands well-skilled in such kindly work.

And my second wonder was a silver beaker or ewer, very artfully
wrought and all chased and embossed with designs of fruit and
flower and of a rare craftsmanship, and this jug set within my
reach and half-full of milk.  The better to behold this, I raised
myself and with infinite labour.  But now, and suddenly, she was
before me again, this poor Spanish lady I had slain upon a time,
wherefore I blenched and shrank from her coming.  But she,
falling upon her knees, sought to clasp me in her arms, crying
words I heeded not as (maugre my weakness) I strove wildly to
hold her off.

"I am Bartlemy that killed you!" says I.  "I am Black Bartlemy! 
They know out yonder beyond the reef, hark and you shall hear how
they hail me--"

"O kind God, teach me how I may win him back to knowledge!"  So
crying, this Spanish lady of a sudden unpinned her hair and shook
its glossy ripples all about her:

"Look, Martin!" cries she, "Don't you know me--O don't you know
me now?  I am Joan--come back to you--"

"No!" says I, "No--Damaris is dead and lost--I saw her die!"

"Then who am I, Martin?"

"The Spanish lady or--one of the ghosts do haunt me."

But now her hands were clasping mine, her soft hair all about me
as she stooped.  And feeling these hands so warm and vital, so
quick and strong with life, I began to tremble and strove against
her no longer; and so she stooped above me that I might feel her
sweet breath on fevered cheek and brow:

"'Tis your Damaris, Martin," says she, her tears falling fast,
"'tis your comrade hath come back to comfort you."

Now seeing how I stared all trembling and amazed, she set her
arms about me, and drawing me to her bosom, clasped me there. 
And my head pillowed thus I fell a-weeping, but these tears were
tears of joy and thankfulness beyond all words.

"O Damaris," quoth I at last, "if this be death I care not since
I have seen thee again!"

"Why, Martin," says she, weeping with me, "art indeed so glad--so
glad to find again thy poor comrade!"

And thus, knowing myself forgiven, a great joy sang within me.


CHAPTER XXXIX

HOW MY DEAR LADY CAME BACK TO ME

I was sitting in one of our armchairs amid the leafy shade
watching her knead dough with her two pretty fists.  To this end
she had rolled up the sleeves of her splendid gown; and thus I,
hearkening to her story, must needs stare at her soft, round arms
and yearn mightily to kiss their velvety smoothness and,
instantly be-rating myself therefor, shifted my gaze from these
temptations to my own unlovely figure, contrasting myself and my
worn garments with her rich attire and proud and radiant beauty;
she was again the great lady and far removed above such poor
wretch as I, for all her pitiful tenderness.

"...and so when I plunged from the rock," she was saying, "I
never thought to see this dear place again or the blessed sun! 
And I sank...O deep--deep!  Then, Martin, I seemed to be caught
in some current, far down there in the darkness, that whirled and
tossed me and swept me up behind the torrent.  And in the rock
was a great cavern sloping to the water, and there this current
threw me, all breathless and nigh dead, Martin."

"God be thanked!" says I fervently.

"And there I lay all night, Martin, very sick and fearful.  When
day came I saw this great cave opened into a smaller and this
into yet another.  So I came to a passage in the rock, and
because there was none other way for me, I followed this--and
then--O Martin!"

"What?" quoth I, leaning forward.

"Have you ever been to the palace at Versailles, Martin!"

"Once, as a boy with my father."

"Well, Martin, the cave--the hall I came to at last was more
splendid than any Versailles can show.  And then I knew that I
had found--Black Bartlemy's Treasure!"

"Ha!" quoth I.  "And is it indeed so great?"

"Beyond description!" says she, clasping her floury hands and
turning on me with shining eyes.  "I have held in my hands,
jewels--O by the handful!  Great pearls and diamonds, rubies,
emeralds, sapphires--beyond price!"

"Aye!" I nodded, "But was this all?"

"All, Martin?" says she, staring.

"Why, according to Adam there should be all manner of stores,"
says I, "powder and shot, tools--a carpenter's chest--"

"They are all there, with provisions of every kind; as witness
this flour, Martin, but I heeded only these wondrous jewels!" 
Hereupon she turns to her work again, describing to me the
splendour of these precious stones and the wonder of Bartlemy's
treasure, whiles I, viewing her loveliness, would have given such
foolish treasure a thousand times for but her little finger, as
watching the play of her round arms again, I fell a-sighing,
whereupon she turns, all anxious questioning.

"Doth your wound trouble you, Martin?"

"Nay, indeed," says I, shaking my head, "I am very well, I thank
you!"

"Then wherefore sigh so deep and oft?"

"I am a vasty fool!"

"Are you, Martin--why?"  But in place of answer I rose and,
coming beside her, scowled to see the tender flesh of her arms
all black and bruised:

"What is this?" I demanded.

"Nought to matter!"

"Who did it?"

"You, Martin.  In your raving you were very strong, mistaking me
for the poor Spanish lady."

"O forgive me!" I cried, and stooping to this pretty arm would
have touched my lips thereto for mere pity but checked myself,
fearing to grieve her; perceiving this she comes a little nearer:

"You may--an you so desire, Martin," says she, "though 'tis all
floury!"  So I kissed her arm, tenderly and very reverently, as
it had been some holy thing (as indeed so I thought it).

"I'm glad 'twas I did this, comrade."

"Glad, Martin?"

"Aye!  I had rather 'twas myself than yon evil rogues--nay forget
them," says I, seeing her shiver, "plague on me for reminding
you."

"Hush, Martin!"

"Why then, forget them--and I have their weapons to cope with 'em
should they return."

"Now thank God!" cries she, clasping my hand in both of hers. 
"Thank God, Martin!  I feared you had killed them all!"

"Why, I did my best," I sighed, shaking my head, "but they were
too strong for me!  Would to God I had indeed slain--"

"Hush, Martin, O hush!"  And here she claps her pretty hand to my
lips, where I straightway 'prisoned it to my kisses.  "Though
truly," says she the whiles this was a-doing, "from your raving I
feared them all slain at your hand, so do I rejoice to know you
innocent of their deaths!"  Here, her hand released, she fell a-
laughing (albeit a little tremulously) to see my face all patched
with flour; and so, back to her labour.

"But, Martin," says she, turning to glance at me in a while, "You
must be very terrible to drive away these four great men, and
very brave!"

"Here was no bravery!" quoth I, "Methought you surely dead and I
meant them to slay me also."

"Did you--miss me--so greatly?" she questioned and not looking at
me.

"Yes!"

"You fought them in Skeleton Cove, beyond Deliverance, Martin?"

"Aye!  You found their guns there?"

"And the sand all trampled and hatefully stained.  'Tis an evil
place, Martin."

"And so it is!" says I.  "But as to these weapons, there were two
good firelocks I mind, and besides--"

"They are all here, Martin, guns and swords and pistols.  You
raved for them in your sickness so I fetched them while you
slept.  Though indeed you have no need of these, there be weapons
of every sort in the Treasure cave, 'tis like an arsenal."

"Ha, with good store of powder and shot, comrade?"

"Yes, Martin."

"How many weeks have I lain sick, comrade?"

"Nay, 'twas only four days."

At this I fell to marvelling that so much of agony might be
endured in so little time.

"And you--tended me, Damaris?"

"Why, to be sure, Martin."

"And so saved my life."

"So I pray may it be a life lived to noble purpose, Martin."

And now I sat awhile very thoughtful and watched her shape the
dough into little cakes and set them to bake.

"I must contrive you an oven and this at once!" says I.

"When you are strong again, Martin."

"Nay, I'm well, thanks to your care of me.  And truly 'twill be
wonderful to eat bread again."

"But I warned you I had no yeast!" says she, looking at me a
little anxiously, "Nay, sir, why must you smile?"

"'Tis strange to see you at such labour and clad so vastly fine!"

"Indeed, sir needs must this your cook-maid go bedight like any
queen since nought is there in Black Bartlemy's Treasure that is
not sumptuous and splendid.  Have you no desire to behold these
wonders for yourself?"

"Not a tittle!" says I.

"But, Martin, three months are nigh sped and Master Penfeather
not come, and according to his letter, three-quarters of this
great treasure is yours."

"Why then, my lady, I do freely bestow it on you."

"Nay, this have I taken already because I needed it, look!"  So
saying she drew a comb from her hair and showed me how it was all
fashioned of wrought gold and set with great gems, pearls and
sapphires and rubies marvellous to see.

"'Tis mighty handsome," quoth I, "and beyond price, I judge."

"And yet," says she, "I would rather have my wooden pin in its
stead, for surely there was none like to it in all this world."

Hereupon, groping in my pocket I brought out that three-pronged
pin I had carved for her; beholding which, she uttered a little
cry of glad surprise, and letting fall her golden comb, took the
pin to turn it this way and that, viewing it as it had been the
very wonder of the world rather than the poor thing it was.

"Why, Martin!" says she at last, "Why, Martin, where found you
this?"  So I told her; and though my words were lame and halting
I think she guessed somewhat of the agony of that hour, for I
felt her hand touch my shoulder like a caress.

"Death's shadow hath been over us of late, Martin," says she,
"and hath made us wiser methinks."

"Death?" says I, "'Tis mayhap but the beginning of a greater life
wherein shall be no more partings, I pray."

"'Tis a sweet thought, Martin!"

"And you have never feared death!" says I.

"Aye, but I do, Martin--I do!" cries she.  "I am grown craven
these days, mayhap--"

"Yet you sought death."

"Because there was no other way, Martin.  But when Death clutched
at me from those black depths I agonised for life."

"Is life then--become so--sweet to you, Damaris?"

"Yes, Martin!" says she softly.

"Since when?" I questioned, "Since when?"  But instead of
answering she falls a-singing softly and keeping her back to me;
thus I saw that she had set the pin back in her hair, whereat I
grew all suddenly and beyond reason glad.  Though indeed the
thing accorded but ill with her fine gown, as I told her
forthwith.

"Think you so, Martin?" says she gravely, but with a dimple in
her cheek.

"I do!  'Tis manifestly out of keeping with your 'broideries,
your pleats, tags, lappets, pearl-buttons, galoons and the rest
on't."

"'Twould almost seem you do not like me thus," says she frowning
down at her finery but with the dimple showing plainer than ever.

"Why truly," says I, stooping to take up the jewelled comb where
it lay, "I liked your ragged gown better."

"Because your own clothes are so worn and sorry, sir.  'Tis time
you had better, I must see to it--"

"Nay, never trouble!"

"'Twill be joy!" says she sweetly, but setting her chin at me. 
"And then--good lack, your hair, Martin!"

"What of it?"

"All elf-lox.  And then, your beard!"

"What o' my beard?"

"So wild and shaggy!  And 'tis so completely out o' the mode."

"Mode?" says I, frowning.

"Mode, Martin.  Your spade beard was, then came your dagger or
stiletto and now--"

"Hum!" says I, "It may be your broadsword or half-pike for aught
I care.  But as to yon gown--"

"Alas, poor thing!  'Twill soon look worn and ragged as you can
wish, Martin.  I have already lost three pearl studs, and should
grieve for them were there not a coffer full of better that I wot
of.  O Martin, when I think of all these wonders, these great
diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, pearls and rubies--I do tingle!"

"And can these toys so please you?" says I.

"Yes!" cries she, "Yes, and so would they any other that was not
a stock or a stone or--Martin Conisby who is above such
vanities!"

"Vanities indeed!" says I, "In this wilderness more especially."

"How if we should find the world again?"

"Hum!" says I.  "But this powder and shot now--"

"Pho!" cries she, and stamping her foot turns her back on me. 
"Here am I yearning to show you all these hidden marvels, Martin,
but I never will until you beg me--no, never!  And now 'tis time
you took your medicine."

"What medicine?" I questioned, wondering.

"'Tis a soothing draught I have decocted from some of my simples
--it will make you sleep."

"But I have no mind to sleep!"

"'Tis why you must drink your potion."

"Never in this world!" says I, mighty determined.

"Why yes you will, dear Martin," says she gently, but setting her
dimpled chin at me.  "I'll go fetch it."  And away she goes
forthwith and is presently back bearing an embossed cup (like
unto a little porringer) and of gold curiously ornamented.

"Here is a noble cup!" says I.

"In these secret caves, Martin, is nothing that is not beautiful. 
The walls are all hung with rich arras, the floors adorned with
marvellous rugs and carpets.  And there are many pictures
excellent well painted.  Pirate and wicked as he was, Black
Bartlemy understood and loved beautiful things."

"Aye, he did so!" says I, scowling.

"And amongst these pictures is one of himself."

"How should you know this?"

"Because, were you shaven, Martin, this might pass for picture of
you, though to be sure your expression is different--except when
you scowl as you do now, sir.  Come, take your medicine like a
good Martin!"  And here she sets the cup to my lips.

"No!" says I.

"Yes, Martin!  'Tis sleep you need, and sleep you shall have. 
For indeed I do long to hear you at work again and whistling.  So
drink it for my sake, Martin!  Indeed, 'tis none so very bitter!"

So in the end I swallowed the stuff to be done with it.  And in a
while (sure enough) I grew drowsy, and limping into the cave,
stared to behold my bed no longer a heap of bracken but a real
bed with sheets and pillows, such indeed as I had not slept in
for many a long day.  Thus, instead of throwing myself down all
dressed, as I had been minded, I laid aside my rough clothes lest
they soil this dainty gear, and, getting into bed, joyed in the
feel of these cool, white sheets, and closing my eyes, fell to
dreamless slumber.


CHAPTER XL

OF CLOTHES

I awoke late next morning to find my clothes clean gone and
others in their place; but garments these whose like I had never
seen.  For here were purple breeches be-laced and ribbanded at
the knee and buttoning there with great gold buttons (six a
side), and each set with a great pearl; a fine cambric shirt; a
doublet cut in at the waist with gold-braided lappets, the
sleeves slashed and very wide and turned up at the wrists with
point-lace, and this wondrous garment fastening in front with
many gold buttons all set with goodly pearls; so that I judged
this coat to be a very fortune in itself.  Besides this I found a
great lace collar or falling band, a pair of silk stockings,
shoes with gold buckles set with diamonds, and a great penthouse
of a hat adorned with a curling feather fastened by a diamond
brooch; whiles hard by was an embroidered shoulder-belt carrying
a long rapier, its guards and quillons of wrought gold, its
pommel flaming with great brilliants.  Beholding all of which
gauds and fopperies, I vowed I'd none of them, and cowering
beneath the sheets fell to shouting and hallooing for my lady;
but finding this vain, scowled at these garments instead.  They
were of a fashion such as I remembered my father had worn; and
now as I gazed on them a strange fancy took me to learn how I
(that had gone so long half-naked and in rags) might feel in such
sumptuous apparel.  So up I got and dressed forthwith, and found
this a matter of no small difficulty, what with the unfamiliar
shape of these garments and their numberless points and buttons. 
Howbeit 'twas done at last, and now, coming without the cave,
there was my lady upon her three-legged stool preparing
breakfast.  Beholding me she stared wide-eyed for a moment, then
rose, smiling roguishly, and sank down in a slow and gracious
curtsey.

"Good morrow to your lordship," says she.  "Your lordship called,
I think, but I could not answer your lordship's shouts since I
was busied preparing your lordship's breakfast."

Now beholding all the sweet and roguish witchery of her, the sun
so bright and the world about us so joyous, what could I do but
smile and, sweeping off my great hat, make her as deep and
profound a reverence as ever was seen at Whitehall or Versailles.

"Madame," quoth I, "your ladyship's most humble and very obedient
servant.  I trust your ladyship hath breakfast ready, for of a
truth my magnificence is mighty sharp set."

"O Martin," cries she, clapping her hands, "I vow 'twas most
gallant!  It needeth but for you to trim your hair and beard--no,
I think I will have you clean-shaven, 'twill mind me of the
boyish Martin of years ago!  Yes, you shall shave--"

"Shave!" quoth I, staring like any fool.

"Yes, Martin, I have all things ready.  Come, it shall not take
you long, we will breakfast when you are shaved and trimmed." 
So, willy-nilly, she brings me back to the cave and presently
comes bearing a gold-mounted box, wherein lay razors with soap
and everything needful to a fine gentleman's toilet.  Then she
sets before me a gold-framed mirror, and taking a pair of
scissors at her bidding I began to clip the hair from my face,
but so bungled the business that she presently took the scissors
and did it for me.  Thereafter I shaved (awkwardly enough, and
she mighty anxious lest I cut myself--the which I did!) and,
having at last washed and dried my face, I stood all amazed to
find myself so much younger-looking.  Now, seeing how she stared
at me, and with rosy lips all a-quiver, I smiled, then wondered
to behold her eyes suddenly a-brim with tears.

"O Martin, you do look the same Martin after all!" says she and
so away into the sunshine; yet when I presently joined her I
found her blithe enough.

"Are you hungry, sir?"

"Ravenous, my lady!"

"Why then, here we have broiled fish--caught by my ladyship--
salt, Martin!  Butter--churned by my ladyship--and--bread,
Martin!  Bread baked by my ladyship's own two hands."

"O marvellous, sweet lady!" says I.

"And 'tis none so ill though I had no yeast, is it, Martin?"

"Delicious!" says I, my mouth full.

And now, all our recent woes and sorrows clean forgotten, a right
joyous meal had we; our hearts light as the sweet air that
breathed around us, and untroubled as the placid ocean and broad
serenity of heaven, with no dark shadow anywhere to warn us of
those evils to come.  Thus we ate and talked, finding joy in
everything.  Often my fingers must go to feel my smooth cheeks
and chin, and she, catching me, must needs laugh and vow a smooth
face suited me well, and that I should be handsome were my nose
another shape and my eyes a different colour.  Thus (as I say)
brooding sorrow seemed clean vanished from my world, so that my
heart swelled with gratitude for that I should live to breathe
the air she made sweet.

Breakfast done, I fetched my saw, and despite her remonstrances
and my resplendent breeches, forthwith set about making a
cupboard; vowing I was well again, that I never felt better, etc. 
Hereupon, finding me set on it, she presently brings me the
following, viz., an excellent new saw, divers chisels of goodly
edge, a plane, a hammer, an auger and an adze; the which rejoiced
me greatly, more especially the adze, the which is an exceeding
useful tool in skilled hands.  All these she had brought from the
secret store and I mighty grateful therefor, and told her so.

"Why then, Martin," says she, "if your gratitude be real and
true, you shall do somewhat for me--"

"What you will!" says I eagerly.

"Nay," she laughed, "'tis no more than this--keep you shaved--
henceforth."

And so it was agreed.


CHAPTER XLI

OF THE VOICE THAT SANG ON DELIVERANCE SANDS

If clothes be the outward and visible (albeit silent) expression
of a man, his tastes and certain attitudes of his mind, yet have
they of themselves a mighty influence on their wearer, being, as
it were, an inspiration to him in degree more or less.

And this is truth I will maintain let say who will to the
contrary, since 'tis so my experience teacheth me.

Hitherto my ragged shirt, my rough leathern jerkin and open-kneed
sailor's breeches had been a constant reminder of the poor,
desperate rogue I had become, my wild hair and shaggy beard
evidences of slavedom.  Thus I had been indeed what I had seemed
in looks, a rude, ungentle creature expectant of scorns and ill-
usage and therefore very prone to fight and quarrel, harsh-
tongued, bitter of speech, and in all circumstances sullen,
ungoverned and very desperate.

But now, seeing myself thus gently dight, my wild hair tamed by
comb and scissors, there grew within me a new respect for my
manhood, so that, little by little, those evils that slavery had
wrought slipped from me.  Thus, though I still laboured at my
carpentry and such business as was to do, yet the fine linen
rolled high above my scarred and knotted arm put me to the
thought that I was no longer the poor, wild wretch full of
despairing rage against Fate her cruel dealings, but rather a man
gently born and therefore one who must endure all things as
uncomplainingly as might be, and one moreover who, to greater or
less degree, was master of his own fate.

And now came Hope, that most blessed and beneficent spirit that
lifteth the fallen from the slough, that bindeth up the broken
heart, that cheereth the sad and downcast and maketh the oft-
defeated bold and courageous to attempt Fortune yet again.

O thou that we call Hope, thou sweet, bright angel of God! 
Without thee life were an evil unendurable, with thee for
companion gloomy Doubt, sullen Fear and dark Despair flee utterly
away, and we, bold-hearted, patient and undismayed by any dangers
or difficulties, may realise our dreams at last.  O sweet, strong
angel of God, with thee to companion us all things are possible!

Thus every morning came Hope to greet me on my waking, and I,
forgetting the futile past, began to look forward to a future
more glorious than I had ever dreamed; so I, from a sullen rogue
full of black humours, grew to know again the joy of laughter and
put off my ungracious speech and ways with my rough attire. 
Though how much the change thus wrought in me was the work of my
sweet comrade these pages, I do think, will show.

As for my lady she, very quick to mark this change, grew ever the
more kind and trusting, sharing with me all her doubts and
perplexities; thus, did some problem vex her, she must come to
me, biting her pretty lips and her slender brows wrinkled, to ask
my advice.

At this time (and at her suggestion) I builded a fireplace and
oven within our third or inmost cave (that was by turns her
larder, stillroom, dairy and kitchen) and with a chimney to carry
off the smoke the which I formed of clay and large pebbles, and
found it answer very well.  Thus, what with those things I
contrived and others she brought from her treasure-house (the
secret whereof she kept mighty close) we lacked for nothing to
our comfort, even as Adam had promised in his letter.  Moreover,
I was very well armed both for offence and defence, for, one by
one, she brought me the following pieces, viz., a Spanish helmet,
inlaid with gold and very cumbersome; a back and breast of fine
steel of proof; four wheel-lock arquebuses, curiously chased and
gilded, with shot and powder for the same; three brace of
pistols, gold-mounted and very accurate; and what with these, my
sword, axe, and trusty knife, I felt myself capable to drive away
any should dare molest us, be he Indian, buccaneer or pirate, as
I told her.

"Aye but," says she, "whiles you fought for our lives what must I
be doing?"

"Lying secure within your secret treasure-house."

"Never!" says she, setting her chin at me, "O never, Martin;
since I am your comrade my place must be beside you."

"'Twould but distress me and spoil my shooting."

"Why then, my aim should be truer, Martin.  Come now, teach me
how to use gun and pistol."

So then and there I fetched a pistol and one of the arquebuses
and showed her their manage, namely--how to hold them, to level,
sight, etc.  Next I taught her how to charge them, how to wad
powder and then shot lest the ball roll out of the barrel; how
having primed she must be careful ever to close the pan against
the priming being blown away.  All of the which she was mighty
quick to apprehend.  Moreover, I took care to keep all my
firearms cleaned and loaded, that I might be ready for any
disturbers of our peace.

So the days sped, each with its meed of work, but each full-
charged of joy.  And dear to me beyond expressing is the memory
of those days whenas I, labouring with my new tools, had but to
lift my head to behold my dear comrade (herself busy as I). 
Truly how dear, how thrice-blessed the memory of it all!  A
memory this, indeed, that was to become for me sacred beyond all
others; for now came Happiness with arms outstretched to me and I
(poor, blind wretch) suffered it to plead in vain and pass me by,
as you shall hear.

It was a night of splendour with a full moon uprising in majesty
to fill the world with her soft radiance; a night very warm and
still and we silent, I think because of the tender beauty of the
night.

"Martin," says my companion softly at last, "here is another day
sped--"

"Alas, and more's the pity!" quoth I.

"O?" says she, looking at me askance.

"Our days fly all too fast, Damaris, here is a time I fain would
linger upon, an I might."

"It hath been a very wonderful time truly, Martin, and hath
taught me very much.  We are both the better for it, I think, and
you--"

"What of me, comrade?" I questioned as she paused.

"You are grown so much gentler since your sickness, so much more
my dear friend and companion."

"Why, 'tis all your doing, Damaris."

"I am glad--O very glad!" says she almost in a whisper.

"Why, 'tis you who have taught me to--to love all good, sweet
things, to rule myself that I--I may some day, mayhap, be a
little more worthy of--of--" here, beginning to flounder, I came
to sudden halt, and casting about in my mind for a likely phrase,
saw her regarding me, the dimple in her cheek, but her eyes all
compassionate and ineffably tender.

"Dear man!" says she, and reached me her hand.

"Damaris," says I heavily and looking down at these slender
fingers, yet not daring to kiss them lest my passion sweep me
away, "you know that I do love you?"

"Yes, Martin."

"And that, my love, be it what it may, is yet an honest love?"

"Yes, dear Martin."

Here was silence a while, she looking up at the moon, and I at
her.

"I broke my oath to you once," says I, "nor will I swear again,
but, dear my lady, know this:  though I do hunger and thirst for
you, yet mine is such reverent love that should we live thus
together long years--aye, until the end of our lives, I will
school myself to patience and wait ever upon your will.  Though
'twill be hard!" says I 'twixt my teeth, thrilling to the sudden
clasp of her fingers.

"But, Martin," says she softly, "how if our days together here
should all suddenly end--"

"End?" cries I, starting, "Wherefore end?  When?  Why end?"  And
I trembled in a sick panic at the mere possibility.  "End?" quoth
I again, "Would you have an end?"

"No--ah no!" says she leaning to me that I could look down into
her eyes.

"Doth this--O Damaris, can this mean that you are happy with me
in this solitude--content--?"

"So happy, Martin, so content that I do fear lest it may all
suddenly end and vanish like some loved dream."

"Damaris--O Damaris!" says I, kissing her sweet fingers, "Look
now, there is question hath oft been on my lips yet one I have it
dared to ask."

"Ask me now, Martin."

"'Tis this...could it...might it perchance be possible you should
learn with time...mayhap...to love me a little?  Nay, not a
little, not gently nor with reason, but fiercely, mightily,
beyond the cramping bounds of all reason?"

Now here she laughed, a small, sad laugh with no mirth in it, and
leaned her brow against my arm as one very weary.

"O foolish Martin!" she sighed.  "How little you have seen, how
little guessed--how little you know the real me!  For I am a
woman, Martin, as you are a man and joy in it.  All these months
I have watched you growing back to your nobler self, I have seen
you strive with yourself for my sake and gloried in your
victories, though...sometimes I have...tempted you...just a
little, Martin.  Nay, wait, dear Martin.  Oft-times at night I
have known you steal forth, and hearkened to your step going to
and fro out in the dark, and getting to my knees have thanked God
for you, Martin."

"'Twas not all in vain, then!" says I, hoarsely, bethinking me of
the agony of those sleepless nights.

"Vain?" she cried, "Vain?  'Tis for this I do honour you--"

"Honour--me?" says I, wincing.

"Above all men, Martin.  'Tis for this I--"

"Wait!" says I, fronting her all shamefaced.  "I do love you so
greatly I would not have you dream me better than I am!  So now
must I tell you this...I stole to you once...at midnight...you
were asleep, the moonlight all about you and looked like an angel
of God."

And now it was my turn to stare up at the moon whiles I waited
miserably enough for her answer.

"And when you went away, Martin," says she at last, "when I heard
you striding to and fro, out here beneath God's stars, I knew
that yours was the greatest, noblest love in all the world."

"You--saw me?"

"Yes, Martin!"

"Yet your eyes were fast shut."

"Yes, but not--not all the time.  And, O Martin, dear, dear
Martin, I saw your great, strong arms reach out to take me--but
they didn't, they didn't because true love is ever greatly
merciful!  And your triumph was mine also, Martin!  And so it is
I love you--worship you, and needs must all my days."

And now we were on our feet, her hands in mine, eyes staring into
eyes and never award to speak.

"Is it true?" says I at last, "God, Damaris--is it true?"

"Seems it so wonderful, dear Martin?  Why, this love of mine
reacheth back through the years to Sir Martin, my little knight-
errant, and hath grown with the years till now it filleth me and
the universe about me.  Have you forgot 'twas your picture hung
opposite my bed at home, your sword I kept bright because it had
been yours?  And often, Martin, here on our dear island I have
wept sometimes for love of you because it pained me so!  Nay,
wait, beloved, first let me speak, though I do yearn for your
kisses!  But this night is the greatest ever was or mayhap ever
shall be, and we, alone here in the wild, do lie beyond all human
laws soever save those of our great love--and, O Martin, you--you
do love me?"

Now when I would have answered I could not, so I sank to my knees
and stooping ere she knew, clasped and kissed the pretty feet of
her.

"No, Martin--beloved, ah no!" cries she as it were pain to her,
and kneeling before me, set her soft arms about my neck. 
"Martin," says she, "as we kneel thus in this wilderness alone
with God, here and now, before your lips touch mine, before your
dear strong hands take me to have and hold forever, so great and
trusting is my love I ask of you no pledge but this:  Swear now
in God's sight to renounce and put away all thought of vengeance
now and for ever, swear this, Martin!"

Now I, all bemused by words so unexpected, all dazzled as it were
by the pleading, passionate beauty of her, closed my eyes that I
might think:

"Give me until to-morrow--" I groaned.

"'Twill be too late!  Choose now, Martin."

"Let me think--"

"'Tis no time for thought!  Choose, Martin!  This hour shall
never come again, so, Martin--speak now or--"

The words died on her lip, her eyes opened in sudden dreadful
amaze, and thus we remained, kneeling rigid in one another's
arms, for, away across Deliverance, deep and full and clear a
voice was singing:

"There are two at the fore,
At the main are three more,
Dead men that swing all in a row;
Here's fine dainty meat
For the fishes to eat:
Black Bartlemy--Bartlemy ho!"


CHAPTER XLII

CONCERNING THE SONG OF A DEAD MAN

Long after the singing was died away I (like one dazed) could
think of nought but this accursed song, these words the which had
haunted my sick-bed and methought no more than the outcome of my
own fevered imagination; thus my mind running on this and very
full of troubled perplexity, I suffered my lady to bring me
within our refuge, but with my ears on the stretch as expectant
to hear again that strange, deep voice sing these words I had
heard chanted by a dead man in my dreams.

Being come within our third cave (or kitchen) my lady shows me a
small cord that dangled in certain shadowy corner, and pulling on
this cord, down falls a rope-ladder and hangs suspended; and I
knew this for Adam's "ladder of cords" whereby he had been wont
to mount into his fourth (and secret) cavern, as mentioned in his
chronicle.

"Here lieth safety, Martin," says my lady, "for as Master
Penfeather writes in his journal 'one resolute man lying upon the
hidden ledge' (up yonder) 'may withstand a whole army so long as
his shot last.'  And you are very resolute and so am I!"

"True!" says I, "True!"  Yet, even as I spake, stood all tense
and rigid, straining my ears to catch again the words of this
hateful song.  But now my dear lady catches my hand and, peering
up at me in the dimness, presently draws me into the outer cave
where the moon made a glory.

"O Martin!" says she, looking up at me with troubled eyes, "Dear
Martin, what is it?"

"Aye--what?" quoth I, wiping sweat from me.  "God knoweth.  But
you heard?  That song?  The words--"

"I heard a man singing, Martin.  But what of it--we are safe
here!  Ah--why are you so strange?"

"Damaris," says I, joying in the comfort of her soft, strong arms
about me, "dear love of mine, here is thing beyond my
understanding, for these were words I dreamed sung to me by a
dead man--the man Humphrey--out beyond the reef--"

"Nay, but dear Martin, this was a real voice.  'Tis some
shipwrecked mariner belike, some castaway--"

"Aye--but did you--mark these words, Damaris?"

"Nay--O my dear, how should I--at such a moment!"

"They were all--of Black Bartlemy!  And what should this mean,
think you?"

"Nay, dear love, never heed!" says she, clasping me the closer.

"Aye, but I must, Damaris, for--in a while this singing shall
come again mayhap and--if it doth--I know what 'twill be!"

"O Martin--Martin, what do you mean?"

"I mean 'twill be about the poor Spanish lady," says I, and
catching up my belt where it hung, I buckled it about me.

"Ah--what would you do, Martin?"

"I'm for Deliverance."

"Then will I come also."

"No!" says I, catching her in fierce arms, "No!  You are mine
henceforth and more precious than life to me.  So must you bide
here--I charge you by our love.  For look now, 'tis in my mind
Tressady and his pirates are upon us at last, those same rogues
that dogged the 'Faithful Friend' over seas.  Howbeit I must find
out who or what is it is that sings this hateful--" I stopped,
all at once, for the voice was come again, nearer, louder than
before, and singing the very words I had been hearkening for and
dreading to hear:

"There's a fine Spanish dame,
And Joanna's her name,
Shall follow wherever ye go:
'Till your black heart shall feel
Yow cursed steel:
Black Bartlemy--Bartlemy ho!"

"You heard!" says I, clapping hand on knife, "You heard?"

"Yes--yes," she whispered, her embrace tightening until I might
feel her soft body all a-tremble against mine.  "But you are
safe--here, Martin!"

"So safe," says I, "that needs must I go and find out this thing
--nay, never fear, beloved, life hath become so infinite precious
that I shall be a very coward--a craven for your sake.  Here
shall be no fighting, Damaris, but go I must.  Meanwhile do you
wait me in the secret cave and let down the ladder only to my
whistle."

But now, and lying all trembling in my embrace, she brake into
passionate weeping, and I powerless to comfort her.

"Farewell happiness!" she sobbed.  "Only, Martin, dear Martin,
whatsoever may chance, know and remember always that I loved and
shall love you to the end of time."

Then (and all suddenly) she was her sweet, calm self again, and
bringing me my chain-shirt, insisted I must don it there and then
beneath my fine doublet, the which (to please her) I did.  Then
she brought me one of the arquebuses, but this I put by as too
cumbersome, taking one of the pistols in its stead.  So, armed
with this together with my hatchet and trusty knife, I stepped
from the cave and she beside me.  And now I saw she had dried her
tears and the hand clasping mine was firm and resolute, so that
my love and wonder grew.

"Damaris," I cried, casting me on my knees before her, "O God,
how I do love thee!"  And, kneeling thus, I clasped her slender
loveliness, kissing the robes that covered her; and so, rising to
my feet I hasted away.  Yet in a little I turned to see her
watching me but with hands clasped as one in prayer.  Now,
beholding her thus, I was seized of a sudden great desire to go
back to give her that promise and swear that oath she sought of
me, viz., that I would forego my vengeance and all thought
thereof, forgetting past wrongs in the wonder of her love.  But,
even as I stood hesitating, she waved her hand in farewell and
was gone into the cave.


CHAPTER XLIII

OF THE DEATH-DANCE OF THE SILVER WOMAN

A small wind had sprung up that came in fitful gusts and with
sound very mournful and desolate, but the moon was wonderfully
bright and, though I went cautiously, my hand on the butt of the
pistol in my girdle, yet ever and always at the back of my mind
was an infinitude of joy by reason of my dear lady's love for me
and the wonder of it.

I chose me a devious course, avoiding the white sands of
Deliverance Beach, trending towards that fatal cleft hard by
Bartlemy's tree (the which we had come to call Skeleton Cove)
though why I must go hither I knew no more then than I do now.

Thus went I (my eyes and ears on the stretch) pondering what
manner of man this should be who sang words the which had so
haunted my sick dreams; more than once I stopped to stare round
about me upon the wide expanse of ocean, dreading and half
expecting to behold the loom of that black craft had dogged us
over seas.

Full of these disquieting thoughts I reached the cove and began
to descend the steep side, following goat-tracks long grown
familiar.  The place hereabouts was honeycombed with small caves
and with ledges screened by bushes and tangled vines; and here,
well hid from observation, I paused to look about me.  But (and
all in a moment) I was down on my knees, for from somewhere close
by came the sharp snapping of a dried stick beneath a stealthy
foot.

Very still I waited, every nerve a-tingle, and then, forth into
the moonlight, sudden and silent as death, a man crept; and
verily if ever murderous death stood in human shape it was before
me now.  The man stood half-crouching, his head twisted back over
his shoulder as watching one who followed; beneath the vivid
scarf that swathed his temples was a shock of red hair and upon
his cheek the sweat was glittering; then he turned his head and I
knew him for the man Red Andy, that same I had fought aboard
ship.  For a long moment he stood thus, staring back ever and
anon across Deliverance, and so comes creeping into the shadow of
the cliff, and I saw the moon glint on the barrel of the long
pistol he clutched, as, sinking down behind a great boulder, he
waited there upon his knees.

Now suddenly as I lay there watching Red Andy's murderous figure
and strung for swift action, I started and (albeit the night was
very warm) Sfelt a chill pass over me, as, loud and clear upon
the stilly air, rose again that full, deep voice singing hard by
upon Deliverance:

"Go seek ye women everywhere,
North, South, lads, East or West,
Let 'em be dark, let 'em be fair,
My Silver Woman's best,
Blow high, blow low,
Where e'er ye go
The Silver Woman's best.
Aha!
My Silver Woman's best!"

Thus sang the unknown who, all unwitting, was coming to his
death; sudden as it came the voice was hushed and nought to hear
save the hiss and murmur of the surge, and I saw the man Andy
stir restlessly as minute after minute dragged by.

The rock where he crouched lay at the mouth of this cove towards
Deliverance, it being one of many that lay piled thereabout.  Now
chancing to look towards these scattered rocks (and for no reason
in the world) I saw a thing that held me as it were spellbound,
and this a small enough thing in itself, a sharp, glittering
thing that seemed fast caught in a fissure of one of those rocks,
and I knew it for a steel hook; but even as I stared at it, the
thing was gone and so noiselessly that I half-doubted if I had
seen it or no.  But, out from the shadow of this rock flashed
something that whirled, glittering as it flew, and Red Andy,
starting up from his knees was shaken by a fit of strange and
awful coughing and came stumbling forward so that I could see his
chin and breast bedabbled with the blood that spurted from his
gaping mouth.  All at once he sank to his knees and thence to his
face, spreading his arms wide like one very weary, but with the
moonlight flashing back from that which stood upright betwixt his
shoulder-blades.  And thus I saw again the silver haft of the
dagger that was shaped like to a woman, saw this silver woman
dance and leap, glittering, ere it grew terribly still.

Then came Roger Tressady from the shadows and stooping, turned up
the dead face to the moon, and tapped it gently with his shining
hook.  And now, whipping out his dagger, he bent to wipe it on
the dead man's shirt, but checked suddenly as a pebble started
beneath my foot, and, stooped thus, he glared up beneath thick
brows as I rose up with pistol levelled and the moon bright upon
my face, whereupon he leaped backwards, uttering a choking cry:

"Black Bartlemy--by God!" he gasped and let fall his reeking
dagger upon the sand; and so we stood staring on each other and
with the dead man sprawling betwixt us.


CHAPTER XLIV

HOW I HAD SPEECH WITH ROGER TRESSADY TO MY UNDOING

For maybe a full minute we fronted each other unmoving and with
never a word; and thus at last I beheld this man Tressady.

A tall, lusty fellow, square of face and with pale eyes beneath a
jut of shaggy brow.  A vivid neckerchief was twisted about his
head and in his hairy ears swung great gold rings; his powerful
right hand was clenched to knotted fist, in place of his left
glittered the deadly hook.

"Sink me!" says he at last, drawing clenched fist across his
brow, "Sink me, but ye gave me a turn, my lord!  Took ye for a
ghost, I did, the ghost of a shipmate o' mine, one as do lie
buried yonder, nought but poor bones--aye, rotten bones--as this
will be soon!"  Here he spurned the dead man with his foot. 
"'Tis black rogue this, my lord, one as would ha' made worm's-
meat o' poor Tressady--aye, a lump o' murdered clay like my
shipmate Bartlemy yonder--but for this Silver Woman o' mine!" 
Here he stooped for the dagger, and having cleaned it in the
sand, held it towards me upon his open palm:  "Aha, here's woman
hath never failed me yet!  She's faithful and true, friend,
faithful and true, this Silver Woman o' mine.  But 'tis an ill
world, my master, and full o' bloody rogues like this sly dog as
stole ashore to murder me--the fool!  O 'tis a black and bloody
world."

"So it is!" quoth I, 'twixt shut teeth, "And all the worse for
the likes o' you, Roger Tressady!"

"So ho--he knoweth my name then!" says Tressady, rubbing shaven
chin with silver dagger-hilt and viewing me with his pale, keen
gaze:  "But do I know him now--do I?"

"I know you for pirate and damned murderer, Roger Tressady, so
shall you quit this island this very hour or stay here to rot
along with Bartlemy and Red Andy!"

Now at this (and all careless of my pistol) he drew a slow pace
nearer, great head out-thrust, peering.

"Why," says he at last, "why--bleed me!  If--if it aren't--aye
'tis--Martin!  Why for sure 'tis my bonnet Marty as saved my skin
time and again aboard the 'Faithful Friend!'  Though ye go mighty
fine, lad, mighty fine!  But good luck t'ye and a fair wind, say
I!"  And thrusting the dagger into his girdle he nodded mighty
affable.  "But look'ee now, Marty, here's me wishing ye well and
you wi' a barker in your fist, 'tis no fashion to greet a
shipmate, I'm thinking."

"Enough words!" says I, stepping up to him.  "Do you go--alive,
or stay here dead--which?"

"Split me!" says he, never stirring.  "But 'tis small choice you
offer, Marty--"

"My name's Martin!"

"And a curst good name too, Marty.  But I've no mind to be
worm's-meat yet awhile--no!  Come, what's your quarrel wi' me? 
First Andy would murder me and now 'tis you--why for?  Here's me
wi' a heart of gold t' cherish a friend and never a friend t'
cherish!  What's your quarrel, lad, what?"

"Quarrel enough, what with your drugging me and murder aboard
ship--"

"Avast, lad!  Here's unchancy talk, ill and unmannered!"

"You murdered divers men aboard the 'Faithful Friend.'"

"Only three, Marty, only three--poor souls!  Though yours is a
foul word for't.  I took 'em off, lad, took 'em off as a matter
of policy.  I've never took off any yet as I wasn't forced to by
circumstances.  Look'ee, there's men in this world born to be
took off by someone or other, and they always come a-drifting
across my hawse and get took off accordingly, but don't blame me,
lad, don't.  And as for a-drugging of ye, Marty, true again!  But
love me!  What was I to do?  But I didn't take you off, lad, no,
nor never shall unless you and policy force me so to do.  I'm no
murderer born--like Adam--curse him!  Clap me alongside Adam and
I'm a turtle-dove, a babe for innocence and a lamb for meekness! 
There never was such a murderer born into this wicked world as
Adam Penfeather, with a curse!  'Twas he as murdered Black
Bartlemy and nine sweet, bright lads arter him, murdered 'em here
one by one, and wi' a parchment rove about the neck of each poor
corpse, Marty.  'Twas he as drove their mates out to sea to
perish in a leaky boat--ask Abnegation Mings!  'Twas him nigh
murdered me more than once, aye me, lad, as can't BE killed
according to the prophecy of the poor mad soul aboard the old
'Delight.'  Why Adam, curse him, has murdered more men than you
have years.  And talking of him, how cometh it you aren't blown
t' hell along wi' him and the rest?"

"Do you tell me Adam is dead?"

"Blown up aboard the 'Faithful Friend,' lad.  Just after we run
her aboard and grappled, aye blew up she did and nigh took us wi'
her.  Aha, but Adam's dead at last, curse him!  Unless he can't
be killed either, unless he is--"

Here, and all at once, he turned to stare away across
Deliverance, then shrinking, cowered towards me as in sudden
terror stabbing at the empty air with his glittering hook:

"Ha--what's yon!" cried he in awful voice; and I turning whither
his glaring eyes stared (and half-dreading to behold my lady) had
the pistol wrenched from my hold and the muzzle under my ear all
in a moment; and stood scowling and defenceless like the vast
fool I was.

"Split me!" says he, tapping me gently with his hook "O blind me
if I thought ye such a lubberly fool!  So old a trick, Marty! 
Now look'ee, were I a murderer and loved it--like Adam, curse
him--I should pull trigger!  But being Roger Tressady wi' a heart
o' gold, I say sit down, lad, sit down and let us talk, friend,
let us talk.  Come--sit down!  Never mind Andy, he shan't trouble
us!"  So with the pistol at my ear we sat down side by side and
the dead man sprawling at our feet.

"Now first, Marty lad, how come ye here alone on Bartlemy's
island--how?"

But sitting thus chin on fist I stared down at Red Andy's
stiffening body silent as he, I being too full of fierce anger
and bitter scorn of my folly for speech.

"Come, come, Marty, be sociable!" says Tressady, tapping my cheek
with the pistol-muzzle, "Was it Penfeather sent ye hither t' give
an eye to--the treasure?  Was it?"

"Aye!"

"'Twould be the night he made the crew drunk and spoiled my
plans.  Ha, 'twas like him--a cunning rogue!  But for this I'd
have had the ship and him and the treasure.  O a right cunning,
fierce rogue was Adam, and none to match him but me."

"But he nearly did for you once!" says I bitterly, "And he such a
small, timid man!"

"Look'ee, Martin, when Adam grows timid 'tis time for your bold,
desperate fellows to beware!  But he's dead at last, though I'd
ha' felt more comfort, aye I'd ha' took it kinder had he been
took off by my Silver Woman--or this!"  Here he thrust his hook
before my eyes.  "It ain't a pretty thing, Martin, not pretty,
no--but 'tis useful at all times and serves to shepherd my lambs
wi' now and then, 'tis likewise a mighty persuading argument,
but, and best of all--'tis sure, lad, sure.  So I'd ha' took it
kinder had I watched him go off on this, lad, this.  My hook for
my enemies and for my friends a heart o' gold!  And, talking o'
gold, Marty, what--what o' Bartlemy's Treasure?"

"You are happily welcome to it for all me."

"Why, that's spoke manly and like a friend, rot me but it is! 
And now where might it lie, Marty, where?"

"I've no idea."

"What ha'n't ye found it, lad?"

"No!"

"Not even--seen it, then?"

"No!"

"Why, think o' that now, think of that!  And you wi'--a fortun'
o' pearls on you, Marty.  These pearl studs and buttons, lad. 
Pearls--ha, pearls was meat and drink to Bartlemy.  And here's
you wi' pearls I've seen on Bartlemy many a time.  And yet you
ha'n't found the treasure, says you.  If I was a passionate man,
Marty, I should call ye liar, says I.  Howsoever what I do say
is--as you've forgot, and very right and proper.  But we'm
friends, you and me, so far, and so, 'twixt friends, I ask you to
think again until you remember, and to think hard, lad, hard."

Now as I sat (and miserably enough) staring down at my jewelled
buttons that seemed to leer up at me like so many small,
malevolent eyes, upon the air rose a distant stir that grew and
grew to sound of voices with the creak and rumble of oars.

"Here come my lambs at last, Marty, and among 'em some o' the
lads as sailed wi' Bartlemy aboard the 'Delight.'  There's Sam
Spraggons for one--Smiling Sam as you'll mind aboard the
'Faithful Friend.'  Now the Smiler knoweth many and divers
methods of persuasion, Marty lad, tricks learned of the Indians
as shall persuade a man to anything in this world.  But first,
seeing 'tis you, Martin, as played 'bonnet' to me and saved my
life aboard ship, though all unknowing, here's my offer:  show me
how to come by Bartlemy's Treasure as is mine--mine by rights,
let me get my hands on to it and none the wiser, and there shall
be share for you, Marty lad, share for you.  Otherwise I must let
Sam try to persuade you to remember where it lieth--come, what
d'ye say?"

"What--you'll torture me then?"

"If I must, friend, if I must.  'Tis for you to say."

"Why then 'twill be labour in vain, Tressady, for I swear I know
nought of this treasure--"

"Sit still, lad, sit still!" says he, clapping the pistol to my
ear again.  "Though a fool in many ways, Marty, you're proper
enough man to look at and 'twill be pity to cripple ye!  Aye,
there won't be much left when Sam is done wi' you, more's the
pity."

Hereupon he hailed loudly and was answered from the lagoon, and
glancing thither, I saw two boats crowded with men pulling for
the beach.

"A wildish company, Martin, desperate fellows as ever roved the
Main, as I do love no more than they love me.  So say the word
and we'll share Black Bartlemy's treasure betwixt us, just you
and me, lad, me and you!  Come, what's your will?"  But shaking
my head (and hopelessly enough) I set my teeth and watched the
coming of my tormentors.

And foremost was a short, plump, bright-eyed man who lacked an
ear, and at his elbows two others, the one a lank rogue with a
patch over one eye, the third a tall, hairy fellow.

And observing them as they came I knew them for those same three
rogues I had fought with in the hedge-tavern beside Pembury Hill
on that night I had first seen my dear lady.  Hard upon their
heels came a riotous company variously armed and accoutred, who
forthwith thronged upon me pushing and jostling for sight of me,
desecrating the quiet night with their hoarse and clamorous
ribaldry.  Unlovely fellows indeed and clad in garments of every
shape and cut, from stained home spun and tattered shirts to
velvet coats be-laced and gold-braided; and beholding this
tarnished and sordid finery, these clothes looted from sinking
ships and blazing towns, I wondered vaguely what had become of
their late owners.

At gesture from Tressady I was dragged to my feet and my arms
jerked, twisted and bound before me crosswise, and so stood I
helpless and in much painful discomfort whiles Tressady harangued
his fellows, tapping me gently with his hook:

"Look'ee, my bullies," quoth he, "I promised ye gold a' plenty
and here, somewhere on this island, it lieth waiting to be found. 
It needeth but for this fool Martin here, as some o' you will
mind for Adam Penfeather's comrade, with a curse, it needeth but
for him to speak, I say, and in that same hour each one o' you
may fill your clutch wi' more treasure than ever came out o'
Eldorado or Manoa--so speak he must and shall--eh bullies, eh?"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" they roared, pressing upon me with a shaking
of fists and glitter of eager steel.

"Twist his thumbs, Cap'n!" cried one.

"Slit his nose!" roared another.

"Trim his yeres!" cried a third.  But Tressady silenced them with
a flourish of his hook.

"Hark'ee, lads!" says he.  "You all mean well, but you're
bunglers, here's a little delicate matter as none can handle like
the Smiler.  There's none like Sam can make a man give tongue! 
Pass the word for Smiling Sam!  Step forward, Sammy."

Hereupon cometh the great, fat fellow Spraggons who had been
bo'sun's mate aboard the "Faithful Friend," forcing his way with
vicious elbows and mighty anxious to come at me.

"O love my limbs!" says he in his high-pitched voice and blinking
his hairless lids at me, "O cherish my guts--leave him to me,
Cap'n!  Sam's the lad to make this yer cock crow.  See now--a
good, sharp knife 'neath the finger or toe-nails--drew slow,
mates, slow!  Or a hot iron close agen his eyes is good.  Or
boiling water poured in his yeres might serve.  Then--aha, Cap'n! 
I know a dainty little trick, a small cord, d'ye see, twisted
athwart his head just a-low the brows, twisted and twisted--as
shall start his eyes out right pretty to behold.  I mind too as
Lollonais had a trick o' bursting a man's guts wi' water--"

"Bring him to the beach yonder!" says Tressady, watching me ever
with his pale eyes, "There shall be more room for't yonder!"

So they hailed me along betwixt them, and with huge merriment;
but scarce were we out of the cove and hard beside Bartlemy's
tree than I started to the vicious prick of a knife, and whirling
about despite the fierce hands that sought to hold me, I saw
Smiling Sam about to stab me again.  But now, as I strove with my
reeling captors, was a flicker of vicious steel as Tressady
sprang and, whipping his hook beneath the great fellow's belt,
whirled Smiling Sam from his feet despite his prodigious weight
and forthwith trampled upon him.

"So-ho, my merry lad!" quoth Tressady, glaring down into Smiling
Sam's convulsed face, "And must ye be at it afore I give the
word?  Who's captain here--who?  Come speak up, my roaring boy!"
and he thrust his hook beneath the Smiler's great, flabby chin.

"Mercy, Cap'n--mercy!" cried Spraggons, his high-pitched voice
rising to a pitiful squeal.  "Not the hook, Cap'n--O Lord love
me--not the hook!"

"Hook?  And why not, Sam, why not?  'Tis sharp and clean and
quick, and hath done the business o' nicer rogues than you,
bully, aye and better, Sam, better--"

O Cap'n--for God's sake--"

"Who're you to call on God so glib, Sammy?"  'Tis marvel He don't
strike ye blind, lad.  Or there's your innards, Sam, here's that
may whip out your liver, lad--So!"  I saw the glitter of the
hook, heard Smiling Sam's gasping scream as the steel bit into
him, and then Tressady was on his feet smiling round upon his
awed and silent company.

"Look'ee, bullies!" says he, pointing to the Smiler's inanimate
form, "Here's poor Sam all swounded away at touch o' my hook like
any woman--and him my bo'sun!  Pshaw!  I want a man!"  Here he
stooped, and wrenching the silver pipe from Smiling Sam's fat
throat stared from one shuffling rogue to another:  "Step
forward, Abner," says he at last, "Come, you'll do--you're a
prime sailor-man, you're my bo'sun henceforth."

But now Smiling Sam awaking from his swoon moaned feebly and sat
up:

"Not the hook, Cap'n!" he wailed, O not that--"

"No, Smiler, no, I keep it for better men.  Disobey me again and
I'll drown ye in a puddle.  And now up wi' you, Sammy, up wi' you
and stand by to teach Martin here how to talk."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n--aye, aye!" says the gross fellow, rising nimbly
enough, whiles his comrades closed about us expectant, and
glancing from me to Tressady where he had seated himself on a
boulder:

"Here will do!" says he, pointing to a brilliant strip of moonlit
sand midway betwixt the shadows of the cliff and Bartlemy's tree. 
"On his back, hearties, and grapple him fast, he's strong well-
nigh as I am.  Now his hand, Smiler, his right hand--"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" quoth the fellow, kneeling above me where I
lay helpless.  "Will I cut it adrift--slow like?"  And as he
flourished his knife I saw a trickle of saliva at the corners of
his great, loose mouth, "Off at the wrist, Cap'n, or fingers
first?"

"No, fool!  His thumb-nail first--try that!"

Sweating and with every nerve a-quiver I watched that cruel
knife, holding my breath in expectation of the coming agony, and
then--from the black gloom of the cliff beyond burst a sudden
echoing roar, I heard the whine of a bullet and immediately all
was confusion and uproar, shouts of dismay and a wild rush for
shelter from this sudden attack.  But as I struggled to my knees
Tressady's great hand gripped my throat, and dragging me behind a
boulder he pinned me there.

"Stand by, lads!" he roared.  "Level at the cliff yonder, but let
no man pull trigger!  Wait till they fire again and mark the
flash!"

Helpless in my bonds and crushed beneath Tressady's knee I heard
a stir and rustle to right and left of me, the click of cocking
triggers and thereafter--silence.  And, marking the gleam of
pistol and musket-barrel, I fell to an agony of dread, well
knowing whence that merciful shot had come.  For mayhap five
minutes nought was to hear save the rustle of stealthy arm or leg
and the sound of heavy breathing, until at length one spoke,
loud-voiced:

"What now, Captain?  Us can't bide here all night."

"How many are we, Purdy?"

"Thirty and nine, Captain."

"Then do you take ten and scale the starboard cliff and you,
Abner, with other ten take the cliff to larboard.  I'll bide here
wi' the rest and so we'll have 'em--"

"Them cliffs be perilous high, Cap'n!"

"My hook is more perilous, Tom Day!  Off wi' you, ye dogs, or
I'll show ye a liver yet and be--"

He stopped all at once as, faint at first yet most dreadful to
hear, there rose a man's cry, chilling the flesh with horror, a
cry that waxed and swelled louder and louder to a hideous
screaming that shrilled upon the night and, sinking to an awful
bubbling murmur, was gone.

Up sprang Tressady to stare away across Deliverance whence this
dreadful cry had come, and I saw his hook tap-tapping at his
great chin; then beyond these shining sands was the thunderous
roar of a great gun, a furious rattle of small-arms that echoed
and re-echoed near and far, and thereafter single shots in rapid
succession.  Hereupon rose shouts and cries of dismay:

"Lord love us we'm beset!  O Cap'n, we be took fore and aft. 
What shall us do, Cap'n?  Yon was a gun.  What o' the ship,
Cap'n--what o' the ship?"

"Yonder--look yonder!  Who comes?" cried Tressady, pointing
towards Deliverance Beach with his glittering hook.

Twisting my head as I lay, I looked whither he pointed, and saw
one that ran towards us, yet in mighty strange fashion, reeling
in wide zig-zags like a drunken man; and sometimes he checked,
only to come on again, and sometimes he fell, only to struggle
up.

"By God--it's Abnegation!" cries Tressady.  "'Tis my comrade
Mings!  Look to the prisoner, ye dogs--you Tom Purdy!  I'm for
Abnegation!"  And off he went at a run.  At his going was mighty
talk and discussion what they should do, some men being for
stealing away in the boats, others for taking to the woods, and
all clean forgetting me where I lay.  But suddenly they fell
silent all for Abnegation was hailing feebly, and was come so
nigh that we might see him, his face all bloody, his knees
bending under him with weakness as he stumbled on.  Suddenly,
beholding Tressady, he stopped and hailed him in wild, gasping
voice:

"Roger--O Roger!  The devil's aboard us, Roger--Penfeather's on
us--Penfeather's took the ship--I'm all that's left alive!  They
killed Sol first--did ye--hear him die, Roger?  O did ye hear--"

I saw him fall and Tressady run to lift him, and watched these
pirate rogues as, with oaths and cries of dismay, they hasted
hither to throng about the two; then, rolling into the nearest
shadow I struggled to my feet and found myself beneath the
spreading branches of Bartlemy's tree.  And now, as I strove
desperately against the rope that bit into the flesh of me, I
felt the rope fall away, felt two soft arms close about me and a
soft breath on my cheek:

"Martin--O thank God!"  Turning, I caught my dear, brave lady to
my heart.  Heedless of aught else in the world beside I clasped
her in my aching arms, and kissed her until she stayed me and
showing me where stood our enemies, a wild disordered company,
took my hand and began to run.  Reaching the cliff we climbed
together nor stayed until she had brought me to a little cave
where lay an arquebus together with bandoliers.  "I tried to
reload it, dear Martin, but 'twas vain--my poor, silly hands
shook so.  For, O my dear, I--heard them--saw them and--thought I
should run mad--O Martin my love!"

So now whiles I loaded the arquebus I told her as well as I might
something of what I thought concerning her brave spirit, of my
undying love for her, though in fashion very lame and halting. 
Thereafter, the weapon being ready I placed it near and, sitting
within the gloom of this little cave, I took my love into my
arms, her dear head pillowed on my breast, and kissed the tremors
from her sweet mouth and the horror from her eyes.  And thus with
her arms about my neck and her soft, smooth cheek against mine,
we waited for what was to be.


CHAPTER XLV

OF THE COMING OF ADAM PENFEATHER

In the shadow of the cliff below our hiding-place crept divers of
these pirate rogues, and, crouching there cheek by jowl fell to a
hoarse mutter of talk yet all too low for us to catch; but
presently there brake out a voice high-pitched, the which I knew
for that of Smiling Sam.

"We'm done, lads, I tell ye.  O love my lights--we'm done!  'Tis
the end o' we since Penfeather hath took the ship--and here's us
shall lie marooned to perish o' plagues, or Indian-savages, or
hunger unless, lads, unless--"

"Unless what, Smiler?" questioned one, eagerly.

"Unless we'm up and doing.  Penfeather do lack for men--Mings
says he counted but ten at most when they boarded him!  Well,
mates--what d'ye say?"

"Ha, d'ye mean fight, Smiler?  Fall on 'em by surprise and
recapture the ship--ha?"

"O bless my guts--no!  Penfeather aren't to be caught so--not
him!  He'll ha' warped out from the anchorage by this!  But he be
shorthanded to work the vessel overseas, 'tis a-seekin' o' likely
lads and prime sailor-men is Penfeather, and we sits on these
yere sands.  Well, mates, on these yere sands we be but what's
took up us on these yere sands?  The boats lie yonder!  Well?"

"Where be you heading of now, Smiler?  Where's the wind?  Talk
plain!"

"Why look'ee all, if Penfeather wants men, as wants 'em he doth,
what's to stay or let us from rowing out to Penfeather soft and
quiet and 'listing ourselves along of Penfeather, and watch our
chance t' heave Penfeather overboard and go a-roving on our own
account?  Well?"

At this was sudden silence and thereafter a fierce mutter of
whispering lost all at once in the clatter of arms and breathless
scuffling as they scrambled to their feet; for there, within a
yard of them, stood Tressady, hand grasping the dagger in his
belt, his glittering hook tapping softly at his great chin as he
stared from one to other of them.

"Ha, my pretty lambs!" says he, coming a pace nearer.  "Will ye
skulk then, will ye skulk with your fools' heads together?  What
now, mutiny is it, mutiny?  And what's come o' my prisoner
Martin, I don't spy him hereabouts?"

Now at this they shuffled, staring about and upon each other and
(as I think) missed me for the first time.

"You, Tom Purdy, step forward--so!  Now where's the prisoner as I
set i' your charge, where, my merry bird, where?"

The fellow shrank away, muttering some sullen rejoinder that
ended in a choking scream as Tressady sprang.  Then I (knowing
what was toward) clasped my lady to me, covering her ears that
she might not hear those ghastly bubbling groans, yet felt her
sweet body shaking with the horror that shook me.

"So--there's an end--o' Tom Purdy, my bullies!" gasped Tressady,
stooping to clean his hook in the sand.  "And I did it--look'ee,
because he failed me once, d'ye see!  Who'll be next?  Who's for
mutiny--you, Sammy, you--ha?"

"No--no, Cap'n!" piped Smiling Sam, "Us do be but contriving o'
ways and means seeing' as Penfeather do ha' took our ship, curse
him!"

"And what though he has?  'Tis we have the island and 'tis on
this island lieth Black Bartlemy's Treasure, and 'tis the
treasure we're after!  As to ways and means, here we be thirty
and eight to Penfeather's fourteen, and in a little 'twill be
dark and the guns shan't serve 'em and then--aha, look yonder! 
The fools be coming into our very clutches!  To cover, lads, and
look to your primings and wait my word."

Now glancing whither he pointed, I saw, above the adjacent
headland, the tapering spars of a ship.  Slowly she hove into
view, boltsprit, forecastle, waist and poop, until she was plain
to view, and I knew her for that same black ship that fouled us
in Deptford Pool.  She was standing in for the island under her
lower courses only, although the wind was very light, but on she
came, and very slowly, until she was so near that I might see the
very muzzles of her guns.  Suddenly with a cheery yo-ho-ing her
yards were braced round, her anchor was let go and she brought to
opposite Skeleton Cove and within fair pistol-shot.

Now glancing below I saw Tressady stand alone and with Abnegation
Mings huddled at his feet, but in the gloom of the cave and to
right and left, in every patch of shadow and behind every bush
and rock, was the glimmer of pistol or musket-barrel, and all
levelled in the one direction.

Presently up to the lofty poop of the ship clambered a short,
squat man in marvellous wide breeches and a great cutlass on hip,
who clapping speaking-trumpet to mouth, roared amain:

"Ahoy the shore!  We be shorthanded.  Now what rogues o' ye will
turn honest mariners and 'list aboard us for England?  Who's for
a free pardon and Old England?"

Hereupon, from bush and shadow and rock, I heard a whisper, a
murmur, and the word "England" oft repeated.

Tressady heard it also, and stepping forward he drew a long
furrow in the sand with the toe of his shoe.

"Look'ee my hearty boys," says he, pointing to this furrow with
his hook, "the first man as setteth foot athwart this line I send
to hell-fire along o' Tom Purdy yonder!"

"Ahoy the shore!" roared Godby louder than ever, "who's for an
honest life, a free pardon and a share in Black Bartlemy's
Treasure--or shall it be a broadside?  Here be every gun full
charged wi' musket-balls--and 'tis point-blank range!  Which
shall it be?"

Once again rose a murmur that swelled to an angry muttering, and
I saw Smiling Sam come creeping from the shadow of the cave.

"O Cap'n," he piped, "'Tis plaguy desperate business, here's some
on us like to be bloody corpses--but I'm wi' you, Cap'n Roger,
whether or no, 'tis me to your back!"

"To my back, Sammy?  Why so you shall, lad, so you shall, but
I'll ha' your pistols first, Smiler--so!"  And whipping the
weapons from the great fellow's belt, Tressady gave them to
Abnegation Mings where he lay in the shelter of a rock, and
sitting down, crossed long legs and cocked an eye at the heavens.

"Hearties all," quoth he, "the moon sinketh apace and 'twill be
ill shooting for 'em in the dark, so with dark 'tis us for the
boats--muffled oars--we clap 'em aboard by the forechains
larboard and starboard, and the ship is ours, bullies--ours!"

"Well and good, Cap'n!" piped Smiling Sam.  "But how if she slip
her cable and stand from us--"

"And how shall she, my fool lad, and the wind dropped?  The
wind's failed 'em and they lie helpless--"

"And that's gospel true, Cap'n.  Aye, aye, we'm wi' you!  Gi'e us
the word, Cap'n!" quoth divers voices in fierce answer.

"O sink me!" groaned Mings, "here lies poor Abnegation shattered
alow and aloft--O burn me, here's luck!  But you'll take me
along, Roger?  If Death boards me to-night I'd rayther go in
honest fight than lying here like a sick dog--so you'll have me
along, Roger?"

"Aye that will I, lad, that will I and--"

"Ahoy the shore!" roared Godby's great voice again, "Let them
rogue-dogs as'll turn honest mariners, them as is for England and
a free pardon, stand by to come aboard and lively!  In ten
minutes we open fire wi' every gun as bears!"

Now here there brake forth a clamour of oaths, cries and dismayed
questioning:

"Lord love us, what now, Cap'n?  Is us to be murdered, look'ee? 
Doomed men we be, lads!  Shall us wait to be shot, mates?  What
shall us do, Cap'n, what shall us do?"

"Lie low!" quoth Tressady, rising, "Bide still all and let no man
stir till I give word.  In half an hour or less 'twill be black
dark--very well, for half an hour I'll hold 'em in parley, I'll
speak 'em smooth and mighty friendly, here shall be no shooting. 
I'll hold 'em till the moon be down--and Smiler shall come wi'
me--come, Sammy lad--come!"

So saying he turned and I watched him stride out upon that spit
of sand hard by Bartlemy's tree and this great fat fellow
trotting at his heels.  Upon the edge of the tide Tressady paused
and hailed loud and cheerily:

"Penfeather ahoy!  O Adam Penfeather here come I Roger Tressady
for word wi' you.  Look'ee Adam, we've fought and run foul of
each other this many a year--aye, half round the world and all
for sake o' Black Bartlemy's Treasure as is mine by rights, Adam,
mine by rights.  Well now to-night let's, you and me, make an end
once and for all one way or t'other.  There's you wi' my ship--
true, Adam, true!  But here's me wi' the island and the treasure,
Adam, and the treasure.  And what then?  Why then, says I, let's
you and me, either come to some composition or fight it out man
to man, Adam, man to man.  So come ashore, Captain Penfeather--
you as do be blacker pirate than ever was Bartlemy--come out
yonder on the reef alone wi' me and end it one way or t'other. 
Come ashore, Adam, come ashore if ye dare adventure!"

"Ahoy you, Tressady!" roared Godby in reply, "Cap'n Adam is
ashore wi' ye this moment--look astarn o' you, ye rogue!"

Round sprang Tressady as out from the dense shadow of Bartlemy's
tree stepped Adam Penfeather himself.  He stood there in the
moonlight very still and viewing Tressady with head grimly out-
thrust, his arms crossed upon his breast, a pistol in the fist
and deadly menace in every line of his small, spare figure.

"I'm here, Tressady!" says he, his voice ringing loud and clear.
"And I am come to make an end o' you this night.  It hath been
long a-doing--but I have ye at last, Roger."

"Be ye sure, Adam, so sure?"

"As death, Tressady, for I have ye secure at last."

"Bleed me but you're out there, Adam, you're out there!  The
boot's on t'other leg, for hereabouts do lie thirty and eight o'
my lads watching of ye this moment and wi' finger on trigger."

"I know it!" says Adam nodding.  "But there's never a one dare
shoot me, for the first shot fired ashore shall bring a whole
broadside in answer, d'ye see.  But as for you, Tressady, pray if
you can, for this hour you hang."

"Hang is it, Adam?" says Tressady, and with swift glance towards
the sinking moon, "And who's to do it--who?"

"There be thirty and eight shall swing ye aloft so soon as I give
'em the word, Tressady."

"You do talk rank folly, Adam, folly, and ye know it!" says he
smiling and stealing furtive hand to the dagger in his girdle. 
"But and I should die this night I take you along wi' me and you
can lay to--"  But he got no further, for Smiling Sam (and
marvellous nimble) whipped up a stone, and leaping on him from
behind smote him two murderous blows and, staggering helplessly,
Tressady pitched forward upon his face and lay upon the verge of
the incoming tide.

Beholding his handiwork, Smiling Sam uttered a thin, high-
shrilling laugh, and spitting upon that still form kicked it
viciously.

"Oho, Cap'n Penfeather," cries he, "'tis the Smiler hath saved ye
the labour, look'ee!  'Tis Sam hath finished Tressady at last and
be damned t' him!  And now 'tis the Smiler as do be first to
'list wi' ye!" and he began to shamble across the sands; but
passing that rock where crouched Abnegation Mings he tripped and
fell, and I saw the flash of Abnegation's knife as they rolled
and twisted in the shadow of this rock, whiles, from this shadow,
rose a shrill crying like the wail of a hurt child, and into the
moonlight came a great, fat hand that clutched and tore at the
sand then grew suddenly still, and with crooked fingers plunged
deep into the sand like a white claw.  Then, tossing aside his
bloody knife, Abnegation Mings struggled to his feet and came
staggering to kneel above his comrade Tressady and to turn up the
pallid face of him to the moon.

And now Adam thrust away his pistols and with hands clasped
behind him, turned to face the gloomy shadows of Skeleton Cove:

"Come out, sons o' dogs!" says he.  "Step forward and show
yourselves--and lively it is!"  Ensued a moment's breathless
pause, then, from bush and shadow and rocks, they stole forth
these thirty and eight and, at Adam's harsh command, lined up
before him shoulder and shoulder.  "Well," says Adam, pacing
slowly along their rank to peer into every sullen, hang-dog face. 
"Am I captain here?  Aye or no?"

"Aye--aye!" they cried in eager chorus.

"And us was promised a free pardon, Cap'n!" quoth one.

"And a share of the treasure, Cap'n!" says another.

"And England, Cap'n!" cried a third.  "There's some on us as do
be honest sailor-men and forced to turn pirate in spite o' we--"

"Avast!" says Adam.  "What I promise I stand by.  But mark this! 
Let any man fail of his duty to me but once and I shoot that man
or hang him out o' hand--is't understood?"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n--'tis agreed!  We'll serve ye faithful and
true," they cried.

"Why then, bring ropes!" says Adam, and with his new 'listed men
at his heels, goes whither lay Tressady and with Abnegation Mings
yet crouched above him.

What now was doing I might not see by reason of the crowd, but I
heard the voice of Mings upraised in fierce invective, and the
throng presently parting, beheld him trussed hand and foot and
dragged along with Tressady towards Bartlemy's tree.  There a
noose was set about the neck of each, and the rope's ends cast
over a branch.  But as at Adam's command these miserable wretches
were hauled aloft to their deaths, my lady uttered a cry of
horror and grasped my arm in desperate hands.

"Martin!" she panted, "O Martin, 'tis horrible!  Save them, this
must not--shall not be--"

"'Tis but justice," says I, "these men are pirates and
murderers--"

"This is no justice!" cries she breathlessly, her face all pale
and drawn, "And these men are sore hurt beside--Ah God--look! 
Stop them, Martin--O stop them!  Nay then I will!"  And here, or
ever I could let or stay her, she begins to clamber down into the
cove.  Howbeit, quick and sure-footed though she was, I was
presently before her and so came running, knife in hand.  Nor was
I any too soon, for as I reached the tree Tressady and Mings were
dragged, choking, from their feet; but with a couple of strokes
my keen knife had cut those deadly ropes asunder, and as the two
fell gasping on the sand I turned to stare into the scowling eyes
of Adam Penfeather.

Now as I stood thus someone spoke 'twixt sigh and groan: 
"Bartlemy--'tis Bartlemy!" and the word was taken up by others,
"Bartlemy--Black Bartlemy!" and all men fell back from me whiles
Adam scowled at me above levelled pistol.

"Hold off--Adam!" I panted.  "Let be, Adam Penfeather--let be!"

"What?" says he, peering, "And is it--Martin?  Lord love me, now
what fool's ploy is this?"

"What you will," quoth I, "only here has been enough of death for
one night--"

"'Tis but you do think so, Martin, and you was ever a fool!  I
came ashore to see these two rogues hang, and hang they shall!"

"Now look you, Adam Penfeather," says I, scowling in turn, "you
have cozened and tricked me since first you crossed my path,
well, let that go!  But mark this--according to your letter
three-quarters of this treasure is mine.  Very well--take it
back--I'll buy these rogues' lives of you--"

"Lord love me!" says he, staring in blank amaze, "What new fool
craze is this?  Will ye save this bloody murderer Tressady that
drugged ye aboard ship, the man that was our bane and plague all
along?  The rogue hath been my deadliest enemy seeking my
destruction these fifteen years, and you would save him alive! 
It seemeth my pistol-butt must ha' harmed what little brain you
have and you be run stark, staring mad, Martin!"

"Howbeit," says I, mighty determined, "you don't hang these men
whiles I live!"

"Why, there's no difficulty either, Martin, for what's to stay me
from hanging you along with 'em, or shooting you for the fool you
are?"

"I!" cried a voice, and there betwixt us was my lady, she all
stately dignity despite her hurried breathing, at sight of whom
these lawless fellows gave back one and all, even Adam himself
retreated a step, staring upon her round-eyed.  Then, very slowly
he thrust pistols into belt and uncovering his head bowed full
low, and I fancied his thin lips twitched as he did so.

"So be it, my lady," says he, "I call on your ladyship to witness
that I sell two bundles of very unseemly merchandise," and he
pointed towards the two helpless forms at his feet.  "And now,
with your fair leave, madam, I'll see these fellows safe aboard
and warn my Lord Dering and gentlemen of your welfare and
presence here."

"Wait!" says I as he turned to go.  "First I would have these my
purchases set aboard a boat, with such stores needful, and cast
adrift."

"Why, this was not in the bargain, Martin!" says he, shaking his
head, "But it shall be done for sake of our one-time
comradeship."  And away he goes and his fellows with him.  True
to his word he orders the pinnace launched and sends divers men
to bear these two rogues aboard.  Hereupon I cut away their
bonds, doing the which I found Tressady still unconscious, but
Mings for all his wounds seemed lively enough.

"Master," says he, staring hard at me, "Your name's Martin, as I
think?"

"And what then?" says I, mighty short.

"'Tis a name I shall mind as long as I do my own, and that is
Mings--Abnegation Mings."

"Aye," says I.  "You told me this when you sang of dead men in a
wood at midnight--"

"Ha, 'twas you, was it, master!  Well, here lieth poor Roger dead
or dying and me little better, and 'tis far to the Main and an
ill journey, but should we come there and live, there be two men
shall wonder at ye, master, nor ever forget the name o' the man
as saved our necks.  Howsoever, come life or death, here's
Abnegation doth wish ye a fair wind ever and always, master."

So they bore him, together with Tressady, to the pinnace, and
setting them aboard, shoved them adrift, and I watched Abnegation
ply feeble oars until the boat was through the passage in the
reef and out in the open sea beyond.


CHAPTER XLVI

HOW I DOUBTED MYSELF

Now as I stood thus, staring out to sea, the moon sank and with
it my heart also, for as the dark came about me so came darkness
within me and sudden sorrow with great fear of the future;
wherefore, beholding the loom of the ship where lights twinkled,
I would gladly have seen her a shattered wreck, and hearing the
hoarse laughter and voices of these lawless fellows waking the
echoes of Deliverance Beach, I hated them one and all, and to my
fear and sorrow anger was added.  But now cometh my dear lady to
stand beside me, to steal her hand into mine, and never a word
betwixt us for a while.  At last:

"So endeth our solitude, Martin!"

"Aye!"

"Our deliverance is come!" says she and then, very softly, "Doth
not this rejoice you?"  Here answer found I none, since now at
last I knew this the very thing I had come most to dread.  So was
silence again save for these hoarse unlovely voices where they
launched and boarded the longboat.  "Master Adam would have me go
on board, Martin, but 'tis near dawn so will I bide with you to
welcome this new day."

"I'm glad you stayed, Damaris."  At this I felt her clasp tighten
on my fingers, and so she brings me to a rock hard by and,
sinking on the warm sand, would have me sit by her; thus, side by
side, we watched the boat pull away to the ship, and presently
all about us was hushed and still save for the never-ceasing
murmur of the surge.

"Martin," says she in a while, "with this new day beginneth for
us a new life!  In a few short hours we sail for England."

"England!  Aye, to be sure!" says I, mighty doleful, but,
conscious of her regard, strove to look happy yet made such a
botch of it that, getting to her knees, she takes my hang-dog
face betwixt her two hands.

"O but you are glad?" she questions, a little breathlessly, "Glad
to come with me to England--to leave this wilderness?"

"Aye!" I nodded, well-nigh choking on the word.

"Dear Martin, look at me!" she commanded, "Now speak me plain. 
Whence is your grief?"

"O, my lady," quoth I, "'tis the knowledge of my unworthiness, my
unloveliness, my rude and graceless ways; England is no place for
like of me.  I am well enough here in the wild--to work for you,
fight for you an' need be, but how may I compare with your fine
gallants and courtly gentlemen?"

Now at this she clasps me all sudden in her arms and setting soft
cheek to mine falls a-chiding me, yet kissing me full oft,
calling me "silly," "dear," "foolish," and "beloved."

"How shall you compare?" cries she, "Thus and thus, dear Martin--
so infinitely above and beyond all other men that unless you wed
me needs must I die a maid!"

Thus did she comfort me, soothing my fears, and thus the dawn
found us.

"O 'tis day!" she sighed, "'Tis day already!"  And now 'twas her
voice was doleful whiles her eyes gazed regretful round about the
white sands of Deliverance and the tree-clad highlands beyond. 
"O indeed I do love this dear island of ours, Martin!"

Sudden upon the stilly air was the beat of oars, and we beheld a
boat rowed by a couple of mariners and in the stern-sheets Sir
Rupert Dering and the three gentlemen, his companions.  Hereupon
my lady would have me go with her to meet them then and there,
but I shook my head.

"Do you go, Damaris, I'll not speak them before I must.  And
should you have cause to mention me I pray you will not tell my
name."

"As you will, dear Martin," says she and, pressing my hand, goes
her way.  From the shadow of the rock I watched these gentlemen
leap gaily ashore to bow before her with many and divers elegant
posturings, flourishes and flauntings of hats, kissing of her
hands and the like gallantries until I must needs scowl
otherwhere; yet even so, was conscious of their merry laughter
where they paced to and fro and the new risen sun making a glory
about her.  At last she curtseys, and staying them with a
gesture, comes hasting back to me.

"Martin," says she, "it seems there be men wounded and dying on
board ship, so must I go to them.  Will you not come with me?"

"Nay," I answered, "I'll to the caves for such things as you
would bring away."

"Why then, my spoon, Martin, and three-legged stool, bring these
--nay wait, 'tis there I would bid farewell to this our dear
island.  Wait me there, Martin."

So away she goes on her errand of mercy, leaving me to my
thoughts and these all of England and my future life there.  I
was fain to picture myself married and happy in my lady's love,
my life thenceforth a succession of peaceful days amid the
ordered quiet of that Kentish countryside I knew and loved so
well.  With the eye of my mind I seemed to see a road winding
'twixt bloomy hedgerows, past chattering brooks and pleasant
meadows, past sleepy hamlet bowered 'mid trees and so, 'neath a
leafy shade, to where rose tall gates, their pillars crowned by
couchant leopards wrought in the stone, and beyond these a broad
avenue, its green shadow splashed with sunlight, leading away to
the house of Conisby Shene with its wide terrace where stood my
lady waiting and expectant; yet nowhere could I vision myself. 
And now I must needs bethink me of Godby's "long, dark road with
the beckoning light and the waiting arms of love," and in my
heart the old doubt waked and a fear that such peace, such tender
meetings and welcomes sweet, were not for such as I, nor ever
could be.

From these gloomy reflections I was roused by a giggling laugh,
and glancing about, espied Sir Rupert and his three fellows,
their finery somewhat the worse for their late hardship yet
themselves very gay and debonair none the less as they stood
viewing me and mighty interested.  Presently Sir Rupert steps up
to me with his haughtiest fine-gentlemanly air and no civility of
bowing.

"Let me perish but here's notable change!" says he, surveying my
rich attire, so that I yearned for my rags again.  "Here is
strange metamorphosis!  The sullen and rustic Cymon bloometh at
Beauty's mandate, Caliban is tamed!"  At the which sally his
companions giggled again.

"Sir," quoth I, and awkwardly enough, "I am in no mood for your
pleasantries.  If therefore you have aught else to say of me,
pray remove out o' my hearing."  This protest Sir Rupert fanned
airily aside with be-ringed hand.

"I gather," says he, "that you have been at some pains of service
to my Lady Brandon in her late dolorous situation here--receive
my thanks!"

"I wish none o' your thanks, sir--"

"None the less I bestow 'em--on my Lady Brandon's behalf. 
Furthermore--"

"Enough, sir, I would be alone."

"Furthermore," he continued and with another airy motion of his
white fingers, "I would have you particularly remark that if my
Lady Brandon, lacking better company, hath stooped to any small
familiarities with you, these must be forgot and--"

"Ha!" I cried, springing to my feet, "Begone, paltry fool, lest I
kick you harder than I did last time at Conisby Shene."

"Insolent gallows'-rogue!" he panted, reaching for his sword-
hilt, but as he freed it from scabbard I closed with him and,
wrenching it from his hold, belaboured him soundly with the flat
of it, and such of his companions as chanced within my reach,
until hearing shouts, I espied Adam approaching with divers of
his grinning fellows; whereupon I snapped the blade across my
knee and hasted from the place.

I strode on haphazard in a blind fury, but reaching the woods at
last and safe from all observation, I cast myself down therein,
and gradually my anger grew to a great bitterness.  For (thinks
I) "gallows'-rogue" am I in very truth an outcast from my kind, a
creature shamed by pillory and lash, a poor wretch for spiteful
Fortune's buffets.  Hereupon (being a blind fool ever) I cursed
the world and all men in it saving only my unworthy self.  And
next, bethinking me of my dear lady who of her infinite mercy had
stooped to love such as I, it seemed that my shame must smirch
her also, that rather than lifting me to her level I must needs
drag her down to mine.  She, wedding me, gave all, whiles I,
taking all, had nought to offer in return save my unworthiness. 
Verily it seemed that my hopes of life with her in England were
but empty dreams, that I had been living in the very Paradise of
Fools unless--

Here I raised bowed head, and clenching my fists stared blindly
before me.

How if the ship should sail without us?


CHAPTER XLVII

HOW MY DOUBTING WAS RESOLVED FOR ME

The sun being high-risen and myself famished with hunger, I set
off for our habitation by paths well-hid from observation and
yearning mightily to find my lady there.  Having scaled the cliff
I reached the little plateau, and parting the bushes, recoiled
from the muzzle of a piece levelled at me by a squat, grim
fellow.

"What, Godby!" says I, frowning, "D'ye take me for murderer
still, then?"  At this he let fall his musket in blank amaze, and
then came running and with hands outstretched.

"O pal!" cries he, "O pal--have I found ye at last?  Ha, many's
the time I've grieved for ye and my fool's doubts o' you, Martin,
choke me else?  I'm sorry, pal, burn me but I've repented my
suspecting o' you ever since, though to be sure you was mighty
strange aboard the 'Faithful Friend' and small wonder.  But
here's me full o' repentance, Martin, so--if you can forgive poor
Godby--?"

"Full and freely!" says I, whereupon he hugs me and the tears
running down his sunburned cheeks.

"Then we'm pals again, Martin, and all's bowmon!"

"And what o' me?"  Turning about I beheld Adam on the threshold
of the cave, "What o' me, shipmate?"

"Aye--what?" says I, folding my arms.

"Ha, doth the tap o' my pistol-butt smart yet, Martin?"

"I know you beyond all doubt for pirate and buccaneer--"

"All past and done, Martin."

"I know you planned from the first to seize the 'Faithful
Friend.'"

"Aye, but where's your proof--the 'Faithful Friend' is blown
up--"

"And by your hand, like as not."

"True again, so it was, Martin, and thereby did I outwit Tressady
and saved the lives of my own people."

"You have been at great pains to befool me to your evil ends."

"At no pains, Martin, 'twas purely simple matter!"

"You have been the death of divers men on this island."

"But always in fair fight!" says he, glancing at me in his
furtive fashion.  "'Twas them or me, comrade, and black rogues
all."

"So you say!"

"And who's to deny it, shipmate?"

"Aye, who indeed?  It seems you've killed 'em all."

"Ha, d'ye doubt my word, Martin?"

"Aye, I do so, and judging from what I know, I do take ye for a
very rogue and so I'm done with you henceforth."

"Rogue?" says he, "'Tis an ill word!  And yet I had rather be
rogue than fool, and you are the fool of the world, Martin, for
here are you seeking quarrel with your best friend."

"Friend?" quoth I, "O God protect me from such!"

"Now, look'ee, you have named me rogue and good as called me
liar, which is great folly seeing you do lie in my power.  So
here will I prove my friendship and the depth of your folly."

"Nay--I'll hear no more!"

"Aye--but you will!  Cover him, Godby, and fire if I say so!"

"O Lord love me!" groaned Godby, but obeyed nevertheless, and
looking where he stood, his piece levelled at me, I knew he would
obey Adam's word despite his anguished looks.

"And now," says Adam, crossing his arms, "here's the truth on't. 
I found a poor wretch bent on vengeance, murder, and a rogue's
death, which was pure folly.  I offered you riches, the which you
refused, and this was arrant folly.  I took you for comrade,
brought you aboard ship with offer of honest employ which you
likewise refused and here was more folly.  Your conduct on board
ship was all folly.  So, despite yourself, I set you on a fair
island with the right noble and handsome lady that you, by love,
might perchance learn some little wisdom.  Well, you fall in
love--"

"Stop!" cried I, clenching my fists.

"Not I!" says he, uncrossing his arms, and I saw he had levelled
a pistol at me in the crook of his arm, "I'm no fine gentleman
for ye to bruise, so haul your wind and listen!  You fall in love
with my lady, as how could you help, and she with you, which is a
matter of some wonder.  So here are you full o' love, but doth
this teach ye wisdom?  Never a whit!  For now must you fall foul
and belabour our four gallants, and from mere fine gentlemen
transform 'em into your deadly enemies, and here was folly
stupendous!  And now you must quarrel with me, the which is folly
absolute.  Thus do I find ye fool persistent and consistent ever,
and I, being so infinitely the opposite, do contemn you
therefore--"

"And now ha' you done?" I demanded, raging.

"Not quite, Martin.  You balked me i' the hanging o' these two
rogues Tressady and Mings, and here was pitiful folly, since to
hang such were a wise and prudent measure.  Thus have you loosed
murder on my heels again, well, let that go.  But you doubted my
word, you named me rogue, and for this you shall fight me!"  So
saying he stepped into the cave and brought thence that same be-
jewelled Spanish rapier.

"I've no mind to fight with you," says I, turning away.

"An excellent blade!" says he, making a pass in the air, then he
tendered it to me hilt foremost and with the little bow.

"'Tis right you should know I am wearing the chain-shirt."

"No matter," quoth he, drawing, "there is your throat or your
eye--come!"

So point to point we fell to it.  I had been somewhat esteemed at
the art once and now I matched his vicious thrusts with cunning
parades, with volts and passes, pushing at him when I might, so
that twice I was very near.  But suddenly as he retreated before
my attack, his blade darted and flashed and he called out: 
"One!"  And now he pressed me in turn with quick thrusts and
bewildering feints, and presently called out again:  "Two! 
Three!  Four!"  Then I saw he was cutting the buttons from my
sleeve, how and when he would; therefore I cast away my sword in
petulant anger and folded my arms.

"Lord love me!  Are ye done, Martin?"

"O make an end one way or t'other, I'll not be played with!"

"Verily, you were more dangers with the club!" says he, and
sheathed his rapier.  As for me, espying the three-legged stool,
I sat me down mighty dejected and full of bitter thoughts until,
feeling a touch on my bowed shoulder, I looked up and found him
beside me.

"Martin," says he, "'tis true you are a fool but your folly
harmeth none but yourself!  And thou'rt such honest fool that I
must needs love thee, which is strange, yet so it is.  Look'ee,
we have quarrelled and fought, very well--what's to let us from
being friends again?"

"But if I doubt you, Adam?"

"Why, as to that," says he with his whimsical look, "I verily do
think myself a something doubtful being at times."

Now at this, up I rose and gripped his hand right heartily; which
done he brought me into the cave whiles Godby posted himself on
the threshold, leaning on his musket.

"What now, Adam?" I questioned.

"Now let us divide our treasure, Martin--"

"But I bartered my share for the lives of--"

"Tush!" says he, and reaching a valise from shadowy corner he
opened it and I beheld such a glory of flashing gems as nigh
dazzled me with their splendour.  "Look at 'em, Martin, look at
'em!" he whispered.  "Here's love and hate, life and death, every
good and all the sins--look at 'em!"  And catching up a handful
he let them fall, glittering, through his fingers.  "Lord love
me, Martin," he whispered, "'tis enough to turn a man's brain! 
Have ye counted 'em over, comrade?"

"I never saw them until this moment, Adam."  And I confessed how
in my folly I had cast his letter of instruction into the sea,
and of how my lady had found the secret at her dire peril.

"And she never showed you, Martin?"

"I was always too busy!"

"Busy!" says he, sitting back on his heels to stare up at me. 
"Busy?  O Lord love me!  Sure there's not your like i' the whole
world, Martin!"

"Which is mighty well for the world!" says I bitterly.

"'Tis vasty treasure, Martin and worth some little risk.  And in
the cave lie yet fifty and four bars of gold and others of
silver, with store of rix-dollars, doubloons, moidores and pieces
of eight--gold coins of all countries.  There let 'em rot--here's
more wealth than we shall ever spend.  Shall we divide it here or
aboard ship?"

"Wait rather until we reach England."

"So be it, comrade.  Then I'm minded to apportion a share to
Godby here--what d'ye say?"

"With all my heart!"

"Why then 'tis time we got it safe on board."

"But how to do it--what of Tressady's rogues, Adam?"

"Having buried such of themselves as needed it, Martin, you shall
see 'em playing leap-frog on the sands down yonder happy as any
innocent school-lads, and never a firearm amongst 'em."

"Hist, Cap'n!" says Godby, suddenly alert, "The man Abner and his
two mates a-peeping and a-prying!"

"Where away, Godby man?"

"Hove to in the lee o' them bushes yonder."

"'Tis sly, skulking rogue Abner!" says Adam, closing and
strapping the valise, "'Tis in my mind, Godby, this Abner will
never live to see England.  Summon 'em hither, all three."

This Godby did forthwith, and presently the three fellows
appeared who, knuckling their foreheads, made us their several
reverences.

"What now, lads?" says Adam, viewing them with his keen eyes, "I
seem to mind your looks, you sailed with Black Bartlemy aboard
the 'Delight' I think?  Nay, 'tis no matter, we'll let bygones be
bygones, and we be all marvellous honest these days, the which is
well.  Meantime take this dunnage down to the boat," and he
pointed to the valise.  Hereupon one of the fellows took it up,
and knuckled an eyebrow to us in turn.  "We sail at sundown,"
says Adam, "so, Godby, you may as well go aboard and see that all
be ready."

"Aye, aye!" says Godby, tightening the belt where swung his great
cutlass and, shouldering his musket, set off after the three.

"So there goeth our fortune aboard, comrade."

"And in desperate risky fashion, Adam."

"In safe, straightforward fashion rather, and in broad daylight,
the which is surer than stealing it aboard in the dark."

"But should these rogues guess what they carry--"

"They won't, Martin, and if they should they have but their
knives 'gainst Godby's musket and pistols."

"Ha--murder, Adam?"

"Would you call this murder, comrade?"

"What other?  I wonder what manner of man you'll be, away there
in England?"

"A worthy, right worshipful justice o' the peace, Martin, if
Providence seeth fit, in laced coat and great peruke, to see that
my tenants' cottages be sound and wholesome, to pat the touzled
heads o' the children, bless 'em!  And to have word with every
soul i' the village.  To snooze i' my great pew o' Sundays and,
dying at last, snug abed, to leave behind me a kindly memory. 
And what for you, Martin?  What see you in the ship yonder?"

"God knoweth!" says I, gloomily.

"Why not a woman's love, comrade, why not good works, rank and
belike--children to honour your memory?"

"Were I but worthy all this, Adam."

"Zounds, but here's humility!  Yet your true lover is ever
humble, I've heard, so 'tis very well, Martin.  And this doth
mind me I bear you a message from my lady--"

"A message--from her?" I cried, gripping his arm, "Out with it,
man, out with it and God forgive you this delay!  What says my
lady?"

"This, Martin:  she would have you shave according to late
custom."

"Why, so I will!  But said she no more?"

"Aye, something of meeting you here.  So get to your shaving and
cheerily, comrade, cheerily.  I'll to the ship, for at sunset
'tis up anchor and hey for England!  I'll fire two guns to warn
you aboard, and tarry not, for the ship lieth within a sunken
reef and we must catch the flood."  Here he turned to go, then
paused to glance round the horizon with a seaman's eye.  "The
wind is fair to serve us, Martin," says he, pinching his chin,
"yet I could wish for a tempest out o' the north and a rising
sea!"

"And why, Adam, in Heaven's name?"

"'Twould be the sure and certain end of Tressady and Mings,
comrade.  Howbeit what's done is done and all things do lie in
the hands of Providence, so do I cherish hope.  Go and shave,
Martin, go and shave!"

Left alone I betook me to my razors and shaved me with unwonted
care, yet hearkening for her quick, light step the while.

Scarce was my labour ended that I thought to hear the rustle of
leaves and hasted from the cave, calling on her name and mighty
joyous and eager:

"Damaris!  Art here at last, dear my lady!"  And so came face to
face with Sir Rupert.

He stood smiling at my discomfiture, yet his black brows were
close--but he halted and folded his arms and I could see the
betraying bulge of the pistol on his great side-pocket.  For a
while he measured me with his eye, at last he spoke:

"Within the hour my Lady Brandon sails for England, and from this
hour you will forget my Lady Brandon ever existed or--"

"Tush, man!" says I, "Begone, you weary me."

"Or," he went on with an airy gesture of his hand, "I shall cure
your weariness for good--"

"Shoot me?"

"Most joyfully!  Whatsoever hath chanced betwixt you in this
wilderness, my Lady Brandon's honour must and--"

Warned by my look he clapped hand to his pocket but as he freed
the weapon I was upon him, grasping his pistol-hand.  For a
moment we swayed together, he striving frantically to break my
hold, I to wrest the weapon from him, then it exploded, and
uttering a sudden, long-drawn gasp he sank to the grass at my
feet and lay very mute and still.  Whilst I yet stared from his
pallid face to the pistol where it had fallen, I heard shouts, a
running of feet, and glancing up saw the three gentlemen, his
companions, standing at gaze, motionless; then suddenly, they
turned and hasted away, crying "murder" on me as they ran.  Like
one in a dream I stared down at Sir Rupert's motionless form,
until I was aware of my lady beside him on her knees and of the
pallor of her face as she looked from him to me, her eyes wide
with horror:

"If you have killed him, Martin--if you have killed him, here is
an end of our happiness--God forgive you!"

Now would I have spoken but found no words, for in this moment I
knew that Sir Rupert was surely dead.  Dumbly I watched the
passionate labour of her dexterous hands, saw them pause at last
to clasp and wring themselves in helpless despair, saw the three
gentlemen, obedient to her word, stoop and lift that limp form
and bear it slowly away towards Deliverance Sands and she going
beside them.

Now as I stood watching her leave me, I heard the sudden roar of
a gun, and glancing towards the ship saw they were already making
sail.  Roused by this I came beside my lady, and found my voice
at last.

"Here was the work of chance--not I, Damaris, not I!"

But she, gazing ever on that piteous, limp form, sought to
silence me with a gesture.  "God, Damaris, you'll never doubt my
word?  Speak--will you not speak to me?  He threatened me--we
strove together and the pistol went off in his grasp--"

"Damned Murderer!" cried one of the gentlemen.

After this I held my peace, despairing, and thus we went in
silence until before us was Deliverance Beach.  All at once I
caught her up in my arms and, despite her struggles, began to
bear her back up the ascent.  For a moment only she strove,
uttering no word, then hiding her face against me, suffered me to
bear her where I would.  But now I heard shouts and cries that
told me I was pursued:

"You are mine, Damaris!" I cried, "Mine henceforth, and no man
shall take you from me whiles I live!"

Despite my haste the noise of pursuit waxed louder, spurring me
to greater effort.  And now it became the end and aim of my
existence to reach the cave in time, wherefore I began to run, on
and up, until my breath came in great, panting sobs; my heart
seemed bursting, and in my throbbing brain a confusion of wild
thoughts:

"Better die thus, my love upon my heart...The ship shall sail
without us...The door of the cave is stout, God be thanked and,
firing from the loophole, I may withstand them all."

Breathless and reeling I gained the plateau at last, but as I
staggered towards the cave I tripped and fell heavily, crushing
her beneath me.  But I struggled up, and bearing her within the
cave, laid her upon my bed and closing the door, barred it; then
I reached my muskets from their rack and set them in readiness. 
This done, and finding my lady so still and silent, I came to
view her where she lay and, peering in the dimness, uttered a
great cry to see the pale oval of cheek horribly bedabbled with
blood.  Trembling in a sickness of fear I sank beside her on my
knees, then, seeing she yet breathed, I parted the silky hair
above her temple and so came on a cruel gash.  Now as I strove to
staunch this precious blood I heard again the echoing thunder of
a gun.

"Damaris!" says I, clasping her to me and kissing her pallid
lips, "O Damaris, they are summoning us to England, d'ye hear,
beloved, d'ye hear?  Well, they shall call in vain--they shall
sail without us.  Love hath found us and here with Love will we
abide.  Wake, beloved, wake and tell me you would have it so!"

But, save for her breathing, and despite all my pleading and
caresses, she lay like one dead.  So I brought water and bathed
her face and throat and wrists, yet all to no purpose, so that
fear grew to agony.  How if she die thus? (thinks I) Why then I
can die likewise.  But again, how if she wake, and finding the
ship gone, despise me and, in place of her lover, look on me as
her gaoler?  For a long while I crouched there, my head bowed on
my fists, since well I knew that England might shelter me
nevermore.  And yet to part with her that was become my very
life--

As I knelt thus, in an agony of indecision, was sudden tumult of
knocking upon the door and the sound of fierce voices:

"Come forth, murderer!  Open to us, rogue--open!"

But still I knelt there heeding only the hurry of my thoughts:

"How if the ship sail without us?  How if she wake and know me
for her gaoler?  How might I endure loneliness?  How part with
her that was become my life?  Belike she might not hate me--"

"Open, murderer, open!" roared the voices.

"A murderer!  How if she believe this?  Better loneliness and
death than to read horror of me in her every look!"

And now beyond the door was silence, and then I heard Adam
hailing me:

"Oho, shipmate--unbar!  Tide's on the turn and we must aboard. 
And trust me, Martin, for your comrade as will see justice done
ye.  So come, Martin, you and my lady and let's aboard!"

"Aye, aye, Adam!" quoth I, "Better die o' solitude than live with
a breaking heart.  So cheerily it is, Adam!"

Then rising, I took my dear lady in my arms, and holding her
against my heart, I kissed her hair, her closed eyes, her pale,
unresponsive lips, and bearing her to the door, contrived to open
it and stepped forth of the cave.  And here I found Adam, pistol
in hand, with divers of his fellows and the three gentlemen who
scowled amain, yet, eyeing Adam's weapon, did no more than clench
their fists and mutter of gibbets and the like.

"Look you, Adam," says I, "my lady is stunned of a fall, but
'twill be no great matter once we come aboard--let us go."

"Why then, Lord love you, Martin--hasten!" says he, "For tide's
falling and it's all we shall do to clear the reef."

Reaching Deliverance Sands I saw the boat already launched and
manned and, wading into the water, laid my lady in the stern
sheets.

"Come!" cried Adam, reaching me his hand, "In with ye man--"

"Not I, Adam."

"Why, what now, comrade?" says he, staring.

"Now--my hand, Adam, and a prosperous voyage!"

"How, comrade, will ye stay marooned in this desolation?" and he
stooped to peer down at me.  "Martin," says he, gripping my hand
and staring into my eyes, "Doth this mean you are safer here by
reason of the mystery of Sir Rupert's sudden end?"

"Mayhap!" says I, and loosed his hand.  "What think you?"

"That you are no murderer, comrade, nor ever will be!"

"My lady said as much once!  Farewell, Adam!"  And I waded back
to the beach.

"Give way, lads!" cries he, "Give way!"  I heard the splash and
beat of their oars, and when I turned to look I saw them half-way
across the lagoon.

Then I turned and wandered aimlessly along these white sands that
had known so often the light tread of her pretty feet.  Very
slowly I went, with eyes that saw not, ears that heard not and my
mind a confusion of bitter thoughts.

At last I reached the little plateau, and from this eminence
beheld the ship standing away under a press of sail, and saw that
night was at hand.  Suddenly as I watched, the ship, her lofty
masts and gleaming canvas swam all blurred and misty on my sight,
and sinking to my knees I bowed my head.

"Almighty God!" says I, "Thou hast shown unto me the wonder of
love and the heaven it might have been, but since love is not for
me, teach me how I may be avenged."

But now, even as I prayed thus, my voice brake upon a great sob
insomuch that I might pray no more.  Therefore I cast myself upon
my face, forgetting all things but my great and bitter
loneliness.

And so came night and shut me in.

...

Here then I make an end of this narrative of Black Bartlemy's
Treasure, but how and in what manner I came to my vengeance is
yet to tell.





End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Black Bartlemy's Treasure
by Jeffrey Farnol

