From the three or four score men massed below in the waist came a rumble of approval. Captain Blood’s glance raked the ranks of those resolute, fierce-eyed fellows, then it came to rest again on Ogle. There was here quite plainly a vague threat, a mutinous spirit he could not understand. “You come to give advice, then, do you?” quoth he, relenting nothing of his sternness.
“That’s it, Captain; advice. That girl, there.” He flung out a bare arm to point to her. “Bishop’s girl; the Governor of Jamaica’s niece.... We want her as a hostage for our safety.”
“Aye!” roared in chorus the buccaneers below, and one or two of them elaborated that affirmation.
In a flash Captain Blood saw what was in their minds. And for all that he lost nothing of his outward stern composure, fear invaded his heart.
“And how,” he asked, “do you imagine that Miss Bishop will prove such a hostage?”
“It’s a providence having her aboard; a providence. Heave to, Captain, and signal them to send a boat, and assure themselves that Miss is here. Then let them know that if they attempt to hinder our sailing hence, we’ll hang the doxy first and fight for it after. That’ll cool Colonel Bishop’s heat, maybe.”
“And maybe it won’t.” Slow and mocking came Wolverstone’s voice to answer the other’s confident excitement, and as he spoke he advanced to Blood’s side, an unexpected ally. “Some o’ them dawcocks may believe that tale.” He jerked a contemptuous thumb towards the men in the waist, whose ranks were steadily being increased by the advent of others from the forecastle. “Although even some o’ they should know better, for there’s still a few was on Barbados with us, and are acquainted like me and you with Colonel Bishop. If ye’re counting on pulling Bishop’s heartstrings, ye’re a bigger fool, Ogle, than I’ve always thought you was with anything but guns. There’s no heaving to for such a matter as that unless you wants to make quite sure of our being sunk. Though we had a cargo of Bishop’s nieces it wouldn’t make him hold his hand. Why, as I was just telling his lordship here, who thought like you that having Miss Bishop aboard would make us safe, not for his mother would that filthy slaver forgo what’s due to him. And if ye’ weren’t a fool, Ogle, you wouldn’t need me to tell you this. We’ve got to fight, my lads....”
“How can we fight, man?” Ogle stormed at him, furiously battling the conviction which Wolverstone’s argument was imposing upon his listeners. “You may be right, and you may be wrong. We’ve got to chance it. It’s our only chance....”
The rest of his words were drowned in the shouts of the hands insisting that the girl be given up to be held as a hostage. And then louder than before roared a gun away to leeward, and away on their starboard beam they saw the spray flung up by the shot, which had gone wide.
“They are within range,” cried Ogle. And leaning from the rail, “Put down the helm,” he commanded.
Pitt, at his post beside the helmsman, turned intrepidly to face the excited gunner.
“Since when have you commanded on the main deck, Ogle? I take my orders from the Captain.”
“You’ll take this order from me, or, by God, you’ll....”
“Wait!” Blood bade him, interrupting, and he set a restraining hand upon the gunner’s arm. “There is, I think, a better way.”
He looked over his shoulder, aft, at the advancing ships, the foremost of which was now a bare quarter of a mile away. His glance swept in passing over Miss Bishop and Lord Julian standing side by side some paces behind him. He observed her pale and tense, with parted lips and startled eyes that were fixed upon him, an anxious witness of this deciding of her fate. He was thinking swiftly, reckoning the chances if by pistolling Ogle he were to provoke a mutiny. That some of the men would rally to him, he was sure. But he was no less sure that the main body would oppose him, and prevail in spite of all that he could do, taking the chance that holding Miss Bishop to ransom seemed to afford them. And if they did that, one way or the other, Miss Bishop would be lost. For even if Bishop yielded to their demand, they would retain her as a hostage.
Meanwhile Ogle was growing impatient. His arm still gripped by Blood, he thrust his face into the Captain’s.
“What better way?” he demanded. “There is none better. I’ll not be bubbled by what Wolverstone has said. He may be right, and he may be wrong. We’ll test it. It’s our only chance, I’ve said, and we must take it.”
The better way that was in Captain Blood’s mind was the way that already he had proposed to Wolverstone. Whether the men in the panic Ogle had aroused among them would take a different view from Wolverstone’s he did not know. But he saw quite clearly now that if they consented, they would not on that account depart from their intention in the matter of Miss Bishop; they would make of Blood’s own surrender merely an additional card in this game against the Governor of Jamaica.
“It’s through her that we’re in this trap,” Ogle stormed on. “Through her and through you. It was to bring her to Jamaica that you risked all our lives, and we’re not going to lose our lives as long as there’s a chance to make ourselves safe through her.”
He was turning again to the helmsman below, when Blood’s grip tightened on his arm. Ogle wrenched it free, with an oath. But Blood’s mind was now made up. He had found the only way, and repellent though it might be to him, he must take it.
“That is a desperate chance,” he cried. “Mine is the safe and easy way. Wait!” He leaned over the rail. “Put the helm down,” he bade Pitt. “Heave her to, and signal to them to send a boat.”
A silence of astonishment fell upon the ship — of astonishment and suspicion at this sudden yielding. But Pitt, although he shared it, was prompt to obey. His voice rang out, giving the necessary orders, and after an instant’s pause, a score of hands sprang to execute them. Came the creak of blocks and the rattle of slatting sails as they swung aweather, and Captain Blood turned and beckoned Lord Julian forward. His lordship, after a moment’s hesitation, advanced in surprise and mistrust — a mistrust shared by Miss Bishop, who, like his lordship and all else aboard, though in a different way, had been taken aback by Blood’s sudden submission to the demand to lie to.
Standing now at the rail, with Lord Julian beside him, Captain Blood explained himself.
Briefly and clearly he announced to all the object of Lord Julian’s voyage to the Caribbean, and he informed them of the offer which yesterday Lord Julian had made to him.
“That offer I rejected, as his lordship will tell you, deeming myself affronted by it. Those of you who have suffered under the rule of King James will understand me. But now in the desperate case in which we find ourselves — outsailed, and likely to be outfought, as Ogle has said — I am ready to take the way of Morgan: to accept the King’s commission and shelter us all behind it.”
It was a thunderbolt that for a moment left them all dazed. Then Babel was reenacted. The main body of them welcomed the announcement as only men who have been preparing to die can welcome a new lease of life. But many could not resolve one way or the other until they were satisfied upon several questions, and chiefly upon one which was voiced by Ogle.
“Will Bishop respect the commission when you hold it?”
It was Lord Julian who answered:
“It will go very hard with him if he attempts to flout the King’s authority. And though he should dare attempt it, be sure that his own officers will not dare to do other than oppose him.”
“Aye,” said Ogle, “that is true.”
But there were some who were still in open and frank revolt against the course. Of these was Wolverstone, who at once proclaimed his hostility.
“I’ll rot in hell or ever I serves the King,” he bawled in a great rage.
But Blood quieted him and those who thought as he did.
“No man need follow me into the King’s service who is reluctant. That is not in the bargain. What is in the bargain is that I accept this service with such of you as may choose to follow me. Don’t think I accept it wil
lingly. For myself, I am entirely of Wolverstone’s opinion. I accept it as the only way to save us all from the certain destruction into which my own act may have brought us. And even those of you who do not choose to follow me shall share the immunity of all, and shall afterwards be free to depart. Those are the terms upon which I sell myself to the King. Let Lord Julian, the representative of the Secretary of State, say whether he agrees to them.”
Prompt, eager, and clear came his lordship’s agreement. And that was practically the end of the matter. Lord Julian, the butt now of good-humouredly ribald jests and half-derisive acclamations, plunged away to his cabin for the commission, secretly rejoicing at a turn of events which enabled him so creditably to discharge the business on which he had been sent.
Meanwhile the bo’sun signalled to the Jamaica ships to send a boat, and the men in the waist broke their ranks and went noisily flocking to line the bulwarks and view the great stately vessels that were racing down towards them.
As Ogle left the quarter-deck, Blood turned, and came face to face with Miss Bishop. She had been observing him with shining eyes, but at sight of his dejected countenance, and the deep frown that scarred his brow, her own expression changed. She approached him with a hesitation entirely unusual to her. She set a hand lightly upon his arm.
“You have chosen wisely, sir,” she commended him, “however much against your inclinations.”
He looked with gloomy eyes upon her for whom he had made this sacrifice.
“I owed it to you — or thought I did,” he said.
She did not understand. “Your resolve delivered me from a horrible danger,” she admitted. And she shivered at the memory of it. “But I do not understand why you should have hesitated when first it was proposed to you. It is an honourable service.”
“King James’s?” he sneered.
“England’s,” she corrected him in reproof. “The country is all, sir; the sovereign naught. King James will pass; others will come and pass; England remains, to be honourably served by her sons, whatever rancour they may hold against the man who rules her in their time.”
He showed some surprise. Then he smiled a little. “Shrewd advocacy,” he approved it. “You should have spoken to the crew.”
And then, the note of irony deepening in his voice: “Do you suppose now that this honourable service might redeem one who was a pirate and a thief?”
Her glance fell away. Her voice faltered a little in replying. “If he... needs redeeming. Perhaps... perhaps he has been judged too harshly.”
The blue eyes flashed, and the firm lips relaxed their grim set.
“Why... if ye think that,” he said, considering her, an odd hunger in his glance, “life might have its uses, after all, and even the service of King James might become tolerable.”
Looking beyond her, across the water, he observed a boat putting off from one of the great ships, which, hove to now, were rocking gently some three hundred yards away. Abruptly his manner changed. He was like one recovering, taking himself in hand again. “If you will go below, and get your gear and your woman, you shall presently be sent aboard one of the ships of the fleet.” He pointed to the boat as he spoke.
She left him, and thereafter with Wolverstone, leaning upon the rail, he watched the approach of that boat, manned by a dozen sailors, and commanded by a scarlet figure seated stiffly in the stern sheets. He levelled his telescope upon that figure.
“It’ll not be Bishop himself,” said Wolverstone, between question and assertion.
“No.” Blood closed his telescope. “I don’t know who it is.”
“Ha!” Wolverstone vented an ejaculation of sneering mirth. “For all his eagerness, Bishop’d be none so willing to come, hisself. He’s been aboard this hulk afore, and we made him swim for it that time. He’ll have his memories. So he sends a deputy.”
This deputy proved to be an officer named Calverley, a vigorous, self-sufficient fellow, comparatively fresh from England, whose manner made it clear that he came fully instructed by Colonel Bishop upon the matter of how to handle the pirates.
His air, as he stepped into the waist of the Arabella, was haughty, truculent, and disdainful.
Blood, the King’s commission now in his pocket, and Lord Julian standing beside him, waited to receive him, and Captain Calverley was a little taken aback at finding himself confronted by two men so very different outwardly from anything that he had expected. But he lost none of his haughty poise, and scarcely deigned a glance at the swarm of fierce, half-naked fellows lounging in a semicircle to form a background.
“Good-day to you, sir,” Blood hailed him pleasantly. “I have the honour to give you welcome aboard the Arabella. My name is Blood — Captain Blood, at your service. You may have heard of me.”
Captain Calverley stared hard. The airy manner of this redoubtable buccaneer was hardly what he had looked for in a desperate fellow, compelled to ignominious surrender. A thin, sour smile broke on the officer’s haughty lips.
“You’ll ruffle it to the gallows, no doubt,” he said contemptuously. “I suppose that is after the fashion of your kind. Meanwhile it’s your surrender I require, my man, not your impudence.”
Captain Blood appeared surprised, pained. He turned in appeal to Lord Julian.
“D’ye hear that now? And did ye ever hear the like? But what did I tell ye? Ye see, the young gentleman’s under a misapprehension entirely. Perhaps it’ll save broken bones if your lordship explains just who and what I am.”
Lord Julian advanced a step and bowed perfunctorily and rather disdainfully to that very disdainful but now dumbfounded officer. Pitt, who watched the scene from the quarter-deck rail, tells us that his lordship was as grave as a parson at a hanging. But I suspect this gravity for a mask under which Lord Julian was secretly amused.
“I have the honour to inform you, sir,” he said stiffly, “that Captain Blood holds a commission in the King’s service under the seal of my Lord Sunderland, His Majesty’s Secretary of State.”
Captain Calverley’s face empurpled; his eyes bulged. The buccaneers in the background chuckled and crowed and swore among themselves in their relish of this comedy. For a long moment Calverley stared in silence at his lordship, observing the costly elegance of his dress, his air of calm assurance, and his cold, fastidious speech, all of which savoured distinctly of the great world to which he belonged.
“And who the devil may you be?” he exploded at last.
Colder still and more distant than ever grew his lordship’s voice.
“You’re not very civil, sir, as I have already noticed. My name is Wade — Lord Julian Wade. I am His Majesty’s envoy to these barbarous parts, and my Lord Sunderland’s near kinsman. Colonel Bishop has been notified of my coming.”
The sudden change in Calverley’s manner at Lord Julian’s mention of his name showed that the notification had been received, and that he had knowledge of it.
“I... I believe that he has,” said Calverley, between doubt and suspicion. “That is: that he has been notified of the coming of Lord Julian Wade. But... but... aboard this ship...?” The officer made a gesture of helplessness, and, surrendering to his bewilderment, fell abruptly silent.
“I was coming out on the Royal Mary....”
“That is what we were advised.”
“But the Royal Mary fell a victim to a Spanish privateer, and I might never have arrived at all but for the gallantry of Captain Blood, who rescued me.”
Light broke upon the darkness of Calverley’s mind. “I see. I understand.”
“I will take leave to doubt it.” His lordship’s tone abated nothing of its asperity. “But that can wait. If Captain Blood will show you his commission, perhaps that will set all doubts at rest, and we may proceed. I shall be glad to reach Port Royal.”
Captain Blood thrust a parchment under Calverley’s bulging eyes. The officer scanned it, particularly the seals and signature. He stepped back, a baffled, impotent man. He bowed helplessly.
/> “I must return to Colonel Bishop for my orders,” he informed them.
At that moment a lane was opened in the ranks of the men, and through this came Miss Bishop followed by her octoroon woman. Over his shoulder Captain Blood observed her approach.
“Perhaps, since Colonel Bishop is with you, you will convey his niece to him. Miss Bishop was aboard the Royal Mary also, and I rescued her together with his lordship. She will be able to acquaint her uncle with the details of that and of the present state of affairs.”
Swept thus from surprise to surprise, Captain Calverley could do no more than bow again.
“As for me,” said Lord Julian, with intent to make Miss Bishop’s departure free from all interference on the part of the buccaneers, “I shall remain aboard the Arabella until we reach Port Royal. My compliments to Colonel Bishop. Say that I look forward to making his acquaintance there.”
CHAPTER XXII. HOSTILITIES
In the great harbour of Port Royal, spacious enough to have given moorings to all the ships of all the navies of the world, the Arabella rode at anchor. Almost she had the air of a prisoner, for a quarter of a mile ahead, to starboard, rose the lofty, massive single round tower of the fort, whilst a couple of cables’-length astern, and to larboard, rode the six men-of-war that composed the Jamaica squadron.
Abeam with the Arabella, across the harbour, were the flat-fronted white buildings of that imposing city that came down to the very water’s edge. Behind these the red roofs rose like terraces, marking the gentle slope upon which the city was built, dominated here by a turret, there by a spire, and behind these again a range of green hills with for ultimate background a sky that was like a dome of polished steel.
On a cane day-bed that had been set for him on the quarter-deck, sheltered from the dazzling, blistering sunshine by an improvised awning of brown sailcloth, lounged Peter Blood, a calf-bound, well-thumbed copy of Horace’s Odes neglected in his hands.
From immediately below him came the swish of mops and the gurgle of water in the scuppers, for it was still early morning, and under the directions of Hayton, the bo’sun, the swabbers were at work in the waist and forecastle. Despite the heat and the stagnant air, one of the toilers found breath to croak a ribald buccaneering ditty:
Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini Page 399