CHAPTER II
HOW I HEARD A SONG IN THE WOOD AT MIDNIGHT
Headlong went I, staying for nought and heedless of all direction, butpresently, being weary and short of breath, I halted and leaningagainst a tree stood thus very full of bitter thought. The storm wasquite passed, but a chill wind was abroad that moaned dismally, whileall about me sodden trees dripped with mournful, sobbing noises. Andhearkening 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 ofbetter days, a voice that had set me to dreams of a future, to fond andfoolish imaginings. For, though shamed and brutalised by mysufferings, I was a man and in this past hour (strange though it doseem) felt scorn of myself and a yearning for higher things, and allthis by no greater reason than the sound of a woman's voice in the darkand the touch of her warm lips on my hand--and she a Brandon! And nowas the bitter mockery of it all rushed upon me, fierce anger swept meand I broke forth into vile oaths and cursings, English and Spanish,foul invectives picked up from the rogues, my fellows in misery; andfeeling a new shame therefore, did but curse the more. So therecrouched I 'gainst the tree, shivering like the miserable wretch I wasand consumed with a ravening hunger. At last, becoming aware that Iyet grasped a weapon in either hand, I thrust my knife in my girdle andfell to handling this other, judging it by touch since it was yet toodark for eyes to serve me. And by its feel I knew it for no honestknife; here was a thing wrought by foreign hands, a haft cunninglyshaped 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 toneedle-point, and thrusting it into the leathern wallet at my belt,went on some way further 'mid the trees, seeking some place where Imight be sheltered from the cold wind. Then, all at once, I heard thatwhich brought me to a stand.
A man was singing and at no great distance, a strange, merry air andstranger words; and the voice was loud, yet tuneful and mellow, and thewords (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 thuspresently came on a small dell or dingle full of the light of a firethat crackled right merrily; at the which most welcome sight I madeshift to scramble down the steepy bank forthright and approached theblaze on eager feet. Drawing near, I saw the fire burned within asmall cave beneath the bank, and as I came within its radiance the songbroke off suddenly and a man rose up, facing me across the fire andwith 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 withhands outspread to the flame, warming my shivering body at its gratefulheat.
"Well?" says I.
"Why," quoth he, nodding, "You're big enough and wild enough and aslikely 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'vefobbed the nubbing-cheat so long!"
"And what I ask is," quoth I, "how a sailor-man comes to know thepatter o' the flash coves!"
"'Tis no matter," says he, "but since you're o' the Brotherhood sit yeand welcome, 'tis dry enough here in this cave."
Staying for no second bidding I entered the little cave and sat me downin the comforting warmth of the fire. The man was a comely fellow of ahectoring, swashing air, bright of eyes and instant of gesture; closeto hand lay a short cutting-sword, pistols bulged his deepcoat-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 ifyou'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 lineon'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, andthereafter smacked his lips with great gusto. "Made by a dead man," herepeated, "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 yoursize!" says he, glancing at me over his bottle with a truculent eye,and though his glance was steady, I perceived the drink was affectinghim 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 Mainfrom Panama to St. Catherine's, aye, by the horns of Nick there be noneof all the coastwise Brotherhood quicker or readier when there's aughti' 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 drunkensolemnity. "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 andthere's for ye!"
"And who else?"
"Well, there's Montbars as do they call the Exterminator, and there'syoung Harry Morgan--a likely lad, and there's Roger Tressady and SolAiken 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 shortin 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 Brotherhoodo' 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 pistolcaught on the lining, and before he could free it I had covered himwith mine, whereat he grew suddenly rigid and still. "Up wi' yourfambles!" says I. Obediently he raised his hands and, taking hispistols, I opened the pan of each one and, having blown out theprimings, tossed them back.
"Snake sting me!" says he, laughing ruefully as he re-pocketed hisweapons. "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 ofa 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 erenow, my buxom lad!"
"And aided too, belike?"
says I.
"Why, here's a leading question--but mum! Here's a hand that knowethnot what doth its fellow--mum, boy, mum!" And tilting back his head hebrake 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'streasure--which I can't, mark me--still you'd never gather just whatmanner o' hook that was. Anan, says you--mum, boy, says I. Howbeit, Isay, 'tis a good song," quoth he, blinking drowsily at the fire,"here's battle in't, murder and sudden death and wha--what more couldye expect of any song--aye, and there's women in't too!" Here he fellto singing certain lewd ribaldry that I will not here set down, untilwhat with the rum and the drowsy heat of the fire that I hadreplenished, he yawned, stretched, and laying himself down, very soonfell a-snoring, to my no small comfort. As for me, I sat there waitingfor the dayspring; the fire sank lower and lower, filling the littlecave with a rosy glow falling athwart the sprawling form of the sleeperand making his red face seem purplish and suffused like the face of oneI had once seen dead of strangulation; howbeit, he slept well enough,judging from his lusty snoring. Now presently in the surrounding darkbeyond the smouldering fire was a glimmer, a vague blur of sloping,trampled bank backed by misty trees; so came the dawn, very chill andfull of eddying mists that crawled phantom-like, filling the littledingle brimful and blotting out the surrounding trees. In a little Iarose and, coming without the cave, shivered in the colder air, shakenwith raging hunger. And now remembering my utter destitution, I stoopedto peer down at the sleeper, half minded to go through his pockets, butin a while I turned away and left him sprawled in his sottish slumber.
Black Bartlemy's Treasure Page 3