The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales

by Robert E. Howard

  She walked slowly and steadily straight through the midst of the muttering, grumbling mob, Milo at her back like a gargantuan shadow. And looking neither to one way or the other, meeting eyes that glared in her path with cold, dignified disdain, she proceeded through the camp, across the grove, and to the ledge behind the altar. Savage curses followed her; men jostled at her heels and dared Milo to prevent them; the giant, calm and cold as his mistress, moved forward like a human Juggernaut, laying a resistless hand upon a presuming shoulder here, flinging aside a leering ruffian there.

  And as the mob thinned, and Dolores entered the cool glade, something in the situation which she had failed to realize before now struck her with force; she started at the thought, then uttered a low, rippling laugh of satisfaction. For Pascherette, in her cunning scheme of double-dealing, had played into her lady’s hands to an extent unhoped for by Dolores.

  “Milo, the wolves are ready to tear,” she said. “And they shall tear—not me, but themselves! Didst note the three strangers? Even they shall help more than I had hoped.” She stepped up behind the altar, and as she waited for Milo’s assistance in climbing to the secret entrance to the great chamber she asked:

  “Thy blow-pipe, hast forgotten its use.”

  “As soon forget the use of my fingers, Sultana!” replied the giant, permitting a grim smile to wrinkle his face for an instant.

  “Then get thy darts. Have thy pipe ready here, thyself concealed, and watch thy time to strike. But first light the altar fires. The rogues believe in my magic no longer; I shall teach them anew, and such magic as shall convince some of them.”

  From the camp arose a babel of uproar, men shouting against each other, curses and threats alike aimed broadcast. And impatient of the delay, small groups straggled into the grove to wait, Stumpy’s party first, their leader striving fiercely to quiet their noise. Dolores reappeared soon, dressed in her altar robe, and her flashing eyes told her quickly that John Pearse wavered between staying with his chosen party and going in search of his companions. She caught his eye, and smiled brightly at him, beckoning him to her.

  He went up to the altar slowly, his face dark and sullen. She waited for him, ignoring the mutterings of the pirates, and as he approached her she gave him her hand.

  “My friend, it pleases me to see thee among my faithful ones. Hast made thy decision?”

  “Decision! False woman, the decision was made while yet I was with you. The decision was yours, not mine.”

  “False? Why, good John, what does that mean?” she asked, frank surprise on her face.

  “Have you not taken Venner for your man? Is he not your chosen mate, at the price of my life and Tomlin’s?”

  “Fool!” she cried, fiercely. “Thy dreams have mixed thy brains. What nonsense is this? I told thee thou wert my man, at a price. But thy decision! Time is short. Say quickly what thou wilt do.”

  “Prove to me that I have heard that which is untrue, and I give you my answer at the hour you demanded it—at noon.”

  “If thou remain here, the proof shall be shown thee,” she replied, dark with passion. Not yet had she quite seen through the cunning of Pascherette. And a growing tumult beyond the trees warned her of greater stress at hand, she had no more time to spare in argument with Pearse. She waved him back, and with fire in her eyes commanded Stumpy to take his men to one side.

  “Stand there! Thy rascals will not dare to flout me!”

  “We don’t want to, lady,” growled Stumpy, sullenly. He motioned his men to follow, and took up a position at the right of the altar. But he glared fearlessly at Dolores as he went, and added: “Ye have none more faithful than Stumpy, if thy heart is still with us and for us. But things begin to look plaguey rough, Dolores, since ye spared the white schooner and her owner.”

  Swiftly Dolores stepped down and glided to Stumpy’s side, his men drawing back involuntarily, not in sufficient numbers to be able to cast off their old awe of her.

  “Thy ear, good Stumpy,” she whispered. “Art for thy fellow pirates, or for me? Speak quickly.”

  “I’m for you, lady,” he replied, shifting awkwardly on his mutilated foot. “For you, but not if what we heard is true.”

  “I tell thee it was false. Now art for me?” She bent upon him a smile of dazzling beauty, soft-eyed and almost tender, and the pirate’s face grew ashamed; he knelt at her feet in humble obeisance, and the girl laid her hand on his head, and bade him rise.

  “Then remain faithful, Stumpy, and thou and thy men shall share in my fortunes. Look well to the stranger there. Keep him with thee. I hear the vultures coming.”

  She returned to the altar, took her place behind the swirling smoke, and stood motionless, awaiting the arrival of the crowd whose noisy progress could be traced step by step. And presently they broke into the grove, unawed and uproarious, Caliban leading. Still the parties kept apart. Hanglip and Spotted Dog ranged themselves on either side of Caliban’s gang, and every eye glared redly at the statuesque figure at the altar.

  “Answer! Give us yer answer!” cried Caliban.

  “Hear, my people!” Dolores cried, raising her arms for silence. “My answer is this. Among ye is a traitor. That traitor has spread lies among ye. Ye are my people, and none other. Did I not save the white ship for ye? What if I preserved her people. They are here, and here they shall remain. Had I thought to desert ye, could I not have gone in the night? Who should say no? Am I not queen of ye all? Then why this childish talk of leaving ye?”

  Dolores was carefully fighting for time; she wished to dissect the feeling of the crowd before her, and while she spoke her irrelevant nothings, her keen eyes roved over every face. And Spotted Dog drew and held her gaze as no other did; his face was awork with savage unbelief, his loose lips wreathed and curled in his impatience to speak. At last his fury could not be longer restrained; he sprang to the front, and howled:

  “Lies, all lies! Thy chit of a maid—”

  The words were choked in his throat with terrible suddenness. Like something unearthly, reaching from the unknown, the hand of death gripped Spotted Dog and he stumbled and fell forward, gnashing his teeth and clawing futilely at his breast. Dolores did not move. Her expression did not change. Milo had again proved faithful.

  But others of Spotted Dog’s band, the greatest malcontents, stood forward and peered down at their fallen leader; then with a shout of rage they leaped up, faced the altar, and urged their fellows on.

  “More infernal witchcraft!” they cried. “Tear the black witch and her altar down!”

  A moment of frightful silence followed, for the speakers felt the same mysterious hand that had reached for and grasped their leader. One by one they dropped in their tracks, smitten none knew how or whence; and even Pearse, with Stumpy’s band, shivered at the terrible uncanniness of it. Then Caliban shook off his terror, sensed human agency in the silent death, and looked around for the hand that sped it. As he glared, a dart entered his own breast; but this one, ill-sped, failed in its mission. The pirate staggered, his eyes widened, then he seized the protruding dart. For an instant he hesitated; then taking the direction indicated by the slanting missile, he flung an arm toward Stumpy’s crew and howled:

  “There’s the dog! There’s the sudden death! Tear ’em up, bullies! Pull Stumpy down!”

  In an instant the grove seethed with a terrific conflict, in which Stumpy’s party was set upon by three times the number. And John Pearse was carried into the thick of the fight; unwilling or not, his skilled rapier began to take toll of the roaring furies about him. And while the battle raged, and Dolores stood calmly looking on, one of the pirates whose duties had kept him at the anchorage of the schooner appeared with a rush upon the scene and shouted:

  “Lads, ye’re being fooled! The slaves are even now taking the treasure down to the schooner!”

  CHAPTER XIX.

  WHILE VICTORY HANGS IN THE BALANCE.

  The cry rang through the Grove like a trumpet call, and the fight wa
s stayed instantly. Every eye flashed upon the bringer of the news, and behind him stood Pascherette, partly hidden by the trees, her small, eager face peering from behind a trunk. And as she took in the scene, a great terror stole into her eyes and her lips opened in a gasp.

  The octoroon had played her great coup. She had carried a lie to the pirate, hoping that his telling of the treasure to his fellows would precipitate such an assault upon Dolores that nothing could survive it. Now she saw the attack already launched without her connivance; she saw the pirate, dead, and saw Stumpy and one of the strangers stoutly defending the queen.

  As she stared, at a loss, Caliban staggered out in front again, clutching at his wound, and screamed:

  “Satan seize ye if that witch escapes ye now! Tear her down! Tear her down! Then none can keep the treasure from ye.”

  His last word ended in a sob. From the hidden giant another dart was sped truer, and Caliban pitched headlong on the steps of the altar. And Pascherette, terrified now that they would leave their work incomplete, swarm after the false treasure report, and thus leave her at the mercy of the enraged Dolores, frantically sought for Milo among the press. She knew nothing of his secret duty with the blow-pipe: seeing nothing of him among the defenders, she surmised he was inside on other duty bent. In desperation she placed all upon a single hazard, and, running out into the Grove she screamed:

  “The man lies! It is a lie, to make ye forego thy vengeance. There is no treasure taken away. Make thy work complete!”

  A medley of conflicting cries arose as the pirates again separated into three parties. Hanglip’s crew, with those of the fallen Caliban, detached themselves from the rest and from two sides threatened the altar, where Dolores stood like a statue, glaring at her maid with deadly fury. Hanglip himself seemed irresolute in the face of the maid’s denial; he stood with cutlas raised, not yet sure whether to attack or first see to the treasure story. The decision was made for him; for the pirate bringing the news, seized Pascherette in a fierce grip, and with knife at her breast shouted:

  “This little snake told me the loot was going, lads! Get the job over, as I do this!”

  Pascherette squirmed in the pirate’s grasp, but all her cunning now could not avail her. The knife flashed downward, and she fell to her knees, her tiny golden hands pressed to her side, blood trickling through her fingers. And her face froze in a mask of horror when from behind Dolores stepped Milo, armed with a great broad-ax, and bent his deep black eyes full upon her with terrible accusation in them.

  The giant saw the coming storm, and knew the futility of trying to stem it with his blow-pipe. He emerged, armed with his ax, at the moment when the pirates, answering their mate’s cry with a shout, surged up the altar steps with blood in their eyes.

  Dolores now shook off her seeming unconcern, and with alert vision took in the tremendous crisis. Stumpy’s band, with Pearse at their leader’s side, had been driven back in the first attack to the rock itself; and now stood with their backs to it grimly waiting for the second onset. They had fought hitherto for her; she saw to it that they did not change their allegiance. Leaping up to the ledge behind the altar, she cried:

  “Stumpy! Thou’rt my man. Bring thy fellows up here; one man may hold a score here. Milo! Make way for my faithful ones!”

  With Stumpy on the ledge, and his score of men, the battle became dead for the moment. Few of the pirates had firearms, except on forays, and then their ammunition was doled out to them. By this means they had ever been kept in subjection; and now the plan was to prove their undoing;for they could not reach their prey, whose cutlas points presented an insurmountable barrier to their storming the rock. And with John Pearse up there among the defenders, Tomlin and Venner found themselves wondering just what their own position was. They, unblinded by the rage of the pirates, saw the futility of storming that rocky wall with steel, and in the momentary hush and indecision they withdrew from the mob and stood apart, thinking over what was to come.

  To Dolores, the hesitation of her foes was something she could not brook, for her great hope now was to set her rascals at each other’s throats to their ultimate annihilation. She whispered into Milo’s ear.

  “Get thy blow-pipe again. Send a dart into Hanglip’s black throat, and let every man see how ’tis done.”

  The giant obeyed. The slender, six-inch dart sped fair to its mark, and Hanglip dropped. But as he fell his eyes saw, as did his men, whence had come the mysterious death that had already taken heavy toll among them. And Dolores saw her plan work to amazing effect; for Hanglip, with his last wheezing breath, raised himself on his elbow, and barked:

  “Now ye see the magic! ’Tis but a man’s breath. Up, lads, and take pay for me!”

  The assault started in grim, silent fury. In waves the attackers mounted the altar; men gave comrades backs, flung them upward, only to catch them again as they recoiled from the steel of the defense like broken seas at a rock base.

  But as the fight advanced, and stricken men were piled high on the great altar, attacking steel reached higher and began to reap results. Stumpy’s men, now fully persuaded of their queen’s regard for them, fought like paladins, roaring out their rough sea-cries as they cut and stabbed with increasing gusto. Even Pearse fell under the spell of fierce action; his rapier played among the heavier strokes of cutlas and broad-knife like summer lightning. And did a hardy pirate gain the ledge in spite of all, there stood Milo, like a bronze Fate, with deadly ax poised to turn success into death. Yet Stumpy’s little band grew less; and Dolores, standing over all like an Angel of Doom, saw that something must be done speedily unless she was to be left with too great a number of survivors from this lucky conflict.

  “Make a swift assault, Stumpy. Milo, swing that great ax of thine for only five minutes,” she said. Then when the fight raged higher yet, she drew Pearse by the arm into the secret entrance.

  “Here, friend, are muskets and pistols. Load them while I pass them out. We shall see how hungry for our blood these wolves are.”

  She showed him the store of arms, in a small cave next to the powder store, and musket powder and bullets were also there. As he loaded the weapons, she passed them out in armfuls, then gave Stumpy a flask of powder for priming, and told him to hold out until Milo could bring up other resources as yet unknown.

  “And,” she said, leading Stumpy inside for a moment, “here you see a powder-train. There, on the floor. Now hear me, my faithful one, should thy foes still beat thee back, bring all thy men along this passage, but before ye come, touch a fire to this train. I shall await thee at the end, Stumpy, and together we shall see these dogs destroyed.”

  She called Milo, gave him a command, and then took Pearse with her into the great chamber. Here she answered his questioning glance with a soft smile, and seated him in the great chair.

  “Thy sword has done nobly, good John,” she said, laying her hand on his head. “The peril is over now. Rest. In a little while Milo will have that which will fill these hungry dogs to the gullet. Rest here. I’ll soon be with thee.” She leaned down, laid her lips lightly on his face, and whispered: “And be of good cheer; the end is in sight for thee and me.”

  She left him sitting there, wrapped in his confused thoughts. Then she flew to help Milo with his new engine of war which was to decide the day. From a corner of the apartment the giant dragged a brass culverin, mounted on a swivel, stolen from the poop-rail of some tall Indiaman in years gone by. This was charged with powder, and Milo searched for effective missiles for it. He brought a handful of musket balls to Dolores; she shook her head decidedly after a moment’s thought and objected: “Those round pellets are too merciful for such cattle. What do they want? Treasure! Give them treasure, good Milo—their fill of it.” As she spoke she ran swiftly into the treasure chamber and seized handfuls of gold chains, while at her command Milo followed her with great gold coins in his huge hands. These they rammed into the cannon, until links of gold fell from the muzzle; then Dolores regarded
the terrible thing with a mirthless laugh and bade Milo get to work with it.

  “Bid thy men fall back into the gallery as if beaten,” she said. “And when the vile bodies of those howling wolves fill the opening, deliver the treasure to them, and may their souls be shattered with their bodies! And that none may remain to repeat this day’s mischief, when they break and fly loose, Stumpy and his dogs shall harry them and pursue them into the depths of the forest. Let the maroons finish what we so well begin. See thy gun does not harm the— Wait,” she cried, “hold thy artillery until ye see me across the Grove! I shall give thee a sign, then loose thy hell-blast.”

  Leaving Milo, she ran again through the great chamber and out by the rock door, which was rolled aside and standing open. Then around the mass of the mountain and skirting the grove, past the prostrate Pascherette she sped, casting a glance of bitter hate at the sorely wounded octoroon, but never halting until she reached a point of the underbrush immediately behind the spot where Venner and Tomlin still ranged back and forth uneasily watching the fight.

  She rustled the foliage noisily, and the two men swung around in alarm. She thrust her head through the leafy screen, and showed them her face full of tender solicitude. Her great dark eyes were very soft; her scarlet lips were parted in a rosy smile. Venner glared at her, then flashed a glance of reawakening distrust at Tomlin, who returned it tenfold.

  “Peace, good friends,” she said, softly, laying a finger on her lips and nodding toward the raging battle. “Come with me. Both of ye. The day goes badly with me, and I would undo much that I have done toward ye. Come quickly, and with caution.”

  A momentary distrust for her made them hesitate; then she whispered intensely: “Haste. This is your opportunity.”

  Venner first shook off his moodiness and followed her into the brush; and Tomlin was close behind him. When she had them in covert, she stepped out once more, waited to catch Milo’s eye at the ledge, then gave him the sign. And the defenders fell back as if suddenly broken and beaten. She waited still, until the attackers swarmed over their own dead, stamping over her altar, and gained the entrance, where they crowded in a milling, roaring mass. Then she glided back to the underbrush and said tersely: