I drew a deep breath, and in the sudden impulse of relief which swept over me, my own fingers closed tightly about her hands.
“You tell me I am to accompany your party up the Chesapeake?”
“Yes.”
“I owe this to you; I am sure I must owe this to you—tell me?”
Her eyes drooped, and in the dim light I could mark the heaving of her bosom, as she caught her breath.
“Only—only the suggestion,” she managed to say in a whisper. “He—he was glad of that. You see I—I knew he needed someone to take charge of his sloop, and—and so I brought you to his mind. We—we both thought you would be just the one, and—and he went right away to see the Captain. So please don’t thank me.”
“I shall never cease to thank you,” I returned warmly, conscious suddenly that I was holding her hands, and as instantly releasing them. “Why, do you begin to understand what this actually means to me? It means the retention of manhood, of self-respect. It will save me the degradation which I dreaded most of all—the toiling in the fields beside negro slaves, and the sting of the lash. Ay, it means even more—”
I hesitated, instantly realizing that I must not utter those impetuous words leaping to my lips.
“More!” she exclaimed. “What more?”
“This,” I went on, my thought shifting into a new channel. “A longer servitude. Up to this moment my one dream has been to escape, but I must give that up now. You have placed me under obligations to serve.”
“You mean you feel personally bound?”
“Yes; not quite so much to your uncle, perhaps, as to yourself. But between us this has become a debt of honor.”
“But wait,” she said earnestly “for I had even thought of that. I was sure you would feel that way—any gentleman would. Still there is a way out. You were sentenced as an indentured servant.”
“I suppose so.”
“It is true; you were so entered on the books of this ship. Uncle Roger had to be sure of all this before he paid his money, and I saw the entry myself. It read: ‘Geoffry Carlyle, Master Mariner, indentured to the Colonies for the term of twenty years, unless sooner released; crime high treason.’ Surely you must know the meaning of those words?”
“Servitude for twenty years.”
“‘Unless sooner released.’”
“That means pardoned; there is no hope of that.”
“Perhaps not, but that is not all it means. Any indentured man, under our Maryland laws, can buy his freedom, after serving a certain proportion of his sentence. I think it is true in any of the Colonies. Did you not know that?”
I did know it, yet somehow had never connected the fact before directly with my own case. I had been sentenced to twenty years—twenty years of a living death—and that alone remained impressed on my mind. I could still see Black Jeffries sitting on the bench, glaring down at me in unconcealed anger, his eyes blazing with the fury of impotent hate, as he roared, that, by decree of the King, my sentence to be hung was commuted to twenty years of penal servitude beyond seas. It had never even seemed an act of mercy to me. But now it did, as the full truth suddenly came home, that I could buy my freedom. God! what a relief; I stood up straight once more in the stature of a man. I hardly know what wild words I might have spoken had the opportunity been mine; but at that instant the figure of a man crossed the deck toward us, emerging from the open cabin door. Against the gleam of yellow light I recognized the trim form advancing, and as instantly stepped back into shadow. My quick movement caused her to turn, and face him.
“What!” he exclaimed, and evidently surprised at his discovery. “It is indeed Mistress Dorothy—out here alone? ’Twas my thought you were safely in your cabin long since. But—prithee—I mistake; you are not alone.”
He paused, slightly irresolute, staring forward beyond her at my dimmer outline, quite uncertain who I might be, yet already suspicious.
“I was preparing to go in,” she answered, ignoring his latter words. “The night already looks stormy.”
“But your friend?”
The tone in which he spoke was insistent, almost insolent in its demand, and she hesitated no longer in meeting the challenge.
“Your pardon, I am sure—Lieutenant Sanchez, this gentleman is Captain Geoffry Carlyle.”
He stood there stiff and straight against the background of light, one hand in affected carelessness caressing the end of a waxed moustache. His face was in shadow, yet I was quite aware of the flash of his eyes.
“Ah, indeed—some passenger I have not chanced to observe before?”
“A prisoner,” she returned distinctly. “You may perhaps remember my uncle pointed him out to us when he first came aboard.”
“And you have been out here alone, talking with the fellow?”
“Certainly—why not?”
“Why, the man is a felon, convicted of crime, sentenced to deportation.”
“It is not necessary that we discuss this, sir,” she interposed, rather proudly, “as my personal conduct is not a matter for your criticism. I shall retire now. No; thank you, you need not come.”
He stopped still, staring blankly after her as she vanished; then wheeled about to vent his anger on me.
“Carlyle, hey!” he exclaimed sneeringly. “A familiar sound that name in my ears. One of the brood out of Bucclough?”
“A cadet of that line,” I managed to admit, wonderingly. “You know of them?”
“Quite as much as I care to,” his tone ugly and insulting. Then an idea suddenly occurred to his mind. “Saint Guise, but that would even up the score nicely. You are, as I understand it, sent to Virginia for sale?”
“Yes.”
“For how long a term?”
“The sentence was twenty years.”
“Hela! and you go to the highest bidder. I’ll do it, fellow! To actually own a Carlyle of Bucclough will be a sweet revenge.”
“You mean,” I asked, dimly grasping his purpose, “that you propose buying me when we reach shore?”
“Why not? A most excellent plan; and I owe it all to a brat I met in London. Egad! it will be some joke to tell when next I visit England. ’Twill count for more than were I to tweak the Duke’s nose.”
I stopped his laughter, smiling myself grimly in the darkness.
“A very noble plan for revenge,” I admitted, enjoying the swift check-mating of his game. “And one which I am not likely to forget. Unfortunately you come too late. It happens, Senor, that I am already safely indentured to Roger Fairfax.”
“To Fairfax? She told you that?”
“Who told me can make no difference. At least I am out of your hands.”
I turned away, but he called angrily after me:
“Do not feel so sure of that, Carlyle! I am in the game yet.”
I made no answer, already despising the fellow so thoroughly as to ignore his threat. He still stood there, a mere shadow, as I disappeared down the ladder, and I could imagine the expression on his face.
CHAPTER IV
THE SHORES OF VIRGINIA
I rested quietly in my berth for a long time, staring blankly up at the dark deck above, unable to sleep, and endeavoring to figure out the true meaning of all these occurrences. It began to rain, torrents sweeping the planks overhead, while vivid flashes of lightning illumined the open hatch, before it could be hastily closed, revealing the squalidness of the interior in which we were quartered. Then someone, growling and stumbling through the darkness, lit a slush lantern, dangling from a blackened beam, its faint flicker barely discernible. The hole became foul and sickening, men tossing and groaning in their uneasy sleep, or prowling about seeking some measure of comfort. There was no severe wind accompanying the storm, and the flurry of rain soon swept by, leaving an ugly swell behind, but enabling the guard to again uplift the hatches.
Immersed as I was in thought, all this left but small impress on me. I felt that I could understand the interest exhibited by Dorothy Fairfax, and, greatly
as I already admired her, I was not egotist enough to even imagine that her effort to serve me had basis in any personal attraction. My connection with Bucclough, coupled with her uncle’s report of my conviction, had very naturally aroused the girl’s sympathy in my behalf. She felt a desire to lighten my sorrows as much as possible, and, under the existing circumstances, had found it comparatively easy to persuade the good-natured planter to acquiesce in her suggestion. In all probability he really had need of my services, and was therefore glad enough of this opportunity to secure them. This part of the affair I could dismiss without giving anyone undue credit, although I deeply appreciated the kindness of heart which had led her to interpose, and which later led her to tell me so quickly what had occurred. Her purpose, however, was fairly clear.
But what about Lieutenant Sanchez? Why was this unknown Spaniard already so openly my enemy? There was no doubting his position, and there surely must be some reason for it outside of anything which had occurred on board the Romping Betsy. His words had given me some inkling of the cause—a past quarrel with the Duke of Bucclough, in England, in which he must have been worsted, and which had left in his mind a lurking desire for revenge. He dreamed of striking his enemy through me, because of relationship, a cowardly blow. Yet this, by itself alone, was scarcely a reason why he should have thus sought me out for a victim. No sane man would deliberately visit the sins of my brother on me. Nor had this been deliberate; it was the mere outburst of sudden passion, arising through my intercourse with the young woman. Otherwise it might never have occurred to him. So there was seemingly but one answer—Sanchez used this merely as an excuse for the concealment of his real object. What could that object be? Could it be Dorothy Fairfax? I was a long while in actually convincing myself of this probability, and yet no other satisfactory explanation offered itself. She had exhibited an interest in me from the very first, and he had endeavored to win her attention elsewhere. Even that day when we first came aboard in chains, he had plainly evinced this desire, and, since then, the girl had never appeared on deck, without his immediately seeking her company. I felt finally that I had the clue—jealousy, the mad, unreasoning jealousy of his race. He fiercely resented her slightest interest in anyone—even a prisoner—as against his own attractions. He was incapable of appreciating friendly sympathy, and already held me a dangerous rival. Then, possibly, it had not been a mere idle desire to visit the Colonies, which had originally led to his prompt acceptance of Roger Fairfax’s invitation to make one of their party; the real attraction was the charms of Dorothy—her girlish beauty, coupled, no doubt, with her father’s wealth. The fellow was in love, impetuously in love, resenting blindly the slightest advance of any other.
The thought rather pleased me, largely because of its absurdity. It was, in my case at least, so utterly false, and unjustifiable. To the ordinary mind, indeed, any such connection would be practically unthinkable. Even had I been wild enough to dream of such a thing, the gulf existing between myself and Dorothy Fairfax was far too deep and wide ever to be spanned. I had before me twenty years of servitude, and an unknown future; nor could I even conceive the possibility of any such thought ever entering her mind. The very opposite was what gave her courage to serve me. I had no false conception as to this; no vagrant thought that her interest in me was any more than a passing fancy, born of sympathy, and a desire to aid. Nevertheless, as she had thus already served me, I now owed her service in return, and here was the first call. If conditions made it possible it was my plain duty to place myself between these two. I felt no hatred toward the man, no desire to do him a personal injury; but I did dislike and distrust him. This feeling was instinctive, and without the slightest reference to his seeking intimacy with the girl. From the first moment I had looked upon his face there had been antagonism between us, a feeling of enmity. Whether this arose from his appearance, or actions, I could not determine—but the fellow was not my kind.
In the intensity of my feelings I must have unconsciously spoken aloud, for a shaggy head suddenly popped out from the berth beneath where I lay, and an interested voice asked solicitously:
“Hy, thar; whut’s up, mate? Sick agin?”
“No,” I answered, grinning rather guiltily, “just thinking, and letting loose a bit. Did I disturb you?”
“Well, I reckon I wa’n’t exactly asleep,” he acknowledged, without withdrawing his head. “Ye wus mutterin’ ’way thar an’ not disturbin’ me none, till ye got ter talkin’ ’bout sum feller called Sanchez. Then I sorter got a bit interested. I know’d thet cuss onct,” and he spat, as though to thus better express his feelings. “The damned ornary pirate.”
I laughed, my whole mental mood changed by this remark.
“It is not very likely we have the same party in mind, Haley. You see Sanchez is a decidedly common name among Spaniards. I’ve known two or three of that name myself. You were not referring to anyone on board, were you?”
“I sure hope not,” he scratched his head, staring up at me through the dim light, wakefulness encouraging him to talk. “They tell me ye are a sea-farin’ man. Well, I wus a Deal fisher, but hev made a half dozen deep-sea v’y’ges. Thet’s how I hed the damn luck ter meet up with this Sanchez I was a speakin’ ’bout. He’s the only one ever I know’d. I met up with him off the isle o’ Cuba. Likely ’nough ye know the devil I mean?”
The question served to center my memory suddenly on a dim remembrance of the past.
“No, unless you refer to ‘Black Sanchez.’ I’ve heard of him; were you ever in his hands?”
“Wus I!” he laughed grimly. “I hed eight months of it, mate, and a greater demon never sailed. The things I saw done ye’d never believe no human bein’ could do. If ever thar wus two people in one skin, sir, it’s thet Black Sanchez. When he’s playin’ off fer good he’s as soft an’ sweet as a dandy in Picadilly, an’ when he’s real he’s like a devil in hell.”
“Was you a prisoner—or did you sail under him?”
“Both, fer the matter o’ thet. He give me the choice ter serve, er walk the plank. I wus eighteen, an’ hed an ol’ mother at Deal.”
“I see; but later you got away?”
“Ay, I did thet,” chuckling over the recollection. “But I hed ter wait eight months fer the luck. Hev ye ever been sea-farin’ down in them waters, off the West Indies?”
“No.”
“Well, they’re all studded over with little islands—cays, they call ’em down thare; an’ it’s in among them thet the buccaneers hide away, an’ sorter rest up after a cruise. Thar’s a lot o’ ’em too; whole villages hid away on some o’ them cays, with women an’ children—every color ye ever saw. Sanchez he made his headquarters on a cay called Porto Grande. He hed three ships, an’ maybe a hundred an’ fifty men ’bout the time I got away. The last I saw o’ him wus at sea. He’d overhauled an English ship, an’ sunk her; an’ then the next mornin’ we took a Dutch bark in ballast. She wus such a trig sailor Sanchez decided to keep her afloat, an’ sent a prize crew aboard ter sail her inter Porto Grande. I wus one o’ the fellers picked fer thet job, an’ we wus told off under a black mate, named LaGrasse—he wus a French black from Martinique, and a big devil—an’ our orders wus ter meet Sanchez three days later. His vessel wus a three-masted schooner, the fastest thing ever I saw afloat, called the Vengeance, an’ by that time she wus chock up with loot. Still at that she could sail ’bout three feet to our one. Afore night come we wus out o’ sight astern. Thar wus eight o’ us in the crew, beside the black, an’ we had twelve Dutchmen under hatches below. I sorter looked ’round, an’ sized up four o’ that crew ter be good honest sailormen, who’d been shanghied same as I wus. So, long about midnight, I’d got ter talk with all these fellers, an’ when LaGrasse went down below ter take a snooze in the cabin, we hoisted them Dutchmen on deck, flung a couple o’ hell-hounds overboard, an’ just naturally took control. The mate wus a dead black afore he ever knew whut wus up. When daylight come we wus streakin’ it eastward by compass
, an’ every damn sail set. Thet wus the easiest part of it. Them Dutchmen could n’t talk nuthin’ but their own lingo; an’ thar wa’n’t a navigator aboard, fer Sanchez hed kept all the offercers with him, an’ the end wus about a week later, when we piled up against an island off the African coast, an’ only one boat load of us got ashore. Thet’s whut I know about Sanchez.”
“I had a shipmate once,” I observed, interested in his story, “who claimed to have seen the fellow; he described him as being a very large man, with intensely black hawklike eyes, and a heavy black beard almost hiding his face.”
Haley laughed.
“Maybe he looked like that when he saw him, but he ain’t no bigger man than I am; he won’t weigh as much by fifteen pound. Fact is he mighty seldom looks the same, fer thet’s part o’ his game. Them whiskers is false, an’ so is the saller look to his face. I’ve seen him in all sorts o’ disguises. It’s only his eyes he can’t hide, an’ thar’s been times when I thought they wus the ugliest eyes ever I saw. He’s sure an ornary devil, an’ when he gits mad, I’d rather be afront of a tiger. Besides fightin’s his trade, an’ no weaklin’ ain’t goin’ ter control the sort o’ chaps he’s got ter handle. Most of ’em would murder him in a minute if they dared. Oh, he’s bad all right, but yer wouldn’t exactly think so, just ter look at him, I’ve run up agin a lot o’ different men in my time, thet I’d naturally sheer off from a blame sight quicker than I would from him.”
“You mean that when he is not in disguise he does not appear dangerous. What then does he really look like?”
Haley spat again onto the deck, and scratched his shock of hair as though thus to stimulate his memory.
“Oh, a sorter swash-bucklin’ Spanish don—the kind whut likes ter dress up, an’ play the dandy. He’s got a pink an’ white complexion, the Castilian kind yer know, an’ wears a little moustache, waxed up at the ends. He’s about two inches taller than I am, with no extra flesh, but with a hell of a grip in his hands. As I said afore, if it wa’n’t fer his eyes nobody’d ever look at him twice. All his devilishness shows thar, an’ I’ve seen ’em laugh like he didn’t have a care on earth.”
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 190