The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales

by Robert E. Howard

  “Surely a strange place in which to anchor, Lieutenant,” said Fairfax at last, breaking the silence, his hand shading his eyes. “Bark rigged, and very heavily sparred. Seems to be all right. What do you make of the vessel?”

  The Spaniard twisted his moustache, but exhibited little interest, although his gaze was upon the craft.

  “Decidedly Dutch I should say,” he answered slowly, “to judge from the shape of her lines, and the size of her spars. The beggars seem quite at home there, with all their washing out. Not a usual anchorage?”

  “No, nor a particularly safe one. There are some very heavy seas off that point at times, and there is no plantation near by. Travers’ place is beyond the bend. We’ll put up with him tonight; he owns that land yonder, but his wharf is several miles up the coast. Damn me, Sanchez, I believe I’ll hail the fellow, and find out what he is doing in there.”

  Sanchez nodded, carelessly striking flint and steel in an effort to relight a cheroot, and Fairfax turned his head toward me.

  “Oh, is that you, Carlyle? Where is Sam?”

  “Gone forward, sir, half an hour ago. He decided I was safe.”

  The planter laughed, with a side glance toward Sanchez, who gave no sign that he overhead.

  “No doubt he was right. Port your helm a little, and run down as close as seems safe to that fellow out yonder, until I hail him.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  We came about slowly, tossed a bit by the heavy swell, the ponderous boom swinging, and permitting the loosened canvas to flap against the ropes, until the sloop finally steadied onto the new tack. The distance to be covered was not great, and in less than ten minutes, we were drawing in toward the high stern of the anchored vessel. She was larger than I had thought, a lumping craft for those days, bark rigged, with lower spars the heaviest I had ever seen. No evidence of life appeared on board, although everything looked shipshape alow and aloft, and a rather extensive wash flapped in the wind forward, bespeaking a generous crew. There was no flag at the mizzen to signify nationality, yet there was a peculiar touch to the rig which confirmed in my mind the truth of Sanchez’s guess that she was originally Dutch. A moment later this supposition was confirmed as my eyes made out the name painted across the stern—NAMUR OF ROTTERDAM.

  Fairfax leaned far out across the rail, as we swept in closer, his eyes searching the stranger’s side for some evidence of human presence aboard, but the Spaniard exhibited no particular interest in the proceedings, standing motionless, the smoke of the cheroot blown idly from his mouth. The fellow’s face was turned from me, yet I could not help note the insolence of his attitude, in spite of my occupation at the wheel. A hundred feet distant, I held the dancing sloop to mere steerage-way, while Fairfax hailed in a voice which went roaring across the water like a gun.

  “Ahoy, the bark!”

  A red-faced man with a black beard thrust his head up above the after rail, and answered, using English, yet with a faint accent which was not Dutch. What he looked like below the shoulders could not be discerned.

  “Veil, vat’s vanted? Vos anyding wrong?”

  “No, not aboard here,” returned Fairfax, a bit puzzled at the reply, “We ran down to see if you were in any trouble. This is a strange place to anchor. What are you—Dutch?”

  The fellow waved his hands in a gesture indicating disgust. “Dat’s eet. Ve’re out ov Rotterdam—you see ze name ov ze sheep. But ve not sail frum thar dis time—no. Ve cum here from ze Barbadoes,” he explained brokenly “wiz cane-sugar, an’ hides. Ve vait here for our agent.”

  “But why anchor in a place like this? Why not go on up to the wharfs?”

  “Vye not? For ziz—I no trust my crew ashore. Zay Vest Indy blacks, an’ vud run avay ven ze chance cum. I know vat zay do.”

  In spite of my efforts the two vessels were drifting rapidly apart, and this last explanation came to us over the water in a faint thread of sound barely discernible. I asked if I should tack back, but Fairfax shook his head, and in a moment more we were beyond reach of the voice. Dorothy appeared at the door of the cabin and stood there, gazing in surprise at the bark, while the moment he caught sight of her Sanchez went hastily forward, removing his hat with so peculiar a flourish as he approached as to cause me to notice the gesture. Fairfax remained beside the rail, staring out across the widening water, clearly dissatisfied, but finally waved his hand in a command to me to resume our course. Shortly after he crossed the deck to the wheel, and stood there beside me, still watchful of the dwindling vessel already far astern.

  “What do you make of her, Carlyle?” he asked finally, turning slightly to glance at my face. “I believe that fellow lied.”

  “So do I, sir,” I answered promptly. “Whatever else he may be, he’s no peaceful Dutch trader. The bark is Dutch built all right, and no doubt once sailed out of Rotterdam; but that fellow got his accent from South Europe.”

  “Damn me, that’s just what I thought.”

  “Nor is that all, sir. If he was loaded with cane-sugar and hides for market, he wouldn’t be nearly so high out of water. That bark was in ballast, or I miss my guess. Besides, if he was a trader, where was his crew? There wasn’t a single head popped over the rail while we were alongside; and that isn’t natural. Even a West Indian has curiosity. I tell you the men on board that hooker had orders to keep down.”

  Fairfax stroked his chin, his eyes shifting from the distant vessel to Dorothy and Sanchez who were now making their way slowly aft, the latter grasping the girl’s arm, and smirking as he talked rapidly.

  “By God! but I believe you are right,” he admitted frankly, “although it had not occurred to me before. There is something wrong there. I’ll tell Travers, and have him send a runner overland to give warning below.”

  CHAPTER VI

  FAIRFAX SPEAKS WITH ME

  Sanchez drew a chair into the slight shade cast by the mainsail, and induced his reluctant companion to sit down. He remained bending over her, with his back turned toward us chattering away, although she only answered in monosyllables, seldom glancing up into his face. With hands gripping the spokes of the wheel, and my attention concentrated on the course ahead, I could yet notice how closely Fairfax was observing the two, with no pleasant expression in his eyes, and, forgetful that I was merely a servant, I ventured a question.

  “You have known Senor Sanchez for some time, sir?”

  He started in surprise, yet answered as though the unexpected query had been merely an echo of his own thoughts.

  “No,” he admitted frankly. “Indeed I hardly know how it happened that I invited him to join our party. It seemed natural enough then, but lately I confess to having taken a dislike to the fellow, and have begun to imagine that he even pushed his way on me. But,” he stopped, suddenly realizing what he was saying, “why do you ask?”

  I was not wholly prepared to say, yet as instantly comprehended the prompt necessity of advancing some reasonable explanation. There came to me swiftly, from the sharpness of his question, the paralyzing knowledge that I was a servant addressing my master.

  “Of course it is no business of mine,” I confessed, rather lamely, “who your guests are. I’m sorry I spoke.”

  “It is altogether too late to say that,” he insisted. “Some thought prompted the inquiry. Go on. See here, Carlyle, you are no black or white thief. I know the difference, and recognize that you are gentleman born. Because I’ve bought your services for a term of years, is no reason why you cannot talk to me like a man. Do you know anything about this Spaniard?”

  “Not very much, sir. He has seen fit to threaten me, on account of some row he has had with a brother of mine in England.”

  “In England! The Duke of Bucclough?”

  “Yes. I haven’t the slightest knowledge of what it was all about, but evidently our Spanish friend got the worst of it. He planned to buy me in at the sale; but, fortunately for me, you gained possession ahead of him.”

  “Do you mean to say that he told
you all this?”

  “It came out in a moment of anger.”

  Fairfax looked at me incredulously.

  “See here, Carlyle,” he exclaimed bluntly, “I am not questioning your word, but it is a bit difficult for me to understand why a guest of mine should indulge in angry controversy with a government prisoner, sent overseas for sale as an indentured servant. There must have been some unusual cause. Haven’t I a right to know what that cause was, without using my authority to compel an answer?”

  I hesitated, but only for a moment. He undoubtedly was entitled to know, and besides there was nothing involved I needed to conceal.

  “It is my impression, sir, that Mistress Dorothy was the unconscious cause. She chanced to discover me alone on deck the night before we landed, and hastened to tell me of your purchase. It was merely an act of kindness, as we had never spoken together before. We were still talking across the rope, when Sanchez came out of the cabin, and joined us. I imagine he may not have liked the interest both you and the young lady had shown in me since we came aboard. Anyway when he found us there, he was not in good humor. Mistress Dorothy resented his language, treated him coldly, and finally departed, leaving him decidedly angry. He merely vented his spite on me.”

  “But he said nothing about himself—his motives?”

  “Not a word, sir; yet it is plain to be seen that he is deeply interested in your niece.”

  Fairfax frowned, ignoring the remark.

  “But do you know the man—who he is?”

  I shook my head, the memory of Haley flashing into my mind, but as instantly dismissed as worthless. Fairfax would only laugh at such a vague suspicion. Yet why should the planter ask me such a question? Could it be that the Spaniard was equally unknown to himself?

  “But if he has quarreled with your brother,” he insisted, unsatisfied “you perhaps know something?”

  “I have not seen my brother in years. I doubt if I would know him if we met face to face. As to this man, my knowledge of him is only what little I have seen and heard on board the Romping Betsy,” I answered soberly. “I confess a prejudice; that I am unable to judge him fairly. In the first place I do not like his race, nor his kind; but I did suppose, of course, that, as he was your guest, you considered him a man worthy your hospitality.”

  Fairfax’s face reddened, and he must have felt the sting of these words, uttered as they were by the lips of his bondman. I thought he would turn abruptly away, leaving them unanswered, but he was too much of a gentleman.

  “Carlyle,” he said brusquely, “you have touched the exact point—I do not know. I thought I did, of course, but what has occurred on the voyage over has led me to doubt. I met Sanchez at the Colonial Club in London. He was introduced to me by Lord Sandhurst as a wealthy young Spaniard, traveling for pleasure. It was understood that he brought letters of introduction to a number of high personages. He knew London well, enjoyed a wide circle of acquaintances, and we became rather intimate. I found him companionable and deeply interested in America, which he said he had never visited. Finally I invited him to accompany me as a guest on my return.”

  “He accepted?”

  “No, not at once; he doubted if he could break off certain business engagements in England. Then, at a reception, he chanced to meet my niece, and, a little later, decided to undertake the voyage. I am inclined to believe she was the determining factor.”

  “Very likely,” I admitted, deciding now to learn all possible details. “However, that is not to be wondered at. Mistress Dorothy is an exceedingly attractive young woman.”

  The look he gave me was far from pleasant.

  “But she is not a girl for any swash-buckling Spaniard to carry off as prize,” he burst out hotly. “God’s mercy! Her father would never forgive me if that happened.”

  “Never fear,” I said dryly, “it is not going to happen.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I have seen them together, and am not entirely blind, Watch them now—she scarcely responds to his words.”

  His eyes rested for a moment on the two, but he only shook his head moodily.

  “No one knows what is in the heart of a woman, Carlyle. Sanchez is fairly young, handsome in a way, and adventurous. Just the sort to attract a young girl, and he possesses an easy tongue. More than that, I have lost faith in him. He is not a gentleman.”

  “You surely must have reason for those words, sir,” I exclaimed in surprise. “He has revealed to you his true nature during the voyage?”

  “Unconsciously—yes. We have had no exchange of words, no controversy. He is even unaware that I have observed these things. Some were of very small moment, perhaps unworthy of being repeated, although they served to increase my doubt as to the man’s character. But two instances remain indelibly stamped on my mind. The first occurred when we were only three days at sea. It was at night, and the two of us chanced to be alone, on deck. I was reclining in the shadow of the flag locker, in no mood for conversation, and he was unaware of my presence as he tramped nervously back and forth. Suddenly he stopped, and reached over into the quarter-boat, and when he stood up again he had the Captain’s pet cat in his hands. Before I dreamed of such a thing he had hurled that helpless creature into the water astern.”

  “Good God! an act of wanton cruelty.”

  “The deliberate deed of a fiend; of one who seeks pleasure in suffering.”

  “And the other incident? Was that of the same nature?”

  “It was not an incident, but a revelation. The fellow is not only, beneath his pretense of gentleness, a fiend at heart, but he is also a consummate liar. He led me to believe in London—indeed he told me so directly—that he was totally unacquainted with America. It is not true. He knows this entire coast even better than I do. He forgot himself twice in conversation with me, and he was incautious enough to speak freely with Captain Harnes. The Captain told me later.”

  “This begins to sound serious, sir,” I said, as he ceased speaking. “Do you suspect him of any particular purpose in this deceit?”

  “Not at present; I can only wait, and learn. As a Spanish naval officer he may have obtained some knowledge of this coast—but why he should have deliberately denied the possession of such information is unexplainable at present. I shall watch him closely, and have told you these facts merely to put you on guard. I know you to be a gentleman, Carlyle, even though you are temporarily a servant, and I feel convinced I can trust in your discretion.”

  “You certainly can, sir. I appreciate your confidence in me.”

  “Then keep your eyes and ears open; that’s all. Dorothy is calling, and yonder comes Sam.”

  We had yet a full hour of daylight, during which little occurred of special interest. Sam took the wheel, while I ate supper, sitting with Carr on the deck behind the galley. Fairfax and his guests, were served at a table within the small cabin, and we had a glimpse of them, and their surroundings, the table prettily decorated with snowy linen, and burnished silver, while John, in a white jacket, waited upon them obsequiously, lingering behind his master’s chair. The Lieutenant seemed in excellent humor, laughing often, and talking incessantly, although it occurred to me the man received scant encouragement from the others. After taking back to the galley my emptied pewter dish, and not being recalled aft to the wheel, I was glad to hang idly over the rail, watching the shore line slip past, and permit my thoughts to drift back to my conversation with Fairfax. Carr soon joined me, rather anxious to continue our talk, and ask questions, but not finding me particularly responsive, finally departed forward, leaving me alone.

  The sun by this time was rapidly sinking below the fringe of tall trees on the main-land, but the fresh breeze held favorably, and the little Adele was making most excellent progress, the water being much smoother since we had rounded the point. We were already beyond view of the anchored bark. All about was a scene of loneliness, whether the searching eyes sought the near-by shore, apparently a stretch of uninhabited
wilderness, densely forested, or the broad extent of the Bay, across which no white gleam of sail was visible. All alike was deserted, and becoming gloomy in the closing down of night. Dorothy remained hidden in the cabin, until about the time of our approach to the rude landing at Travers’ plantation. Whether this isolation arose from an effort to make herself more presentable, or a desire to avoid further contact with the Spaniard, was a question. When she finally emerged at Roger Fairfax’s call, and crossed the deck to where the men were, there was no alteration in her dress, but by that time I was busily engaged with Carr in reefing the mainsail, and she passed me by without so much as a glance of recognition. Meanwhile Fairfax and Sanchez paced restlessly back and forth, conversing earnestly as they smoked, only occasionally pausing to contemplate the shore past which we were gliding in silence, the only sound the ripple of water at our stem.

  Where I leaned alone against the rail, my eyes followed the Spaniard in doubt and questioning, nor could I entirely banish from mind Haley’s description of that buccaneer, bearing a similar name, under whom he had been compelled to serve through scenes of crime. Yet, in spite of my unconscious desire to connect these two together, I found it simply impossible to associate this rather soft-spoken, effeminate dandy with that bloody villain, many of whose deeds were so familiar to me. The distinction was too apparent. Beyond all doubt this fellow concealed beneath his smiles a nature entirely different from the one he now so carefully exhibited. He could hate fiercely, and nourish revenge, and he was capable of mean, cowardly cruelty. His threat toward me, as well as that strange incident Fairfax had observed on the deck of the Romping Betsy, evidenced all this clearly, yet such things rather proved the man a revengeful coward instead of a desperate adventurer. Black Sanchez, according to all accounts, was a devil incarnate, and no such popinjay as this maker of love, could ever be changed into a terror of the sea. He was not of that stern stuff. That it was perfectly easy for him to lie—even natural—was no surprise to me. This seemed to accord with his other characteristics; nor was it altogether strange that he should be fairly familiar with these waters. If, as he claimed, he had once been connected with the Spanish navy, which quite likely was true, even if he had never visited this coast in person, he might have had access to their charts and maps. It was well known that early Spanish navigators had explored every inch of this coast line, and that their tracings, hastily as they had been made, were the most correct in existence. His memory of these might yet retain sufficient details through which he could pretend to a knowledge much greater than he really possessed.