The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales

by Robert E. Howard

  “I think he is,” was the reply. “Yes, there he is, over there. Here, Dickinson! you’re wanted.”

  “Ay, ay,” answered Dickinson. “Who wants me?”

  “I do,” answered Bob. “Mr Ralli says you’re to shift over at once.”

  This was simply a form of words which had been agreed on when Dickinson paid his midnight visit to the cottage, and meant that the moment for action had arrived, and that a muster was to be made at the landing-place.

  The sudden summons took Dickinson rather by surprise, though he had been schooling himself to expect it at any moment; he instantly recovered himself, however, and rising to his feet with a well-assumed air of reluctance asked:

  “Does he mean that we are to go now—tonight?”

  “He said ‘at once,’” answered Bob.

  “Oh! very well,” growled Dickinson, “I s’pose we must obey orders. Here you—Tom Poole, Sullivan, Masters”—and he glanced his eye round the room, apparently hesitating whom to choose, but gradually picking out, one after the other, all the men who had cast in their lot with our friends—“muster your kits and then go up to the capstan-house; you’ve got to turn-in aboard the battery tonight, my beauties.”

  The men named, taking their cue from Dickinson, and acting up to instructions already received, assumed a sulky unwilling demeanour as they set about the work of packing a small quantity of already carefully selected clothes in their bags, growling and grumbling at having to turn out just when they were thinking of tumbling into their hammocks, and so on, but using the utmost expedition all the same.

  In a little over ten minutes from the time of their first being called, the men, sixteen in number, stood in the large loft of the capstan-house. Poole had brought with him the key of the arm-chest, and, opening the case, he rapidly served out to every man a cutlass with its belt and a pair of six-chambered revolvers, every one of which he had himself fully loaded only the day before, in preparation for such an emergency as the present. The chest was then relocked and left, it being too heavy for them to carry away with them, to say nothing of the suspicion which such an act would excite if witnessed, as it would almost certainly be. But Poole slipped the key back into his pocket again, knowing that the strength of the chest and the solidity of the lock were such as to involve the expenditure of a considerable amount of time in the breaking open; and every minute of detention suffered by the pirates would now be almost worth a man’s life to the escaping party.

  “Now, lads,” said Dickinson, “are yer all ready? Then march; down to the beach we goes, and seizes the two whale-boats, eight of us to each boat. But mind! there’s to be no getting into the boats or shoving off until the ladies and gentlemen from the hut’s all here. Mayhap we shall have to make a fight of it on the beach yet; so keep dry land under your feet until you has orders contrariwise.”

  The men descended the ladder leading from the capstan-house loft, and ranging themselves in a small compact body, two abreast, marched down to the landing-place, being joined on their way by some half-dozen curious idlers who had turned out to see what was in the wind. Dickinson was most anxious to get rid of these unwelcome attendants, and did all he could think of to persuade them to return to the house; but though quite unsuspicious as yet, they were not to be persuaded; they preferred rather to march alongside the other party, keeping up a constant fire of such jests and witticisms as sailors are wont to indulge in.

  Bob, from a secluded and shadowy corner, watched this party as long as he could see them, and then began to look out for his own particular friends. He had not long to wait; barely five minutes afterwards he saw them also pass down on their way to the boats.

  He allowed these a sufficient time to reach the boats, and then set off at a brisk pace to the “Black Hole.” He soon reached it; and on his approach was promptly challenged by the two guards, who happened to be the same two truculent ruffians who were on guard when Dickinson tried to communicate with the prisoners.

  In reply to the challenge, Bob informed them that they were wanted by Ralli, immediately, at the cottage (that being the most distant building), and that he had orders to keep guard until their return.

  “What are we wanted for?” was the suspicious question.

  “Oh! I believe there’s some more people to be locked up here,” answered Bob nonchalantly.

  “All right!” answered the one who had asked the question. “Come on, Mike. And you—you young swab—mind you don’t let a soul come near here while we’re gone; if you do, Ralli’ll just skin yer. D’ye hear?”

  “All right!” answered Bob, placing his back against the door; “you go on; I won’t give Ralli a chance to skin me, never fear. He’s a good deal more likely to skin you if you don’t look sharp.”

  The two guards accordingly set out in the direction of the cottage; but they had not gone half a dozen steps before they returned, cursing and swearing most horribly.

  “Here, you young cub, what’s the pass-word? Damn me if I hadn’t forgotten that,” exclaimed one of them, making towards Bob with outstretched hand.

  “Stand back!” said Bob. “If you advance another step I’ll shoot you both like dogs.”

  “The pass-word; the pass-word,” demanded the ruffianly pair. “Give the pass-word at once, or by—I’ll split your skull with this cutlass.”

  Bob saw that he had not a moment to lose; that his life hung upon a thread; and that, moreover, if he allowed these fellows to overpower him, the whole scheme would probably fail; he therefore whipped out his pistols, and, taking rapid aim, pulled both triggers at the same instant. There was a single report; and one of the men staggered forward, shot through the body, whilst the other threw up his arms and fell back heavily to the ground with a bullet in his brain.

  Bob remembered for many a long day afterwards, and often saw in his dreams at night, the wild despairing glare in the eyes of the dying pirate as the flash of the pistol glanced upon the glazing eyeballs for an instant; but he had no time to think about such things now. Stooping down and applying his mouth to the keyhole he said, loud enough to be heard by those within:

  “Stand clear in there; I’m about to blow the lock to pieces. It is I—Robert. The time has come.”

  “Fire away, my lad!” was the reply. “You will not hurt us.”

  Bob applied the muzzles of both pistols to the lock, and pulled the triggers. Fortunately, the lock was not a particularly strong one; and a supplementary kick sent the door flying open.

  Captain Staunton and Lance at once emerged from their dark noisome prison and glanced eagerly around them.

  “Thank you, Robert,” hurriedly exclaimed the skipper. “There is no time to say more now, I know; so tell us what we are to do, my lad, and we’ll do it.”

  Bob pointed to the prostrate bodies of the two pirates and said:

  “Take their arms, and then we must make a rush to the landing; this firing is sure to have raised an alarm, but it could not be helped. But how is this! Where are your manacles!”

  “Slipped them off, my lad, the moment we heard your voice,” answered the skipper. “Price—fine fellow that he is—managed that for us by putting us in irons several sizes too large for us. Now, Evelin, are you ready! I fancy I hear footsteps running this way.”

  “All ready!” said Lance.

  “Then, off we go!” exclaimed Bob. “This way, gentlemen—sharp round to the right for a couple of hundred yards, and then straight for the landing. It will give us a better chance if the pirates suspect anything and place themselves to cut us off.”

  Away went the trio at racing-pace, Bob slightly taking the lead and striking sharply away to the right. It was well for them that they did so, as they were thus enabled to dodge a crowd of men who came excitedly running up from the landing on hearing the pistol-shots.

  The party from the cottage had safely reached the boats some few minutes before this; Dickinson having very cleverly got them through the crowd on the landing-place by calling out in an author
itative voice as soon as he saw them coming:

  “Now then, lads, make way there, make way for the prisoners to pass.”

  The men accordingly gave way, forming a lane in their midst through which our friends passed in fear and trembling, exposed for a minute or so to the coarsest ribaldry which the ruffianly band could summon to their lips on the spur of the moment. It was not until they had all been passed safely into the two whale-boats, and Dickinson’s little band had drawn themselves closely up with drawn cutlasses in a compact line between the boats and the shore, that the suspicions of the pirates became in the least aroused.

  Then there gradually arose an eager whispering among them; suspicious glances were turned first upon Dickinson’s party and then toward the buildings; and upon the noise of shots being heard they all set out at a run in the direction of the sound, fully persuaded that affairs had somehow fallen out of joint with them, and that it was quite time for them to be stirring.

  They had run about half the distance between the boats and the capstan-house when someone caught a glimpse of three flying figures indistinctly made out through the gloom. The alarm was instantly given, and in another moment the entire crowd had turned sharply off in pursuit.

  It now became a neck-and-neck race between the two parties as to which should reach the boats first. The pirates were poor runners, not being much accustomed to that kind of exercise; but so unfortunately were two out of the three fugitives of whom they were in chase. Bob was fleet as a deer for a short distance, but he was far too loyal to leave his two friends; and they, poor fellows, weak and cramped as they were with their recent confinement, already began to feel their limbs dragging heavy as lead over the ground. The pirates gained upon them rapidly.

  Presently one of the pursuers was so near that they could hear him panting heavily behind.

  “You keep steadily on,” murmured Bob, as he pushed in for a moment between his two companions; “I’ll stop this fellow.”

  Then, allowing the skipper to pass ahead of him, he sprang suddenly aside, and, grasping one of his pistols by the barrel, brought down the butt of the weapon heavily upon the pirate’s head as he rushed past. The fellow staggered a pace or two further and then fell heavily to the ground, where he lay face downwards and partially stunned until his comrades came to his assistance. As, fortunately, they all stopped and gathered round the man, raising him to his feet and eagerly questioning him, the diversion thus created gave the three fugitives time to reach the boats without further molestation.

  Here they were, of course, received with open arms; but before their greetings were half exchanged the armed guard had turned to the boats, and, exerting their whole strength, shot them out upon the glassy waters of the bay, springing in themselves at the same moment and taking to their oars without an instant’s delay.

  As soon as the boats’ heads were turned round and fairly pointed away from the shore and toward the shipyard, Dickinson, taking off his hat in salutation to Captain Staunton, said in a loud voice so that all in the boats could hear:

  “Now, sir, we’re fairly launched upon this here henterprise at last, and may luck go with us! We’ve all had to manage as best we could for the last few days—since you was locked up, you know, sir; but now as you’re free again we wants you to understand as we all looks upon you as our lawful leader and cap’n, and that from henceforth all you’ve got to do is to give your orders, and we’ll obey ’em.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY.

  A Night of Terror.

  Captain Staunton’s first act, after suitably acknowledging Dickinson’s expression of fealty, was to inquire how the crisis had been brought about. The explanation made his eyes flash fire; he ground his teeth and clenched his fists with rage as he thought of how he would have punished the ruffian who had laid such brutal hands upon his little pet. And when the explanation was complete, he wrung Bob’s hand until it fairly ached as he thanked him for what he had done. Meanwhile poor May still lay in her mother’s arms moaning with pain; and when the skipper took her on his knee the little creature once more screamed out, and complained that it hurt her shoulder. Upon this Lance, thinking that something must be wrong, made a careful examination of the child, when it was found that Ralli’s brutal violence had resulted in the dislocation of her shoulder. It was of course at once pulled back into place, but the poor little creature’s screams at the pain of the operation were terrible to hear; and Captain Staunton in the hastiness of his anger registered a solemn vow that if he ever again met Ralli he would make the wretch pay dearly for his brutality.

  How little he dreamed of the terrible circumstances under which he would next see this miserable man.

  The two whale-boats sped swiftly across the glassy surface of the bay, propelled by six stalwart oarsmen each, a little jet of phosphorescent water spouting up under their sharp stems, a long ripple spreading out and undulating away on either side of them, and half a dozen tiny whirlpools of liquid fire swirling in the wake of each as their crews strained at the stout ash oars until they bent again. The night had grown black as pitch, not a solitary star was visible, and the heat was so intense as to be almost insufferable; but the men thought nothing of this in their eagerness and zeal now that they had taken the decisive step of throwing up their old life of crime and had fairly enrolled themselves once more on the side of law and order.

  In a very short time the boats had made the passage across the bay and were brought with an easy graceful sweep alongside the landing at the shipyard. The occupants quickly disembarked; and while the ladies proceeded at once under the care and guidance of Rex and Bob to safe and comfortable quarters in the schooner’s spacious cabin, Captain Staunton gave orders that two large fires should be immediately lighted, one on each side of the landing, for the double purpose of affording them a light to work by and of enabling them to perceive the approach of their enemies.

  “For,” he remarked to Lance, “you may depend upon it that their suspicions are thoroughly aroused by this time, and it will not be long before they are after us to see what it all means.”

  A couple of huge heaps of shavings, chips, and ends of timber were speedily collected and ignited, the blaze soaring high in the motionless air and throwing a strong ruddy light for a considerable distance round.

  Then Lance, with Bowles, Dickinson, Poole, and three or four other reliable hands armed with torches, went carefully round the schooner, inspecting the cradle. It was unfinished; but Lance thought that a couple of hours more of energetic labour expended upon it would make it sufficiently secure to enable them to effect the launch. Time was now of immense value to them; they could not afford to be very particular, and so long as the cradle would serve its purpose that was all they cared about.

  They accordingly set to with a will, and very soon the yard resounded with the harsh rasping of saws and the heavy blows of mauls wedging the timbers into their places.

  In the meantime Captain Staunton with the rest of the party went on board the schooner, and, after fully arming themselves with cutlass and revolver, opened the magazine, passed a good supply of ammunition on deck, cast loose the guns, and carefully loaded them, cramming them almost to the muzzle with bullets, spike-nails, and anything else they could lay hold of. This done, the skipper, unwilling to leave the ship himself, called for a volunteer to go to the battery, spike the guns there, and lay a fuse in the magazine. Bob at once stepped forward, and, being accepted, provided himself forthwith with a hammer and a sufficient length of fuse, and set out upon his errand.

  He had scarcely disappeared in the gloom when Dale, who had volunteered to keep a look-out, gave warning of the approach of two boats—the launch and the pinnace—full of men.

  They were observed almost at the same moment by Lance, who hailed:

  “Schooner ahoy! Do you see the boats coming?”

  “Ay, ay,” answered Captain Staunton. “We see them, and we’ll give them a warm reception presently.”

  “Very well,” returned Lance;
“we shall stick to our work and leave you to do the fighting. If you require any assistance, give us a call.”

  “All right!” answered the skipper. Then turning to the men on the schooner’s deck, he shouted:

  “Run those two guns out of the stern-ports there, and train them so as to sweep the boats just before they reach the landing. So! that’s well. Now wait for the word, and when I give it, fire.”

  The boats, however, were meantime lying upon their oars, their crews apparently holding a consultation. The fire-light which revealed their approach revealed to them also the fact that the occupants of the shipyard were fully prepared to emphatically dispute any attempt on their part to land; and the sight brought vividly to their minds the aphorism that “discretion is the better part of valour.”

  At length, after some twenty minutes of inaction—during which the workers underneath the schooner’s bottom plied their tools with a skill and energy that was truly astounding—the two boats were once more put in motion, their crews directing their course toward the landing, each boat having a rude substitute for a white flag reared upon a boat-hook in the bow.

  The moment that they were near enough for their occupants to hear him Captain Staunton hailed them with an imperative order to keep off or he would fire into them.

  They at once laid upon their oars, and a man rising in the stern-sheets of the launch returned an answer, which was, however, quite unintelligible. Meanwhile the boats, still having way upon them, continued slowly to approach.

  “Back water!” shouted the skipper, seizing the trigger line of one of the guns, whilst Brook stood manfully at the other. “Back water, all of you, instantly, or we will fire.”

  The man in the stern-sheets of the launch waved his hand; the oars again flashed into the water, and both boats dashed at the landing-place.

  “Wait just a moment yet,” said the skipper, raising a warning hand to Brook and squinting along his gun at the same time. “Now, fire!”

  The report of the two brass nine-pounders rang sharply out at the same moment, making the schooner quiver to her keel, and severely testing the construction of her cradle. A crash was heard, then a frightful chorus of shrieks, yells, groans, and execrations; and as the smoke curled heavily away, both boats were seen with their planking rent and penetrated here and there, and their occupants tumbling over and over each other in their anxiety to get at the oars—many of which had been suffered to drop overboard—and withdraw as quickly as possible to a somewhat safer distance.