Captain Blood (Penguin Classics)

by Rafael Sabatini

  Cahusac had attempted yet again to protest against this.

  “The devil take you!” Levasseur had answered him. “A ship’s a ship, be she Dutch or Spanish, and ships are our present need. That will suffice for the men.”

  His lieutenant said no more. But from his glimpse of the letter, knowing that a girl and not a ship was his captain’s real objective, he gloomily shook his head as he rolled away on his bowed legs to give the necessary orders.

  Dawn found La Foudre close on the Dutchman’s heels, not a mile astern, and the sight of her very evidently flustered the Jongvrouw. No doubt mademoiselle’s brother recognizing Levasseur’s ship would be responsible for the Dutch uneasiness. They saw the Jongvrouw crowding canvas in a futile endeavor to outsail them, whereupon they stood off to starboard and raced on until they were in a position whence they could send a warning shot across her bow. The Jongvrouw veered, showed them her rudder, and opened fire with her stern chasers. The small shot went whistling through La Foudre’s shrouds with some slight damage to her canvas. Followed a brief running fight in the course of which the Dutchman let fly a broadside.

  Five minutes after that they were board and board, the Jongvrouw held tight in the clutches of La Foudre’s grapnels, and the buccaneers pouring noisily into her waist.

  The Dutchman’s master, purple in the face, stood forward to beard the pirate, followed closely by an elegant, pale-faced young gentleman in whom Levasseur recognized his brother-in-law elect.

  “Captain Levasseur, this is an outrage for which you shall be made to answer. What do you seek aboard my ship?”

  “At first I sought only that which belongs to me, something of which I am being robbed. But since you chose war and opened fire on me with some damage to my ship and loss of life to five of my men, why, war it is, and your ship a prize of war.”

  From the quarter rail Mademoiselle d’Ogeron looked down with glowing eyes in breathless wonder upon her well-beloved hero. Gloriously heroic he seemed as he stood towering there, masterful, audacious, beautiful. He saw her, and with a glad shout sprang towards her. The Dutch master got in his way with hands upheld to arrest his progress. Levasseur did not stay to argue with him: he was too impatient to reach his mistress. He swung the poleaxe that he carried, and the Dutchman went down in blood with a cloven skull. The eager lover stepped across the body and came on, his countenance joyously alight.

  But mademoiselle was shrinking now, in horror. She was a girl upon the threshold of glorious womanhood, of a fine height and nobly molded, with heavy coils of glossy black hair above and about a face that was of the color of old ivory. Her countenance was cast in lines of arrogance, stressed by the low lids of her full dark eyes.

  In a bound her well-beloved was beside her. Flinging away his bloody poleaxe, he opened wide his arms to enfold her. But she still shrank even within his embrace, which would not be denied; a look of dread had come to temper the normal arrogance of her almost perfect face.

  “Mine, mine at last, and in spite of all!” he cried exultantly, theatrically, truly heroic.

  But she, endeavoring to thrust him back, her hands against his breast, could only falter: “Why, why did you kill him?”

  He laughed, as a hero should; and answered her heroically, with the tolerance of a god for the mortal to whom he condescends: “He stood between us. Let his death be a symbol, a warning. Let all who would stand between us mark it and beware.”

  It was so splendidly terrific, the gesture of it was so broad and fine and his magnetism so compelling, that she cast her silly tremors and yielded herself freely, intoxicated, to his fond embrace. Thereafter he swung her to his shoulder, and stepping with ease beneath that burden, bore her in a sort of triumph, lustily cheered by his men, to the deck of his own ship. Her inconsiderate brother might have ruined that romantic scene but for the watchful Cahusac, who quietly tripped him up, and then trussed him like a fowl.

  Thereafter, what time the Captain languished in his lady’s smile within the cabin, Cahusac was dealing with the spoils of war. The Dutch crew was ordered into the longboat, and bidden go to the devil. Fortunately, as they numbered fewer than thirty, the longboat, though perilously overcrowded, could yet contain them. Next, Cahusac having inspected the cargo, put a quartermaster and a score of men aboard the Jongvrouw, and left her to follow La Foudre, which he now headed south for the Leeward Islands.

  Cahusac was disposed to be ill-humored. The risk they had run in taking the Dutch brig and doing violence to members of the family of the Governor of Tortuga, was out of all proportion to the value of their prize. He said so, sullenly, to Levasseur.

  “You’ll keep that opinion to yourself,” the Captain answered him. “Don’t think I am the man to thrust my neck into a noose, without knowing how I am going to take it out again. I shall send an offer of terms to the Governor of Tortuga that he will be forced to accept. Set a course for the Virgen Magra. We’ll go ashore, and settle things from there. And tell them to fetch that milksop Ogeron to the cabin.”

  Levasseur went back to the adoring lady.

  Thither, too, the lady’s brother was presently conducted. The Captain rose to receive him, bending his stalwart height to avoid striking the cabin roof with his head. Mademoiselle rose too.

  “Why this?” she asked Levasseur, pointing to her brother’s pinioned wrists—the remains of Cahusac’s precautions.

  “I deplore it,” said he. “I desire it to end. Let M. d’Ogeron give me his parole . . .”

  “I give you nothing,” flashed the white-faced youth, who did not lack for spirit.

  “You see.” Levasseur shrugged his deep regret, and mademoiselle turned protesting to her brother.

  “Henri, this is foolish! You are not behaving as my friend. You . . .”

  “Little fool,” her brother answered her—and the “little” was out of place; she was the taller of the twain. “Little fool, do you think I should be acting as your friend to make terms with this blackguard pirate?”

  “Steady, my young cockerel!” Levasseur laughed. But his laugh was not nice.

  “Don’t you perceive your wicked folly in the harm it has brought already? Lives have been lost—men have died—that this monster might overtake you. And don’t you yet realize where you stand—in the power of this beast, of this cur born in a kennel and bred in thieving and murder?”

  He might have said more but that Levasseur struck him across the mouth. Levasseur, you see, cared as little as another to hear the truth about himself.

  Mademoiselle suppressed a scream, as the youth staggered back under the blow. He came to rest against a bulkhead, and leaned there with bleeding lips. But his spirit was unquenched, and there was a ghastly smile on his white face as his eyes sought his sister’s.

  “You see,” he said simply. “He strikes a man whose hands are bound.”

  The simple words, and, more than the words, their tone of ineffable disdain, aroused the passion that never slumbered deeply in Levasseur.

  “And what should you do, puppy, if your hands were unbound?” He took his prisoner by the breast of his doublet and shook him. “Answer me! What should you do? Tchah! You empty windbag! You . . .” And then came a torrent of words unknown to mademoiselle, yet of whose foulness her intuitions made her conscious.

  With blanched cheeks she stood by the cabin table, and cried out to Levasseur to stop. To obey her, he opened the door, and flung her brother through it.

  “Put that rubbish under hatches until I call for it again,” he roared, and shut the door.

  Composing himself, he turned to the girl again with a deprecatory smile. But no smile answered him from her set face. She had seen her beloved hero’s nature in curl-papers, as it were, and she found the spectacle disgusting and terrifying. It recalled the brutal slaughter of the Dutch captain, and suddenly she realized that what her brother had just said of this man was no more than true. Fear growing to panic was written on her face, as she stood there leaning for support against the tabl
e.

  “Why, sweetheart, what is this?” Levasseur moved towards her. She recoiled before him. There was a smile on his face, a glitter in his eyes that fetched her heart into her throat.

  He caught her, as she reached the uttermost limits of the cabin, seized her in his long arms and pulled her to him.

  “No, no!” she panted.

  “Yes, yes,” he mocked her, and his mockery was the most terrible thing of all. He crushed her to him brutally, deliberately hurtful because she resisted, and kissed her whilst she writhed in his embrace. Then, his passion mounting, he grew angry and stripped off the last rag of hero’s mask that still may have hung upon his face. “Little fool, did you not hear your brother say that you are in my power? Remember it, and remember that of your own free will you came. I am not the man with whom a woman can play fast and loose. So get sense, my girl, and accept what you have invited.” He kissed her again, almost contemptuously, and flung her off. “No more scowls,” he said. “You’ll be sorry else.”

  Some one knocked. Cursing the interruption, Levasseur strode off to open. Cahusac stood before him. The Breton’s face was grave. He came to report that they had sprung a leak between wind and water, the consequence of damage sustained from one of the Dutchman’s shots. In alarm Levasseur went off with him. The leakage was not serious so long as the weather kept fine; but should a storm overtake them it might speedily become so. A man was slung overboard to make a partial stoppage with a sail-cloth, and the pumps were got to work.

  Ahead of them a low cloud showed on the horizon, which Cahusac pronounced one of the northernmost of the Virgin Islands.

  “We must run for shelter there, and careen her,” said Levasseur. “l do not trust this oppressive heat. A storm may catch us before we make land.”

  “A storm or something else,” said Cahusac grimly. “Have you noticed that?” He pointed away to starboard.

  Levasseur looked, and caught his breath. Two ships that at the distance seemed of considerable burden were heading towards them some five miles away.

  “If they follow us what is to happen?” demanded Cahusac.

  “We’ll fight whether we’re in case to do so or not,” swore Levasseur.

  “Counsels of despair.” Cahusac was contemptuous. To mark it he spat upon the deck. “This comes of going to sea with a lovesick madman. Now, keep your temper, Captain, for the hands will be at the end of theirs if we have trouble as a result of this Dutchman business.”

  For the remainder of that day Levasseur’s thoughts were of anything but love. He remained on deck, his eyes now upon the land, now upon those two slowly gaining ships. To run for the open could avail him nothing, and in his leaky condition would provide an additional danger. He must stand at bay and fight. And then, towards evening, when within three miles of shore and when he was about to give the order to strip for battle, he almost fainted from relief to hear a voice from the crow’s-nest above announce that the larger of the two ships was the Arabella. Her companion was presumably a prize.

  But the pessimism of Cahusac abated nothing.

  “That is but the lesser evil,” he growled. “What will Blood say about this Dutchman?”

  “Let him say what he pleases.” Levasseur laughed in the immensity of his relief.

  “And what about the children of the Governor of Tortuga?”

  “He must not know.”

  “He’ll come to know in the end.”

  “Aye, but by then, morbleu, the matter will be settled. I shall have made my peace with the Governor. I tell you I know the way to compel Ogeron to come to terms.”

  Presently the four vessels lay to off the northern coast of La Virgen Magra, a narrow little island arid and treeless, some twelve miles by three, uninhabited save by birds and turtles and unproductive of anything but salt, of which there were considerable ponds to the south.

  Levasseur put off in a boat accompanied by Cahusac and two other officers, and went to visit Captain Blood aboard the Arabella.

  “Our brief separation has been mighty profitable,” was Captain Blood’s greeting. “It’s a busy morning we’ve both had.” He was in high good-humor as he led the way to the great cabin for a rendering of accounts.

  The tall ship that accompanied the Arabella was a Spanish vessel of twenty-six guns, the Santiago from Puerto Rico with a hundred and twenty thousand weight of cacao, forty thousand pieces of eight, and the value of ten thousand more in jewels. A rich capture of which two fifths under the articles went to Levasseur and his crew. Of the money and jewels a division was made on the spot. The cacao it was agreed should be taken to Tortuga to be sold.

  Then it was the turn of Levasseur, and black grew the brow of Captain Blood as the Frenchman’s tale was unfolded. At the end he roundly expressed his disapproval. The Dutch were a friendly people whom it was a folly to alienate, particularly for so paltry a matter as these hides and tobacco, which at most would fetch a bare twenty thousand pieces.

  But Levasseur answered him, as he had answered Cahusac, that a ship was a ship, and it was ships they needed against their projected enterprise. Perhaps because things had gone well with him that day, Blood ended by shrugging the matter aside. Thereupon Levasseur proposed that the Arabella and her prize should return to Tortuga there to unload the cacao and enlist the further adventurers that could now be shipped. Levasseur meanwhile would effect certain necessary repairs, and then proceeding south, await his admiral at Saltatudos, an island conveniently situated—in the latitude of 11° 11’ N.—for their enterprise against Maracaybo.

  To Levasseur’s relief, Captain Blood not only agreed, but pronounced himself ready to set sail at once.

  No sooner had the Arabella departed than Levasseur brought his ships into the lagoon, and set his crew to work upon the erection of temporary quarters ashore for himself, his men, and his enforced guests during the careening and repairing of La Foudre.

  At sunset that evening the wind freshened; it grew to a gale, and from that to such a hurricane that Levasseur was thankful to find himself ashore and his ships in safe shelter. He wondered a little how it might be faring with Captain Blood out there at the mercy of that terrific storm; but he did not permit concern to trouble him unduly.

  CHAPTER XV

  THE RANSOM

  In the glory of the following morning, sparkling and clear after the storm, with an invigorating, briny tang in the air from the salt-ponds on the south of the island, a curious scene was played on the beach of the Virgen Magra, at the foot of a ridge of bleached dunes, beside the spread of sail from which Levasseur had improvised a tent.

  Enthroned upon an empty cask sat the French filibuster to transact important business: the business of making himself safe with the Governor of Tortuga.

  A guard of honor of a half-dozen officers hung about him; five of them were rude boucan-hunters, in stained jerkins and leather breeches; the sixth was Cahusac. Before him, guarded by two half-naked negroes, stood young d’Ogeron, in frilled shirt and satin small-clothes and fine shoes of Cordovan leather. He was stripped of doublet, and his hands were tied behind him. The young gentleman’s comely face was haggard. Near at hand, and also under guard, but unpinioned, mademoiselle his sister sat hunched upon a hillock of sand. She was very pale, and it was in vain that she sought to veil in a mask of arrogance the fears by which she was assailed.

  Levasseur addressed himself to M. d’Ogeron. He spoke at long length. In the end—

  “I trust, monsieur,” said he, with mock suavity, “that I have made myself quite clear. So that there may be no misunderstandings, I will recapitulate. Your ransom is fixed at twenty thousand pieces of eight, and you shall have liberty on parole to go to Tortuga to collect it. In fact, I shall provide the means to convey you thither, and you shall have a month in which to come and go. Meanwhile, your sister remains with me as a hostage. Your father should not consider such a sum excessive as the price of his son’s liberty and to provide a dowry for his daughter. Indeed, if anything, I am too modest, pa
rdi! M. d’Ogeron is reputed a wealthy man.”

  M. d’Ogeron the younger raised his head and looked the Captain boldly in the face.

  “I refuse—utterly and absolutely, do you understand? So do your worst, and be damned for a filthy pirate without decency and without honor.”

  “But what words!” laughed Levasseur. “What heat and what foolishness! You have not considered the alternative. When you do, you will not persist in your refusal. You will not do that in any case. We have spurs for the reluctant. And I warn you against giving me your parole under stress, and afterwards playing me false. I shall know how to find and punish you. Meanwhile, remember your sister’s honor is in pawn to me. Should you forget to return with the dowry, you will not consider it unreasonable that I forget to marry her.”

  Levasseur’s smiling eyes, intent upon the young man’s face, saw the horror that crept into his glance. M. d’Ogeron cast a wild glance at mademoiselle, and observed the gray despair that had almost stamped the beauty from her face.

  Disgust and fury swept across his countenance.

  Then he braced himself and answered resolutely:

  “No, you dog! A thousand times, no!”

  “You are foolish to persist.” Levasseur spoke without anger, with a coldly mocking regret. His fingers had been busy tying knots in a length of whipcord. He held it up. “You know this? It is a rosary of pain that has wrought the conversion of many a stubborn heretic. It is capable of screwing the eyes out of a man’s head by way of helping him to see reason. As you please.”

  He flung the length of knotted cord to one of the negroes, who in an instant made it fast about the prisoner’s brows. Then between cord and cranium the black inserted a short length of metal, round and slender as a pipe-stem. That done he rolled his eyes towards Levasseur, awaiting the Captain’s signal.