Captain Blood

by SABATINI, RAFAEL

  Therefore she lingered there in the garden, awaiting his return that she might make amends; that she might set a term to all misunderstanding. In impatience she awaited him. Yet her patience, it seemed, was to be tested further. For when at last he came, it was in company—unusually close and intimate company—with her uncle. In vexation she realized that explanations must be postponed. Could she have guessed the extent of that postponement, vexation would have been changed into despair.

  He passed, with his companion, from that fragrant garden into the courtyard of the fort. Here the Commandant, who had been instructed to hold himself in readiness with the necessary men against the need to effect the arrest of Captain Blood, was amazed by the curious spectacle of the Deputy-Governor of Jamaica strolling forth arm in arm and apparently on the friendliest terms with the intended prisoner. For as they went, Blood was chatting and laughing briskly.

  They passed out of the gates unchallenged, and so came to the mole where the cock-boat from the Arabella was waiting. They took their places side by side in the stern sheets, and were pulled away together, always very close and friendly, to the great red ship where Jeremy Pitt so anxiously awaited news.

  You conceive the master’s amazement to see the Deputy-Governor come toiling up the entrance ladder, with Blood following very close behind him.

  “Sure, I walked into a trap, as ye feared, Jeremy,” Blood hailed him. “But I walked out again, and fetched the trapper with me. He loves his life, does this fat rascal.”

  Colonel Bishop stood in the waist, his great face blenched to the color of clay, his mouth loose, almost afraid to look at the sturdy ruffians who lounged about the shot-rack on the main hatch.

  Blood shouted an order to the bo’sun, who was leaning against the forecastle bulkhead.

  “Throw me a rope with a running noose over the yardarm there, against the need of it. Now, don’t be alarming yourself, Colonel, darling. It’s no more than a provision against your being unreasonable, which I am sure ye’ll not be. We’ll talk the matter over whiles we are dining, for I trust ye’ll not refuse to honor my table by your company.”

  He led away the will-less, cowed bully to the great cabin. Benjamin, the negro steward, in white drawers and cotton shirt, made haste by his command to serve dinner.

  Colonel Bishop collapsed on the locker under the stern ports, and spoke now for the first time.

  “May I ask wha . . . what are your intentions?” he quavered.

  “Why, nothing sinister, Colonel. Although ye deserve nothing less than that same rope and yardarm, I assure you that it’s to be employed only as a last resource. Ye’ve said his lordship made a mistake when he handed me the commission which the Secretary of State did me the honor to design for me. I’m disposed to agree with you; so I’ll take to the sea again. Cras ingens iterabimus æquor. It’s the fine Latin scholar ye’ll be when I’ve done with ye. I’ll be getting back to Tortuga and my buccaneers, who at least are honest, decent fellows. So I’ve fetched ye aboard as a hostage.”

  “My God!” groaned the Deputy-Governor. “Ye . . . ye never mean that ye’ll carry me to Tortuga!”

  Blood laughed outright. “Oh, I’d never serve ye such a bad turn as that. No, no. All I want is that ye ensure my safe departure from Port Royal. And, if ye’re reasonable, I’ll not even trouble you to swim for it this time. Ye’ve given certain orders to your Harbor-Master, and others to the Commandant of your plaguey fort. Ye’ll be so good as to send for them both aboard here, and inform them in my presence that the Arabella is leaving this afternoon on the King’s service and is to pass out unmolested. And so as to make quite sure of their obedience, they shall go a little voyage with us, themselves. Here’s what you require. Now write—unless you prefer the yardarm.”

  Colonel Bishop heaved himself up in a pet. “You constrain me with violence . . .” he was beginning.

  Blood smoothly interrupted him.

  “Sure, now, I am not constraining you at all. I’m giving you a perfectly free choice between the pen and the rope. It’s a matter for yourself entirely.”

  Bishop glared at him; then shrugging heavily, he took up the pen and sat down at the table. In an unsteady hand he wrote that summons to his officers. Blood despatched it ashore; and then bade his unwilling guest to table.

  “I trust, Colonel, your appetite is as stout as usual.”

  The wretched Bishop took the seat to which he was commanded. As for eating, however, that was not easy to a man in his position; nor did Blood press him. The Captain, himself, fell to with a good appetite. But before he was midway through the meal came Hayton to inform him that Lord Julian Wade had just come aboard, and was asking to see him instantly.

  “I was expecting him,” said Blood. “Fetch him in.”

  Lord Julian came. He was very stern and dignified. His eyes took in the situation at a glance, as Captain Blood rose to greet him.

  “It’s mighty friendly of you to have joined us, my lord.”

  “Captain Blood,” said his lordship with asperity, “I find your humor a little forced. I don’t know what may be your intentions; but I wonder do you realize the risks you are running.”

  “And I wonder does your lordship realize the risk to yourself in following us aboard as I had counted that you would.”

  “What shall that mean, sir?”

  Blood signaled to Benjamin, who was standing behind Bishop.

  “Set a chair for his lordship. Hayton, send his lordship’s boat ashore. Tell them he’ll not be returning yet awhile.”

  “What’s that?” cried his lordship. “Blister me! D’ye mean to detain me? Are ye mad?”

  “Better wait, Hayton, in case his lordship should turn violent,” said Blood. “You, Benjamin, you heard the message. Deliver it.”

  “Will you tell me what you intend, sir?” demanded his lordship, quivering with anger.

  “Just to make myself and my lads here safe from Colonel Bishop’s gallows. I’ve said that I trusted to your gallantry not to leave him in the lurch, but to follow him hither, and there’s a note from his hand gone ashore to summon the Harbor-Master and the Commandant of the fort. Once they are aboard, I shall have all the hostages I need for our safety.”

  “You scoundrel!” said his lordship through his teeth.

  “Sure, now, that’s entirely a matter of the point of view,” said Blood. “Ordinarily it isn’t the kind of name I could suffer any man to apply to me. Still, considering that ye willingly did me a service once, and that ye’re likely unwillingly to do me another now, I’ll overlook your discourtesy, so I will.”

  His lordship laughed. “You fool,” he said. “Do you dream that I came aboard your pirate ship without taking my measures? I informed the Commandant of exactly how you had compelled Colonel Bishop to accompany you. Judge now whether he or the Harbor-Master will obey the summons, or whether you will be allowed to depart as you imagine.”

  Blood’s face became grave. “I’m sorry for that,” said he.

  “I thought you would be,” answered his lordship.

  “Oh, but not on my own account. It’s the Deputy-Governor there I’m sorry for. D’ye know what ye’ve done? Sure, now, ye’ve very likely hanged him.”

  “My God!” cried Bishop in a sudden increase of panic.

  “If they so much as put a shot across my bows, up goes their Deputy-Governor to the yardarm. Your only hope, Colonel, lies in the fact that I shall send them word of that intention. And so that you may mend as far as you can the harm you have done, it’s yourself shall bear them the message, my lord.”

  “I’ll see you damned before I do,” fumed his lordship.

  “Why, that’s unreasonable and unreasoning. But if ye insist, why, another messenger will do as well, and another hostage aboard—as I had originally intended—will make my hand the stronger.”

  Lord Julian stared at him, realizing exactly what he had refused.

  “You’ll think better of it now that ye understand?” quoth Blood.


  “Aye, in God’s name, go, my lord,” spluttered Bishop, “and make yourself obeyed. This damned pirate has me by the throat.”

  His lordship surveyed him with an eye that was not by any means admiring. “Why, if that is your wish . . .” he began. Then he shrugged, and turned again to Blood.

  “I suppose I can trust you that no harm will come to Colonel Bishop if you are allowed to sail?”

  “You have my word for it,” said Blood. “And also that I shall put him safely ashore again without delay.”

  Lord Julian bowed stiffly to the cowering Deputy-Governor. “You understand, sir, that I do as you desire,” he said coldly.

  “Aye, man, aye!” Bishop assented hastily.

  “Very well.” Lord Julian bowed again and took his departure. Blood escorted him to the entrance ladder at the foot of which still swung the Arabella’s own cock-boat.

  “It’s good-bye, my lord,” said Blood. “And there’s another thing.” He proffered a parchment that he had drawn from his pocket. “It’s the commission. Bishop was right when he said it was a mistake.”

  Lord Julian considered him, and considering him his expression softened.

  “I am sorry,” he said sincerely.

  “In other circumstances . . .” began Blood. “Oh, but there! Ye’ll understand. The boat’s waiting.”

  Yet with his foot on the first rung of the ladder, Lord Julian hesitated.

  “I still do not perceive—blister me if I do!—why you should not have found some one else to carry your message to the Commandant, and kept me aboard as an added hostage for his obedience to your wishes.”

  Blood’s vivid eyes looked into the other’s that were clear and honest, and he smiled, a little wistfully. A moment he seemed to hesitate. Then he explained himself quite fully.

  “Why shouldn’t I tell you? It’s the same reason that’s been urging me to pick a quarrel with you so that I might have the satisfaction of slipping a couple of feet of steel into your vitals. When I accepted your commission, I was moved to think it might redeem me in the eyes of Miss Bishop—for whose sake, as you may have guessed, I took it. But I have discovered that such a thing is beyond accomplishment. I should have known it for a sick man’s dream. I have discovered also that if she’s choosing you, as I believe she is, she’s choosing wisely between us, and that’s why I’ll not have your life risked by keeping you aboard whilst the message goes by another who might bungle it. And now perhaps ye’ll understand.”

  Lord Julian stared at him bewildered. His long, aristocratic face was very pale.

  “My God!” he said. “And you tell me this?”

  “I tell you because . . . Oh, plague on it!—so that ye may tell her; so that she may be made to realize that there’s something of the unfortunate gentleman left under the thief and pirate she accounts me, and that her own good is my supreme desire. Knowing that, she may . . . faith, she may remember me more kindly—if it’s only in her prayers. That’s all, my lord.”

  Lord Julian continued to look at the buccaneer in silence. In silence, at last, he held out his hand; and in silence Blood took it.

  “I wonder whether you are right,” said his lordship, “and whether you are not the better man.”

  “Where she is concerned see that you make sure that I am right. Good-bye to you.”

  Lord Julian wrung his hand in silence, went down the ladder, and was pulled ashore. From the distance he waved to Blood, who stood leaning on the bulwarks watching the receding cock-boat.

  The Arabella sailed within the hour, moving lazily before a sluggish breeze. The fort remained silent and there was no movement from the fleet to hinder her departure. Lord Julian had carried the message effectively, and had added to it his own personal commands.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  WAR

  Five miles out at sea from Port Royal, whence the details of the coast of Jamaica were losing their sharpness, the Arabella hove to, and the sloop she had been towing was warped alongside.

  Captain Blood escorted his compulsory guest to the head of the ladder. Colonel Bishop, who for two hours and more had been in a state of mortal anxiety, breathed freely at last; and as the tide of his fears receded, so that of his deep-rooted hate of this audacious buccaneer resumed its normal flow. But he practiced circumspection. If in his heart he vowed that once back in Port Royal there was no effort he would spare, no nerve he would not strain, to bring Peter Blood to final moorings in Execution Dock, at least he kept that vow strictly to himself.

  Peter Blood had no illusions. He was not, and never would be, the complete pirate. There was not another buccaneer in all the Caribbean who would have denied himself the pleasure of stringing Colonel Bishop from the yardarm, and by thus finally stifling the vindictive planter’s hatred have increased his own security. But Blood was not of these. Moreover, in the case of Colonel Bishop there was a particular reason for restraint. Because he was Arabella Bishop’s uncle, his life must remain sacred to Captain Blood.

  And so that Captain smiled into the sallow, bloated face and the little eyes that fixed him with a malevolence not to be dissembled.

  “A safe voyage home to you, Colonel, darling,” said he in valediction, and from his easy, smiling manner you would never have dreamt of the pain he carried in his breast. “It’s the second time ye’ve served me for a hostage. Ye’ll be well advised to avoid a third. I’m not lucky to you, Colonel, as you should be perceiving.”

  Jeremy Pitt, the master, lounging at Blood’s elbow, looked darkly upon the departure of the Deputy-Governor. Behind them a little mob of grim, stalwart, sun-tanned buccaneers were restrained from cracking Bishop like a flea only by their submission to the dominant will of their leader. They had learnt from Pitt while yet in Port Royal of their Captain’s danger, and whilst as ready as he to throw over the King’s service which had been thrust upon them, yet they resented the manner in which this had been rendered necessary, and they marveled now at Blood’s restraint where Bishop was concerned. The Deputy-Governor looked round and met the lowering hostile glances of those fierce eyes. Instinct warned him that his life at that moment was held precariously, that an injudicious word might precipitate an explosion of hatred from which no human power could save him. Therefore he said nothing. He inclined his head in silence to the Captain, and went blundering and stumbling in his haste down that ladder to the sloop and its waiting negro crew.

  They pushed off the craft from the red hull of the Arabella, bent to their sweeps, then, hoisting sail, headed back for Port Royal, intent upon reaching it before darkness should come down upon them. And Bishop, the great bulk of him huddled in the stern sheets, sat silent, his black brows knitted, his coarse lips pursed, malevolence and vindictiveness so whelming now his recent panic that he forgot his near escape of the yardarm and the running noose.

  On the mole at Port Royal, under the low, embattled wall of the fort, Major Mallard and Lord Julian waited to receive him, and it was with infinite relief that they assisted him from the sloop.

  Major Mallard was disposed to be apologetic.

  “Glad to see you safe, sir,” said he. “I’d have sunk Blood’s ship in spite of your excellency’s being aboard but for your own orders by Lord Julian, and his lordship’s assurance that he had Blood’s word for it that no harm should come to you so that no harm came to him. I’ll confess I thought it rash of his lordship to accept the word of a damned pirate . . .”

  “I have found it as good as another’s,” said his lordship, cropping the Major’s too eager eloquence. He spoke with an unusual degree of that frosty dignity he could assume upon occasion. The fact is that his lordship was in an exceedingly bad humor. Having written jubilantly home to the Secretary of State that his mission had succeeded, he was now faced with the necessity of writing again to confess that this success had been ephemeral. And because Major Mallard’s crisp mostachios were lifted by a sneer at the notion of a buccaneers’ word being acceptable, he added still more sharply: “My justification is here in
the person of Colonel Bishop safely returned. As against that, sir, your opinion does not weigh for very much. You should realize it.”

  “Oh, as your lordship says.” Major Mallard’s manner was tinged with irony. “To be sure, here is the Colonel safe and sound. And out yonder is Captain Blood, also safe and sound, to begin his piratical ravages all over again.”

  “I do not propose to discuss the reasons with you, Major Mallard.”

  “And, anyway, it’s not for long,” growled the Colonel, finding speech at last. “No, by . . .” He emphasized the assurance by an unprintable oath. “If I spend the last shilling of my fortune and the last ship of the Jamaica fleet, I’ll have that rascal in a hempen necktie before I rest. And I’ll not be long about it.” He had empurpled in his angry vehemence, and the veins of his forehead stood out like whipcord. Then he checked.

  “You did well to follow Lord Julian’s instructions,” he commended the Major. With that he turned from him, and took his lordship by the arm. “Come, my lord. We must take order about this, you and I.”

  They went off together, skirting the redoubt, and so through courtyard and garden to the house where Arabella waited anxiously. The sight of her uncle brought her infinite relief, not only on his own account, but on account also of Captain Blood.

  “You took a great risk, sir,” she gravely told Lord Julian after the ordinary greetings had been exchanged.

  But Lord Julian answered her as he had answered Major Mallard. “There was no risk, ma’am.”

  She looked at him in some astonishment. His long, aristocratic face wore a more melancholy, pensive air than usual. He answered the enquiry in her glance: