CHAPTER XXVII
A GIRL WHO LAUGHED
It was towards nightfall of the day on which Dickory had escaped fromthe pirates at the spring that he found himself on a piece of highground in an open place in the forest, and here he determined to spendthe night. With his dirk he cut a quantity of palmetto leaves and madehimself a very comfortable bed, on which he was soon asleep, fearing nopirates.
In the morning he rose early from his green couch, ate the few biscuitswhich were left in his pockets, and, putting on his shoes and stockings,started forth upon, what might have been supposed to be, an aimlesstramp.
But it was not aimless. Dickory had a most wholesome dread of thatindomitable apostle of cruelty and wickedness, the pirate Blackbeard. Hebelieved that it would be quite possible for that savage being to tie uphis beard in tails, to blacken his face with powder, to hang morepistols from his belt and around his neck, and swear that the Revengeshould never leave her anchorage until her first lieutenant had beencaptured and brought back to her. So he had an aim, and that was to getaway as far as possible from the spot where he had landed on the island.
He did not believe that his pursuers, if there were any upon his track,could have travelled in the night, for it had been pitchy black; and, ashe now had a good start of them, he thought he might go so far that theywould give up the search. Then he hoped to be able to keep himself aliveuntil he was reasonably sure that the Revenge had hoisted anchor andsailed away, when it was his purpose to make his way back to the springand wait for some other vessel which would take him away.
With his shoes on he travelled more easily, although not so swiftly, andafter an hour of very rough walking he heard a sound which made him stopinstantly and listen. At first he thought it might be the wind in thetrees, but soon his practised ear told him that it was the sound of thesurf upon the beach. Without the slightest hesitation, he made his wayas quickly as possible towards the sound of the sea.
In less than half an hour he found himself upon a stretch of sand whichextended from the forest to the sea, and upon which the waves werethrowing themselves in long, crested lines. With a cry of joy he ran outupon the beach, and with outstretched arms he welcomed the sea as if ithad been an old and well-tried friend.
But Dickory's gratitude and joy had nothing to found itself upon. Thesea might far better have been his enemy than his friend, for if he hadthought about it, the sandy beach would have been the road by which aportion of the pirate's men would have marched to cut off his flight, orthey would have accomplished the same end in boats.
But Dickory thought of no enemy and his heart was cheered. He pressed onalong the beach. The walking was so much better now that he made goodprogress, and the sun had not reached its zenith when he found himselfon the shore of a small stream which came down from some higher land inthe interior and here poured itself into the sea. He walked somedistance by this stream, in order to get some water which might be freefrom brackishness, and then, with very little trouble, he crossed it.Before him was a knoll of moderate height, and covered with low foliage.Mounting this, he found that he had an extended view over the interiorof the island. In the background there stretched a wide savanna, and atthe distance of about half a mile he saw, very near a little cluster oftrees, a thin column of smoke. His eyes rounded and he stared andstared. He now perceived, from behind the leaves, the end of a thatchedroof.
"People!" Dickory exclaimed, and his heart beat fast with joy. Why hisheart should be joyful he could not have told himself except that therewas no earthly reason to believe that the persons who were making thatfire near that thatched-roof house were pirates. To go to this house,whatever it might be, to take his chances there instead of remainingalone in the wide forest, was our young man's instant determination. Butbefore he started there was something else he thought of. He took offhis coat, and with a bunch of leaves he brushed it. Then he arranged theplumes of his hat and brushed some mud from them, gave himself a generalshake, and was ready to make a start. All this by a fugitive pursued bysavage pirates on a desert island! But Dickory was a young man, and hewore the uniform of a naval officer.
After a brisk walk, which was somewhat longer than he had supposed itwould be, Dickory reached the house behind the trees. At a shortdistance burned the fire whose smoke he had seen. Over the fire hung aniron pot. Oh, blessed pot! A gentle breeze blew from the fire towardsDickory, and from the heavenly odour which was borne upon it he knewthat something good to eat was cooking in that pot.
A man came quickly from behind the house. He was tall, with a beard alittle gray, and his scanty attire was of the most nondescript fashion.With amazement upon his face, he spoke to Dickory in English.
"What, sir," he cried, "has a man-of-war touched at this island?"
Dickory could not help smiling, for the man's countenance told him howhe had been utterly astounded, and even stupefied, by the sight of agentleman in naval uniform in the interior of that island, an almostdesert region.
"No man-of-war has touched here," said Dickory, "and I don't belong toone. I wear these clothes because I am compelled to do so, having noothers. Yesterday afternoon I escaped from some pirates who stopped forwater, and since leaving them I have made my way to this spot."
The man stepped forth quickly and stretched out his hand.
"Bless you! Bless you!" he cried. "You are the first human being, otherthan my family, that I have seen for two years."
A little girl now came from behind the house, and when her eyes fellupon Dickory and his cocked hat she screamed with terror and ranindoors. A woman appeared at the door, evidently the man's wife. She hada pleasant face, but her clothes riveted Dickory's attention. It wouldbe impossible to describe them even if one were gazing upon them. Itwill be enough to say that they covered her. Her amazement more thanequalled that of her husband; she stood and stared, but could not speak.
"From the spring at the end of the island," cried the man, "to thishouse since yesterday afternoon! I have always supposed that no onecould get here from the spring by land. I call that way impassable. Youare safe here, sir, I am sure. Pirates would not follow very far throughthose forests and morasses; they would be afraid they would never getback to their ship. But I will find out for certain if you have reason,sir, to fear pursuit by boat or otherwise."
And then, stepping around to the other end of the house, he called,"Lucilla!"
"You are hungry, sir," said the woman; "presently you shall share ourmeal, which is almost cooked."
Now the man returned.
"This is not a time for questions, sir," he said, "either from you orfrom us. You must eat and you must rest, then we can talk. We shall notany of us apologize for our appearance, and you will not expect it whenyou have heard our story. But I can assure you, sir, that we do not looknearly so strange to you as you appear to us. Never before, sir, did Isee in this climate, and on shore, a man attired in such fashion."
Dickory smiled. "I will tell you the tale of it," he said, "when we haveeaten; I admit that I am famished."
The man was now called away, and when he returned he said to Dickory:"Fear nothing, sir; your ship is no longer at the anchorage by thespring. She has sailed away, wisely concluding, I suppose, that pursuitof you would be folly, and even madness."
The dinner was an exceedingly plain one, spread upon a rude table undera tree. The little girl, who had overcome her fear of "the soldier" asshe considered him, made one of the party.
During the meal Dickory briefly told his story, confining it to a merestatement of his escape from the pirates.
"Blackbeard!" exclaimed the man. "Truly you did well to get away fromhim, no matter into what forests you plunged or upon what desert islandyou lost yourself. At any moment he might have turned upon you and cutyou to pieces to amuse himself. I have heard the most horrible storiesof Blackbeard."
"He treated me very well," said Dickory, "but I know from his own wordsthat he reserved me for a most horrible fate."
"What!" exclaimed th
e man, "and he told you? He is indeed a demon!"
"Yes," said Dickory, "he said over and over again that he was going totake me to England to marry me to his daughter."
At this the wife could not refrain from a smile. "Matrimony is notgenerally considered a horrible fate," said she; "perhaps his daughtermay be a most comely and estimable young person. Girls do not alwaysresemble their fathers."
"Do not mention it," exclaimed Dickory, with a shudder; "that was onereason that I ran away; I preferred any danger from man or beast to thathe was taking me to."
"He is engaged to be married," thought the woman; "it is easy enough tosee that."
"Now tell me your story, I pray you," said Dickory. "But first, I wouldlike very much to know how you found out that Blackbeard's ship was notat her anchorage?"
"That's a simple thing," said the man. "Of course you did not observe,for you could not, that from its eastern point where lies the spring,this island stretches in a long curve to the south, reaching northwardagain about this spot. Consequently, there is a little bay to the eastof us, across which we can see the anchoring ground of such ships as maystop here for water. Your way around the land curve of the island was along one, but the distance straight across the bay is but a few miles.Upon a hill not far from here there is a very tall tree, which overtopsall the other trees, and to the upper branches of this tree my daughter,who is a great climber, frequently ascends with a small glass, and isthus able to report if there is a vessel at the anchorage."
"What!" exclaimed Dickory, "that little girl?"
"Oh, no!" said the man; "it is my other daughter, who is a grown youngwoman."
"She is not here now," said the mother. And this piece of unnecessaryinformation was given in tones which might indicate that the young ladyhad stepped around to visit a neighbour.
"It is important," said the man, "that I should know if vessels haveanchored here, for if they be merchantmen I sometimes do business withthem."
"Business!" said Dickory. "That sounds extremely odd. Pray tell me howyou came to be here."
"My name is Mander," said the other, "and about two years ago I was onmy way from England to Barbadoes, where, with my wife and two girls, Iexpected to settle. We were captured by a pirate ship and marooned uponthis island. I will say, to the pirate captain's credit, that he was agood sort of man considering his profession. He sailed across the bay onpurpose to find a suitable place to land us, and he left with us somenecessary articles, such as axes and tools, kitchen utensils, and a gunwith some ammunition. Then he sailed away, leaving us here, and here wehave since lived. Under the circumstances, we have no right to complain,for had we been taken by an ordinary pirate it is likely that our boneswould now be lying at the bottom of the ocean.
"Here I have worked hard and have made myself a home, such as it is.There are wild cattle upon the distant savannas, and I trap game andbirds, cultivate the soil to a certain extent, and if we had clothes Imight say we would be in better circumstances than many a respectablefamily in England. Sometimes when a merchantman anchors here and I havehides or anything else which we can barter for things we need, I rowover the bay in a canoe which I have made, and have thus very muchbettered our condition. But in no case have I been able to provide myfamily with suitable clothes."
"Why did you not get some of these merchant ships to carry you away?"asked Dickory.
The man shook his head. "There is no place," he said sadly, "to which Ican in reason ask a ship to carry me and my family. We have no money, noproperty whatever. In any other place I would be far poorer than I amhere. My children are not uneducated; my wife and I have done our bestfor them in that respect, and we have some books with us. So, as yousee, it would be rash in me to leave a home which, rude as it is,shelters and supports my family, to go as paupers and strangers to someother land."
The wife heaved a sigh. "But poor Lucilla!" she said. "It is dreadfulthat she should be forced to grow up here."
"Lucilla?" asked Dickory.
"Yes, sir," she said, "my eldest daughter. But she is not here now."
Dickory thought that it was somewhat odd that he should be againinformed of a fact which he knew very well, but he made no remarks uponthe subject.
Still wearing his cocked hat--for he had nothing else with which toshield his head from the sun--and with his uniform coat on, for he hadnot yet an opportunity of ripping from it the letter he carried, andthis he would not part from--Dickory roamed about the little settlement.Mander was an industrious and thrifty man. His garden, his buildings,and his surroundings showed that.
Walking past a clump of low bushes, Dickory was startled by a laugh--ahearty laugh--the laugh of a girl. Looking quickly around, he saw,peering above the tops of the bushes, the face of the girl who hadlaughed.
"It is too funny!" she said, as his eyes fell upon her. "I never sawanything so funny in all my life. A man in regimentals in this weatherand upon a desert island. You look as if you had marched faster thanyour army, and that you had lost it in the forest."
Dickory smiled. "You ought not to laugh at me," he said, "for theseclothes are really a great misfortune. If I could change them forsomething cool I should be more than delighted."
"You might take off your heavy coat," said she; "you need not be onparade here. And instead of that awful hat, I can make you one of longgrass. Do you see the one I have on? Isn't that a good hat? I have onenearly finished which I am making for my father; you may have that."
Dickory would most gladly have taken off his coat if, withoutobservation, he could have transferred his sacred letter to some otherpart of his clothes, but he must wait for that. He accepted instantly,however, the offer of the hat.
"You seem to know all about me," he said; "did you hear me tell mystory?"
"Every word of it," said she, "and it is the queerest story I everheard. Think of a pirate carrying a man away to marry him to hisdaughter!"
"But why don't you come from behind that bush and talk to me?"
"I can't do it," said she, "I am dressed funnier than you are. Now I amgoing to make your hat." And in an instant she had departed.
Dickory now strolled on, and when he returned he seated himself in theshade near the house. The letter of Captain Vince was taken from hiscoat-lining and secured in one of his breeches pockets; his heavy coatand waistcoat lay upon the ground beside him, with the cocked hat placedupon them. As he leaned back against the tree and inhaled the fragrantbreeze which came to him from the forest, Dickory was a more cheerfulyoung man than he had been for many, many days. He thought of thishimself, and wondered how a man, carrying with him his sentence oflifelong misery, could lean against a tree and take pleasure inanything, be it a hospitable welcome, a sense of freedom from danger, afragrant breeze, or the face of a pretty girl behind a bush. But thesethings did please him; he could not help it. And when presently cameMrs. Mander, bringing him a light grass hat fresh from themanufacturer's hands, he took it and put it on with more evidentpleasure than the occasion seemed to demand.
"Your daughter is truly an artist," said Dickory.
"She does many things well," said the mother, "because necessity compelsher and all of us to learn to work in various ways."
"Can I not thank her?" said Dickory.
"No," the mother answered, "she is not here now."
Dickory had begun to hate that self-evident statement.
"She's looking out for ships; her pride is a little touched that shemissed Blackbeard's vessel yesterday."
"Perhaps," said Dickory, with a movement as if he would like to make astep in the direction of some tall tree upon a hill.
"No," said Mrs. Mander, "I cannot ask you to join my daughter. I amcompelled to state that her dress is not a suitable one in which toappear before a stranger."
"Excuse me," said Dickory; "and I beg, madam, that you will convey toher my thanks for making me such an excellent hat."
A little later Mander joined Dickory. "I am sorry, sir," said he, "thatI am not able to pre
sent you to my daughter Lucilla. It is a great griefto us that her attire compels her to deny herself other company thanthat of her family. I really believe, sir, that it is Lucilla'sdeprivations on this island which form at present my principaldiscontent with my situation. But we all enjoy good health, we haveenough to eat, and shelter over us, and should not complain."
As soon as he was at liberty to do so, Dickory walked by the hedge oflow bushes, and there, above it, was the bright face, with the prettygrass hat.
"I was waiting for you," said she. "I wanted to see how that hat fitted,and I think it does nicely. And I wanted to tell you that I have beenlooking out for ships, but have not seen one. I don't mean by that thatI want you to go away almost as soon as you have come, but of course, ifa merchant ship should anchor here, it would be dreadful for you not toknow."
"I am not sure," said Dickory gallantly, "that I am in a hurry for aship. It is truly very pleasant here."
"What makes it pleasant?" said the girl.
Dickory hesitated for a moment. "The breeze from the forest," said he.
She laughed. "It is charming," she said, "but there are so many placeswhere there is just as good a breeze, or perhaps better. How I wouldlike to go to some one of them! To me this island is lonely and doleful.Every time I look over the sea for a ship I hope that one will come thatcan carry us away."
"Then," said Dickory, "I wish a ship would come to-morrow and take usall away together."
She shook her head. "As my father told you," said she, "we have no placeto go to."
Dickory thought a good deal about the sad condition of the family ofthis worthy marooner. He thought of it even after he had stretchedhimself for the night upon the bed of palmetto leaves beneath the treeagainst which he had leaned when he wondered how he could be so cheerfulunder the shadow of the sad fate which was before him.
Kate Bonnet: The Romance of a Pirate's Daughter Page 27