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Black Bartlemy's Treasure

by Jeffery Farnol · English · Gutenberg #2424 · 658,901 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Black Bartlemy's Treasure

Author: Jeffery Farnol


        
Release date: December 1, 2000 [eBook #2424]
                Most recently updated: January 1, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2424

Credits: Produced by Mike Alder and Sue Asscher.  HTML version by Al Haines.


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACK BARTLEMY'S TREASURE ***




Produced by Mike Alder and Sue Asscher.  HTML version by Al Haines.









BLACK BARTLEMY'S TREASURE


BY

JEFFREY FARNOL



TO MY NEPHEWS

JAMES JEFFREY FARNOL

AND

RONALD EWART OAKESHOTT




CONTENTS

          PROLOGUE
       I  OF WHAT BEFELL ON PEMBURY HILL
      II  HOW I HEARD A SONG IN THE WOOD AT MIDNIGHT
     III  TELLS HOW I STOLE MY BREAKFAST
      IV  TELLETH HOW I MET ONE ADAM PENFEATHER
       V  HOW I CAME TO CONISBY SHENE
      VI  OF MY SHAMEFUL SUFFERINGS AND HOW I WAS DELIVERED THEREFROM
     VII  HOW I HEARD TELL OF BLACK BARTLEMY'S TREASURE
    VIII  HOW I FELL IN WITH ONE GOD-BE-HERE, A PEDDLER
      IX  HOW I HAD WORD WITH THE LADY JOAN BRANDON FOR THE THIRD TIME
       X  HOW I SWORE TO THE BLOOD-BROTHERHOOD
      XI  ADAM PENFEATHER, HIS NARRATIVE
     XII  TELLETH OF A FIGHT IN THE DARK
    XIII  WE SET OUT FOR DEPTFORD POOL
     XIV  HOW I CAME ABOARD THE "FAITHFUL FRIEND"
      XV  TELLETH OF A NAMELESS BLACK SHIP
     XVI  TELLS HOW WE WERE DOGGED BY THE BLACK SHIP
    XVII  TELLETH HOW AN EYE WATCHED ME FROM THE DARK
   XVIII  CONCERNING THE MARK OF A BLOODY HAND AND HOW I LAY IN THE
          BILBOES ON SUSPICION OF MURDER
     XIX  CONCERNING THE PRINCESS DAMARIS
      XX  HOW I CAME OUT OF MY BONDS AND OF THE TERRORS OF A FIRE AT SEA
     XXI  TELLETH HOW THE SAID FIRE CAME ABOUT
    XXII  TELLETH HOW WE WERE CAST ADRIFT
   XXIII  DIVERS PERILS AND DANGERS AT SEA
    XXIV  HOW WE CAME TO BLACK BARTLEMY'S ISLAND
     XXV  HOW I WAS HAUNTED OF BLACK BARTLEMY
    XXVI  WE COME UPON GRIM EVIDENCES OF ADAM PENFEATHER
   XXVII  DIVERS ADVENTURES ON THE ISLAND
  XXVIII  I BECOME A JACK-OF-ALL-TRADES
    XXIX  OF MY ENCOUNTER BENEATH BARTLEMY'S TREE
     XXX  OF MY SICK HUMOURS
    XXXI  I TRY MY HAND AT POTTERY
   XXXII  TELLS HOW I FOUND A SECRET CAVE
  XXXIII  WE EXPLORE THE ISLAND
   XXXIV  HOW I STOOD RESOLUTE IN MY FOLLY
    XXXV  HOW MY DEAR LADY WAS LOST TO ME
   XXXVI  TELLETH SOME PART OF A NIGHT OF AGONY
  XXXVII  HOW I SOUGHT DEATH BUT FOUND IT NOT
 XXXVIII  CONCERNING THE DEAD MAN HUMPHREY AND HOW I SAW A VISION
          IN THE MOONLIGHT
   XXXIX  HOW MY DEAR LADY CAME BACK TO ME
      XL  OF CLOTHES
     XLI  OF THE VOICE THAT SANG ON DELIVERANCE SANDS
    XLII  CONCERNING THE SONG OF A DEAD MAN
   XLIII  OF THE DEATH-DANCE OF THE SILVER WOMAN
    XLIV  HOW I HAD SPEECH WITH ROGER TRESSADY TO MY UNDOING
     XLV  OF THE COMING OF ADAM PENFEATHER
    XLVI  HOW I DOUBTED MYSELF
   XLVII  HOW MY DOUBTING WAS RESOLVED FOR ME




BLACK BARTLEMY'S TREASURE


PROLOGUE

The Frenchman beside me had been dead since dawn.  His scarred and
shackled body swayed limply back and forth with every sweep of the
great oar as we, his less fortunate bench-fellows, tugged and strained
to keep time to the stroke.

Two men had I seen die beside me, yet Death ever passed me by, nay, it
seemed rather that despite the pain of stripes, despite the travail and
hardship, my strength waxed the mightier; upon arm and thigh, burnt
nigh black by fierce suns, the muscles showed hard and knotted; within
my body, scarred by the lash, the life leapt and glowed yet was the
soul of me sick unto death. But it seemed I could not die--finding
thereby blessed rest and a surcease from this agony of life as had this
Frenchman, who of all the naked wretches about me, was the only one
with whom I had any sort of fellowship.  He had died (as I say) with
the dawn, so quietly that at first I thought he but fainted and pitied
him, but, when I knew, pity changed to bitterness.

Therefore, as I strove at the heavy oar I prayed 'twixt gnashing teeth
a prayer I had often prayed, and the matter of my praying was thus:

"O God of Justice, for the agony I needs must now endure, for the
bloody stripes and bitter anguish give to me vengeance--vengeance, O
God, on mine enemy!"

So prayed I, hoarse-panting and with the sweat trickling down whiles I
stared at the naked back of him that rowed before me--a great, fat
fellow he had been once, but now the skin hung in numberless creases
whereon were many weals, some raw and bloody, that crossed and
re-crossed each other after the manner of lace-work.

"Justice, O God, upon mine enemy!  Since Death is not for me let me
live until I be avenged; for the pain I suffer so may I see him suffer,
for the anguish that is mine so may I watch his agony.  Thou art a just
God, so, God of Justice, give to me vengeance!"

The sun rose high and higher over our quarter, beating down upon our
naked backs and adding greatly to our torments thereby, waking the pain
of old stripes and lending an added sting to new.

Ever and anon would come the sharp crack of the drivers' whips followed
by the squealing cry of quivering flesh (a cry wherein was none of the
human) the which, dying to a whine, was lost in the stir and bustle of
the great galleass.  But ever and always, beneath the hoarse voices of
the mariners, beneath the clash of armour and tramp of feet, beneath
the creak and rumble of the long oars, came yet another sound, rising
and falling yet never ceasing, a dull, low sound the like of which you
shall sometimes hear among trees when the wind is high--the deep,
sobbing moan that was the voice of our anguish as we poor wretches
urged the great "Esmeralda" galleass upon her course.

The oar whereto I was chained along with my three bench-mates had at
some time been badly sprung, so that the armourers had made shift to
strengthen it with a stout iron fillet some six inches wide.  Now it so
happened that my grasp came upon this fillet, and, with every stroke of
the oar, day after day, week in and week out, it had become my wont to
rub the links of my chain to and fro across this iron band, whereby
they had become very smooth and shining.

The words of my prayer were yet upon my lips, when, chancing to look
upon one of these links, I beheld that which set my heart a-leaping and
my riotous blood a-tingle to my fingers' ends; yet 'twas a very small
thing, no more than a mark that showed upon the polished surface of the
link, a line not so thick as a hair and not to be noticed without close
looking; but when I bore upon the link this hair-line grew and widened,
it needed but a sudden wrench and I should be free.  This threw me into
such a rapturous transport that I had much ado to contain myself,
howbeit after some while I lifted my eyes to the heaven all flushed and
rosy with the young day, for it seemed that God had indeed heard my
prayer.

Presently, along the gangway amidships, comes none other than that
accursed Portugal, Pedro the whip-master, who, espying the drooping
form of the Frenchman beside me, forthwith falls a-cursing in his vile
tongue and gives a prodigious flourish with his whip.  Now by reason of
much practice they do become very expert with these same whips,
insomuch that they shall (with a certain cunning flick of the lash)
gash you a man as it were with a knife, the like of which none may bear
and not cry out for the exceeding pain of it.  "Ha, thou lazy dog!"
cries he, "Think ye to snore and take your ease whiles Pedro is
aboard?"  And with the word the long lash hissed and cracked upon the
Frenchman's naked back like a pistol-shot.

And lo! he (that meseemed was dead) stirred.  I felt the scarred body
leap and quiver, the swooning eyes opened, rolling dim and sightless
and the pallid face was twisted in sharp anguish; but, even as I
watched, the lines of agony were smoothed away, into the wild eyes came
a wondrous light, and uttering a great, glad cry he sank forward across
the oar-shaft and hung there. Hereupon this accursed Pedro betook him
to his whip, smiting right heartily, but, seeing the Frenchman stirred
not and perceiving, moreover, the blood to come but slow and in no
great quantity, he presently desisted and bade us cease rowing one and
all.

This sudden respite from labour served but to teach me how stiff and
painful were my limbs, more especially my left wrist and ankle where
the fetters had worn great sores.

The wind was fallen light and there rose that hot, sickening reek, that
suffocating stench that is like unto nothing on earth save one of these
floating hells, and the which, if a man hath but smelled it once, he
shall nevermore forget.

After some while, back cometh Pedro with certain of the armourers, and
(having by divers methods learned the Frenchman was in sooth dead) they
struck off his fetters, hand and leg, in the doing of which they must
needs free me also (since we were chained together, he and I) and,
binding a great shot to his feet, made ready to heave him overboard.

And now, seeing no man heeded me, I snapped asunder the cracked link
and was free, save for the heavy chain that cumbered my leg. Stooping,
I lifted this chain and crouched to spring for the bulwark; but now
(even in this moment), remembering all that I had suffered at the hands
of this most accursed Pedro, I turned, and wrapping the broken
oar-chain about my fist, crept towards where he stood to oversee the
armourers.  His back was towards me and I was within a yard of him when
he turned, and, seeing me, uttered a shout and raised his whip, but ere
the blow could fall I leapt and smote him.  My iron-bound fist took him
full betwixt the eyes, and looking down upon his crushed and spattered
face as he lay I knew that Pedro the whip-master would whip men no more
these many days.

Then (not minded to die by the whip or upon a pike-head) turned I and
sprang for the ship's side, but the chain about my leg hampered me
sorely, and ere I could mount the high bulwark I was beset from behind.
So would I have faced them and died fighting but fierce strokes
battered me to my knees, fierce hands wrenched and tore at me, and
grown faint with blows I was overborne, my hands lashed behind me, and
thus helpless I was dragged along the gangway and so up the ladder to
the poop where, plain to all men's sight, a whipping-post had been set
up.  Yet even so I struggled still, panting out curses on them, French
and Spanish and English, drawing upon all the vile abuse of the
rowing-bench and lazarette since fain would I have them slay me out of
hand the rather than endure the miseries and anguish of my lot.  Yet
this might not be (since slaves were hard to come by and I was mighty
and strong) wherefore I struggled no more, but suffered them to strike
off my broken fetters and bind me to the whipping-post as they listed.
Yet scarce had they made an end when there comes a loud hail from the
masthead, whereupon was sudden mighty to-do of men running hither and
yon, laughing and shouting one to another, some buckling on armour as
they ran, some casting loose the great ordnance, while eyes turned and
hands pointed in the one direction; but turn and twist me how I might I
could see nought of any strange sail by reason of the high bulkhead
beside me.

Of a sudden all voices were hushed as up the poop-ladder comes the
commander Don Miguel in his black armour, who, looking long and
steadily to windward, gives a sign with his gauntleted hand, whereon
divers of the officers go off hot-foot, some to muster the long files
of arquebusiers, others to overlook the setting of more sail and the
like.  And now was a prodigious cracking of whips followed by groans
and cries and screaming curses, and straightway the long oars began to
swing with a swifter beat. From where I stood in my bonds I could look
down upon the poor, naked wretches as they rose and fell, each and all
at the same moment, in time to the stroke.

For maybe half an hour the chase was kept up and then all at once the
decks quivered 'neath the discharge of one of the forward culverins;
and presently, as the great galleass altered her course, obedient to
the motion of Don Miguel's hand, I beheld, some half-league to
windward, the towering stern of the ship we were pursuing, whose length
gradually grew upon me as we overhauled her until she was fairly in
view.  She was a small ship, and by her build I did not doubt but that
she was English; even as I watched, up to her mizzen-peak fluttered the
English flag.  And hereupon a great yearning came upon me, insomuch
that of a sudden her high, weatherbeaten sides, her towering masts and
patched canvas grew all blurred and indistinct.

Thrice already our guns had roared, yet (though she was now so close
that I made out her very rope and spar) she made no sign. In a little
our guns fell silent also, wherefore, looking about, I beheld Don
Miguel standing beside the tiller yet with his impassive gaze ever bent
upon the foe; and, as I watched, I read his deadly purpose, and a great
fear for the English ship came upon me, and I fell a-praying beneath my
breath, for we carried a weapon more terrible than any culverin that
was ever cast, the long, sharp ram below the water.

The English ship was now so near that I could see the yawning muzzles
of her guns, while her high, curving sides seemed to tower over us.  As
I gazed, with my heart full of a pitiful fear for her, I saw a head
appear above her quarter-railing, a very round head whereon was a
mariner's red cap.  Came a puff of smoke, the sharp crack of a caliver,
and one of the officers beside Don Miguel threw up his hands and,
twisting on his heels, fell clashing in his armour.  When I looked
again for the red cap, it was gone.  But Don Miguel waited, silent and
impassive as ever.  Suddenly he gestured with his hand, I saw the heave
of the steersmen's shoulders as they obeyed, while the air rang with
shouts of command as, the starboard oars holding water, the larboard
thrashed and churned amain and the great "Esmeralda" galleass (turning
thus well-nigh in her own length) drove straight for the side of her
foe.

Never had I seen it better done, and I set my teeth, waiting for the
grinding crash that was to send the English ship to the bottom, but lo!
her creaking yards were braced round, and, paying off before the wind
(which now blew strongly) she stood away upon a course at right angles
to her old, whereby both vessels were running parallel as before.  Yet
it had been close, so very close indeed that as we drove past her I
heard the sickening crack of our oars as they snapped off one after the
other against her side, tossing those that manned them in bloody,
struggling heaps.

And now from every English gun leaped roaring flame; the air was full
of shrieks and groans and the crash of splintering wood, and through
the eddying smoke I could see many of our soldiery that lay in strange,
contorted attitudes while others crawled, sobbing on hands and knees;
but on the scarlet-dropping rowing-benches I dared not look.

Hotter waxed the fight, louder swelled the din and tumult with the
never-ceasing thunder of the guns; and amid it all Don Miguel paced to
and fro, impassive as always, the blade of his long rapier gleaming
here and there as he directed the fire.

Up rolled the smoke thicker and denser, but, ever and anon, through
some rift I might catch a glimpse of the scarred, blackened side of the
English ship, or the litter and confusion of our decks.  Twice shots
ploughed up the planking hard by me, and once my post itself was
struck, so that for a moment I had some hope of winning free of my
bonds, yet struggle how I would I could not move; the which filled me
with a keen despair, for I made no doubt (what with the smoke and
tumult) I might have plunged overboard unnoticed and belike have gained
the English ship.

Slowly and by degrees our fire slackened, one by one the guns fell
silent and in their place rose the more hateful sounds of anguish.  Now
as I stood thus, my eyes smarting with burnt powder, my ears yet
ringing with the din, I grew aware how the deck sloped in strange
fashion; at first I paid small heed, yet with every minute this slope
became steeper, and with this certainty came the knowledge that we were
sinking and, moreover (judging by the angle of the deck) sinking by the
stern.

Hereupon, impelled by that lust of life the which is implanted in each
one of us, I fell to a wild struggling against my bonds, until, seeing
in a little the hopelessness of this, I grew resigned to despair, and,
ceasing my passionate efforts, looked about me, for the smoke was
thinned away.  And truly an evil sight was this great galleass, with
its shot-torn decks and huddled heaps of dead, its litter of broken
spars and dismantled guns, and with everywhere great gouts and pools of
blood, while below and beyond were the shattered rowing-benches
cumbered now with awful red heaps, silent for the most part, yet some
there were who screamed high and shrill.

Save for myself and divers of the dead the poop lay deserted, but
forward such of the soldiers and mariners who yet lived were fighting
for the boats, and all was riot and confusion.

As I stared about me thus I espied Don Miguel lying among the wreckage
of a dismantled gun; his face was towards me and looked as I had seen
it an hundred times, save for a smear of blood upon his cheek.  Even as
I gazed his eyes met mine full and square. For a moment he lay without
motion, then (his face a-twitch with the effort) he came slowly to his
elbow, gazed about him and so back to me again.  Then I saw his hand
creep down to the dagger at his hip, to fumble weakly there--howbeit,
at the third essay he drew the blade and began to creep towards me.
Very slowly and painfully he dragged himself along, and once I heard
him groan, but he stayed not till he was come within striking distance,
yet was he sore wounded and so weak withal that he was fain to rest him
awhile.  And ever his impassive eyes looked up into mine the while I
nerved myself to meet the blow unflinching (an it might be so).  Once
more he raised himself, his arm lifted slowly, the dagger gleamed and
fell, its keen edge severing the cords that bound me, and with a sudden
effort I broke free and stood staring down into those impassive eyes as
one in a dream.  Then, lifting a feeble hand, he pointed to the
tattered sails of the English ship hard by, and so, resting his head
upon his arm as one that is very weary, he sighed; and with the sigh I
think the life passed out of him.

Turning, I was upon the quarter-railing in a single leap, and, without
a glance at the red havoc behind me, I plunged over and down.

The sharp sting of the brine struck me like a myriad needle-points, but
the sweet cool of the waters was wondrous grateful to my sun-scorched
body as, coming to the surface, I struck out for the English ship
though sore hampered by my chain.

Presently coming beneath her lofty stern I found hanging therefrom a
tangle of ropes and cordage whereby I contrived to clamber aboard, and
so beheld a man in a red seaman's bonnet who sat upon the wreckage of
one of the quarter guns tying up a splinter-gash in his arm with hand
and teeth; perceiving me he rolled a pair of blue eyes up at me and
nodded:

"Welcome aboard, lad!" says he, having knotted the bandage to his
liking.  "Be ye one as can understand good English?"

"Aye!" says I, nodding.

"Why then bear witness as I be a patient soul and marciful.  Be witness
as I held my fire so long as any marciful soul might by token that I
knew what a broadside can do among crowded rowing-benches--having rowed
aboard one o' they Spanish hells afore now--so I held my fire till yon
devil's craft came nigh cutting me asunder--and marcy hath its limits.
Timothy Spence o' the "Tiger", master, is me, homeward bound for the
Port of London, and by this fight am short five good men.  But you're a
proper big 'un.  Go for'ard to the bo'sun, you shall know him by reason
that he lacketh his starboard yere.  Ask him for clothes to cover thy
nakedness, lad, and--Oho, there goeth yon devil's craft--!" Turning as
he spoke I saw the sharp bows of the "Esmeralda" lift and lift, high
and higher, and, with a long-drawn gurgling roar, the great galleass
plunged down stern foremost, burying her shame and misery from the eyes
of man for evermore.

Thus then I sailed with Master Timothy Spence aboard the "Tiger," a
free man after five years of anguish.



CHAPTER I

OF WHAT BEFELL ON PEMBURY HILL

It was a night of tempest with rain and wind, a great wild wind that
shouted mightily near and far, filling the world with halloo; while,
ever and anon, thunder crashed and lightning flamed athwart the muddy
road that wound steeply up betwixt grassy banks topped by swaying
trees.  Broken twigs, whirling down the wind, smote me in the dark,
fallen branches reached out arms that grappled me unseen, but I held on
steadfastly, since every stride carried me nearer to vengeance, that
vengeance for the which I prayed and lived.  So with bared head lifted
exulting to the tempest and grasping the stout hedge-stake that served
me for staff, I climbed the long ascent of Pembury Hill.

Reaching the summit at last I must needs stay awhile to catch my breath
and shelter me as well as I might 'neath the weather bank, for upon
this eminence the rain lashed and the wind smote me with a fury
redoubled.

And now, as I stood amid that howling darkness, my back propped by the
bank, my face lifted to the tempest, I was aware of a strange sound,
very shrill and fitful, that reached me 'twixt the booming wind-gusts,
a sound that came and went, now loud and clear, anon faint and remote,
and I wondered what it might be. Then the rushing dark was split
asunder by a jagged lightning-flash, and I saw.  Stark against the
glare rose black shaft and crossbeam, wherefrom swung a creaking shape
of rusty chains and iron bands that held together something shrivelled
and black and wet with rain, a grisly thing that leapt on the buffeting
wind, that strove and jerked as it would fain break free and hurl
itself down upon me.

Now hearkening to the dismal creak of this chained thing, I fell to
meditation.  This awful shape (thought I) had been a man once, hale and
strong,--even as I, but this man had contravened the law (even as I
purposed to do) and he had died a rogue's death and so hung, rotting,
in his chains, even as this my own body might do some day.  And,
hearkening to the shrill wail of his fetters, my flesh crept with
loathing and I shivered.  But the fit passed, and in my vain pride I
smote my staff into the mud at my feet and vowed within myself that
nought should baulk me of my just vengeance, come what might; as my
father had suffered death untimely and hard, so should die the enemy of
my race; for the anguish he had made me endure so should he know
anguish.  I bethought me how long and deadly had been this feud of
ours, handed down from one generation to another, a dark,
blood-smirched record of bitter wrongs bitterly avenged.  "To hate like
a Brandon and revenge like a Conisby!"  This had been a saying in our
south country upon a time; and now--he was the last of his race as I
was the last of mine, and I had come back out of hell that this saying
might be fulfilled.  Soon--ha, yes, in a few short hours the feud
should be ended once and for all and the house of Conisby avenged to
the uttermost.  Thinking thus, I heeded no more the raving tempest
around me until, roused by the plunge and rattle of the gibbet-chains,
I raised my head and shaking my staff up at that black and shrivelled
thing, I laughed loud and fierce, and, even as I did so, there leapt a
great blaze of crackling flame and thereafter a thunder-clap that
seemed to shake the very earth and smite the roaring wind to awed
silence; and in this silence, I heard a whisper:

"O mercy of God!"

Somewhere in the darkness hard by a woman had cried. Instinctively I
turned thitherward, searching the night vainly until the lightning
flared again and I beheld a cloaked and hooded figure huddled miserably
against the bank of the road, and, as darkness came, I spoke:

"Woman, doth the gibbet fright you, or is't I?  If 'tis the gibbet go
hence, if 'tis I rest assured."

"Who are you?" said a breathless voice.

"One of no more account than the poor thing that danceth aloft in his
chains and for you as harmless."

And now she was beside me, a dark, wind-blown shape, and above the
howling tempest her voice reached me in passionate pleading:

"Sir--sir, will you aid one in sore danger and distress?"

"Yourself?" I questioned.

"Nay--indeed nay," she panted, "'tis Marjorie, my poor, poor brave
Marjorie.  They stopped my coach--drunken men.  I know not what came of
Gregory and I leapt out and escaped them in the dark, but
Marjorie--they carried her off--there is a light down the lane yonder.
I followed and saw--O sir, you will save Marjorie--you are a man--"

A hand was upon my ragged sleeve, a hand that gripped and shook at me
in desperate supplication--"You will save her from--from worse than
death?  Speak--speak!"

"Lead on!" quoth I, answering this compelling voice.  The griping
fingers slipped down and clasped my hand in the dark, and with never
another word she led me away unseeing and unseen until we came where we
were more sheltered from rain and wind; and now I took occasion to
notice that the hand that gripped mine so masterfully was small and
soft, so that what with this and her voice and speech I judged her one
of condition.  But my curiosity went no further nor did I question her,
for in my world was no place for women.  So she led me on at haste
despite the dark--like one that was sure of her whereabouts--until I
suddenly espied a dim light that shone out from the open lattice of
what I judged to be a small hedge-tavern.  Here my companion halted
suddenly and pointed to the light.

"Go!" she whispered.  "Go--nay, first take this!" and she thrust a
small pistol into my hand.  "Haste!" she panted, "O haste--and I do
pray God shield and bless you."  Then with never a word I left her and
strode towards the beam of light.

Being come nigh the casement I paused to cock the weapon and to glance
at the priming, then, creeping to the open lattice, I looked into the
room.

Three men scowled at each other across a table--desperate-looking
fellows, scarred and ill-featured, with clothes that smacked of the
sea; behind them in a corner crouched a maid, comely of seeming but
pallid of cheek and with cloak torn by rough hands, and, as she
crouched, her wide eyes stared at the dice-box that one of the men was
shaking vigorously--a tall, hairy fellow this, with great rings in his
ears; thus stood he rattling the dice and smiling while his companions
cursed him hoarsely.

With a twist of the hand the hairy man made his throw, and as the three
evil heads stooped above the dice, I clambered through the window,
levelled pistol in one hand, heavy staff in the other.

"What d'ye set?" quoth I.  The three sprang apart and stared at me
quite chapfallen.

"What's to do?" growled one.

"First your barking-irons--lay them here on the table and quick's the
word!"  One after another they drew the weapons from their belts, and
one by one I tossed them through the window.

"What!" quoth one, a lank rogue with a patch over one eye and winking
the other jovial-wise, "How now, mate o' mine, shall dog bite dog then?"

"Aye," says I, "and with a will!"

"Nay, nay, shipmate," quoth another, a plump, small man with round,
bright eyes and but one ear, "easy now--easy.  We be three lorn
mariners d'ye see--jolly dogs, bully boys, shipmate--a little fun wi' a
pretty lass--nought to harm d'ye see, sink me! Join us and welcome,
says I, share and share alike O!"

"Aye, I'll join you," quoth I, "but first--you wi' the rings--open the
door!"  Here the hairy fellow growled an oath and reached for an empty
tankard, and thereupon got the end of my staff driven shrewdly into his
midriff so that he sank to the floor and lay gasping.

"Nay now, shipmate," quoth the plump man in wheedling tone but round
eyes snapping, "here's lubberly manners, sink and scuttle me--"

"Open the door!" says I.

"Heartily--heartily!" says he, his eye upon my cudgel, and edging to
the door, drew the bolts and set it wide.

"Woman," quoth I, "run!"

With never a word the maid sprang erect, caught her torn cloak about
her and, speeding across the room, was gone; whereupon the lank fellow
sat him down and fell a-cursing viciously in Spanish and English, the
plump man clicked his teeth and grinned, while 'Rings,' leaning against
the wall, clasped his belly and groaned.

"Well so, my bully roarer, and what now?" demanded the plump man,
softly.

"Why now," says I, "'twas share and share alike, I mind--"

"Aye, but she's off, slipped her moorings d'ye see, my good lad, and be
damned t' ye wi' all my heart," said the little plump man, smiling, but
with the devil peeping through his narrowed lids.

"Look'ee," says I, laying a groat upon the table, "there's my all--come
turn out your pockets--"

"Pockets!" murmured the plump man, "Lord love me, what's this? Here's
us cheated of a bit of daintiness, here's Abner wi' all the wind
knocked out o' him and now here's you for thieving and robbing three
poor lorn sailor-men as never raised hand agin ye--shame, shipmate."

"Od rot your bones!" snarled the one-eyed man and spat towards me,
whereat I raised my staff and he, lifting an arm, took the blow on his
elbow-joint and writhed, cursing; but while I laughed at the fellow's
contortions, the plump man sprang (marvellous nimble) and dashed out
the light and, as I stepped from before the window, I heard the lattice
go with a crash of glass. Followed a long, tense moment wherein we all
(as I judge) held our breath, for though the storm yet roared beyond
the shattered casement, within was a comparative quiet.  Thus, as I
stood in the dark listening for some rustle, some stealthy creeping
step to guide my next blow, I thrust away my pistol and changing my
staff to my right hand, drew forth the broad-bladed sailor's knife I
carried, and so waited mighty eager and alert, but heard only the
far-off booming of the wind.  Then a floorboard creaked faintly to my
left, and turning short, I whirled my staff, felt it strike home and
heard a fierce cry and the uneven tread of staggering feet.

"Fight, rogues!" cried I.  "Here's meat and drink to me--fight!" and
setting my back to the wall I waited for their rush.  Instead I heard a
hoarse whispering, lost all at once in a woman's shrill scream out
beyond the casement, and thereafter a loud voice that hailed:

"House ho!  House ahoy!  Light ho!  Show a glim, ye drunken dogs!" and
here followed a rush of roaring sea-oaths, drowned in a scream, louder,
wilder than before.  Then, while this distressful cry yet thrilled upon
the air, pandemonium broke loose about me, shouts, cries and a rush and
trample of feet; the table went over with a crash and the darkness
about me rained blows.  But as they struck random and fierce, so struck
I and (as I do think) made right goodly play with my hedge-stake until,
caught by a chance blow, I staggered, tripped and, falling headlong,
found myself rolling upon sodden grass outside the shattered window.
For a moment I lay half-dazed and found in the wind and rain vasty
comfort and refreshment.

Then in the pitchy gloom hard by I heard that which brought me to my
feet--an evil scuffling, a close and desperate struggling--a man's
hoarse laugh and a woman's pitiful pleading and sobbing.  I had lost my
staff, but I yet grasped my knife, and with this held point upwards and
my left hand outstretched before me, I crept forward guided by these
sounds.  My fingers came upon hair, a woman's long, soft tresses, and I
remember marvelling at the silky feel of them; from these my hand
slipped to her waist and found there an arm that grasped her close,
then, drawing back my hand, I smote with my knife well beneath this arm
and drove in the stout blade twice.  The fellow grunted and, loosing
the maid, leapt full at me, but I met him with clenched fist and he
went down headlong, and I, crouched above him and feeling him struggle
to his knees, kicked him back into the mud and thereafter leapt on him
with both feet as I had been wont to do when fighting my fellow-slaves
in some lazarette; then, seeing he stirred no more, I left him,
doubting nothing I had done his business.  Yet as I went I felt myself
shiver, for though I had been compelled to fight the naked wretches who
had been my fellow-slaves, I had killed no man as yet.

Thus as I went, chancing to stumble against a tree, I leaned there
awhile; and now remembering those two blows under the armpit, what with
this stabbing and my fall and lack of food, for I had eaten but once
that day, I grew faint and sick.  But as I leaned there, out of the
gloom came a hand that fumbled timidly my bowed head, my arm, my hand.

"Sir--are you hurt?" questioned a voice, and here once again I was
struck by the strange, vital quality of this voice, its bell-like depth
and sweetness.

"No whit!" says I.  Now as I spoke it chanced she touched the knife in
my grasp and I felt her shiver a little.

"Did you--O sir--did you--kill him?"

"And wherefore no?" I questioned.  "And why call me 'sir'?"

"You do speak as one of gentle birth."

"And go like the beggar I am--in rags.  I am no 'sir.'"

"How may I call you?"

"Call me rogue, thief, murderer--what ye will, 'tis all one.  But as
for you," quoth I, lifting my head, "'tis time you were gone--see
yonder!" and I pointed where a light winked through the trees, a light
that danced to and fro, coming slowly nearer until it stopped all at
once, then rose a shout answered by other shouts and a roar of dismayed
blasphemy.  At this my companion pressed nearer so that I felt her
shiver again.

"Let us be gone!" she whispered.  "Marjorie, come, child, let us
haste."  So we went on together at speed, and ever as we went that
small, soft hand was upon the hand that held the knife.  So we sped on
through the dark, these two maids and I, unseeing and unseen, speaking
little by reason of our haste.

Presently the rain ceased, the wind abated its rage and the thunder
pealed faint with distance, while ever and anon the gloom gave place to
a vague light, where, beyond the flying cloud-wrack, a faint moon
peeped.

Guided by that slender hand, so soft and yet instinct with warm and
vigorous life, I stumbled on through leafy ways, traversed a little
wood, on and ever on until, the trees thinning, showed beyond a glimmer
of the great high road.  Here I stayed.

"Madam," says I, making some ado over the unfamiliar word.  "You should
be safe now--and, as I do think, your road lieth yonder."

"Pembury is but a mile hence," says she, "and there we may get horses.
Come, at least this night you shall find comfort and shelter."

"No," says I.  "No--I am a thing of the roads, and well enough in hedge
or rick!" and I would have turned but her hand upon my sleeve
restrained me.

"Sir," says she, "be you what you will, you are a man!  Who you are I
know and care not--but you have this night wrought that I shall
nevermore forget and now I--we--would fain express our gratitude--"

"Indeed and indeed!" said the maid Marjorie, speaking for the first
time.

"I want no gratitude!" says I, mighty gruff.

"Yet shall it follow thee, for the passion of gratitude is strong and
may not be denied--even by beggar so proud and arrogant!" And now,
hearkening to this voice, so deep and soft and strangely sweet, I knew
not if she laughed at me or no; but even as I debated this within
myself, she lifted my hand, the hand that grasped the knife, and I felt
the close, firm pressure of two warm, soft lips; then she had freed me
and I fell back a step, striving for speech yet finding none.

"God love me!" quoth I at last.  "Why must you--do so!"

"And wherefore not?" she questioned proudly.

"'Tis the hand of a vagrant, an outcast, a poor creeper o' ditches!"
says I.

"But a man's hand!" she answered.

"'Tis at hand that hath slain once this night and shall slay again ere
many hours be sped."  Now here I heard her sigh as one that is troubled.

"And yet," says she gently, "'tis no murderer's hand and you that are
vagrant and outcast are no rogue."

"How judge ye this, having never seen me?" I questioned.

"In that I am a woman.  For God hath armed our weakness with a gift of
knowledge whereby we may oft-times know truth from falsehood, the noble
from the base, 'spite all their outward seeming.  So do I judge you no
rogue--a strong man but very--aye, very young that, belike, hath
suffered unjustly, and being so young art fierce and impatient of all
things, and apt to rail bitterly 'gainst the world.  Is't not so?"

"Aye," says I, marvelling, "truly 'tis like witchcraft--mayhap you will
speak me my name."  At this she laughed (most wonderful to hear and
vastly so to such coarse rogue as I, whose ears had long been strangers
to aught but sounds of evil and foul obscenity):

"Nay," says she, "my knowledge of you goeth no further--but--" (and
here she paused to fetch a shuddering breath) "but for him you
killed--that two-legged beast!  You did but what I would have done
for--O man, had you not come I--I should have killed him, maid though I
am!  See, here is the dagger I snatched from his girdle as he strove
with me.  O, take it--take it!"  And, with a passionate gesture, she
thrust the weapon into my grasp.

"O madam--my lady!" cried her companion, "Look, yonder be
lights--lanthorns aflare on the road.  'Tis Gregory as I do think, with
folk come to seek for us.  Shall we go meet them?"

"Nay wait, child--first let us be sure!"  So side by side we stood all
three amid the dripping trees, watching the tossing lights that grew
ever nearer until we might hear the voices of those that bare them,
raised, ever and anon, in confused shouting.

"Aye, 'tis Gregory!" sighed my lady after some while.  "He hath raised
the village and we are safe--"

"Hark!" cried I, starting forward.  "What name do they cry upon?"

"Mine, sir!"

"Oho, my lady!" roared the hoarse chorus.  "Oho, my Lady Joan--my Lady
Brandon--Brandon--Brandon!"

"Brandon!" cried I, choking upon the word.

"Indeed, sir--I am the Lady Joan Brandon of Shene Manor, and so long as
life be mine needs must I bear within my grateful heart the memory of--"

But, waiting for no more, I turned and sprang away into the denser
gloom of the wood.  And ever as I went, crashing and stumbling through
the underbrush, above the noise of my headlong flight rang the hated
name of the enemy I had journeyed so far to kill--"Brandon!  Brandon!
Brandon!"



CHAPTER II

HOW I HEARD A SONG IN THE WOOD AT MIDNIGHT

Headlong went I, staying for nought and heedless of all direction, but
presently, being weary and short of breath, I halted and leaning
against a tree stood thus very full of bitter thought.  The storm was
quite passed, but a chill wind was abroad that moaned dismally, while
all about me sodden trees dripped with mournful, sobbing noises.  And
hearkening to all this, what should I be thinking but of the sweet,
soft tones of a woman's voice that had stirred within me memories of
better days, a voice that had set me to dreams of a future, to fond and
foolish imaginings.  For, though shamed and brutalised by my
sufferings, I was a man and in this past hour (strange though it do
seem) felt scorn of myself and a yearning for higher things, and all
this by no greater reason than the sound of a woman's voice in the dark
and the touch of her warm lips on my hand--and she a Brandon!  And now
as the bitter mockery of it all rushed upon me, fierce anger swept me
and I broke forth into vile oaths and cursings, English and Spanish,
foul invectives picked up from the rogues, my fellows in misery; and
feeling a new shame therefore, did but curse the more.  So there
crouched I 'gainst the tree, shivering like the miserable wretch I was
and consumed with a ravening hunger.  At last, becoming aware that I
yet grasped a weapon in either hand, I thrust my knife in my girdle and
fell to handling this other, judging it by touch since it was yet too
dark for eyes to serve me.  And by its feel I knew it for no honest
knife; here was a thing wrought by foreign hands, a haft cunningly
shaped and wrought, a blade curiously slender and long and three-edged,
a very deadly thing I judged by the feel.  Now since it had no sheath
(and it so sharp) I twisted my neckerchief about it from pommel to
needle-point, and thrusting it into the leathern wallet at my belt,
went on some way further 'mid the trees, seeking some place where I
might be sheltered from the cold wind.  Then, all at once, I heard that
which brought me to a stand.

A man was singing and at no great distance, a strange, merry air and
stranger words; and the voice was loud, yet tuneful and mellow, and the
words (the which I came to know all too well) were these:

  "Cheerly O and cheerly O,
  Right cheerly I'll sing O,
  Whiles at the mainyard to and fro
  We watch a dead man swing O.
  With a rumbelow and to and fro
  He by the neck doth swing O!

  One by the knife did part wi' life
  And three the bullet took O,
  But three times three died plaguily
  A-wriggling on a hook O.
  A hook both strong and bright and long,
  They died by gash o' hook O.

  So cheerly O and cheerly O,
  Come shake a leg, lads, all O.
  Wi' a yo-ho-ho and a rumbelow
  And main-haul, shipmates, haul O.

  Some swam in rum to kingdom come,
  Full many a lusty fellow.
  And since they're dead I'll lay my head
  They're flaming now in hell O.

  So cheerly O, so cheerly O"--


Waiting for no more of the vile rant I strode forward and thus
presently came on a small dell or dingle full of the light of a fire
that crackled right merrily; at the which most welcome sight I made
shift to scramble down the steepy bank forthright and approached the
blaze on eager feet.  Drawing near, I saw the fire burned within a
small cave beneath the bank, and as I came within its radiance the song
broke off suddenly and a man rose up, facing me across the fire and
with one hand hid under the flap of his side pocket.

"Fibs off your popps, cull!" quoth in the vernacular of the roads.
"Here's none but a pal as lacketh warmth and a bite!"

"Aha!" quoth the fellow, peering across the blaze, "And who be you?
Stand and give a show o' your figurehead!"  Obediently I stood with
hands outspread to the flame, warming my shivering body at its grateful
heat.

"Well?" says I.

"Why," quoth he, nodding, "You're big enough and wild enough and as
likely a cut-throat as another--what's the lay?"

"The high pad!" says I.

"Where away?"

"'Tis no matter!"

"All I asks is," quoth the fellow with a quizzical look, "how you've
fobbed the nubbing-cheat so long!"

"And what I ask is," quoth I, "how a sailor-man comes to know the
patter o' the flash coves!"

"'Tis no matter," says he, "but since you're o' the Brotherhood sit ye
and welcome, 'tis dry enough here in this cave."

Staying for no second bidding I entered the little cave and sat me down
in the comforting warmth of the fire.  The man was a comely fellow of a
hectoring, swashing air, bright of eyes and instant of gesture; close
to hand lay a short cutting-sword, pistols bulged his deep
coat-pockets, while betwixt his knees was a battered case-bottle.

"Well," says he, eyeing me over, "what's the word?"

"Food!" says I.

"Nary a bite!" he answered, shaking his head.  "But here's rum now if
you've a mind to sluice the ivories--ha?"

"Not a drop!" says I.

"Good!  The more for me!" he nodded.  "Rum--ha--

"Some swam in rum to kingdom come"--

"You sing a mighty strange song!" quoth I.

"Ha--d'ye like it?"

"No, I don't!"

"And wherefore no?"

"There seems overmuch death in it."

"Death?" cries he with a great laugh and hugging his case-bottle.
"Death says you--aye, aye, says I and so there is, death in every line
on't.  'Tis song as was made for dead men, of dead men, by a dead man,
and there's for ye now!"  Here he lifted the bottle, drank, and
thereafter smacked his lips with great gusto.  "Made by a dead man," he
repeated, "for dead men, of dead men, and there's for ye!"

"I like your song less and less!"

"You've a cursed queasy stomach I think!" he hiccupped.

"And an empty one!" says I.

"'Tis a song well bethought on by--by better men nor you, for all your
size!" says he, glancing at me over his bottle with a truculent eye,
and though his glance was steady, I perceived the drink was affecting
him more and more.  "Aye, many a better man!" he nodded, frowning.

"As who?" I questioned.

"First, there's Abnegation Mings as you shall hear tell of on the Main
from Panama to St. Catherine's, aye, by the horns of Nick there be none
of all the coastwise Brotherhood quicker or readier when there's aught
i' the wind than Abnegation, and you can lay to that, my delicate cove!"

"And who's he?"

"Myself!"  Here he took another draught and nodded at me in drunken
solemnity.  "And look'ee, my dainty cull, when you've seen as much o'
death as Abnegation Mings you'll know as Death's none so bad a thing,
so long as it leaves you alone.  And I for one say 'tis a good song and
there's for ye!"

"And who else?"

"Well, there's Montbars as do they call the Exterminator, and there's
young Harry Morgan--a likely lad, and there's Roger Tressady and Sol
Aiken and Penfeather--sink him!"

"And Abner!" said I at a venture.

"Aye for sure!" he nodded, and then, "Ha, d'ye know Abner then?"

"I've met him."

"Where away?"

"In a tavern some mile hence."

"A tavern!" quoth he, "A tavern, 'od rot 'em and here's me hove short
in this plaguy hole!  A tavern, and here's my bottle out--dog bite me!
But a mouthful left--well, here's to a bloody shirt and the Brotherhood
o' the Coast."

"You drink to the buccaneers, I think?" says I.

"And what if I do?"

"'Tis said they be no better than pirates--"

"Would ye call me a pirate then?" cried he, scowling.

"I would."  Quick as flash he clapped hand to pocket, but the pistol
caught on the lining, and before he could free it I had covered him
with mine, whereat he grew suddenly rigid and still. "Up wi' your
fambles!" says I.  Obediently he raised his hands and, taking his
pistols, I opened the pan of each one and, having blown out the
primings, tossed them back.

"Snake sting me!" says he, laughing ruefully as he re-pocketed his
weapons.  "This comes o' harbouring a lousy rogue as balks good liquor.
The man as won't take good rum hath the head of a chicken, the heart of
a yellow dog, and the bowels of a w-worm, and bone-rot him, says I.
Lord love me, but I've seen many a better throat than yours slit ere
now, my buxom lad!"

"And aided too, belike?" says I.

"Why, here's a leading question--but mum!  Here's a hand that knoweth
not what doth its fellow--mum, boy, mum!"  And tilting back his head he
brake forth anew into his villainous song:

  "Two on a knife did end their life
  And three the bullet took O,
  But three times three died plaguily
  A-wriggling on a hook O.
  Sing cheerly O and cheerly O,
  They died by gash o' hook O."

"And look'ee, my ben cull, if I was to offer ye all Bartlemy's
treasure--which I can't, mark me--still you'd never gather just what
manner o' hook that was.  Anan, says you--mum, boy, says I. Howbeit, I
say, 'tis a good song," quoth he, blinking drowsily at the fire,
"here's battle in't, murder and sudden death and wha--what more could
ye expect of any song--aye, and there's women in't too!"  Here he fell
to singing certain lewd ribaldry that I will not here set down, until
what with the rum and the drowsy heat of the fire that I had
replenished, he yawned, stretched, and laying himself down, very soon
fell a-snoring, to my no small comfort.  As for me, I sat there waiting
for the dayspring; the fire sank lower and lower, filling the little
cave with a rosy glow falling athwart the sprawling form of the sleeper
and making his red face seem purplish and suffused like the face of one
I had once seen dead of strangulation; howbeit, he slept well enough,
judging from his lusty snoring.  Now presently in the surrounding dark
beyond the smouldering fire was a glimmer, a vague blur of sloping,
trampled bank backed by misty trees; so came the dawn, very chill and
full of eddying mists that crawled phantom-like, filling the little
dingle brimful and blotting out the surrounding trees.  In a little I
arose and, coming without the cave, shivered in the colder air, shaken
with raging hunger. And now remembering my utter destitution, I stooped
to peer down at the sleeper, half minded to go through his pockets, but
in a while I turned away and left him sprawled in his sottish slumber.



CHAPTER III

TELLS HOW I STOLE MY BREAKFAST

The mist lay very thick all about me, but when I had climbed to higher
ground it thinned away somewhat, so that as the pallid light grew I
began to see something of the havoc wrought by the storm; here and
there lay trees uprooted, while everywhere was a tangle of broken
boughs and trailing branches, insomuch that I found my going no small
labour.  But presently as I forced a way through these leafy tangles,
the birds, awaking, began to fill the dim world with blithe chirpings
that grew and grew to a sweet clamour, ever swelling until the dark
woods thrilled with gladsome music and I, beholding the first beam of
sun, felt heartened thereby 'spite my lack of sleep and the gnawing of
hunger's sharp fangs, and hastened with blither steps.  Thus in a while
I brake forth of the desolate trees and came out upon a fair, rolling
meadow with blooming hedgerows before me and, beyond, the high road.
And now as I stayed to get my bearings, up rose the sun in majesty, all
glorious in purple and pink and gold, whose level beams turned the
world around me into a fair garden all sweet and fresh and green,
while, in the scowling woods behind, the sullen mists crept furtive
away till they were vanished quite and those leafy solitudes became a
very glory.

But my hunger was very sore, a need I purposed to satisfy soon and at
all hazards; therefore, having marked my direction, I went at speed
and, crossing the meadow, came into the highway and struck south.  On
my going through the woods I had chosen me a cudgel in place of the one
lost, shortish and knotted and very apt for quick wrist-play, and I
plucked forth my sailor's knife meaning to trim my staff therewith; but
with it poised in my hand, I stopped all at once, for I saw that the
point of the stout blade (the which I had sharpened and whetted to an
extreme keenness), I perceived, I say, that the blade was bent somewhat
and the point turned, hook-like.  Now as I strode on again, the early
sun flashing back from the steel, I fell to wondering how this had
chanced, and bethinking me of those two deadly blows I had struck in
the dark I scrutinised my knife, blade and haft, yet found nowhere on
it any trace of blood, so that 'twas manifest the fellow had worn some
protection--chain-shirts were common enough and many a rogue went with
a steel skull to line his hat.  So it seemed the fellow lived yet and
(black rogue though he was) I was vaguely glad 'twas not my hand had
sent him to his account.

I was yet revolving the matter in my mind when I heard a loud and merry
whistling, and glancing up, beheld a country fellow approaching down a
side lane.  He wore a wide-eaved hat and his smock was new-washed and
speckless; but that which drew and held my eyes, that which brought me
to a sudden stand, was the bundle he bore wrapped in a fair, white
clout.  So, with my gaze on this I stood leaning on my knotted,
untrimmed staff, waiting him. Suddenly, chancing to turn his head, he
espied me, halted in his stride, then eyeing me askance, advanced
again.  A small man he was, with rosy face, little, merry eyes, and a
wide, up-curving mouth.

"Goo' marnin' to 'ee--it do have been a tur'ble bad starm las' night,
master!"

"Aye!" says I, and my heart warmed to him by reason of his good Kentish
tongue--the like of which I had not heard these many weary years; but
at sight of that white-clouted bundle my mouth watered and hunger
gnawed with sharper tooth.  "What have ye here?" I questioned, touching
this with my staff.

"Nou't but my dinner, master, 's ever was!"

"Nay," says I scowling, "I think not!"

"Aye, but it be, master!" he nodded.  "Bread and beef wi' a mossel of
cheese like, 's ever was!"

"Bread!" says I.  "Beef!  Cheese!  Liar--here is no dinner o' yours!"

"Aye, master, but it do be so, sure!" quoth he, staring.  "My very own
dinner cut by my very own darter, beef an' bread an' a mossel o'
cheese--I take my bible oath t' it, I do--bread an' beef an' a mossel--"

"Show me!"  With notable haste he undid the wrapping, discovering a
good half-loaf, a thick slice of roast beef and a slab of yellow cheese.

"Ha, man!" quoth I 'twixt shut teeth.  "So you lied to me then."

"Lied to 'ee, master?" says he faintly.

"You told me 'twas your dinner!"

"Aye, and so it be, so it be, I lay my oath--beef, d'ye see, an' a
mossel--"

"Nay," says I gathering up the viands, "here's my breakfast."

"Is it?" says he, gaping.

"It is!  Would ye deny it?"

"Not for a moment!" says he, eyeing my staff and the gleaming knife in
my belt.  "Lordy, no!  Only how was I to know 'twere yourn,
master--when my darter cut it for her very own feyther--"

"We live and we learn!" says I, turning away.  "What might your name
be?"

"Full-o'-j'y Tucker, master."

"Why then, Full-of-joy, though my gain be your loss take comfort in
that 'tis more blessed to give than receive.  Moreover, though you lack
a dinner you have a daughter and a roof to shelter you and I neither
one nor other--a poor, hungry rogue.  Methinks of the two of us you
have the better of life."

"Why, look'ee now, master," says he, scratching his shaven chin, "since
you've got your breakfus' surely, if you're minded t' step along t' my
cottage down t' lane, I can give ye a jug of good ale to wash it down."
Now as he spoke thus, seeing the sturdy manliness of him I dropped my
staff and reached out my hand.

"Full-of-joy," says I, "a starving man must eat by hook or crook, but
if you'll give your honest hand to a thief--there's mine!"

The man stared from my hand to my face, his wide mouth curved, then
rubbing hand on snowy smock he grasped my fingers and wrung them
heartily--a clean and honest grip, such as I had not known for many a
long day.

"Will 'ee come, master?" he questioned.  I shook my head.  Quoth I:

"You have a daughter and I'm no fit company for a good, sweet maid--nor
ever shall be for that matter!"  So saying, I dropped his hand and
turning, strode away down the road, his dinner beneath my arm; and when
at last I glanced back I saw him standing where I had left him, staring
after me chin in hand. Presently, turning in at a gate beside the way,
I sat down beneath a hedge in the warm, level beams of the sun and fell
to eating with huge appetite and (stolen though it was) never tasted
food more sweet.  I was thus rapturously employed when I heard a
dolorous whine and, starting about, beheld a ragged creature on the
opposite side of the hedge who glared at the food with haggard eyes and
reached out claw-like hands in supplication.

"O for the love o' Christ, spare a crust!" she wailed.  "Spare a bite
to a grannam as dieth o' hunger.  O sweet Jesu--a mouthful to a poor
soul as do be pined for lack o' food--"

"Off!" cries I fiercely, "What know you of hunger?  Away, hag!" and I
reached for my staff, whereupon she wailed and wept, and clawing her
dismal rags about her, crept away moaning.

But now while my jaws champed ravenously, the food had lost its savour;
wherefore I cursed and choked and, springing to my feet, made after
her, but, seeing me follow at speed, she cried out in fear and,
striving to flee from me, sank on feeble knees.

"Old hag!" quoth I, "Be damned for spoiling a hungry man's appetite and
robbing him of what he was at pains to rob for himself!"  Then I thrust
the well-filled napkin into her clutching fingers and hasted away, but
her raptured cry followed me as I went.

I trudged on slow and heavy through the mud, being very weary for lack
of sleep and mightily down cast, heedless of gladsome morn and the
fair, fresh world about me, conscious but of my own most miserable
estate; insomuch that I presently sank down on the grass by the road
and, with heavy head bowed between my hands, gave myself up to black
despond.

But now as I sat thus, very sick and sorrowful, I heard a sound of
wheels and plodding hoofs drawing slowly near, and lifting my head at
last, espied a great wain piled high with fragrant hay whereon the
driver sprawled asleep, a great fat fellow whose snores rose above the
jingle of harness and creak of wheels.  Now hearkening to his snoring,
beholding him so gross and full-fed (and I starving!!) my sadness gave
place to sudden, hot anger and, as the waggon lumbered by, I swung
myself up behind, and clambering over the hay, raised my staff, minded
to drub the fellow into wakefulness; but even then I stayed the blow,
for I spied a wallet that hung to the driving-seat, a large wallet of
plump and inviting aspect.  Reaching it down I opened it forthwith and
found therein a new-baked loaf, a roast capon delicately browned and a
jar of small beer.  And now, couched luxuriously among the hay, I fell
to work (tooth and nail) and though I ate in voracious haste, never
before or since have I tasted aught so delicate and savoury as that
stolen fowl.  I was yet busied with what remained of the carcass when
the fat fellow choked in his snoring, sighed, grunted, propped himself
on lazy elbow and, catching sight of me, fell a-gaping.  So whiles he
watched open-mouthed, I finished what remained of the capon and tossed
the bones over the hedge.

"Ecod!" quoth he faintly.  "O, ecod--my dinner!"  As for me, having my
mouth full, I spake not.  "Ad's bobs!" says he, "A rascally, robbing
thief of the roads!"

"Even so!" I nodded and took a long draught of his beer.

"A-eating and a-drinking of a honest man's dinner, by the Lord!" says
he, clenching fat fists.  "O ecod--a hell-fire rogue--a very lousy,
scurvy dog as shall be carted and whipped and set in Sir Richard's new
pillory!"  At this, being engaged with the bread, I reached out my foot
and kicked him (very featly) in the belly; whereat he gasped and
growing thoughtful, dolefully watched me make an end.

"If there is aught left to eat," says I, "show it me!"

"As fine a capon as was ever plucked, by the Lord!" he groaned.

"Most true!" says I, stretching myself in the hay.

"O!" quoth he, as to himself, "O the pity on't--so foul an end to so
fair a bird!"

"Never whine!" says I, "but tell me how far hence lieth Lamberhurst."

"Better nor six mile!" he sighed, heaving himself into the driving-seat.

"Why then, do you carry me thither."

"Ad's love!" he mourned.  "'Tis manifest shame a rogue should thieve
the food of an honest man--a man like I be as do slave morning, noon
and--"

"Slave!" says I, frowning.  "What know you of slavery?  Be curst for a
great, fat fool that speaketh lies!"  Now watching him as I lay, I saw
his hand close stealthily on his heavy whip, but or ever he could turn
to strike, I rose and fetched him a buffet 'neath the ear that pitched
him sprawling upon the broad backs of his horses, whence (with much
groaning and puffing) he presently got him safely into the road; seeing
the which, I took the reins, whipping the team to faster gait, so that
to keep pace he must needs trot it in the mud.

"Hold!" cries he.  "What would ye wi' my waggon?"

"Ride in 't!"

"Hold!  Then suffer me to ride likewise, for I'm scant o' breath--"

"Good!  I've been scant o' breath ere now!"

"Show a little pity, master!" he groaned.

"None ever showed pity on me!"

"Nay, but--what harm have I--ever--done thee?"

"Begrudged food to a starving wretch!"

"'Twas my dinner and I do need a deal of feeding, I!  Lord, how I
sweat!  Prithee, master, let me up.  How have I deserved this?"

"Called me rogue and thief!"

"Aye, that I did--to my woe.  Aye, rogue I named thee and
likewise--lousy knave--and grieve for't now, I do!"

"And so needs must you sweat awhile!" says I.

And thus I (aloft and at mine ease) and the fat fellow trotting
breathless at the wheel we went awhile (and never another word) until,
what with fear of losing his goods, what with the mud and heat and
sweat, the poor gross fool looked wellnigh spent and all foredone (as I
had seen many a better man than he), whereupon I brought the waggon to
a stand and reached down to stir him where he lent half-swooning across
the wheel.

"Hark'ee, fool, dost know of one called Brandon of Shene hereabouts?"

"Aye, truly--truly!" he gasped.  "I do know--Sir Richard--passing well.
Ad's bobs, my innards be all shook t'pieces and I do be parched wi'
thirst."

"Why then, up with you!" says I, and giving him my hand, aided him back
to the driving-seat.  Being there, he sighed, groaned and cast a
yearning eye towards his wallet.

"Parched wi' thirst I be!" he groaned.

"I've been the like ere now!" says I, and having gulped down what
remained of the fellow's beer I tossed the jar into the road, whereat
he beat his breast.

"My beer!" he wailed, "And I a-famishing wi' thirst!  O my beer!"

"There's sweet water i' the brook yonder!" says I.

"You be a chap wi' no bowels, for sure!" he cried.  "Aye, a hard man
you be!"

"'Tis a hard world," says I, "but 'tis no matter for that, tell me of
Sir Richard Brandon."

"Why then, you must know I am Myles Trueman--"

"And truly, man, there be miles of you, but 'tis no matter for that
either--what of Sir Richard?"

"I do be coming to he," says Trueman in surly tone.  "I do farm Sir
Richard's land--a hard man, see you, though just."

"So--here's another hard man."

"Though a just--aye, and a godly!  He hath restored our church
weathercock an' all an' set up a fine, large and fair pillory on the
green.  Lunnon couldn't show a finer, wi' stocks an' cucking-stool
complete and rare to fancy--"

"And findeth he the wherewithal to fill 'em?"

"That doth he!  Aha, there be never a vagrant, gipsy nor beggar dare
come anigh in Sir Richard's time.  And witches be few hereabouts since
old Mother Mottridge was ducked, and scolds and shrews be fewer by
reason o' the brank, d'ye see?"

"Hum!" says I, "a right proper gentleman this!"

"Aye," quoth Trueman, nodding until his fat cheeks quivered, "and one
that doth abhor vagrants and such-like vermin--"

"As myself?" says I.  To this Trueman answered nothing, but fell
a-fanning himself with his hat again, eyeing me warily the while.

"Art strange in these parts?" he questioned.

"Aye and no!"

"Hast met Sir Richard?"

"I have!"

"Aha!" quoth the fellow, nodding.  "He had ye whipped, belike?"

"He did so."

"For stealing of a fine, fat capon, belike?"

"Nay, 'twas for another matter.  But what of him, is he hale o' body,
rich and well esteemed, is he strong in friends and a power at court
yet?"

"No," says Trueman, flicking his plodding horses.  "Neither one nor
t'other!"

"How--not?" quoth I.  "And wherefore?"

"Because he's dead--"

"Dead!" says I, starting up.  "Dead?"

"Why look'ee, if he ain't dead--leastways--"  But here I seized him by
the throat and, twisting him round, shook him to and fro till he choked:

"Rogue--damned rogue!" I cried 'twixt gnashing teeth.  "Will ye mock me
then!"

"No--no!" he gasped.

"Then tell me ye lied--confess!"

"Aye, aye--I'll confess--anything--anything ye will, master!"

"Then Sir Richard lieth snug in his manor of Shene--doth he not? Aye or
no?"

"Aye--aye, at Shene--at Shene!"  Hereupon I loosed him and, falling
back on the hay, found myself all breathless and shaking as with an
ague-fit.  And these tremors were within me as without, since (by
reason of this fellow's lying words) I had, for one black moment,
doubting God's justice, seen (as it were) my countless anguished
supplications for vengeance on mine enemy so much vain breath, and this
my toilsome journey a labour to no purpose.  But now, bowing my head, I
(who knew no forgiveness) humbly prayed forgiveness of God for my
doubting of God, and passionately besought Him that He would cherish
mine enemy and save him in health.  And this to no other end but that I
myself might destroy him.

"His life, O God--give this man's life into mine hand!"  So prayed I
(in my vain pride and selfish blindness) as I jogged along that sunny
midsummer morn; and thereafter, my trembling having passed from me, I
stretched myself out amid the hay and fell to blissful slumber.

Now to all such as reading this my narrative shall contemn and abhor me
for the purblind fool and poor, desperate wretch I was, and who, living
but for murder, could cry thus on God for the blood of his
fellow-man--to all such I would say that none can despise me more
utterly than I who write these words.  For life since then hath learned
me many truths and in some few things I am, mayhap, a little wiser.

But, because I was proud and stubborn beyond belief, because hate
begetteth hate and evil--evil, so came I to consort and make fellowship
with pirates and the like rogues and to endure much of harms and
dangers as battle, shipwreck, prison and solitude; until God (of His
infinite mercy) brought me forth a better man therefor and, in some
sense, a more worthy.  All of the which I have fully and faithfully
recorded for such as shall trouble to read this narrative to the end.

And so will I again to my story.



CHAPTER IV

TELLETH HOW I MET ONE ADAM PENFEATHER

I awoke to find the waggon at a standstill and Master Trueman watching
me with a scowl the while his plump fingers toyed lovingly with his
whip-stock; but as I roused, this hand crept up to finger his several
chins.

"Yonder lieth Lamberhurst!" quoth he sulkily, and nodded where, in the
valley below, was a village with a green wherein was a placid pool
shaded by trees; and about this green stood white-walled cottages, many
of them bowered in roses or honeysuckle to the very thatch (right
pleasant to the eye), while beyond these again rose gables of barns or
the pointed roofs of oasthouses. "Lamberhurst!" says Trueman again;
whereon, having yawned and stretched myself, I clambered down into the
road.

"Well?" I questioned, seeing how he watched me, triple chin in hand.

"Well," quoth he stoutly, "I be wondering what the likes o' you should
be wanting wi' the likes o' Sir Richard Brandon o' Shene?"

"Nought but this," says I, shaking the hay from my tattered cloak, "I
am come to watch him die, and the manner of it shall mayhap be
something slow and painful!" and speaking, I clenched my right hand to
a sunburnt fist.  Now looking on this clutching hand, Trueman blinked
and, saying no word, whipped his horses and the heavy wain rumbled and
creaked on its way.  But, when he had gone some distance, he grinned at
me over his shoulder and called something whereof I caught the words
"labour lost."  For a moment I was minded to run after and demand his
meaning; howbeit, in a little, I turned and went down the hill very
full of thought.

Reaching the village I found it not yet astir, for the clock of the
church tower showed the time was but half after four; and now, leaning
on my staff I stared up at the church tower with its new weathercock,
brave with gilding, agleam in the early sun, and from thence turned my
gaze where (hard beside the pool upon the green) rose the grim shape of
Sir Richard's new pillory.  Just now it stood untenanted and I wondered
idly what unhappy wight was destined next to suffer there.  Thus stood
I some while, staring round me on this peaceful hamlet where all (save
only myself) forgot their cares awhile in blessed sleep; the wide road,
the gabled cottages, oast-house and fragrant rick yard--all was as I
minded it five weary years since:  nothing strange was there saving
only Sir Richard's hateful pillory, wherefore I smote it with my staff
and, cursing him that set it there, turned away.

Now within a stone's-cast of the church was a goodly tavern with a
weatherbeaten signboard a-swing above the door, whereon was painted
what purported to be a leopard asleep and below the following legend,
viz.:

  ROUSE ME NOT

and below this again:

  YE CONISBY ARMS.

From this I glanced at the third finger of my left hand, which was a
battered signet ring that bore the semblance of another sleeping
leopard and the like inscription; and looking from the sleeping leopard
on the signboard to the sleeping leopard on my ring, I fell to deep and
gloomy thought.  Howbeit, rousing in a while, I perceived a
horse-trough hard by full of clean water, and came thither minded to
wash the dust and sweat from me.  But, stooping, I paused and stood
thus, staring down at the face that scowled up at me; a face lean and
haggard with wide, fierce eyes agleam beneath knitted brows, a
prominent nose and square chin with short, peaked, golden beard; an
unlovely face framed in shaggy, yellow hair patched and streaked with
silver; and beholding lowering brow and ferocious mouth and jaw I stood
awhile marvelling at the ill-changes evil and hardship had wrought in
me.

For thus was it that I first beheld myself after five years of slavery.

Having looked my fill, I nodded grimly at my watery image and plunged
my face and head within the trough to my great refreshment, which done,
I made shift to dry myself on my tattered shirt.  Thereafter, coming to
the broad oak settle beside the tavern door, I sat down and fell to
meditation.  But now, moved by sudden impulse, I unbuckled the wallet
at my girdle and taking thence the strange dagger, unwound the
neckerchief that swathed it and began to examine the weapon, first
carelessly enough, then with growing interest and wonder.  The blade
(as I have told elsewhere) was triangular of form, very narrow and some
eight inches in length and exceeding sharp of point; but that which
drew and held my gaze was the wonder of its haft.  I have seen and
handled many fair weapons in my day, but never before or since have I
beheld such rare craftsmanship as went to the chiselling of this hilt.
Of silver it was, wrought into the shape of a standing woman, her feet
poised upon the small, chiselled cross-guard, her head forming the
pommel; naked she stood in languorous pose, arms raised and hands
locked behind her head.  The delicate chiselling of the features was
worn somewhat by handling and rough usage, but even so the evil beauty
of the face was plain and manifest, the wanton languor of the long
eyes, the mocking cruelty of the smiling mouth.  The longer I viewed
it, the more manifest became the nameless evil of the thing, so that I
was greatly minded to whirl it into the horse-pond and be done with it.
But bethinking me of my destitution and not doubting but that I might
find a ready market for a thing so rare, I lapped it up again and
thrusting it back into my wallet, stretched myself out upon the broad
settle and presently fell asleep.

But (even as I slept) methought I was back in torment.  I seemed to
hear again the crack of whips, the harsh cries of the drivers, the
shrill screams and curses, the long, groaning breaths with the rattle
and creak of the great oars as they swung ceaselessly back and forth;
nay, I could even feel the kick of the oar-shaft that had escaped my
fainting grasp.  So real was it all that I waked groaning (as I had
done many a time and oft), waked to find the kindly sun making a glory
about me and a blackbird hard by a-piping most sweet to hear, while
before me stood a little, thin fellow in a broad-eaved, steeple-crowned
hat, who peered at me through narrowed eyes and poked at me with a
stick.

"And how's the wind, shipmate?" he questioned.  I sat up and scowled,
whereupon he tucked the stick beneath an arm and stood viewing me, chin
in hand.  "You sleep mighty sound," says he, "here I've stood a-poking
at ye with my stick, d'ye see, and you snore but the louder--or was it
groans?"

"For the which poking I'm minded to throw you into the horse-pond--"

"Why, that's as may be!" says he, falling back a step.  "But no
offence, shipmate."

"Then leave me in peace."  And I laid me down again.

"You sleep mighty sound," says he, "and your bed none so easy!"

"I've known worse!"

"Aye--the rowing-bench of a Spanish floating hell, shipmate--ha?"

At this, I started and turned to look at him again.  He was (as I say)
a little man and clad in suit of russet-brown (very trim and sober),
but at his hip he bore a long rapier or tuck, while in his ears (which
were trimmed to points in mighty strange fashion) swung great, gold
rings such as mariners do wear; his face was lean and sharp and wide of
mouth and lighted by very quick, bright eyes, seeming to take in all
things with swift-darting glances.  A scar that ran from brow to chin
lent to him a certain hangdog air; as to his age, it might have been
thirty or forty or sixty, for, though he seemed vigorous and active,
with smooth, unwrinkled face, his hair was snow-white.

"Well, shipmate," he questioned, meeting my searching gaze, "and how
d'ye like me?"

"No whit!"

"Sink me, but that's plain enough!" says he, smiling ruefully. "So
there's nought in me as draws you, then?"

"No!"

"'Tis pity, for I've a feeling we shall sail aboard ship together yet."

"How should you know I've rowed aboard a Spanish ship?"

"You bear the mark, shipmate; as you lay a-groaning in your sleep I
took occasion to cast an eye over ye, d'ye see, and what wi' the
new-healed scars on your wrist, your sunburnt skin and the desperate
sink-or-swim look o' you I judged you new-broke from slavery, and named
a Spanish galleass at a venture, d'ye see."

"You are an observant man, it seems," says I, frowning.

"I have a way o' putting one and one together--'tis a trick I've found
useful now and then!"

"Ha!" says I, mighty scornful, "You'll be telling me my own name next!"

"Why, as to that," says he, pinching his long, clean-shaven chin
thoughtfully, "how would Conisby suit?"

"Damned spy!" I cried, and caught him in my grip; the fellow never so
much as flinched, and there was something formidable in his very
quietude.

"Easy all, shipmate!" says he mildly and staring up at me eye to eye.
"Use me kindly, for I'm a timid soul with a good heart, meaning no
offence."

"How learned ye my name?  What devilry is here?"

"None in the world, Lord love ye!  'Tis just my trick of adding one and
one, d'ye see?  There's the ring on your finger and the signboard above
you."

"And wherefore spy on a sleeping man?"

"Because I'm a lonely soul doth seek a comrade.  Because the moment I
clapped eyes on you I felt drawn to ye, and seeing the scars on your
wrist, knew 'em for shackle-marks--and 'twas a bond betwixt us."

"How a bond?"

"Loose me, shipmate, and I'll show ye."  Which done, he bared a long
and sinewy arm, discovering thereon marks of old fetter-sores like
those upon my own.

"So you've slaved at an oar, then?" says I.

"Aye, shipmate!"

"Endured the shame of stripes and nakedness and filth?"

"Aye, shipmate.  And more, I've fought for my life on the Inca
Death-stone ere now, as you may see by my ears if you know aught of the
Maya Indians."

And here without so much as a "by your leave" he sat him down on the
bench beside me, and leaning forward began to trace idle patterns in
the dust with his stick.

"Shipmate," says he, "I'm a timid man--"

"As a snake," quoth I, "and as deadly!"

Here he stayed his drawing to glance at me askance, to sigh and shake
his head.  "You misjudge me," says he, "howbeit we'll say cautious--a
cautious man with an honest, kindly heart as yearns to fellowship."

"And with a pistol 'neath each armpit!"

"True!" he nodded.  "I might ha' shot ye a moment since and
didn't--which doth but prove my words, for I'm one as never harmed any
man--without just cause--save once, and that--" here he sighed, "was
years agone.  And me a lonely man to this day. So 'tis I seek a
comrade--a right man, one at odds wi' fortune and the world and
therefore apt to desperate ploys, one hath suffered and endured and
therefore scornful of harms and dangers, one as knoweth the sea.  Now
let that man pledge me the blood-brotherhood, let him stand staunch and
faithful blow fair, blow foul, and I'll help him to a fortune greater
than ever came out of Manoa, El Dorado, or the Indies.  Come, what d'ye
say, friend?"

"I say sheer off and leave me to my sleep lest I mischief you."

"Ha' ye no lust for riches, then?"

"No more than I have to your company and I love that less and less."

"'Tis pity!" says he, shaking his head.  "Aye, 'tis pity, for I do like
you more and more, such a fine blood-and-beef, dare-and-be-damned,
gibbet-like figure of a rogue, shipmate, as would grace a cross-roads
better than most, which is one reason I was drawn to ye, d'ye see, I
being a quiet soul--"

"And a pirate, like as not!"

"Easy, shipmate, easy.  Passion is an ill word to steer by.  And I'm a
lonely man as seeks a comrade--"

"And I'm a lonely man that loveth solitude, so e'en now will I go seek
it!" and I rose.

"Stay a bit, shipmate, haul your wind and listen!" says he, laying hand
on my arm.  "Stand in wi' me, blow high, blow low, and I offer
you--wealth untold--riches, fortune--"

"Tush!" says I, "empty things all."  At this his hold tightened while
his keen gaze held mine.

"More than this," says he slowly, "I offer you rank, honours, power and
mayhap--love, shipmate."

"Enough!" quoth I.  "You offer nought I desire."

"Why then," says he, "in the Fiend's name what would ye have?"

"Vengeance!" I answered, and shaking off his grasp I turned and strode
away along the dusty road.



CHAPTER V

HOW I CAME TO CONISBY SHENE

It being yet full early for my purpose I took to the woods, and
presently chancing upon a little stream that bubbled pleasantly 'mid
shady willows, I sat myself down within this greeny bower and fell to
watching the hurrying waters of this brook and hearkening to its drowsy
murmur.  And lying thus, with the good green world around me, the sunny
air blithe with the mellow piping of birds and the soft wind rustling
the leaves about me--what must I have in mind but bloodshed and the
destruction of my enemy, insomuch that reaching a stone from the brook
I drew the knife from my girdle and set about straightening the blade
thereof.

I was thus employed when all at once the leaves on the opposite side of
the brook were parted and a girl-child appeared.  For a long moment we
eyed each other across the brook, then all at once her pretty lips
curved to a smile.

"Little maid," says I, furtively thrusting the knife into my belt, "art
not afraid of me then?"

"Nay!" she answered, smiling yet and shaking her golden head.

"And why?"

"I do like your eyes, big man, kind eyes they be!"

"Are they?" says I, glancing from her smiling innocence into the brook.

"Aye, and your voice--I do like that too--'tis low and soft--like
father's."

"And who's your father?"

"He be th' blacksmith."

"How old are you?"

"Seven, an' a big maid I be.  Will 'ee aid me 'cross t'brook, now?"

So I lifted her over and there we sat, side by side, she laughing and
talking and I hearkening to her childish prattle with marvellous great
pleasure.  Presently I ventured to touch her soft cheek, to stroke her
curls, and finding she took this not amiss, summoned courage to stoop
and kiss her.

How long we had sat thus I know not, when I was aroused by a shrill,
harsh voice and turning, beheld a bony woman who peered at us through
the leaves.

"Susan Ann!" she cried.  "O you Susan, come away!  Come quick or I'll
run for your mother."

"The child is safe enough!" says I, frowning, but clasping the small
damsel closer within my arm.

"Safe?" cries the woman, turning on me in fury.  "Safe--aye, for sooth,
wi' a great, ill rogue the like o' you!  Loose her--loose her or I'll
scream and rouse the village on ye for a wild gipsy wastrel that ye
are!"  And here the old harridan railed at me until the child whimpered
for fear and even I blenched before the woman's fierce aspect and
shrewish tongue.  Then, while she loaded me with abuse, a ceaseless
torrent (and no lack of breath), I kissed the little maid's tear-wetted
cheek and, setting her back across the brook, stood to watch until the
child and woman were lost to my sight.  Then I sat down, scowling at
the hurrying water, chin on fist, for my black humour, banished awhile
by the child's innocent faith in me, was returned and therewith an
added bitterness.  Scowling yet, I plucked forth my knife and seizing
my staff, set to trim and shape it to a formidable weapon; and as I
worked I cursed this woman deep and oft, yet (even so) knew she had the
right on't, for truly I was a rogue, an outcast of unlovely look and
unlovely ways, a desperate fellow unfit for the company of decent folk,
much less an innocent child; and yet, remembering those fearless
child-eyes, the kiss of those pure child-lips I sighed amain betwixt my
muttered cursings.

At last, having trimmed my bludgeon to a nicety, I laid it by, and sat
brooding, the knife betwixt my knees; now a beam of sun falling athwart
the leaves lit upon the broad blade of the knife and made of it a
glory.  And beholding this and the hand that grasped it, I took
pleasure to heed how strong and sinewy were my fingers and how the
muscles bulged beneath the brown skin of my forearm; and turning the
glittering steel this way and that I fell to joyous thought of my enemy
and of my vengeance, now so near.

"To-night!" says I to myself, "Death ever cometh with more terrors in
the dark!  To-night!"  But now, little by little, my joy gave place to
anger that the night must be so long a-coming; and, glancing up, I
cursed the sun that it must needs shine and the gladsome day that it
was not grim night.  And presently to anger was added a growing fear
lest mine enemy might (by some hap) elude me at the eleventh
hour--might, even now, be slipping from my reach.  Now at this a sweat
brake out on me, and leaping to my feet I was minded to seek him out
and end the matter there and then.  "Why wait for to-night?" I asked
myself.  "Surely in the gladsome light of day Death findeth an added
bitterness.  Why wait for night, then?"

So I stood awhile debating within myself, then, catching up my knotted
bludgeon, I set off along the stream incontinent, following a path I
had trodden many a time when but a lad; a path that led on through mazy
thickets, shady dells and green coppices dappled with sunlight and glad
with the trilling melody of birds; but ever as I went, before my eyes
was a man who twisted in my grasp and died, over and over again, and in
my ears the sounds of his agony.  And ever as I went trees reached out
arms as if to stay me and bushes stretched forth little, thorny fingers
that caught my garments as if to hinder me from my purpose.  But I
brushed them aside with my scarred arms or beat them down with my heavy
staff, o'er-leaping hedge and ditch and fallen tree until I reached the
highway, and even as I came there a distant clock chimed the hour of
ten.  I quickened my pace, twirling my staff as I went, so that the two
or three wayfarers I chanced to meet drew from my neighbourhood and
eyed me mightily askance.  Having gone thus some mile or so, I came to
a wall that bordered the road, a high and mossy wall, and following
this, to a pair of gates set well back from the highway, with pillars
of stone each surmounted by a couchant leopard carved in the stone.
Now these gates were of iron, very lofty and strong and fast shut, but
besides these was a smaller gate or postern of wood hard by the
gatehouse where stood a lusty fellow in fair livery, picking his teeth
with a straw and staring at the square toes of his shoes. Hearing me
approach he glanced up and, frowning, shook his head and waved me away.

"Here's no road for the likes o' you!" said he while I was yet at some
distance.  "Off wi' you!"  Howbeit, seeing I still advanced he clapped
to the gate, and letting fall the bar, cursed me roundly through the
grille.

"I would see Sir Richard Brandon!" says I.

"Then ye can't--nowise.  So be off and be danged!"

"Open the gate!" says I.

"Be hanged for a murderous-looking rogue, a lousy thief, a wastrel and
a hangdog knave!" says he all in a breath.

"All true enough!" says I.  "And now, open the gate!"

"Be danged for a prigging gipsy--'A Gad!  I'll have ye clapped i' the
pillory for a black-visaged clapper-claw!"

"Unbar!" says I, "Or it shall go plaguy ill wi' you when I come in."

At this he spat upon me through the grille and chuckled.  Now, glancing
about, I espied a stone hard by about the bigness of a man's head and,
laying by my staff, I wrenched the stone from where it lay and, raising
it aloft, hove it with all my strength; whereon the gate crashed open
so suddenly as to catch the fellow a buffet that laid him sprawling on
his back, and as he strove to rise I pinned him down with my staff and
kicked him heartily.

"And now," says I, "up with you and bring me to your master."

But or ever he could do aught but groan and rub his hurts, I heard the
sound of approaching hoof-strokes and, turning, beheld a lady bravely
mounted who galloped furiously towards us down the avenue.  When almost
upon us she swung her powerful beast aside and, checking him with
strong wrist, sat looking down at me from the shade of her plumed hat.

"What is this?" she demanded, and her eyes swept over me grey and wide
and fearless.  "Who--who are you?"

Now at the sound of her voice so rich and wonder-sweet, I felt
strangely abashed and, finding no word, turned from her to scowl down
at the man I had pinned beneath my broken shoe.

"Who are you?" she questioned again.  "Speak!"

"A rogue!" says I, keeping my head averted.  "A creeper o' hedges!"

"Ah--is't you?" said she in softer tone.  "I saw you for a moment by
lightning-flash near the gibbet.  You are my man o' the woods, and,
sir, I owe you much--very much--indeed, sir, if--"

"I am no 'sir'!" quoth I shortly.

"Gregory," says she, looking down on the fellow 'neath my foot.
"Gregory, get up!"

"Gregory," says I, "stir not!"

"Sir, would you hurt my servant?" says she, knitting her slender black
brows.

"I' faith!" I nodded.  "The uncivil rogue forced me to burst open the
gate."

"And why are you here?  Who are you?  What is your name?" cried she a
little breathlessly, and I wondered at the fixed intensity of her gaze.

"Gregory," says I, taking my foot from his middle but threatening him
with my staff, "I am come for no traffic with maids, so rise up and
bring me to your master."

"Nay," groans the fellow, turning up his eyes, "'tis thing impossible,
here's only my lady--"

"And I seek your master--is he within?"

"Nay," says Gregory, flinching beneath my staff, "as my lady shall tell
'ee--he is not here."

"Ha!" quoth I.  "That will I see for myself."  But as I turned to
stride up the avenue, my lady wheeled her horse, barring my way.

"Whither go you?" she demanded, her eyes holding mine.

"To the house for Sir Richard.  I have been at some small pains to gain
speech with him."

"To what end?"

"Why truly," I answered, leaning upon my staff and viewing her eye to
eye, "'tis a matter of vital moment, aye--in a manner of speaking--'tis
a matter of life and death betwixt us."  Now as I stood thus I could
not but be conscious of her glowing, vigorous beauty, her body's noble
shape and the easy grace of her as she sat her fretting horse, swaying
to his every movement.  And to me, in my rags, she seemed no woman but
a goddess rather, proud, immaculate and very far removed; and yet these
proud lips could (mayhap) grow soft and tender, these clear eyes that
met mine so fearlessly--

The staff was wrenched from my loosened grasp and Gregory, leaping to
his feet, fetched me therewith staggering blow on blow, shouting with
his every stroke:

"Ho--Peter!  Roger!  Will!  Ho--hither, lads all!  Loose the
dogs--hither to me, 'a God's name!"  But, though mused with blows, I
rushed in blindly and, closing with the fellow, got him fairly by the
throat and shook him to and fro.  And now was I minded to choke him
outright, but, even then, spied a cavalier who spurred his horse
against me.  Hereupon I dashed the breathless Gregory aside and turned
to meet my new assailant, a spruce young gallant he, from curling
lovelock to Spanish boots. I remember cursing savagely as his whip
caught me, then, or ever he could reach me again, I sprang in beneath
the head of his rearing horse and seizing the rein close by the bridle
began to drag and wrench at the bit.  I heard shouts and a woman's cry
of fear, but I strove only the fiercer, while up and up reared the
great roan horse, snorting in terror, his forelegs lashing wildly;
above tossing mane the eyes of his rider glared down at me as, laughing
exultant, I wrenched savagely at the bridle until, whinnying with pain
and terror, the great beast, losing his balance, crashed over backwards
into the dust.  Leaping clear of those desperate, wild-thrashing
hooves, I found myself beset by divers fellows armed with staves, who
closed upon me, shouting; and above these, her eyes wide, her full, red
lips close-set, my lady looked down on me and I (meeting that look)
laughed, even as her fellows rushed at me:

"Go cosset your pretty springald, wench!"  But even then, dazed and
half-blinded by a hail of blows, I staggered, sank to my knees,
struggled up again, smiting with bare fists.  A flame seemed to flash
before my eyes, a taste of blood was on my tongue, and all sounds grew
faint and far away as, stumbling blindly, I threw up my arms, tripped
and plunged down and down into an engulfing darkness, and knew no more.



CHAPTER VI

OF MY SHAMEFUL SUFFERINGS AND HOW I WAS DELIVERED THEREFROM

I awoke with a sound in my ears like the never-ceasing surge and hiss
of waters, a sound that waxed ever louder.  Hearkening to this, I
presently sought to move and wondered, vaguely uneasy, to find this
impossible:  I strove now to lift my right hand, found it fast held,
tried my left and found it in like case, and so became conscious of
something that gripped me about the throat, and ever my wonder and
unease grew.  And now, opening my eyes, the first thing they lighted on
was a small pool of blood and beyond this a battered turnip, and beyond
this, the carcass of a dead cat, and beyond this again, a pair of trim,
buckled shoes, cotton stockings, wide breeches and a broad belt where
swung a tuck or rapier prodigiously long of blade; in a while (my eyes
ranging higher yet) I beheld a thin face scarred from mouth to eyebrow,
a brown face with bright, very quick eyes and strange ears, they being
cut to points like a dog's ears.  Now looking at this face, it seemed
to me in hazy fashion that somewhere and at some time I had seen such a
face before.  All this while, the noise I have likened to the sea had
been growing louder, so that I began to recognise voices and even
words, and, lifting my head as well as I might (by reason of the thing
that gripped my throat), I saw faces all about me--they hemmed me in on
every side and stretched away to the churchyard wall.

Then, all at once, the knowledge of my situation rushed upon me; I was
in the pillory.

"Huroor!  'E be a-coming' round!" cried a voice.

"Time, too!" shouted a great, strapping fellow near by.  "'Tis sinful
shame to waste good bad-eggs on rogue as knoweth not when 'e do be hit!
He be a mark as babe couldn't miss--a proper big 'un!"  So saying, the
fellow let fly an egg at me, the which, striking the board within an
inch of my face, filled the air with suffocating stench.

This was a signal for me to become a target for all the garbage of the
village.  And now, indeed, good cause had I to be thankful for my thick
mane of hair which (in some sort) saved me from sundry cuts and
bruises, howbeit my face was soon clotted with blood and filth.

Vain were it to tell all the frenzy of rage that possessed me as I
stood thus helpless against my howling tormentors, chief of whom was
the great fellow I have mentioned, who (by reason of height and length
of arm) struck me oftenest; once indeed when (beside myself with fury)
I raised my head to curse him, he took me a blow in the mouth with some
vile missile that set my very gums a-bleeding.

"Lord love ye, shipmate--that's the spirit!" said a voice below me,
"But keep the wind o' them--don't let 'em rake ye--douse your
figure-head.  Lie low, shipmate, lie low and trust to your comrade Adam
Penfeather--and that's me.  Patience is the word!"

Looking whence the voice came I beheld the man with whom I had talked
that morning; now as our glances met, one of his bright eyes closed
slowly and, nodding twice, he turned and elbowed his way through the
crowd.  Small liking had I for this fellow, but with his departure a
sense of loneliness gripped me and needs must I lift my head to stare
after him, whereupon a rotten egg struck me above the eye, causing a
most intolerable smart; at this moment, too, the great fellow swung a
cat's carcass by the tail, but, or ever he could hurl this stinking
missile, a hand clouted him heavily over the ear from behind, tumbling
his hat off, whereupon he turned, bellowing with rage, and smote his
nearest neighbour with the foul thing meant for me.  In an instant all
was uproar around these two as the crowd, forgetting me, surged about
them.  Thus for some while, during which the fight raged, I was left
unmolested and looked hither and thither amid the swaying throng for
this fellow, Adam Penfeather, but he was vanished quite.

At length, the big fellow having sufficiently trounced his opponent,
the crowd betook itself (and very joyously) to my further baiting and
torment.  Now as I hung thus in my shame and misery, faint with my
hurts and parched with cruel thirst, my gaze lighted upon a small, bony
man--a merry-eyed fellow with wide, up-curving mouth, who laughed and
jested continually; it was as he stooped for some missile or other that
his eye met mine, and in that bright eye methought I read a sudden pity.

"O cull," says I hoarsely, "a mouthful o' water--"

"Pal," says he, winking, "all's bowmon!"  Whereupon he turned and
vanished in the crowd and I, burning in a fever of thirst, panted for
his return, straining my eyes for sight of him; then, as he came not, I
groaned and drooped my head, and lo! even then he was before me bearing
a tin pannikin full of water.  This in hand, he mounted the steps of
the pillory and, despite the jeers and hootings of the crowd, was
lifting the life-giving water to my eager lips when forth leapt the big
fellow and sent water and pannikin flying with a savage blow of his
fist.

"None o' that, peddler!" he roared.  And now, as I groaned and licked
at bleeding lips with swollen tongue, the little man turned (quick as a
flash), tripped up the great fellow's heels and, staying for no more,
made off through the crowd, that gave him passage, howling its acclaim.

The afternoon dragged wearily on and, what with the suffocating stench
of the filth that plastered me, what with heat and dust and agonising
thirst, my suffering grew almost beyond endurance; a deadly nausea
seized me and I came nigh to swooning.  But now, in this my great
extremity, of a sudden, from somewhere on the outskirts of the crowd
rose a shrill cry of "Fire!" the which cry, being taken up by others,
filled the air with panic, the crowd melted as if by magic until the
village green and the road were quite deserted.  All this I noted but
dimly (being more dead than alive) when I became conscious of one that
spake in my ear.

"Stand by, shipmate, stand by!  There's never a rogue left--all run to
the fire--stand by to slip your moorings!"

"Let be," I groaned, "I'm a dead man!"

"Then here's that shall make ye quick," says this fellow Penfeather,
dangling a great key before my swimming eyes. "Here's freedom from your
devil's trap and a plaguy time I've had to come by it."

"Then for the love o' God--let me out," I groaned.

"Easy all, shipmate!" says he, turning the key upon his finger. "For
look'ee now, here's me, (a timid man) run no small risk this last
half-hour and all for you.  Now a bargain's a bargain, you'll agree?"

"Well?" says I, faintly.

"Why then, shipmate, if I free ye of your bonds, wilt be my comrade
sworn?  Aye or no?"

"No!" says I.  "Plague take ye that bargain with dying man.  No!"

"Why then," sighs he, "here's a good rick ablaze, here's John Purdy the
beadle wi' his head broke, and here's me in a sweat, alack--and all to
no purpose, since needs must you in your bilboes bide."

"Do but get me a draft of water!" I pleaded.

"Nary a drop!" says he, spinning the key on his finger under my nose,
"Nor yet a foaming stoup o' good Kentish ale--nut brown--"

"Ha, rogue--rogue!" I panted, 'twixt parched lips.  "I'll yet--avenge
this torment--an' I live!"

"The legs of a man," says he, "are a vain thing and his strength
likewise, and as to vengeance, shipmate, well--how goeth your vengeance
as be more to ye than fortune or riches?"  Here he paused, but I held
my peace and he continued, "Here's you now, you that was so mighty and
fierce--aye, a very hell-fire roarer--here's that same you a-hanging
here a very helpless, pitiful fool, shipmate, and thirsty 'twould
seem--"

Here I groaned again.

"And one not over sweet!" says he, stopping his nose.

Hereupon I cursed him, though faintly, and he comes a step nearer.

"'Tis said my Lady Brandon and her gallant Sir Rupert Dering--him you
overthrew, shipmate--do mean to come and take a look at you anon,
though 'tis shame you should be made a raree show--burn me!"

Hereupon, I fell into a sudden raging fury, striving so desperately
against my bonds that the devilish engine wherein I stood shook and
rattled again; but I strove to no purpose, and so presently hung there
spent and bruised and breathless whiles Penfeather spun the key on his
finger and sighed:

"Shipmate," says he, "wherefore irk yourself wi' bonds?  Say but the
word and I'll deliver ye, bring ye to safe harbourage and cherish ye
with much good ale.  Be persuaded, now."

"Why then," groans I, "give me but until to-morrow to do what I
will--and I'm yours!"

"Done!" says he, and forthwith set key to padlock; but scarce had he
freed the head-board than he falls a-cursing 'neath his breath.  "Easy,
comrade, easy!" quoth he, softly.  "Bide still awhile--hither cometh
yon beefy fool back again--so will I make show of miscalling ye till he
be gone."  The which he did forthwith, giving me "scurvy rogue" and the
like.  Now, lifting my head, whom should I behold but that same tall
fellow had been my chief tormenter, and who now hasted over the green
towards us.

"It be now't but Farmer Darrell's rick ablaze," says he to Penfeather,
"so let 'un burn, says I, Farmer Darrell be no friend o' mine.  So I be
come to sport wi' yon big rogue awhile." Herewith he stooped for some
missile to cast at me; but now I straightened my back, the head-board
gave and, ere the fellow was aware, I was creeping swiftly upon him.
Taken thus by surprise small chance had he, for, leaping on him, I bore
him over on his back and kneeling on him, buried my fingers in his
throat.  And so I choked him (right joyfully) till Penfeather gripped
my arm.

"Lord love me!" cries he, "Will ye kill the fool?"

"That will I!"

"And hang for him?"

"Nay--he's scarce worth it."

"Then, devil burn ye--loose his windpipe!"  So I loosed the fellow's
throat, and, despite his feeble kicks, began to drag him over the grass.

"What now, comrade?" says Penfeather.  "Sink me, what now?"

"Watch and see!"  So I brought the fellow to the pillory wherein I set
him, and plucking the key from Penfeather, locked him there in my
stead; which done I kicked him once or twice, and having found the
cat's carcass made shift to hang the stinking thing about his neck;
then tossing the key into the pond, I took to my heels and left the
fellow groaning mighty dismal.



CHAPTER VII

HOW I HEARD TELL OF BLACK BARTLEMY'S TREASURE

Now scarce was I clear of the village than I was again seized of a
deadly sickness and vertigo so that I stumbled and was like to fall,
but that Penfeather propped me with his shoulder.  In this fashion I
made shift to drag myself along, nor would he suffer me stay or respite
(maugre my weakness) until, following the brook, he had brought me into
the green solitude of the woods.

Here then I sank down, sucking up the cool, sweet water 'twixt parched
lips, drinking until Penfeather stayed me, lest I should do myself hurt
thereby.  Thereafter, from strength reviving, I bathed my divers wounds
(the which, though painful, were of small account) and fell to
cleansing my spattered garments as well as I might.

"So we're to be comrades, after all!" says Penfeather, watching me
where he sat hard by.

"Aye--to-morrow!"

"And how goeth vengeance, shipmate?"  At this I turned on him with
clenched fist.  "Nay, easy does it," says he, never budging, "for if
'twas the folly of vengeance brought ye in the peccadille, 'twas your
comrade Adam Penfeather got ye out again--so easy all!"

"'Twas you fired the rick, then?"

"None other!"

"'Tis a hanging matter, I've heard!"

"Why a man must needs run some small risk for his comrade d'ye see--"

"Then, Adam Penfeather, I'm your debtor."

"Nay," says he, "there be no debts 'twixt comrades o' the Brotherhood,
'tis give and take, share and share!"  And speaking, he drew forth a
purse and emptying store of money on the grass betwixt us, divided it
equally and pushed a pile of silver and copper towards me.

"And what's this?" I demanded.

"Share and share, comrade!"

"But I'm no comrade o' yours till after to-night."

"Aha!" says he, pinching his long chin.  "Is't more vengeance then?"

"Keep your money till it be earned!" I muttered.

"Sink me--and there's pride for ye!" says he.  "Pride which is a vain
thing and vengeance which is a vainer.  Lord love me, shipmate, 'tis
plain to see you're o' the quality, 'spite your rags--blue blood,
high-breeding, noblesse oblige and all the rest on't."

"Stint your gab!" says I, scowling.

"'Tis writ large all over ye," he went on placidly enough.  "As for me,
I'm but a plain man wi' no time for vengeance and no whit o' pride
about me anywhere.  What I says to you is, get to wind'ard o'
vengeance--nay, heave it overboard, shipmate, and you'll ride the
easier, aye and sweeter, and seek something more useful--gold, for
instance, 'tis a handy thing, I've heard say--so ha' done wi'
vengeance!"

"No!" says I, frowning.  "Not--nay, not for all Bartlemy's treasure!"

"Aha!" quoth he softly.  "So you've heard tell of it then, along the
Spanish Main?"

"I heard tell of it last night in a cave from a sailor-man."

"How?" says he starting and with keen eyes glancing hither and thither.
"A sailor-man--hereabouts?"

"Damme!" says I, "the country seems thick o' sailor-men."

"Ha!  D'ye say so?  And what like was this one?"

"A comely rogue that sang strange song."

"Ah!" said Penfeather, his eyes narrowing.  "A song, says you--and
strange--how strange?"

"'Twas all of dead men and murder!"

"D'ye mind any line o't, shipmate?"

"Aye, the words of it went somewhat like this:

  "'Some on a knife did part wi' life
  And some a bullet took O!
  But--'"

Now here, as I stopped at a loss, my companion took up the rhyme almost
unconsciously and below his breath:

  "'But three times three died plaguily
  A wriggling on a hook O!'

"Comrade!" says he in the same low voice, "Did ye see ever among these
mariners a one-handed man, a tall man wi' a hook in place of his left
hand--a very bright, sharp hook?"  And now as Penfeather questioned me,
he seized my wrist and I was amazed at the iron grip of him.

"No!" I answered.

"Nay," says he, loosing his hold, "how should you--he's dead, along o'
so many on 'em!  He's done for--him and his hook, devil burn him!"

  "'A hook both long and stout and strong,
  They died by gash o' hook O!'"

"Ah!" I cried.  "So that was the kind of hook!"

"Aye!" nodded Penfeather, "That was the kind.  A bullet's bad, a
knife's worse, but a steel hook, shipmate, very sharp d'ye see, is a
death no man should die.  Shipmate, I've seen divers men dead by that
same hook--torn and ripped d'ye see--like a dog's fangs!  I'd seen many
die ere then, but that way--'twas an ill sight for queasy stomachs!"

"And he--this man with the hook is dead, you say?"

"And burning in hell-fire!"

"Are you sure?"

"I killed him, shipmate!"

"You!" says I.

"I, shipmate.  We fought on a shelf o' rock high above the sea, my
knife agin his knife and hook--'twas that same hook gave me this scar
athwart my jaw--but as he struck, I struck and saw him go spinning over
and over, down and down and splash into the sea. And for three days I
watched that bit o' shore, living on shell-fish and watching for him,
to make sure I had finished him at last."

"And these other rogues?" says I.

"What like were they, shipmate?"  Hereupon I described (as fully as I
might) the three sailor-men I had fought with in the hedge-tavern
(albeit I made no mention of the maid), while Penfeather listened,
nodding now and then and pinching at his long chin. "And this other
fellow," says he, when I had done, "this fellow that sang--d'ye know if
his name chanced to be Mings--Abnegation Mings, comrade?"

"The very same!" says I.

"Strange!" quoth Penfeather, and thereafter sat staring gloomily down
into the rippling waters of the brook for a while.  "I wonder?" says he
at last.  "I wonder?"

"What think ye shall bring these fellows so far from the coast--what
should they be after?"

"Me, shipmate!"

"You!" says I for the second time, marvelling at the strange quiet of
him.  "And what would they have of you?"

"My life, shipmate, and one other thing.  What that thing is I will
tell you when we have drunk the blood-brotherhood!  But now it behoveth
me to be a-going, so I'll away.  But when you shall seek me, as seek me
ye will, shipmate, shalt hear of me at the Peck-o'-Malt tavern, which
is a small, quiet place 'twixt here and Bedgebury Cross.  Come there at
any hour, day or night, and say 'The Faithful Friend,' and you shall
find safe harbourage. Remember, comrade, the word is 'The Faithful
Friend,' and if so be you can choose your time--night is better."  So
saying, he arose.

"Wait!" says I, pointing to the coins yet lying on the grass. "Take
your money!"

"'Tis none o' mine," says he, shaking his head.  "Keep it or throw it
away--'tis all one to me!"  Then he went away through the wood and, as
he went, I thought he walked with a new and added caution.



CHAPTER VIII

HOW I FELL IN WITH ONE GOD-BE-HERE, A PEDDLER

Evening was at hand as I reached a little alehouse well away from the
road and pleasantly secluded by trees:  thither came I, fondling
Penfeather's money in my pocket, for I was again mightily sharp set.
But all at once I stopped, for, passing the open lattice, I heard loud
laughter and a merry voice:

"And there, believe me, gossips" (quoth this voice), "as sure as this
be beef--aye, and good beef and cooked to a turn, mistress--there's
this great, lob-lolly, hectoring Tom Button fast i' the pillory--and by
this good ale, a woeful sight, his eyes blacked, his nose a-bleeding,
his jerkin torn and a dead cat about his neck, oho--aha!  Tom
Button--big Tom, fighting Tom so loud o' tongue and ready o' fist--Tom
as have cowed so many--there is he fast by the neck and a-groaning, see
ye, gossips, loud enough for six, wish I may die else!  And the best o'
the joke is--the key be gone, as I'm a sinner!  So they needs must
break the lock to get him out.  Big Tom, as have thrashed every man for
miles." But here merry voice and laughter ceased and a buxom woman
thrust smiling face from the window, and face (like her voice) was
kindly when she addressed me:

"What would ye, young master?"

"A little food, mistress," says I, touching my weather-worn hat and
pulling it lower over my bruised and swollen features.

"Why come in, master, come in--there be none here but my Roger and
Godby the peddler, as knoweth everyone."

So I entered forthwith a small, snug chamber, and seating myself in the
darkest corner, acknowledged the salutations of the two men while the
good-looking woman, bustling to and fro, soon set before me a fine
joint of roast beef with bread and ale, upon which I incontinent fell
to.

The two men sat cheek by jowl at the farther end of the table, one a
red-faced, lusty fellow, the other, a small, bony man who laughed and
ate and ate and laughed and yet contrived to talk all the while, that
it was a wonder to behold.

"Was you over to Lamberhurst way, master?" says he to me, all at once.

"Aye!" I nodded, busy with the beef.

"Why then, happen ye saw summat o' the sport they had wi' the big gipsy
i' the pillory--him as 'saulted my Lady Brandon and nigh did for her
ladyship's coz?"

"Aye," says I again, bending over my platter.

"'Tis ill sport to bait a poor soul as be helpless, I think--nay I
know, for I've stood there myself ere now, though I won't say as I
didn't clod this fellow once or twice to-day myself--I were a rare
clodder in my time, aha!  Did you clod this big rogue, master?"

"No!"

"And wherefore not?"

"Because," says I, cutting myself more beef, "I happened to be that
same rogue."  Here Roger the landlord stared, his buxom wife shrank
away, and even the talkative peddler grew silent awhile, viewing me
with his shrewd, merry eyes.

"Aha!" says he at last, "'Twas you, was it?"

"It was!"

"And why must ye 'sault a noble lady?"

"I never did!"

"Gregory swears to it."

"Gregory's a liar!"

"Which is true enough--so he be!" nodded the landlord.

"And a cruel-hard man!" added his wife.  "But Lord, young master, they
do ha' used ye ill--your poor face, all bruised and swole it be!"

"Which it be!" nodded Roger.  "Likewise cut!  Which be ill for 'ee
though--like Godby here--I won't say but what I moughtn't ha' took a
heave at ye, had I been there, it being nat'ral-like to heave things at
such times, d'ye see?"

"Very natural!" says I.

"And then why," questioned the little peddler, "why break open the
wicket-gate?"

"To get in!"

"Aha!" quoth Godby the peddler, winking roguish eye, "On the prigging
lay perchance, cull, or peradventure the mill-ken? Speak plain, pal,
all's bowmon!"

"I'm no flash cull," says I, "neither buzz, file, mill-ken nor
scamperer."

"Mum, pal, mum!  I'm no more flash than you be, though I've no love for
the harmon-becks as Roger here will tell 'ee.  A peddler be I and well
liked--wish I may swing else!  Aye, well beloved is kind Godby,
specially by wenches and childer--aha, many's the yard o' riband and
lace, the garters, pins, ballads, gingerbread men, pigs and elephants,
very fair gilt, as they've had o' kind Godby, and all for love!  And
yet, plague and perish it--here's me warned off my pitch, here's me wi'
the damned catchpolls on my heels, and all along o' this same Gregory
Bragg--rot him!"

"As to all that, I know not," says I, "but this I'll swear to, you are
a man, Godby the peddler, and one with a bold and kindly heart inside
you."

"How so?" he questioned, his bright eyes all of a twinkle.  "How so, my
bully boy?"

"That pannikin of water."

"Which you didn't get, my cock's-body lad!"

"Which you were man enough to bring me."

"Which Tom Button did ye out of!"

"Which you knocked him down for!"

"Which is Gospel-true, Roger and Cicely, 'twas a neat throw.  Tom
bumped heavy--aye, uncommon flat were Tom, let me eat worms else!"

"For all of the which," says I, cutting more beef, "I ask you now to
drink a stoup of ale with me."

"Wi' all my heart!" cries the peddler.

"Then," says I, laying my money on the table, "let us all drink in
fellowship, for ale, like fellowship, is a goodly thing and good things
be rare in this world!"

"And that's true, o' conscience!" smiled the buxom Cicely.

"And ye'll find no better brew than our own!" quoth Roger.

"And that I'll swear to!" laughed the peddler.  "Cram me wi' spiders
else!"

So the good ale was brought and Godby, lifting his tankard, smiled and
nodded over the creamy foam:

"Here's a griping colic to every catchpoll, harmon-beck and the like
vermin 'twixt this and London town!" says he, and lifted the ale to his
lips; but suddenly he sat it down untasted and rose: "Friends, I'm
took!" quoth he.  "See yonder!"  As he spake the narrow doorway was
darkened and two rough fellows entered, and each bore a formidable
bludgeon.

"Aye," says one, a big, surly-voiced fellow, "here be us, peddler, and
there be you, so best come easy--an' no tricks, mind!"

"Then easy does it, lads!" says Godby, no whit abashed.  "No lamb could
come milder than Godby, aye lambs, doves and babes is roaring lions
compared wi' Godby--so easy does it.  What is't this time, codgers?"

"Fower hours i' the pillory, three i' the stocks, and a month in
Maidstone jail and that's what!"

"And enough too!" growled Roger the landlord, clenching hairy fist and
glancing furtively towards a rusty sword suspended above the hearth.

"Let be, Roger--I'm a lamb!" sighed the peddler.  "And I wouldn't ha'
you in trouble by me--besides this room o' yourn, though snug, ain't
fit for struggling nor striving!  So, friends--good-bye!"  Then he
turned away between his two captors, but as he did so, his bright eyes
for one moment met mine and in his look I read appeal.

Now scarce were they gone when I got me to my feet, whereat the
landlord, Roger, did the like:

"What's to do?" he questioned, glancing yearningly from me to the rusty
sword.

"Why now," says I, counting out my reckoning, "bide you here--for your
good wife's sake."

"Aye, do now, Roger!" she pleaded.  "'Twould be ruination to us!"

"Moreover," says I, reaching for my cudgel, "they are but two, so bide
you here."  Then I stepped forth of the tavern and very soon came up
with the two fellows, their prisoner walking betwixt them meekly
enough.  But, as I approached, they halted all three.

"And what be you after?" demanded the surly fellow.

"You!"

"And what d'ye want of us--hey?"

"Your prisoner!"

"Ha!  And what for him?"

"I've a mind to him!"

"O!  Ye have, eh?"

"I have.  Do I get him?"

"Be curst for a black, ugly rogue."

"That's no answer!"

"'Tis all you'll get o' we, save 'ard knocks!" says the man, spitting
in his hand and taking firm grip of his bludgeon.

"Why then I must take him!" says I.

"Try and be damned!" roared the fellow.  "Ha--look alive, Jem!" And
whirling up his staff, he made at me amain; but I sprang aside and, as
his rush carried him past, my answering stroke caught him fairly 'twixt
wrist and elbow and his cudgel spun harmlessly into the hedge;
breathing curses he sought to close with me, but I, keeping my
distance, smote him (very blithely) how and where I would until he (his
arm useless), misliking my bludgeon-play and reading no mercy in my
look, very wisely betook him to his heels.  Hereupon I turned to find
the little peddler sitting astride his man's neck and his fist against
the fellow's nose:

"Smell it, Job!" he was saying.  "Smell it, lad, 'tis the fist of a man
as would be a-groping for your liver if it weren't for the respect I do
bear your old mother--skin me else!  So thank your old mother, lad,
first as you've got a liver and second for a-saving o' that same liver.
And now, get up, Job--begone, Job, arter your pal, and tell folk as
kind Godby, though sore tempted, never so much as set finger on your
liver, and all along o' your good old mother--away wi' ye!"  So the
fellow got him to his legs (mighty rueful) and sped away after his
comrade.

"Pal," says the little peddler, reaching out and grasping my hand,
"here's full quittance for that pannikin o' water as you never got!
And now--what's the word?"

"Now," says I, "let us go back and drink the good ale!"

"Pal," quoth the peddler, with a flash of white teeth, "wi' all my
heart!"

Thus we presently returned to the little tavern and found there Roger
the landlord, the rusty sword in one brawny fist, his wife holding fast
to the other.  At sight of us he dropped the weapon and roared
joyously, and Cicely, running to us, clasped our hands in hearty
welcome.  So we sat down all four, and while we quaffed the ale Godby
described our late encounter with great exactness.

"Pal," says he thereafter, reaching across the table to grip my hand
again, "what might your name be?"

"Martin."

"Why then, Martin, have ye any friends or kin?"

"None!"

"No more have I, and look now, this Kent country is no fit place for
you or me arter to-day!  So what I says is, lets you and me pad it,
pal--the road, lad--the good high-road, aha!  How say ye, Martin?"

"No!"

"Why no, pal?"

"Because, after to-night, if I chance to be neither dead nor in prison,
I'm for shipboard."

"'Tis an ill life, pal!"

"Why, life is an ill thing!" says I.

"Nay, look'ee, Martin, life may be worth whiles now and then--aye, lad,
there be times, good times."

"What times?"

"Well, Martin, to lie snug 'neath hedge o' star-time, when your fire's
low an' the stars peep down through leaves at a man--wink, they go, and
wink, wink, till, watching 'em, a man forgets his troubles awhile and
knows something o' content.  Aha, many's the time o' star-time they
have winked me and my troubles asleep. Then there's wakings o'
bird-time, wi' the sun up, dew a-sparkle and life calling within ye and
without, and the birds--O the birds, Martin--a-filling the world wi'
brave songs o' hope new-born like the day!  Ah, many's the morn the
birds ha' waked me and I as merry as any grig--Lord love their beaks
and wings! There's hay-time o' the evening full o' soft, sweet
smells--aye, sweet as lad's first kiss; there's wheat-time at noon wi'
the ears a-rustle and the whitt-whitt o' scythe and whetstone; there's
night, Martin, and the long, black road dipping and a-winding, but wi'
the beam o' light beyond, lad--the good light as tells o' journey done,
of companionship and welcomes and belike--eyes o' love, with--"

"Lusty ale!" quoth Roger, setting three new-filled pipkins before us.
"And none better nor ourn--eh, wife?"

"That I do swear to, Roger!" laughed the peddler, "Choke me else! But
now, as to the sea, Martin pal--'tis a dog's life!"

"You know the sea, then?"

"Like my hand, Martin, and all along o' my father's godliness.  A fine,
big man he was and devout as he was lusty.  Having begot me his next
duty was to name me, and O pal, name me he did!  A name as no raskell
lad might live up to, a name as brought me into such troublous faction
ashore that he packed me off to sea.  And if you ax me what name 'twas,
I'll answer ye bold and true--'God-be-here Jenkins,' at your service,
though Godby for short and 'twixt friends."

Now the more I saw of this little peddler the better I liked him, so
that the hour was late when, having supped excellently well, I rose to
take my leave.

"If you must be away, young master," said the buxom Cicely, "don't 'ee
forget there be ever a welcome for 'ee at the Hop-pole--eh, Roger?"

"There is so!" nodded the landlord.  "Likewise a pipkin of ale and a
bite and all gratus to a pal!"

"And look 'ee, Martin my cove," quoth the peddler, grasping my hand,
"there be ever and always the good high-road leading on and away to
better things, so happen ye should change your mind, seek me here
'twixt this and dawn, if to-morrow ye shall hear o' Godby at the Fox at
Spelmonden.  So luck go wi' ye, my bien cull."

"And you," says I, "should you be minded to sail with me, go to the
Peck-o'-Malt at Bedgbury Cross--the word is 'The Faithful Friend,' and
ask for Adam Penfeather."

So I presently stepped forth of the little tavern where I had found
such kindliness and, turning from the narrow lane, struck off across
the fields.

It was a sweet, warm night, the moon not up as yet, thus as I went I
lifted my gaze to the heavens where stars made a glory. And beholding
these wondrous fires I needs must recall the little peddler's saying
and ponder his "good times"--his "times of stars and birds, of noon and
eventide, of welcomes sweet and eyes of love."

And now I was of a sudden filled with a great yearning and passionate
desire that I too might know such times.  But, as I climbed a stile, my
hand by chance came upon the knife at my girdle, and sitting on the
stile I drew it forth and fell to handling its broad blade, and, doing
so, knew in my heart that such times were not for me, nor ever could
be.  And sitting there, knife in hand, desire and yearning were lost
and 'whelmed in fierce and black despair.



CHAPTER IX

HOW I HAD WORD WITH THE LADY JOAN BRANDON FOR THE THIRD TIME

The moon was well up when, striking out from the gloom of the woods, I
reached a wall very high and strong, whereon moss and lichens grew;
skirting this, I presently espied that I sought--a place where the
coping was gone with sundry of the bricks, making here a gap very apt
to escalade; and here, years agone, I had been wont to climb this wall
to the furtherance of some boyish prank on many a night such as this.
Awhile stood I staring up at this gap, then, seizing hold of massy
brickwork, I drew myself up and dropped into a walled garden.  Here
were beds of herbs well tended and orderly, and, as I went, I breathed
an air sweet with the smell of thyme and lavender and a thousand other
scents, an air fraught with memories of sunny days and joyous youth,
insomuch that I clenched my hands and hasted from the place. Past
sombre trees, mighty of girth and branch, I hurried; past still pools,
full of a moony radiance, where lilies floated; past marble fauns and
dryads that peeped ghost-like from leafy solitudes; past sundial and
carven bench, by clipped yew-hedges and winding walks until, screened
in shadow, I paused to look upon a great and goodly house; and as I
stood there viewing it over from terrace-walk to gabled roof, I heard a
distant clock chime ten.

The great house lay very silent and dark, not a light showed save in
one lower chamber.  So I waited patiently, my gaze on this light,
while, ever and anon, the leaves about me stirred in the soft
night-wind with a sound like one that sighed mournfully.

Thus stayed I some while; howbeit, the light yet aglow and my patience
waning, I stole forward, keeping ever in the shadows, and, ascending
the terrace, came where grew ivy, very thick and gnarled, overspreading
this wing of the house.  Groping amid the leaves I found that I
sought--a stout staple deep-driven between the bricks with above this
another and yet other again, the which formed a sort of ladder whereby,
as a boy, I had been wont to come and go by night or day as I listed.

Forthwith I began to climb by means of these staples and the ivy, until
at last my fingers grasped the stone sill of a window; and now, the
lattice being open, I contrived (albeit it with much ado) to clamber
into the room.  It was a fair-sized chamber, and the moonlight, falling
athwart the floor, lit upon a great carven bed brave with tapestried
hangings.  Just now the silken curtains were up-drawn and upon the bed
I saw a bundle of garments all ribands, laces and the like, the which,
of themselves, gave me sudden pause.  From these my gaze wandered to
where, against the panelling, hung a goodly rapier complete with girdle
and slings, its silver hilt, its guards and curling quillons bright in
the moonbeams.  So came I and, reaching it down, drew it from the
scabbard and saw the blade very bright as it had been well cared for.
And graven on the forte of the blade was the Conisby blazon and the
legend:

  ROUSE ME NOT.

Now as I stood watching the moonbeams play up and down the long blade,
I heard the light, quick tread of feet ascending the stairs without and
a voice (very rich and sweetly melodious) that brake out a-singing, and
the words it sang these:

  "A poor soul sat sighing by a green willow tree
  With hand on his bosom, his head on his knee,
  Sighing Willow, willow, willow!
  O willow, willow, willow!
  And O the green willow my garland shall be!"

Nearer came the singing while I stood, sword in hand, waiting; the song
ended suddenly and the sweet voice called:

"O Marjorie, wake me betimes, I must be abroad with the sun
to-morrow--good-night, sweet wench!"

I crouched in the curtains of the great bed as the latch clicked and
the room filled with the soft glow of a candle; a moment's silence,
then:

"O Marjorie, I'll wear the green taffety in the morning.  Nay indeed,
I'll be my own tirewoman to-night."

The light was borne across the room; then coming softly to the door I
closed it and, setting my back against it, leaned there. At the small
sound I made she turned and, beholding me, shrank back, and I saw the
candlestick shaking in her hand ere she set it down upon the carved
press beside her.

"Who is it--who is it?" she questioned breathlessly, staring at my
bruised and swollen features.

"A rogue you had dragged lifeless to the pillory!"

"You?" she breathed.  "You!  And they set you in the pillory? 'Twas by
no order of me."

"'Tis no matter, lady, here was just reward for a rogue," says I. "But
now I seek Sir Richard--"

"Nay indeed--indeed you shall not find him here."

"That will I prove for myself!" says I, and laid hand on latch.

"Sir," says she in the same breathless fashion, "why will you not
believe me?  Seek him an you will, but I tell you Sir Richard sailed
into the Spanish Main two years since and was lost."

"Lost?" says I, feeling a tremor of apprehension shake me as I met her
truthful eyes.  "Lost, say you--how lost?"

"He and his ship were taken by the Spaniards off Hispaniola."

"Taken?" I repeated, like one sore mazed.  "Taken--off--Hispaniola?"
And here, bethinking me of the cruel mockery of it all (should this
indeed be so) black anger seized me.  "You lie to me!" I cried.  "Ha,
by God, you lie!  An there be aught of justice in heaven then Richard
Brandon must be here."

"Who are you?" she questioned, viewing me with the same wide-eyed
stare.  "Who are you--so fierce, so young, yet with whitened hair, and
that trembles at the truth?  Who are you--speak?"

"You have lied to save him from me!" I cried.  "You lie--ha, confess!"
And I strode towards her, the long blade a-glitter in my quivering
grasp.

"Would you kill me?" says she, all unflinching and with eyes that never
wavered.  "Would you murder a helpless maid--Martin Conisby?"  The
rapier fell to the rug at my feet and lay there, my breath caught, and
thus we stood awhile, staring into each other's eyes.

"Martin Conisby is dead!" says I at last.

For answer she pointed to the wall above my head and, looking thither,
I saw the picture of a young cavalier, richly habited, who smiled down
grey-eyed and gentle-lipped, all care-free youth and gaiety; and
beneath this portrait ran the words:

  MARTIN CONISBY, LORD WENDOVER.  Aetat. 21.

"Madam," quoth I at last, turning my back on the picture, "Yon innocent
was whipped to death aboard a Spanish galleass years since, wherefore
I, a poor rogue, come seeking his destroyer."

"Sir," says she, clasping her hands and viewing me with troubled eyes,
"O sir--whom mean you?"

"One who, having slain the father, sold the son into slavery, to the
hell of Spanish dungeon and rowing-bench, to stripes and shame and
torment, one the just God hath promised to my vengeance--I mean Richard
Brandon."

"Ah--mercy of God--my father!  Ah no, no--it cannot be!  My father?
Sure here is some black mistake."

"Being his daughter you should know 'tis very truth!  Being a Brandon
you must know of the feud hath cursed and rent our families time out of
mind, the bitter faction and bloodshed!"

"Aye!" she murmured, "This I do know."

"Well, madam, five years agone, or thereabouts, my father falsely
attainted of treason, died in his prison and I, drugged and trepanned
aboard ship, was sold into the plantations, whence few return--and
Richard Brandon, enriched by our loss and great at court, dreamed he
had made an end o' the Conisbys and that the feud was ended once and
for all."

"My lord," says she, proud head upflung, "I deny all this!  Such
suspicion, so base and unfounded, shameth but yourself.  You have dared
force your way into my house at dead of night, and now--O now you would
traduce my absent father, charging him with shameful crimes--and this
to me, his daughter!  Enough, I'll hear no more, begone ere I summon my
servants and have you driven forth!" and, seizing the bell-rope that
hung against the panelling, she faced me, her deep bosom heaving
tempestuous, white hands clenched and scorning me with her eyes.

"Ring!" says I, and seated myself in a chair beside her great bed.

"Have you no shame?"

"None, madam, 'twas all whipped out o' me aboard the 'Esmeralda'
galleass.  Ring, madam!  But I go not till I learn, once and for all,
if Sir Richard be here or no."

Now at this she loosed the bell-rope very suddenly and, covering her
face with her hands, stood thus awhile:

"God pity me!" says she at last in weeping voice.  "I may not forget
how you saved me from--"  Here a tremor seemed to shake her; then she
spake again, yet now scarce above a whisper.  "Your face hath looked
upon me night and morn these two years, and now--O Martin Conisby, were
you but the man I dreamed you!"

"I'm a rogue new-broke from slavery!" says I.

"Aye," she cried suddenly, lifting her head and viewing me with new and
bitter scorn, "and one that speaketh lies of an absent man!"

"Lies!" quoth I, choking on the word.  "Lies, madam?  Why then, how
cometh my picture here--my coat of arms above the mantel yonder, the
Conisby 'scutcheon on your gates?  What do you at Conisby Shene?"

Now in her look I saw a sudden doubt, a growing dread, her breath
caught and she shrank back to the panelled wall and leaned there, and
ever the trouble in her eyes grew.  "Well, my lady?" I questioned,
"Have ye no answer?"

"'Twas said ... I have heard ... the Conisbys were no more."

"Even so, how came Sir Richard by this, our house?"

"Nay--nay, I--I know little of my father's business--he was ever a
silent man and I--have passed my days in London or abroad.  But
you--ah, tell me--why seek you my father?"

"That is betwixt him and me!"

"Was it--murder?  Was it vengeance, my lord?"  Here, as I made no
answer, she crosses over to me and lays one slender hand on my
shoulder; whereat I would have risen but her touch stayed me. "Speak!"
says she in a whisper.  "Was it his life you sought?" Meeting the look
in her deep, soft eyes, I was silent for a while, finding no word, then
dumbly I nodded.  And now I felt her hand trembling on my shoulder ere
it was withdrawn and, looking up, I saw she had clasped her hands and
stood with head bowed like one in prayer:  "O Martin Conisby," she
whispered, "now thank God that in His mercy He hath stayed thee from
murder!"  So she stood awhile, then, crossing to the carven press, took
thence divers papers and set them before me.  "Read!" she commanded.

So I examined these papers and found therein indisputable evidence that
my journey here was vain indeed, that Sir Richard, sailing westward,
had been taken by Spaniards off Hispaniola and carried away prisoner,
none knew whither.

And in a while, having read these papers, I laid them by and rising,
stumbled towards the open casement.

"Well, my lord?" says she in strange, breathless fashion, "And what
now?"

"Why now," says I, wearily, "it seems my vengeance is yet to seek."

"Vengeance?" she cried, "Ah, God pity thee!  Doth life hold for thee
nought better?"

"Nought!"

"Vengeance is a consuming fire!"

"So seek I vengeance!"

"O Martin Conisby, bethink you!  Vengeance is but a sickness of the
mind--a wasting disease--"

"So seek I vengeance!"

"For him that questeth after vengeance this fair world can hold nought
beside."

"So give me vengeance, nought else seek I of this world!"

"Ah, poor soul--poor man that might be, so do I pity thee!"

"I seek no man's pity."

"But I am a woman, so shall I pity thee alway!"

Now as I prepared to climb through the lattice she, beholding the sword
where it yet lay, stooped and, taking it up, sheathed it. "This was
thine own once, I've heard," says she.  "Take it, Martin Conisby, keep
it clean, free from dishonour and leave thy vengeance to God."

"Not so!" says I, shaking my head.  "I have my knife, 'tis weapon
better suited to my rags!"  So saying, I clambered out through the
lattice even as I had come.  Being upon the terrace, I glanced up to
find her leaning to watch me and with the moon bright on her face.

"Live you for nought but vengeance?" she questioned softly.

"So aid me God!" says I.

"So shall I pity thee alway, Martin Conisby!" she repeated, and sighed,
and so was gone.

Then I turned, slow of foot, and went my solitary way.



CHAPTER X

HOW I SWORE TO THE BLOOD-BROTHERHOOD

I remember the moon was very bright as, reaching the end of a grassy
lane (or rather cart-track) I saw before me a small, snug-seeming
tavern with a board over the door, whereon were the words:

  YE PECK OF MALT

  BY

  JOEL BYM.

And looking the place over, from trim, white steps before the door to
trim thatched roof, I marvelled at its air of prosperity; for here it
stood, so far removed from road and bye-road, so apparently away from
all habitation, and so lost and hid by trees (it standing within a
little copse) that it was great wonder any customer should ever find
his way hither.

The place was very quiet, not a light showed anywhere and the door was
fast shut, which was nothing strange, for the hour was late.  Stepping
up to the door I knocked loudly thereon with my cudgel, at first
without effect, but having repeated the summons, a voice from within
hailed me gruffly:

"Who knocks?"

"'The Faithful Friend!'" says I.  At this, the door swung suddenly open
and a lanthorn was thrust into my face, whereupon I fell back a step,
dazzled; then gradually, beyond this glare, I made out a dark shape
blocking the doorway, a great fellow, so prodigiously hairy of head and
face that little was there to see of features, save two round eyes and
a great, hooked nose.

"And who d'ye seek, Faithful Friend?" says he.

"Master Adam Penfeather."

"Why then, Faithful Friend, heave ahead!" says he, and, making way for
me to enter, closed the door (the which I noticed was mighty stout and
strong) and, having locked and bolted it, barred it with a stout iron
set into massy sockets in either wall.

"You go mighty secure!" says I.

"Cock," quoth the giant, eyeing me over slowly, "Cock, be ye a
cackler--because if so be you do cackle overly here's we as won't love
ye no whit, my cock."

"Good!" says I, returning his look.  "I seek no man's love!"

"Cock," quoth he, plunging huge fist into his beard and giving it a
tug, "I begin to love ye better nor I thought!  This way, cock!"
Herewith he led me along a wide, flagged passage and up a broad stair
with massy, carven handrail; and as I went I saw the place was much
bigger than I had deemed it, the walls, too, were panelled, and I
judged it had once formed part of a noble house. At last we reached a
door whereon the fellow knocked softly, and so presently ushered me
into a fair chamber lit by wax candles; and here, seated at a table
with papers before him and a pen in his fingers, sat Master Adam
Penfeather.

"Ha, shipmate," says he, motioning to a chair, "you be something
earlier than I expected.  Suffer me to make an end o' this
business--sit ye, comrade, sit!  As for you, Bo'sun, have up a flask o'
the Spanish wine--the black seal!"

"Aye, cap'n!" says he, and seizing a fistful of hair above his eyebrow,
strode away, closing the door behind him.

Now beholding Penfeather as he bent to his writing--the lean, aquiline
face of him so smooth and youthful in contrast to his silver hair--I
was struck by his changed look; indeed he seemed some bookish student
rather than the lawless rover I had thought him, despite the pistols at
his elbow and the long rapier that dangled at his chair-back; moreover
there was about him also an air of latent power I had not noticed ere
this.

At length, having made an end of his writing, he got up and stretched
himself:

"So, shipmate, art ready to swear the blood-fellowship wi' me?"

"Aye!" says I.  "When do we sail?"  At this he glanced at me swiftly
from the corners of his eyes:

"So ho!" he murmured, pinching his chin.  "The wind's changed it seems,
you grow eager--and wherefore?"

"'Tis no matter!"

"Shipmate," says he, shaking his head, "an we sail as brothers and
comrades there must be never a secret betwixt us--speak!"

"As ye will!" quoth I, leaning back in my chair.  "I learn then you are
sailing as master in a ship bound for the Main in quest of Sir Richard
Brandon lost off Hispaniola two years agone.  Sir Richard Brandon is
the man I have sought ever since I broke out of the hell he sold me
into.  Now look'ee, Adam Penfeather," says I, springing to my feet and
grasping his arm, "look'ee now--put me in the way of meeting this man,
aid me to get my hand on this man and I am yours--aye, body and
soul--to the end o' things, and this I swear!"

While I spake thus, my voice hoarse with passion, my fingers clutching
his arm, Penfeather stood pinching his chin and watching me beneath his
black brows; when I had ended he turned and falls a-pacing to and fro
across the room as it had been the narrow poop of a ship.

"Ah--I know you now, my lord!" says he, pausing suddenly before me.
"As the sailor-man who watched you as you lay a-groaning in your sleep
outside the Conisby Arms, I guessed you one o' the Conisby breed by
your ring, and as one born and bred here in Kent I mind well the adage,
'To hate like a Brandon and revenge like a Conisby,' and by God, my
lord, you are a true Conisby, it seemeth!  Vengeance!" says he, his
thin features grown sharp and austere, "Ah! I have seen much and
overmuch of it aboard lawless craft and among the wild islands of the
Caribbees.  I have seen the devilish cruelties of Spaniard, Portugal,
and the red horrors of Indian vengeance--but, for cold, merciless
ferocity, for the vengeance that dieth not, biding its time and
battening on poisonous hate, it needeth your man o' noble birth, your
gentleman o' quality!"  Here he turned his back and paced slowly to the
end of the room; when he faced me again his austere look was gone, in
its stead was the grimly whimsical expression of the mariner, as I had
seen him first.

"Damme!" says I, scowling, "Was it to read me homilies that you had me
here?"

"Aha, shipmate," says he with rueful smile, "there spake the young
divine, the excellent divinity student who committed a peccadillo long
years agone and, sailing to the Golden West, gave place to one Adam
Penfeather a sailor-man--as you shall hear tell of at St. Kitt's,
Tortuga, Santa Catalina and a score o' places along the Main.  As to
yourself, shipmate, if 'tis only vengeance ye seek, vengeance let it
be, though, when all's done, 'tis but wind--hist!  Here cometh the
Bo'sun--come in, Jo lad, come in! 'Twas trusty Joel Bym here gave me my
first lesson in navigation--eh, Jo?"

"Aye, Cap'n," growled the hairy giant, "by cock, them was the days, a
fair wind, a quick eye an' no favour, aye, them was the days, by
cock's-body!"  So saying, he placed a flask of wine on the table,
together with a curious silver cup, and (at a sign from Penfeather)
left us together.

"And now, comrade," says Penfeather, filling the goblet, "draw up your
chair and do as I do."

And now as we sat facing each other (across the table) Penfeather turns
back his left sleeve and, whipping out a knife, nicked himself
therewith on the wrist and squeezed thence a few drops of blood into
the wine; which done, he passed the knife to me and I (though misliking
the extravagance of the thing) nevertheless did the same.

"Martin," says he, "give me your hand--so!  Now swear as I do!" And
thus, clasping each other's hands, we swore the oath of brotherhood;
and this as followeth, viz."

(1)  To keep ever each other's counsel.

(2)  To aid each other in all things against all men soever.

(3)  To cherish and comfort each other in every adversity.

(4)  To be faithful each to each unto the death.

Thereafter, at his command, I drank of the wine wherein our blood was
mingled and he did the like.

"And now," says he, leaning back in his chair and viewing me with his
pensive smile, "since we be brothers and comrades sworn, how d'ye like
me now?"

"Better than I did," says I, speaking on impulse, "for sure you are the
strangest picaroon that ever cheated the gallows."

"Ah," says he, pinching his chin, "an I am neither hanged nor murdered
you shall one day find me a worshipful magistrate, Martin, Justice o'
the Peace and quorum--custos rotulorum and the rest on't, there my
ambition lies.  As for you, Martin, Lord Wendover, there is your enemy,
ha?--bloody vengeance and murder and what beside?"

"That is mine own concern!" I retorted angrily.  "And look 'ee, since
comrades we are, you will forget who and what I am!"

"Why so I have, Martin, so I have.  Art a poor, destitute rogue that
might be a man and rich but for this vengeful maggot i' thy brain.
Howbeit thou'rt my comrade sworn and brother-in-arms and as such I
shall trust thee--to the death, Martin."

"And shall find me worthy, Adam--despite thy curst tongue."

"Death is an ill thing, Martin!"

"Is it?" says I, and laughed.

"Aye," he nodded, "an ill thing to him that hath ambitions above the
brute.  See here!"  Unbuttoning his doublet he showed me a shirt of
fine chain-mail beneath his linen.  "'Twill turn any point ever forged
and stop a bullet handsomely, as I do know."

"Why, sure," says I, a little scornful, "you avowed yourself a cautious
man--"

"True, Martin, I have another shirt the like o' this for you. And as
for caution, I have need, d'ye see, comrade.  The arrow that flieth by
day is an ill enough thing, but the knife that stabbeth i' the dark is
worse.  This shirt hath turned death thrice already--once i' the breast
here and twice 'twixt the shoulders.  I am a man marked for death,
Martin, murder creepeth at my heels, it hath dogged me overseas and
found me here in Kent at last, it seems.  And, comrade, henceforth the
steel that smiteth me shall smite you also, belike."

"And why is your life sought thus?"

"By reason of a secret I bear about me; wherefore (saving only my good
friend Nicholas Frant who ... perished) I have ever been a solitary man
walking alone and distrustful of my fellows.  For, Martin, I have here
the secret of a treasure that hath been the dream and hope of roving
adventurers along the Main this many a year--a treasure beyond price.
Men have sought it vainly, have striven and fought, suffered and died
for it, have endured plague, battle, shipwreck, famine, have died
screaming 'neath Indian tortures, languished in Spanish dungeon and
slaveship, and all for sake of Bartlemy's Treasure.  And of all that
ever sought it, but one man hath ever seen this treasure, and I am that
man, Martin.  And this treasure is so marvellous well hid that without
me it shall lie unfound till the trump of doom.  But now, since we are
brethren and comrades, needs must I share with thee the treasure and
the secret of it."

"No, no, Adam!" says I.  "Keep it to yourself, I'll none of it."

"Share and share!" says he.  "'Tis the law of the Coast."

"None the less I want nought of it."

"'Tis the law," he repeated, "and moreover with such vast wealth a man
shall buy anything in this world--even vengeance, Martin. Look'ee now,
here's the secret of our treasure."  Hereupon he thrust his hand into
his breast and drew out a small oilskin packet or bag, suspended about
his lean throat by a thin steel chain, and from this he drew forth a
small roll of parchment.

"Here 'tis, Martin," says he softly, "here's that so many lusty men
have perished for--not much to look at, shipmate, torn, d'ye see and
stained, but here's wealth, Martin, fame, honours, all the vices and
all the evils, and chief among 'em--vengeance!"

So saying, he unrolled the small scrap of parchment, and holding it
before me, I saw it was a rough chart.

"Take it, Martin, and study it the while I tell you my story."



CHAPTER XI

ADAM PENFEATHER, HIS NARRATIVE

"Mine is a strange, wild story, Martin, but needs must I tell it and in
few words as may be.  Fifteen years agone (or thereabouts) I became one
of that league known as the Brotherhood of the Coast and swore
comradeship with one Nicholas Frant, a Kent man, even as I.  Now though
I was full young and a cautious man, yet, having a natural hatred of
Spaniards and their ways, I wrought right well against them, and was
mighty diligent in many desperate affrays against their ships and along
the Coast.  'Twas I (and my good comrade Nick Frant) with sixteen lusty
lads took sea in an open pinnace and captured the great treasure
galleon 'Dolores del Principe' off Carthagena, and what with all this,
Martin, and my being blessed with some education and a gift of adding
two and two together, I got me rapid advancement in the Brotherhood
until--well, shipmate, I that am poor and solitary was once rich and
with nigh a thousand bully fellows at command. And then it was that I
fell in with that arch-devil, that master rogue whose deeds had long
been a terror throughout the Main, a fellow more bloody than any
Spaniard, more treacherous than any Portugal, and more cruel than any
Indian--Inca, Mosquito, Maya or Aztec, and this man an Englishman, and
one of birth and breeding, who hid his identity under the name of
Bartlemy.  I met him first in Tortuga where we o' the Brotherhood lay,
six stout ships and nigh four hundred men convened for an expedition
against Santa Catalina, and this for two reasons, first, because 'twas
a notable rich city, and second, to rescue certain of the Brotherhood
that lay there waiting to be burnt at the next auto-de-fe.  Well,
Martin, 'tis upon a certain evening that this Bartlemy comes aboard my
ship and with him his mate, by name Tressady.  And never was greater
difference than 'twixt these two, Tressady being a great, wild fellow
with a steel hook in place of his left hand, d'ye see, and Bartlemy a
slender, dainty-seeming, fiendly-smiling gentleman, very nice as to
speech and deportment and clad in the latest mode, from curling periwig
to jewelled shoe-buckles.

"'Captain Penfeather,' says he, 'Your most dutiful, humble--ha, let me
parish but here is curst reek o' tar!' with which, Martin, he claps a
jewelled pomander to the delicate nose of him. 'You've heard of me, I
think, Captain,' says he, 'and of my ship, yonder, the "Ladies'
Delight?"'  I told him I had, Martin, bluntly and to the point, whereat
he laughs and bows and forthwith proffers to aid us against Santa
Catalina, the which I refused forthwith.  But my council of captains,
seeing his ship was larger than any we possessed and exceeding well
armed and manned, overruled me, and the end of it was we sailed, six
ships of the Brotherhood and this accursed pirate.

"Well, Martin, Santa Catalina fell according to my plans, and the
Governor and Council agreeing to pay ransom, I drew off my companies,
and camped outside the walls of the town till they should collect the
money.  Now the women of this place were exceeding comely, Martin, in
especial the Governor's lady, and upon the second night was sudden
outcry and uproar within the city, whereupon I marched into the place
forthwith and found this curst Bartlemy and his rogues, grown
impatient, were at their devil's work.  Hastening to the Governor's
house I found it gutted and him dragged from his bed and with the life
gashed out of him--aye, Martin, torn body and throat, d'ye see, as by
the fangs of some great beast!  That was the first time I saw what a
steel hook may do!  As for this poor gentleman's lady, she was gone.
Hereupon, we o' the Brotherhood fell upon these pirate rogues and
fought them by light o' the blazing houses (for they had fired the
city), and I, thus espying the devil Bartlemy, met him point to point.
He was very full o' rapier tricks, but so was I, Martin (also I was
younger), and winged him sore and had surely ended him, but that
Tressady and divers others got him away, and what with the dark night
and the woods that lie shorewards he, together with some few of his
crew, got them back aboard his ship, the "Ladies' Delight," and so
away; but twelve of his rogues we took (beyond divers we slew in fight)
and those twelve I saw hanged that same hour.  A week later we sailed
for Tortuga with no less than ninety and one thousand pieces of eight
for our labour, but I and those with me never had the spending of a
single piece, Martin, for we ran into a storm such as I never saw the
like of even in those seas.  Well, we ran afore it for three days and
its fury nothing abating all this time I never quit the deck, but I had
been wounded, and on the third night, being fevered and outworn, turned
in below.  I was awakened by Nick Frant roaring in my ear, for the
tempest was very loud and fierce:

"'Adam!' cried he, 'We're lost, every soul and the good money! we've
struck a reef, Adam, and 'tis the end and O the good money!'  Hereupon
I climbed 'bove deck, the vessel on her beam ends and in desperate
plight and nought to be seen i' the dark save the white spume as the
seas broke over us.  None the less I set the crew to cutting away her
masts and heaving the ordnance overboard (to lighten her thereby), but
while this was doing comes a great wave roaring out of the dark and
dashing aboard us whirled me up and away, and I, borne aloft on that
mighty, hissing sea, strove no more, doubting not my course was run.
So, blinded, choking, I was borne aloft and then, Martin, found myself
adrift in water calm as any millpond--a small lagoon, and spying
through the dark a grove of palmetto trees presently managed to climb
ashore, more dead than alive; and, lying there, I prayed--a thing I had
not done for many a year.  As the dawn came I saw the great wave had
hurled me over the barrier reef into this small lagoon, and beyond the
reef lay all that remained of my good ship.  I was yet viewing this
dolorous sight (and much cast down for the loss of my companions, in
especial my sworn friend Nicholas Frant) when I heard a sound behind me
and turning about, espied a woman, and in this woman's face (fair
though it was) I read horror and sadness beyond tears, and yet I knew
her for the same had been wife to the murdered governor of Santa
Catalina.

"'Go back!' says she in Spanish, pointing to the surf that thundered
beyond the reef.  'Go back!  Here is the devil--the sea hath more
mercy--go back whiles ye may!'  And now she checked all at once and
falls a-shivering, for a voice reached us, a man's voice a-singing fair
to hear, and the song he sang was this,

  'Hey cheerly O and cheerly O
  And cheerly come sing O!
  While at the mainyard to and fro--

and knowing this voice (to my cost) I looked around for some weapon,
since I had none and was all but naked, and whipping up a jagged and
serviceable stone, stood awaiting him with this in my fist.  And down
the beach he comes, jocund and debonair in his finery, albeit something
pale by reason of excess and my rapier work.  And now I come to look at
you, Martin, he was just such another as you as to face and feature,
though lacking your beef and bone.  Now he beholding me where I stood,
flourishes off his belaced hat and, making me a bow, comes on smiling.

"'Ah,' says he gaily, ''tis Captain Penfeather of the Brotherhood,
a-collogueing with my latest wife!  Is she not a pearl o' dainty
woman-ware, Captain, a sweet and luscious piece, a passionate, proud
beauty worth the taming--ha, Captain?  And she is tamed, see you.  To
your dainty knees, wench--down!'  Now though he smiled yet and spake
her gentle, she, bowing proud head, sank to her knees, crouching on the
ground before him, while he looked down on her, the devil in his eyes
and his jewelled fingers toying with the dagger in his girdle, a
strange dagger with a hilt wrought very artificially in the shape of a
naked woman--"

"How," says I, leaning across the table, "A woman, Penfeather?"

"Aye, shipmate!  So I stood mighty alert, my eyes on this dagger, being
minded to whip it into his rogue's heart as chance might offer.  'I
wonder,' says he to this poor lady, 'I wonder how long I shall keep
thee, madonna, a week--a month--a year?  Venus knoweth, for you amuse
me, sweet.  Rise, rise, dear my lady, my Dolores of Joy, rise and aid
me with thy counsel, for here hath this misfortunate clumsy Captain
fool blundered into our amorous paradise, this tender Cyprian isle
sacred to our passion.  Yet here is he profaning our joys with his base
material presence. How then shall we rid ourselves of this offence?
The knife--this lover o' men of mine?  The bullet?  Yet 'tis a poor
small naked rogue and in two days cometh my 'Ladies' Delight' and
Tressady with his hook.  See, my Dolores, for two days he shall be our
slave and thereafter, for thy joy, shall show thee how to die, my
sweet--torn 'twixt pimento trees or Tressady's hook--thou shalt choose
the manner of't.  And now, unveil, unveil, my goddess of the isle--so
shall--'  Ha, Martin!  My stone took him 'neath the ear, and as he
swayed reeling to the blow, lithe and swift as any panther this
tortured woman sprang, and I saw the flash of steel ere it was buried
in his breast.  Even then he didn't fall, but, staggering to a pimento
tree, leans him there and falls a-laughing, a strange, high-pitched,
gasping laugh, and as he laughed thus, I saw the silver haft of the
dagger that was a woman leap and quiver in his breast.  Then, laughing
yet, he, never heeding me, plucked and levelled sudden pistol, and when
the smoke cleared the brave Spanish lady lay dead upon the sands.

"'A noble piece, Captain!' says he, gasping for breath, and then to
her, 'Art gone, my goddess--I--follow thee!'  And now he sinks to his
knees and begins to crawl where she lay, but getting no further than
her feet (by reason of his faintness) he clasps her feet and kisses
them, and laying his head upon them--closes his eyes.  'Penfeather!' he
groans, 'my treasure--hidden--dagger--'

"Then I came very hastily and raised his head (for I had oft heard talk
o' this treasure), and in that moment he died.  So I left them lying
and coming to the seaboard sat there a great while watching the break
o' the seas on what was left o' the wreck, yet seeing it not.  I sat
there till noon, Martin, until, driven by thirst and hunger and heat of
sun, I set off to seek their habitation, for by their looks I judged
them well-fed and housed.  But, and here was the marvel, Martin, seek
how I might I found no sign of any hut or shelter save that afforded by
nature (as caves and trees), and was forced to satisfy my cravings with
such fruits as flourished in profusion, for this island, Martin, is a
very earthly paradise.  That night, the moon being high and bright, I
came to that stretch of silver sand beside the lagoon where they lay
together rigid and pale and, though I had no other tool but his dagger
and a piece o' driftwood, made shift to bury them 'neath the great
pimento tree that stood beside the rock, and both in the same grave.
Which done, I betook me to a dry cave hard by a notable fall of water
that plungeth into a lake, and there passed the night.  Next day,
having explored the island very thoroughly, and dined as best I might
on shell-fish that do abound, I sat me down where I might behold the
sea and fell to viewing of this silver-hilted dagger."

"The which was shaped like to a woman!" says I.

"Aye, Martin.  And now, bethinking me of Bartlemy's dying words anent
this same dagger, and of the tales I had heard full oft along the Main
regarding this same Bartlemy and his hidden treasure, I fell to
handling this dagger, turning and twisting it this way and that.  And
suddenly, shipmate, I felt the head turn upon the shoulders 'twixt the
clasping hands; turn and turn until it came away and showed a cavity,
and in this cavity a roll of parchment, and that parchment none other
than this map with the cryptogram, the which I could make nought of.

"Now as I sat thus, studying this meaningless jumble of words, I of a
sudden espied a man below me on the reef, a wild, storm-tossed figure,
his scanty clothing all shreds and tatters, and as he went seeking of
shell-fish that were plenteous enough, I knew him for my sworn comrade,
Nick Frant.  And then, Martin, I did strange thing, for blood-brothers
though we were, I made haste (and all of a tremble) to slip back this
map into its hiding-place, which done, I arose, hailing my comrade and
went to meet him joyously enough.  And no two men in the world more
rejoiced than we as we clasped hands and embraced each other as only
comrades may.  It seemed the hugeous sea that had caught me had caught
him likewise and hurled him, sore bruised, some mile to the south of
the reef.  So now I told him of the deaths of Bartlemy and the poor
lady, yet Martin (and this was strange) I spoke nothing of knife or
treasure; I told him of the expectation I had of the pirate's ship
return, and yet I never once spake o' the map and chart.  And methinks
the secret cast a shadow betwixt us that grew ever deeper, for as the
days passed and no sail appeared, there came a strangeness, an unlove
betwixt us that grew until one day we fell to open quarrel, disputation
and deadly strife, and the matter no more than a dead man's shirt (and
that ragged) that had come ashore.  And we (being in rags and the sun
scorching) each claimed this shirt, and from words came blows.  He had
his seaman's knife and I Bartlemy's accursed dagger, and so we fought
after the manner of the buccaneers, his leg bound fast to mine, and
Martin, though he was a great fellow and strong and wounded me sore, in
the end I got in a thrust under the armpit and he fell a-dying, and I
with him.  Then I (seeing death in his eyes, Martin) clasped him in my
arms and kissed him and besought him not to die, whereat he smiled.
'Adam!' says he, 'Why Adam, lad--' and so died.

"Then I took that accursed dagger, wet with my comrade's life-blood,
and hurled it from me, and so with many tears and lamentations I
presently buried poor Nick Frant in the sands, and lay there face down
upon his grave wetting it with my tears and groaning there till
nightfall.  But all next day, Martin (though my heart yearned to my
slain friend) all next day I spent seeking and searching for the dagger
had killed him.  And as the sun set, I found it.  Thereafter I passed
my days (since the pirate ship came not, doubtless owing to the late
tempest) studying the writing on the chart here, yet came no nearer a
solution, though my imagination was inflamed by mention of diamonds,
rubies and pearls, as ye may see written here for yourself.  So the
time passed till one day at dawn I beheld a great ship, her mizzen and
fore-topmasts gone, standing in for my island, and as she drew nearer,
I knew her at last for that accursed pirate ship called "Ladies'
Delight."  Being come to anchor within some half-mile or so, I saw a
boat put off for the reef, and lying well hid I watched this boat,
steered by a knowing hand, pass through the reef by a narrow channel
and so enter the lagoon.  Now in this boat were six men and at the
rudder sat Tressady, and I saw his hook flash in the sun as he sprang
ashore.  Having beached their boat, they fell to letting off their
calivers and pistols and hallooing:

"'Oho, Captain!' they roared, 'Bartlemy, ahoy!'  And this outcry
maintained they for some while.  But none appearing to answer, they
seemed to take counsel together, and thereafter set off three and
three, shouting as they went.  And now it seemed they knew no more of
Bartlemy's hiding-place than I, whereat I rejoiced greatly.  So lay I
all that forenoon watching their motions and hearing their outcries now
here, now there, until, marvelling at the absence of Bartlemy, they sat
down all six upon the spit of sand whereby I lay hid and fell to eating
and drinking, talking the while, though too low for me to hear what
passed.  But all at once they seemed to fall to disputation, Tressady
and a small, dark fellow against the four, and thereafter to brawl and
fight, though this was more butchery than fight, Martin, for Tressady
shoots down two ere they can rise, and leaping up falls on the other
two with his hook!  So with aid from the small, dark fellow they soon
have made an end o' their four companions, and leaving them lying, come
up the beach and sitting below the ledge of rock whereon I lay snug
hidden, fell to talk.

"'So, Ben, camarado mio, we be committed to it now!  Since these four
be dead and all men well-loved by Bartlemy, needs must Bartlemy follow
'em!'

"'Aye!' says the man Ben, 'when we have found him.  Though Bartlemy's a
fighting man!'

"'And being a man can die, Ben.  And he once dead we stand his
heirs--you and I, Ben, I and you!'

"'Well and good!' says Ben.  'But for this treasure where lieth it, and
for that matter, Roger, where is Bartlemy?'

"'Both to find, Ben, so let us set about it forthwith.'  The which they
did, Martin; for three days they sought the island over and I watching
'em.  On the third day, as they are sitting 'neath the great pimento
tree I have mentioned (and I watching close by) Tressady sits up all at
once.

"'Ben!' says he, 'What be yon?' and he pointed to a mound of sand hard
by.

"'Lord knoweth!' says Ben.

"'Yon's been digging!' says Tressady, 'and none so long since!'

"'Aye,' said Ben, 'and now what?'

"'Now,' says Tressady, 'let us dig likewise.'

"'Aye, but what with?' says Ben.

"'Our fingers!' says Tressady.  So there and then they fell to digging,
casting up the loose sand with their two hands, dog-fashion, and I,
watching, turned my head that I might not see.

"'Ha!' says Tressady, in a while, 'Here is foul reek, Ben, foul reek.'

"'Right curst!' says Ben, and then uttered a great, hoarse cry. And I,
knowing what they had come upon, kept my face turned away. ''Tis she!'
says Ben in a whisper.

"'Aye, and him!' says Tressady.  'Faugh!  Man, 'tis ill thing but needs
must--his dagger, Ben, his dagger.'

"'Here's no dagger,' says Ben.  'Here's empty sheath but no steel in't!'

"''Tis fallen out!' says Tressady in a strangled voice.  'Seek, Ben,
seek!'  So despite the horror of the thing, they sought, Martin,
violating death and careless of corruption they sought, and all the
time the thing they sought was quivering in this right hand.

"'Ben,' says Tressady, when they were done.  'Ben--how came he
dead--how?'

"'Who shall say, Roger?  Mayhap they did each other's business.'

"'Why then--where's the dagger o' the woman--the silver goddess--where?
And how came they buried?'

"'Aye, there's the rub, Roger!'

"'Why,' says Tressady, 'look'ee, Ben, 'tis in my mind we're not alone
on this island--'

"'And who should be here, Roger?'

"'The man that slew our Captain!'  Here there was silence awhile, then
the man Ben arose and spat.

"'Faugh!' says he.  'Come away, Roger, ere I stifle--come, i' the
devil's name!'  So they went and I, lying hid secure, watched them out
of sight.

"Now when they were gone I took counsel with myself, for here were two
desperate, bloody rogues, very well armed, and here was I, a solitary
man with nought to my defence save for Nick's knife and the
silver-hilted dagger, which was heavy odds, Martin, as you'll agree.
Now I have ever accounted myself a something timid man, wherefore in
cases of desperate need and danger I have been wont to rely on my wit
rather than weapons, on head rather than hands.  So now as I looked
upon this cursed dagger wherewith I had slain my poor friend, beholding
this evil silver woman whose smile seemed verily to allure men to
strife and bloodshed--the end of it was I stole from my lurking-place
and set the dagger amid the gnarled roots of the great pimento tree,
where it might have slipped from dying fingers, and so got me back into
hiding. And sure enough in a while comes the big man Tressady
a-stealing furtive-fashion and falls to hunting both in the open grave
and round about it but, finding nothing, steals him off again. Scarce
was he out of eye-shot, Martin, than cometh the little dark fellow Ben,
who likewise fell to stealthy search, grubbing here and there on hands
and knees, yet with none better fortune than his comrade.  But of a
sudden he gives a spring and, stooping, stands erect with Bartlemy's
dagger in his hand.  Now scarce had he found it than comes Tressady
creeping from where he had lain watching.

"'Ha, Ben!' says he jovially.  'How then, lad, how then?  Hast found
what we sought?  Here's luck, Ben, here's luck!  Aye, by cock, 'tis
your fortune to find it and your fortune's my fortune, eh, Ben--us
being comrades, Ben?'

"'Aye,' says Ben, turning the dagger this way and that.

"'Ha' ye come on the chart, Ben, ha' ye found the luck in't Ben?'

"'Stay, Roger, I've but just picked it up--'

"'And was coming to your comrade with it, eh, Ben--share and share--eh,
Benno--Bennie?'

"'Aye,' says Ben, staring down at the thing, 'but 'twas me as found it,
Roger!'

"'And what then, lad, what then?'

"'Why then, Roger, since I found it, 'tis mine,' says he gripping the
dagger in quivering fist and glancing up sideways.

"'Hilt and blade, Ben!'

"'And the chart, Roger?'

"'Aye, and the chart, Ben!' says Tressady, coming a pace nearer, and I
saw his hook glitter.

"'And the treasure, Roger!' says Ben, making little passes in the air
to see the blue gleam of the steel.

"'All yours, Ben all yours, and what's yours is mine, according to
oath, Ben, to oath!  But come, Ben, you hold the secret o' the treasure
in your fist--the silver goddess.  Come, the chart, lad, out wi' the
chart and Bartlemy's jewels are ours--pearls, Ben--diamonds,
rubies--aha, come, find the chart--let your comrade aid ye, lad--'

"'Stand back!' says Ben and whips a pistol from his belt. 'Look'ee,
Roger, says he, 'I found the dagger without ye and I'll find the
chart--stand back!'

"'Why here's ill manners to a comrade, Ben ill manners, sink me--but as
ye will.  Only out wi' the chart and let's go seek the treasure, Ben.'

"'D'ye know the secret o' this thing, Roger?'

"'Not I, Ben!'

"'Why then must I break it asunder.  Hand me yon piece o' of rock,'
says Ben, pointing to a heavy stone that chanced to be near.

"'Stay, Ben lad, 'twere pity to crush the silver woman, but if you
will, you will Ben--take a hold!'  So saying, Tressady picked up the
stone, but, as his comrade reached to take it, let it fall, whereupon
Ben stooped for it and in that moment Tressady was on him.  And
then--ha, Martin, I heard the man Ben scream, and as he writhed, saw
Tressady's hook at work ... the man screamed but once ... and then,
wiping the hook on his dead comrade's coat he took up the dagger and
began to unscrew the head.  But now, Martin, methought 'twas time for
me to act if I meant to save my life, for I had nought but Nick Frant's
knife, while within Tressady's reach lay the dead man's pistols and
divers musquetoons and fusees on the beach behind him, which put me to
no small panic lest he shoot me ere I could come at him with my knife.
Thus, as I lay watching, I took counsel with myself how I might lure
him away from these firearms wherewith he might hunt me down and
destroy me at his ease; and the end of it was I started up all at once
and, leaning down towards him, shook the parchment in his face.  'Ha,
Tressady!' says I, 'Is this the thing you've murdered your comrade
for?'  Now at this Tressady sprang back, to stare from me to the thing
in my hand, Martin, and then--ha, then with a wild-beast roar he sprang
straight at me with his hook--even as I had judged he would.  As for
me, I turned and ran, making for a rocky ledge I knew, with Tressady
panting behind me, his hook ringing on the rocks as he scrambled in
pursuit.  So at last we reached the place I sought--a shelf of rock,
the cliff on one side, Martin, and on the other a void with the sea
thundering far below--a narrow ledge where his great bulk hampered him
and his strength availed little.  And there we fought, his dagger and
hook against my dead comrade's knife, and thus as he sprang I, falling
on my knee, smote up beneath raised arm, heard him roar and saw him go
whirling over and down and splash into the sea--"

"And he had the dagger with him, Adam!" says I in eager question.

"Aye, Martin, which was the end of an ill rogue and an evil thing."

"The end," says I, "the end, Adam?  Why then--what o' this?"

So saying I whipped the strange dagger from my wallet and held it
towards him balanced upon my palm.  Now, beholding this, Penfeather's
eyes opened suddenly wide, then narrowed to slits as, viewing this
deadly thing, he drew back and back, and so sat huddled in his chair
utterly still, only I heard his breath hiss softly 'twixt clenched
teeth.

"Martin," says he in the same hushed voice, "when a man's dead he's
dead, and the dead can never come back, can they, shipmate?"

But now, as we sat thus, eyeing the evil thing on the table betwixt us,
my answer died on my lips, for there came a sharp, quick rapping of
fingers on the lattice.



CHAPTER XII

TELLETH OF A FIGHT IN THE DARK

Penfeather was at the casement, had whipped open the lattice and,
pinning the intruder by the throat, thrust a pistol into his face all
in a moment; and then I recognised Godby the peddler.

"Let be, Adam!" I cried, springing forward.  "Let be, here's a friend!"
Saying nothing, Penfeather thrust away the weapon, and gripping the
little man in both hands, with prodigious strength jerked him bodily in
through the window; which done, he clapped to the lattice and drawing
the curtain stood fronting Godby grim-lipped.

"And now what?" says he softly.

"Lord!" gasped Godby, "Lord love me, but here's a welcome to a pal,
here's the second pistol I've had under my nose this night--throttle me
in a hayband else!"

"What d'ye seek?"

"My pal Martin, 'cording to his word."

"D'ye know this fellow, Martin?"

"Aye!" I nodded and told briefly how and where we had met.

"God-be-here Jenkins am I, master," said Godby, "and well beknown to
Joel Bym as keepeth this house, strangle me else--ask Joel! And if
you're Master Penfeather I've first, this here for ye, and second, a
warning."  And speaking, Godby drew a letter from the breast of his
leathern jerkin.

"A warning?" says Penfeather, glancing at the superscription, "Against
whom?"

"A black dog as goes erect on two legs and calls himself Gregory Bragg."

"You mean Lady Brandon's under-bailiff?"

"I do so.  Well, he be no friend o' yourn, and what's more, he's hand
and fist wi' others as be no friends o' yourn either, cut-throat
sailor-men and black rogues every one."

"How d'ye know 'em for sailor-men?"

"By their speech, master--I was a mariner once--and moreover by a
ranting, hell-fire chorus."

"Ha!" says Penfeather, shooting a glance at me.  "A chorus, was it?"

"Aye, master, concerning murder and what not."

"And the words running like this--

  'Two on a knife did part wi' life
  And three a bullet took O!
  But three times three died plaguily
  A-wriggling on a hook O!'

Was that the way of it?"

"Smother me if it weren't!" quoth Godby, staring.

"Sit down, Godby, and tell me how you chanced on this," says Adam,
seating himself at the table.

"Well, master, I happened to lie snug hid 'neath a heap o' straw--and
for why, says you?  Says I to you, by reason o' two lousy catchpolls as
won't let poor Godby be.  Now this straw chanced to be in my Lady
Brandon's stables--and why there, says you?  Says I to you, because
these lousy catchpolls being set on poor Godby by this black dog
Gregory, and him my lady's man, my lady's stables is the last place
catchpolls would come a-seeking Godby.  Well now, as I lie there I fall
asleep.  Now I'm a light sleeper and presently I'm roused by the sound
o' your name, master."

"Mine?" says Penfeather, softly.

"Aye.  'Here's a black passage to Captain Penfeather--curse him!" says
a voice.  'Aye,' says another, 'by knife or bullet or--' and here he
falls to singing of a knife and a bullet and a hook. 'Avast!' says a
third voice.  'Belay that, Abny, you'll be having all the lubbers about
the place aboard of us!'  'Why,' says the man Abny, 'since you're wi'
us well and good, but don't forget we was hard in his wake, aye, and
ready to lay him aboard long before you hove in sight and damn all,
says I.'  'Some day, Abny, some day,' says the other, "I shall cut out
that tongue o' yourn and watch ye eat it, lad, eat it--hist, here
cometh Gregory at last--easy all.'  Now the moon was very bright,
master, and looking out o' my hay-pile as the door opened I spied this
rogue Gregory--"

"Did ye see aught o' the others?" questioned Adam.

"No master, not plain, for they kept to the dark, but I could see they
was four and one a very big man.  'Ha' ye got it, friend, ha' ye got
it?' says the big rogue.  'No, plague on't!' says Gregory.  'Look how I
will, I can find nought.'  'Here's luck!' says the big fellow, 'Bad
luck, as I'm a soul.  Where's he lie?' 'Can't say,' says Gregory.  'His
messages go to the Conisby Arms, but he aren't there, I know.'  'The
Faithful Friend, was it,' says the big fellow, 'a-lying off Deptford
Creek?'  'Aye, the Faithful Friend,' says Gregory, and then chancing to
look outside, claps finger to lip and comes creeping into the shadow.
'Lie low!' says he in a whisper--here's my lady!'  And then, master,
close outside comes my lady's voice calling 'Gregory! Gregory!'
'Answer, fool!' whispers the big man.  'Quick, or she'll be athwart our
cable!'  'Here, my lady!' says Gregory and steps out o' the stable as
she's about to step in.  'Gregory,' says she in hesitating fashion,
'have ye seen a stranger hereabouts to-night?'  'Not a soul, my lady!'
says Gregory. 'A tall, wild man,' says she, 'very ragged and with
yellow hair?' 'No, my lady,' says Gregory.  Here she gives a sigh.
'Why then,' says she, 'bear you this letter to Master Penfeather--at
once.' 'To the Conisby Arms, my lady?' says Gregory.  'No,' says she,
'to the Peck-o'-Malt by Bedgebury Cross.  And, Gregory, should you see
aught of the poor man that suffered lately in the pillory, say I would
speak with him.  And now saddle and begone with my letter.'  'To
Bedgebury,' says Gregory, 'the Peck-o'-Malt--to-night, my lady?'  'This
moment!' says she, mighty sharp. 'And, Gregory, I hear tales of your
hard dealing with some of the tenantry:  let me hear no more or you
quit my service!'  And away she goes, leaving Gregory staring after
her, letter in hand. ''Twas she!' says the big man in a whisper.  'I'd
know her voice anywhere--aye, 'twas she whipped it from my girdle, my
luck, shipmates--our luck, but we'll find it if we have to pull the
cursed house down brick and brick.'"

"Godby," says Adam suddenly, leaning forward, "did ye get no glimpse o'
this man's face?"

"Nary a one, master, and for why?--the place was dark and he wore a
great flapped hat."

"Why then," says Adam, pinching his chin, "did ye chance to see his
hands?"

"No whit, master, and for why?--he wore a loose cloak about him."

"And what more did ye hear?"

"No more, master, and for why?--because, as luck would have it a straw
tickled my nose and I sneezed loud as a demi-culverin, and there's poor
Godby up and running for his life and these murderous rogues after poor
Godby.  Howbeit they durst not shoot lest they should alarm the house,
and I'm very light on my feet and being small and used to dodging
catchpolls and the like vermin, I got safe away.  Having done which and
bethinking me of my pal Martin, I made for the Peck-o'-Malt.  Now as
luck would have it, Gregory overtakes me (as I had purposed he should,
I being minded to get even wi' him for good and all).  Down he gets
from the saddle and me by the collar, and claps a great snaphaunce
under my nose.  'So it was you, ye rogue, was it?' says he.  'That
same,' says I, 'but who's that peeping over the hedge there?'  The fool
turns to see, I twist the pistol out of his grip, and have him very
neatly trussed and gagged with his belt and my girdle, and so, heaving
him i' the ditch, into the saddle and here I am."

"Godby," says Penfeather, viewing him keen-eyed, "I need men--will ye
sail with us for the Main?"

"Does Martin sail?"

"He does!  Will ye along?"

"Heartily, captain, heartily!"

"Are ye armed, Godby?"

"I've Gregory's dag here," says Godby, pulling out a long-barrelled
pistol.

"Joel shall find ye another to go with it.  And ye know the sea?"

"Aye, Captain, I sailed with Captain Myddleton as gunner and will lay
you a gun with any man from a murdering-piece or minion to a great
culverin."

"Good!" says Penfeather and summoned Joel Bym, who, beholding the
peddler, stared, bellowed jovial greeting, and at nod from Penfeather,
departed with him, arm in arm.

"Well, Martin," says Adam when the door had closed, "and what d'ye make
o' this tale of sailor-men?"

"That they're the same rogues I fell out with."

"Beyond doubt, Martin.  And what more?"

"That like enough they're on their road hither."

"Beyond any peradventure, shipmate."

"Well?"

"Well, let 'em come, Martin, let 'em come.  There's somewhat here I
don't understand and I mislike mystery.  So let them come, here in this
little room, in light or dark, I ask no better."

"And you such a timid man, Adam!"

"True, Martin, but there's occasion when a worm turneth."  Here he took
up the letter Godby had brought and breaking the seal, read it through,
once with a glimmer of his grim smile, read it again and frowned and
frowning, glanced across at me:

"Here's matter concerning you, Martin, hark'ee!"  And he read this:


"To MASTER ADAM PENFEATHER:

Should you chance upon the poore man that suffered lately in the
pillory (by no order or will of mine) you will I charge you do all you
may to succour him in any manner soever:  This letter I do write in
much haste to instruct you that I purpose to sail in the 'Faithfull
Friend' along with you and my good cuzen Sir Rupert in this quest for
my father.  Moreover I will you should sail as speedily soon as may be.

As regardeth the poore young man afore-mentioned, if he be quite
destitute as I do think him, and will take no money as I do judge most
like, then Master Adam you shall offer to him such employ in my ship
the 'Faithfull Friend' as he will accept.

And this is my wish and command.

JOAN BRANDON.

He is great and tall and fierce with yellow hair and cruell mouth, yet
seemeth more cruell than he trulie is."


"So there you are to a hair, Martin, and here's our enterprise brought
to nought if she sail on this venture!"

"Why then she mustn't sail!" says I.

"'Tis her ship, Martin, and she's a Brandon!"

"Then sail without her."

"And be taken before we're clear o' the Downs and strung up at
Execution Dock for piracy."

"Why then if she goeth aboard I don't!"

"And wherefore not, Martin?"

"I'll take no service with a Brandon!"

"Aye verily there's your pride, Martin, which is cumbersome cargo."

"Call it what you will, I'll not sail."

"And your oath, comrade?  Sail along o' me you must and shall! But
having respect for your high-stomached pride you shall stow away in
some hole or corner and she never know you're aboard."

Hereupon I scowled, but perceiving him so serene albeit a little grim,
I said no more and he fell to pacing slowly back and forth, head bowed
and hands locked behind him.

"I need you, Martin," says he at last, "aye, I need you even more than
I thought, the one man I may trust to in a pinch.  For, Martin, here's
that I don't understand."

So saying he halted by the table, and presently taking up the dagger
(and with a strange reluctance) fell to twisting it this way and that;
finally he gave a sudden twist and the smiling head of the silver woman
coming away, showed a hollow cavity, running the length of the haft,
roomy and cunningly contrived.  Slowly he fitted the head into place
again and, laying the weapon down, shook his head:

"Here's Bartlemy's dagger true enough, Martin," says he, touching its
keen point.  "Here's what found Bartlemy's black heart--aye, and many
another!  Here's what went hurtling over cliff in Tressady's fist--and
yet here it lies--which is great matter for wonder, Martin.  And, since
'tis here--why then--where is the vile rogue Tressady?  Which is
matter for painful speculation, Martin--where?"

"Snoring, likely enough!" says I, "Not so far hence, or tramping
hither."

"If so, Martin, then Death cannot touch him, the which is out of all
reason!"

"'Tis more like the fall did not kill him, Adam."

"Had you but seen the place, shipmate!  But if water won't drown him
and steel won't harm him--"

"Like you, he wears a chain-shirt, Adam, that I do know. Moreover, the
devil cherisheth his own, I've heard."

"Why here's reason, Martin, plain reason I grant, and yet--but 'tis
late and you'll be for sleep, and there's reason in that too.  Come,
I'll show your bed--"

"Spare yourself--I want no bed," says I bitterly.  "'Twere a luxury
wasted on the likes o' me.  My couch shall be the corner yonder."

"Ah, prideful youth!  'Tis sweet to be young, Martin!" says Penfeather
with his sudden, whimsical half-smile and clapping his hand on my
shoulder.  "Sleep where ye will, that corner is as good as another.
See, there stands my tuck, a Spanish blade of notable good temper, it
hath been a true friend to me many a time ere now and should be a
trusty bedfellow.  As for me, I'm for a feather-bed.  And, Martin,"
says he, pausing to pinch his chin and view me sideways, "if aught
should chance to me--at any time--the chart and treasure will be yours.
So good-night, comrade, and sleep sound, for 'tis like we shall wake
betimes."

Saying which he turned, slow and thoughtful, and went out, closing the
door softly behind him.  As for me, being very drowsy, I wrapped myself
in my weather-worn cloak, blew out the candles and, lying down in the
corner, was presently fast asleep.

Now as I slept I dreamed that Penfeather's long rapier, standing in the
dark corner close by, was stealthily endeavouring to free itself from
its leathern scabbard with intent to skewer me to the floor as I lay;
and, striving thus to draw itself, made soft, strange noises and
rustlings insomuch that I presently woke, and staring motionless into
the darkness above, knew that these sounds were real.  Somewhere close
by was a furtive whisper of sound that came and went, a soft-drawn
breath, a scraping of fingers on the panelling above me in the
darkness; and in that moment also I became aware that the lattice
yawned wide upon a square of glimmering blackness.  Suddenly a
sly-creeping foot touched me unseen and then (even as the owner of this
foot tripped over me) came the roaring flash of a pistol hard by,
followed immediately by another and, as I lay deafened and half-dazed,
the floor quivered to the soft, vicious thud of leaping,
swift-trampling feet, and on the air was a confused scuffling, mingled
with an awful, beast-like worrying sound.  And now (though I was
broad-awake and tingling for action) I constrained myself to lie still,
nothing stirring, for here (as I judged) was desperate knife-play,
indeed more than once I heard the faint click of steel.  And now rose
shouts and cries and a tramp of feet on the stair without.  Someone
reeled staggering across the room, came a-scrabbling at the open
casement and, as I leapt up, the door burst open and Joel Bym appeared
flourishing a naked hanger and with Godby behind bearing a lanthorn,
whose flickering light showed Adam, knife in hand, where he leaned
panting against the wall, a smear of blood across his pallid face and
with shirt and doublet torn in horrid fashion.

"The window!" he gasped.  "Shutters!  'Ware bullets!"  I sprang
forward, but Joel was before me, and crouching beneath the open lattice
swung the heavy shutters into position, but even as he did so, a bullet
crashed through the stout oak.

"Doors all fast, Joel?"

"Aye, Cap'n!  But who's here--is't the preventive?  And me wi' the
cellars choke-full.  My cock!  Is't the customs, Cap'n?"

"Worse, Joel!" says Penfeather, wiping sweat from him.

"Art hurt, Adam?" I questioned, eyeing his wild figure, and now I saw
that the thin, steel chain was gone from his sinewy throat.

"No, shipmate.  But the dagger, look ye--'tis clean disappeared,
Martin."

"And good riddance," quoth I.  "But, Adam--what o' your chart--gone
along o' the dagger, has it?"

"Tush, man!" says he, sheathing his knife, "'Tis snug in that wallet o'
yours."

"My wallet!" I cried, clapping hand on it where it hung at my girdle.

"Aye, shipmate.  I slipped it there as I bid ye good-night!  But,
Martin--O Martin, the dead is alive again--see how I'm all gashed with
his hook."

"Hook?" quoth Joel, shooting great, hairy head forward.  "Did ye--say
a--hook, Cap'n?"

"Aye, Joel--Tressady's alive again."

"God love us!" gasped the giant and sank into a chair.



CHAPTER XIII

WE SET OUT FOR DEPTFORD POOL

Penfeather drew clenched hand across his brow, and coming to the table
reached the half-emptied flagon and drank what remained of the wine
thirstily, while Bym, his great body huddled in the chair, stared at
the bullet hole in the shutter with starting eyes:  as to me, I picked
up Penfeather's fallen pistols and laid them on the table, where Godby
had set the lanthorn.

"Tressady!" says Bym at last in a hoarse whisper, "Tressady--O Cap'n,
be ye sarten sure?"

"Sure!" says Penfeather, in the same hushed manner, and reaching powder
and bullets from a cupboard he began methodically to reload his
pistols.  "He'll be outside now where the shadows be thickest, waiting
me with Abnegation and Sol and Rory, and God knoweth how many more."

"Then he aren't dead, Cap'n?"  Penfeather's black brows flickered and
his keen eyes glanced from his rent doublet round about the room:

"Howbeit--he was here, Joel!" said he.

"Why then, Cap'n, the dying woman's curse holds and he can't die?" says
Bym, clawing at his great beard.

"He was here, Joel, in this room," says Penfeather, busy with
powder-horn, "man to man, knife to knife--and I missed him. Since
midnight I've waited wi' pistols cocked and never closed eye--and yet
here was he or ever I was aware; for, as I sat there i' the dark by the
window above the porch, which is therefore easiest to come at, I spied
Mings and him staring up at the lattice of this chamber.  So here
creeps I and opening the door saw him move against the open lattice
yonder--a shot no man could miss."

"Aye, Cap'n--aye?"

"And I--missed him, Joel--with both weapons and I within three yards of
him, aye, I missed him with both pistols."

"Which is small wonder," says I, "for as you fired he tripped over me,
Adam--"

"And why should he trip just then--at the one and only moment, Martin?
Chance, says you?  Why, when he came leaping on me in the black dark
should his hook meet and turn my knife from his throat?  Chance again,
says you?  Why, when he flung me off and made for the window--why must
I catch my foot 'gainst that staff o' yours and bring up against the
wall with all the strength and breath knocked out o' me, and no chance
for one thrust as he clambered through the lattice?  By the Lord,
Martin, here's more than chance, says I."

"Aye, by cock!" muttered Joel, shaking his head.  "'Tis 'witched he be!
You'll mind what I told ye, Cap'n--the poor lady as died raving mad
aboard the 'Delight,' how she died cursing him wi' life.  And him
standing by a-polishing o' that hook o' his--ah, Cap'n, I'll never
forget the work o' that same hook ... many's the time ... Bartlemy's
prisoners ... men and women ... aboard that cursed 'Ladies' Delight!'
By cock, I dream on't sometimes and wake all of a sweat--"

"Here's no time for dreams!" says Penfeather, ramming home the charge
of his second pistol, "Is the passage clear?"

"Save for the matter of a few kegs, Cap'n, but 'twill serve."

"We start in half an hour, Joel."

"The three o' you, Cap'n?"

"Aye, we must be aboard as soon as maybe now."

"Captain," says Godby, "speaking as a master-gunner, a mariner and a
peddler, I'm bold to say as there's nought like bite and sup to hasten
a man for a journey or aught beside--flog me else! And there's nought
more heartening than ham or neat's tongue, or brisket o' beef, the
which I chanced to spy i' the kitchen--"

"Why then, master-gunner," says Penfeather, "go you and engage those
same in close action and I'll join ye as soon as I've shifted these
rags o' mine."

"Adam," says I, unstrapping my wallet as Bym and Godby descended the
stair, "if we are to have our throats cut to-night, 'twere as well I
handed back your chart first"; and I laid it on the table.

"Why 'tis as safe with you, comrade--but as you will!" says he,
slipping the chain about his neck.  "As for any throat-slitting,
Martin, you'll find that with danger my inborn caution groweth to
timidity--"

"Ha, yes!" I nodded.  "Such timidity as walks under the very noses of
desperate, well-armed rogues of a moonlight night."

"Why, the moon is down--or nearly so, Martin.  And then, besides, this
trim little inn hath divers exits discreetly non-apparent. 'Twas a
monastery once, I've heard."

"And now a smuggling-ken it seems, Adam."

"Even so, comrade, and no place better suited!  And there's the Bo's'n
hailing!" says he, as a hoarse roar of "Supper O!" reached us.  "Go
down, Martin, I stay but to make things ship-shape!" and he nodded
towards the books and papers that littered the table. Upon the stairs I
met Godby, who brought me to a kitchen, very spacious and lofty, paved
with great flagstones and with groined arches supporting the roof, and
what with this and the wide fireplace flanked with fluted columns and
enriched by carvings, I did not doubt that here had once stood a noble
abbey or the like.

"Pal," said Godby, as I stared about me, "you'd never guess as there be
nigh three hundred kegs stowed hereabouts besides bales and the like,
choke me else!  Ha, many's the good cargo I've helped Jo and the lads
to run--eh, Joel?"

"So you're a smuggler, Godby," says I.

"Cock," says Bym reproachfully, and setting a goodly cheese on the
table with a bang, "say free-trader, cock--t'other 'un's a cackling
word and I don't like cackle--"

"Aye," nodded Godby, "that's the word, 'free-trader,' Mart'n.  So I am
and what then?  'Twas summat o' the sort as got me suspicioned by
Gregory and his catchpolls, rot 'em."  But here Adam entered, very
soberly dressed in sad-coloured clothes, and we sat down to sup
forthwith.

"Do we sail soon, Captain?" questioned Godby in a while.

"I hope to be clear o' the Downs a few days hence," says Adam.

"And you so short-handed, Cap'n," quoth Bym.

"Sir Rupert hath 'listed thirty new men, I hear, and rogues every one
I'll be sworn."

"Sir Rupert--?" says I.

"My lady's cousin, Martin, and captain of the expedition."

"Is he a sailor, Adam?"

"No, Martin, like most o' your fine gentlemen-adventurers, he knows no
more of navigation than this cheese, which is just as well, Martin,
aye, mighty well!"

"How so?"

"Who shall say, Martin, who shall say?"  And here he took a long
draught of ale.  In a while, our meal being ended, Penfeather rose:

"As to arms, Martin, ha' ye aught beside your knife?"

"My staff and this pistol," says I, taking out the silver-mounted
weapon my lady Brandon had thrust upon me.

"Is't loaded, Martin?"  I examined charge and priming and nodded.
"Good!" says Adam, "Here's five shot betwixt us, that should suffice.
Up wi' the trap, Jo, and we'll out."  Hereupon Bym lighted his lanthorn
and putting aside the great settle by the hearth, stooped and raised
one of the flagstones, discovering a flight of worn, stone steps, down
which we followed him and so into a great cellar or vaulted crypt,
where stood row upon row of barrels and casks, piled very orderly to
the stone roof.  Along the narrow way between strode Bym, and halting
suddenly, stooped and lifted another flagstone with more steps below,
down which we followed him into a passage-way fairly paved, whence
divers other passages opened right and left.  And when we had gone some
distance Adam halted.

"Best bring the light no further, Jo," says he.  "And hark'ee, Joel, as
to this black rogue--this--y'know who I mean, Jo?"

"Aye--him, Cap'n!"

"That same, Jo.  Well, keep an eye lifting and if you find out aught
worth the telling, let one o' your lads ride post to Deptford, Jo."

"Aye, Cap'n.  Aboard ship?"

"Aboard ship."

"Cap'n," quoth he, grasping Adam's hand, "I'm man o' few words, an'
thanks t' you I'm snug enough here wi' my wife and darter as is away
till this cargo's run, but, say the word, and I'll sail along o' you
come battle, murder or shipwreck--"

"Or a hook, Joel?" says Penfeather softly, whereat Joel clawed at his
beard and blinked into the lanthorn; finally he gives a great tug to
his beard and nods:

"Aye, Cap'n," says he, "for you--even that, by cock!"

"Good lad," says Penfeather, clapping him on brawny shoulder. "Bide
where you are, Jo, and Fortune with you and yours.  This way, Martin."

So having taken our leave of Bym, Godby and I followed Adam along the
passage, guided by the Bo's'n's lanthorn until, turning a sudden, sharp
corner, we plunged into pitchy gloom wherein I groped my way until
Penfeather's voice stayed me:

"Easy all!" says he, softly.  "Have your pistols ready and heed how you
come."  Creeping cautiously I found myself amid leaves that yielded
before me, and stepping through this natural screen, I stumbled into a
bush and presently found myself standing in a small copse dim-lighted
by a waning moon; and never a sound to be heard save the soft whisper
of leaves about us and the faint, far cry of some night-bird.

"Ha!" says Adam at last, gazing away to the sinking moon, "So our
journey begins, and from the look o' things, Martin, from the look o'
things here's going to be need of all your resolution and all my
caution ere we can see the end.  Come!"



CHAPTER XIV

HOW I CAME ABOARD THE "FAITHFUL FRIEND"

We followed a roundabout course, now across broad meadows, now treading
green cart-tracks, now climbing some grassy upland, anon plunging into
the shadow of lonely wood or coppice until the moon was down, until was
a glimmer of dawn with low-lying mists brimming every grassy hollow and
creeping phantom-like in leafy boskages; until in the east was a glory,
warming the grey mist to pink and amber and gold, and the sun,
uprising, darted his level beams athwart our way and it was day.

And now from coppice and hedgerow, near and far, was stir and flutter,
a whistling and a piping that rose ever louder and swelled to a
trilling ecstasy of gladness.

"Hark to 'em--O pal, hark to 'em!" quoth Godby, lifting head to watch a
lark that soared aloft.  "Here's music, Martin, here's cure for the
megrims, hope for the downcast and promise o' joys to come.  O hark to
'em!"

All the day Penfeather led us on by lonely ways, never seeming to weary
and never at a loss, silent for the most part as one in profound
thought, and I speaking little as is my wont, but Godby talked and sang
and laughed for the three of us.

It was as we sat outside a little ale-house snugged 'mid trees, eating
of bread and cheese, that Penfeather turned suddenly and gripped my arm:

"Martin," says he, "'twill be plaguy business carrying women aboard
ship--along o' these lambs o' mine--there's scarce a rogue but cheats
the gallows with his every breath!"

"Why then, tell her so, Adam, plain and to the point."

"'Twould be vain breath, Martin, I know her too well--and she is a
Brandon!"

"A curse on the name!" says I, whereupon Godby choked into his ale,
stared in surprise and would fain have questioned me, but meeting my
eye, spake no word.

"D'ye know aught of navigation, Martin?" says Adam suddenly.

"No whit, Adam, but I'll handle a boat with any man."

"Ha!" says he, and sat there pinching his chin until, our hunger being
appeased and the ale all drank, we fared on again.  So we tramped, and
though our road was long I will here make short work of it and say that
at last we came, very hot and dusty, into the village of Lewisham,
where we would fain have baited awhile at the 'Lion and Lamb,' a fair
inn; but this Adam would by no means permit, so, leaving the village,
we presently turned aside from the main road into a lane very
pleasantly shaded by tall trees and bloomy hedgerows, the which (as I
do think) is called Mill Lane.  In a while we reached a narrow track
down which Adam turned, and now as we went I was aware of strange
sounds, a confused hubbub growing ever louder until, deep amid the
green, we espied a lonely tavern before which stood a short, stout man
who alternately wrung his hands in lamentation, mopped at bloody pate
and stamped and swore mighty vehement, in the midst of which, chancing
to behold Penfeather, he uttered joyful shout and came running.

"Master Penfeather," cried he, "O Master Penfeather, here's fine
doings, love my eyes!  Here's your rogues a-fighting and a-murdering of
each other, which is no great matter, but here's them a-wrecking o' my
house, which is great matter, here's them has broke my head wi' one o'
my own pottlepots, which is greater matter, here's me dursen't set of
it i' the place and my wife and maids all of a swound--O Master
Penfeather, here's doings, love my limbs!"

"Ha," says Penfeather, "fighting, are they, Jerry?"

"Like devils, Captain, your rogues and the rogues as my Lord Dering
'listed and brought here yesterday--O love my liver--look at yon!"  As
he spoke was a crash of splintered glass and a broken chair hurtled
through the wide lattice.

"So!" says Adam, striding towards the inn, and I saw a pistol in his
hand.  Following hard on his heels I entered the inn with him and so to
the scene of the riot.

A long, low room, full of swirling dust, and amid this choking cloud a
huddle of men who fought and struggled fiercely, roaring blasphemy and
curses.  Two or three lay twisted among overturned chairs and tables,
others had crawled into corners to look to their hurts, while to and
fro the battle raged the fiercer. Leaning in the doorway Penfeather
surveyed the combatants with his quick keen glance, and then the hubbub
was drowned by the roar of his long pistol; the thunderous report
seemed to stun the combatants to silence, who, falling apart, turned
one and all to glare at the intruder.  And, in this moment of
comparative silence while all men panted and stared, from Penfeather's
grim lips there burst a string of blistering sea-oaths such as even I
had scarce heard till now; for a long minute he reviled them, the smoke
curling from his pistol, his black brows knit across glittering eyes,
his thin nostrils a-quiver, the scar glowing on his pallid cheek, his
face indeed so changed and evil that I scarce knew him.

"... ye filthy scum, ye lousy sons o' dogs!" he ended.  "Ha, will ye
fight agin my orders, then--mutiny is it?"

"And

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