Latitude 19°
by Mrs. Schuyler Crowninshield · English · Gutenberg #36244 · 763,947 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Latitude 19°
Author: Mrs. Schuyler Crowninshield
Illustrator: George Gibbs
Release date: May 28, 2011 [eBook #36244]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36244
Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Pat McCoy and the Online
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LATITUDE 19° ***
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Pat McCoy and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: A Queen but yesterday. (See page 418.)]
LATITUDE 19 deg.
A ROMANCE OF THE WEST
INDIES IN THE YEAR OF
OUR LORD EIGHTEEN HUNDRED
AND TWENTY
_Being a faithful account and true, of
the painful adventures of the Skipper,
the Bo's'n, the Smith, the Mate, and
Cynthia_
BY MRS. SCHUYLER CROWNINSHIELD
_Author of Where the Trade Winds Blow_
ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE GIBBS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1898
COPYRIGHT, 1898,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
To
C. S. C.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--OUR INVOLUNTARY LANDING 5
II.--OUR FIRST VIEW OF THE NATIVES 29
III.--WE CHANGE OUR CAMP, AND CYNTHIA DISCOVERS A
DISTURBING ELEMENT 45
IV.--THE SKIPPER MAKES A PRAYER 68
V.--A MYSTERIOUS FLIGHT 84
VI.--THE PIRATES RETURN 99
VII.--A VILLAIN MEETS HIS END AND A PRISONER ESCAPES 125
VIII.--A LIVING DEATH 143
IX.--I AM RESCUED 159
X.--THE MINION POINTS A MORAL, ALTHOUGH HE DOES NOT
ADORN A TALE 169
XI.--THE BO'S'N HIDES THE TREASURE 189
XII.--THE SKIPPER AGAIN ENACTS THE ROLE OF CHAPLAIN 204
XIII.--I COMMIT THE ERROR OF MY LIFE 222
XIV.--WE START OUT TO LAY A SNARE AND FALL INTO A TRAP 240
XV.--WE MEET SOME STRANGE ACQUAINTANCES, ARE MADE
PRISONERS, AND LOSE OUR ONLY MEANS OF RESCUE 259
XVI.--THE GOAT WITHOUT HORNS 277
XVII.--I MEET AN OLD FRIEND AND LOSE MY ALL 297
XVIII.--WE FIND A NEW ABODE, AND ZALEE DEPARTS TO SEEK SUCCOUR 308
XIX.--WE MEET FOR THE SECOND TIME WITH "LE BRUIT
DU GOUFFRE," AND I TAKE ANOTHER JOURNEY 325
XX.--I MEET WITH THE TERRIBLE BLACK KING, AND VOLUNTARILY
ASSUME A TASK TO REGAIN MY LIBERTY 345
XXI.--I OFFEND THE KING'S FOSTER BROTHER, AND AM
FORCED TO TAKE THE CONSEQUENCES 368
XXII.--WE ENGAGE IN BATTLE, MURDER, SUDDEN DEATH,
AND--FREEDOM 393
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FACING PAGE
A Queen but yesterday _Frontispiece_
Pirates at play 134
The Skipper's marriage service 220
The Pythoness circled slowly around 284
Cynthia was standing on the very edge of the chasm 330
_Sans Souci_, the Palace of King Christophe 342
I placed my foot on his neck 355
LATITUDE 19 deg..
THE HOMESTEAD, BELLEVILLE, N. J.
_September 23, 1867._
_DEAR SON ADONIAH: In complying with your request that I jot down the
facts with regard to my early experiences at the time when I was cast
away, I have hardly known what to tell and what to leave untold. I could
not relate to you the detailed occurrences of each day, though you will
think that I have come quite near it, for it would have made a
manuscript too large in size. I have told you much when we have been
sitting by the fire on a winter evening, you with your leg on a chair,
and little Adoniah hanging round you trying to persuade you to "make
Grandpa stop," that you might tell him your more recent tale of interest
of the battle of Gettysburg. Many a time, as we have been talking, I
have seen your dear mother, always beautiful and always young--though
she has been a grandmother now seven times, what with Mary's children,
and Gertrude's, and yours--many a time I have seen her look at us
disapprovingly, as if wondering what pleasure we can take in such
gruesome tales, but I find that with most men adventure is as the breath
of their nostrils, and that no matter what suffering they have
undergone, they always hark back to the wild, exciting scenes of youth,
forgetting the pain and dwelling only on the pleasure._
_Miserable as I have been at times, and in some pretty tight places,
too, now that we are all happily at home together, I would not exchange
one of those experiences for a pot full of gold. I would not give away
the remembrance of them any more than you would have blotted from your
memory that fight in the Wilderness, where you led so gallantly; any
more than you would be willing to discard the scar on your leg, or the
strap on your shoulder, the one gained because of the other._
_Sometimes, as I sit on the settle at the door of the farmhouse, when
the sun has gone down and twilight is coming on, I dream those days all
over again. I see the buccaneers in the cave. I experience again the
suffocation of the cage in which they left me for dead. I see before me
as plainly as if I held it in my hand, with those wondrous eyes intact,
and shining like two living balls of fire, that symbol of mysticism, the
serpent ring. I see again the vaudoux dance and the long, light eyes of
the Pythoness, which fascinated while they struck terror to the very
soul. I again take part in those sad and dreary burials at sea, in which
the dear old Skipper so revelled, and once more I find myself at
Christophe's Court, with all its magnificence, all its barbarity, and
all its horrors, and I wonder if any other life ever crowded so much
into itself in so short a space of time. My letter must not be too long
or tell too much in advance. I am not an author, son Adoniah, nor do I
wield the pen of a ready writer even for my children. This has been to
me a laborious task, though at the same time a labour of love._
_If you should show these recollections to some of your friends, they
will probably discredit the statement that anthropophagi have lived in
the recent times of which I write, and so near our own coast. What would
they say, I wonder, should they meet my friend, the late United States
Minister to the Island, and learn from him that the dreadful practice
existed not only at the date of which I write, but that it is actually
extant, though more concealed, at the present day. And we pour our gold
into old Africa while New Africa, where these awful crimes are rampant,
is but twelve hundred miles from Belleville!_
_Finally, son Adoniah, believe that I have set down nothing here which
can not be substantiated by historians, by living witnesses, and by the
published proceedings of courts of law._
_Your affectionate Father_,
HIRAM JONES.
CHAPTER I.
OUR INVOLUNTARY LANDING.
I put my head down through the hatchway and called to Cynthia to come on
deck. I always called her Cynthia to myself. What I said was:
"Come up, Miss Archer; I can see Christophe's castle."
"You can't!" she said. These words were uttered, I was convinced, more
in astonishment than in contradiction. They issued from the funnel of a
white cotton sunbonnet. The funnel appeared above the hatchcombings,
then a pair of shoulders incased in blue dungaree followed suit, and,
finally, the tall figure of Miss Cynthia Archer emerged from the open
hatchway and stepped lightly on to the deck.
"Where is it?" she asked.
"I will answer that question if you will answer mine," I responded.
"I was never good at guessing riddles," she said.
"It's no riddle," returned I.
"Oh, the same old question!" hazarded Cynthia. The handsome gray eyes
looked out questioningly from the depths of the funnel. I nodded
appealingly.
"You've got me up here under false pretences," said Cynthia. "I will go
below again. I don't believe there is any castle."
"There is, indeed, Miss Archer." I held the spyglass tightly under my
arm. "I will show where if you will answer me."
"The chronic question?"
"Yes, the chronic question."
Cynthia looked out at me, a world of sincerity shooting from her eyes.
"To tell you the truth," said she, "Jones is simply impossible! I
couldn't, really! Why, Mr. Jones, Jones is synonymous with anonymous.
And then _Hiram_ Jones!" She knew as well as I did myself what I wanted
to ask her. I told her so.
Cynthia stood for a moment looking meditatively at me.
"I don't know why I shouldn't, after all," said she in a musing tone.
My heart leaped up into my throat.
"I might call you 'J,'" she said.
"And I might call you 'A,'" answered I. "'"A" was an archer and shot at
a beau.'"
"Shot with a bow, you mean," said Cynthia; "but, really, the words run,
'"A" was an archer and shot at a frog.'"
"Thank you," said I. Of course, she knew what I had in mind. I said it
every time she came on deck. I made a point of it. I thought that she
might get used to it after a while.
"You haven't been up all day," said I reproachfully.
"There's no variety in your conversation, Mr. Jones," said Cynthia. "The
parrot is much more interesting. But when you called down that
Christophe's castle was in sight, I thought that perhaps you were in
your right mind once more."
"If my present mind's wrong, I shall never be right," said I, as I hove
the wheel over to larboard to keep the Yankee Blade on her course.
"Archer's so much prettier than Jones," said Cynthia in a dreamy,
convincing tone. She reached out her hand and took the glass from me.
Her touch was like a magnet. I couldn't have held it back to save my
life. She stepped to the rail and rested the barrel of the glass upon
one of the ratlines.
"Now where's your castle?" she asked; and added, "How this ship rolls!"
"The wind is falling light," I said. "Seems to me we're farther in shore
than we ought to be.--Tomkins, did you keep her exactly on the course
the Captain gave you?"
"Yessir," said Tomkins, without winking.
"Now where is it?" asked Cynthia.
I called one of the men to take the wheel and went to Cynthia's side. I
guided the glass very slowly to within a hair's breadth of the imposing
structure, ran it hurriedly past, so that the view was all in a blur,
then I searched slowly and carefully for the thing that we had passed
by. Cynthia was not long deceived.
"Give me that glass, Mr. Jones," she said with dignity. "I will find the
citadel if it is there."
"It is there, upon my soul!" said I. I saw that she was angry. "There!
Don't you see that big pile of stone?"
"Where?"
"There! Just there!"
"Is--that--Christophe's castle? What--a--big--thing--it--is!
Why--Mr.--Jones--you--never--told--me--half!
How--I--should--like--to--go--there!"
"God forbid!" said I, and I shuddered.
"Hand me that glass!" said the Skipper, who had tumbled up from below.
He laid a heavy hand upon the spyglass and took it without ceremony. He
could. He was her Uncle. He could call her Cynthia, too. I could only
think it. The Skipper wheeled about and looked out to sea.
"Here, you, Mr. Jones!" said the Skipper, his gaze fixed on the
stranger, "what did you do with that Cook?"
"The Cook?" said I inquiringly.
The Skipper removed the glass from his eyes.
"Didn't I tell you that pudding wasn't fit to give to a dog?"
"Yes, you did, sir, but the man did his best. I thin----"
"Mr. Jones, am I Captain of this vessel, or am I not?"
An acquiescent nod from me.
"Very well, then! You go below, Mr. Jones, and you take Bill Tomkins and
the Growler, and you take that pudding, and you put it in the brig, and
you take that Cook and you set him alongside of it, and you lock the
door, and don't you let either of 'em come out until one of 'em's inside
of the other!"
"Yes, sir," said I, and I went below to carry out his orders.
I closed the door of the brig, leaving the Cook sitting in the hot
little place, looking ruefully at the nauseous mess that he had tried to
force on the cabin table. I suddenly remembered something that I wanted
done about the men's mess gear, and returned along the companion way. It
was evident that I was not expected, for I heard some words, not
overcomplimentary to myself, proceeding from the Growler, who had
lingered behind; and he added, calling out to the Cook:
"Never mind, doctor,[A] you will be ashore in less than an hour."
[A] A sailor's name for the Cook.
When I came on deck again the Skipper had the glass glued to his eyes.
"Did he eat it?" asked the Skipper.
"No, sir, not yet," said I. "He'd just had his dinner."
The Skipper did not seem to listen to my answer. He handed the glass to
me and pointed seaward.
"Don't like the looks of that vessel out there, Jones. She's been
crawling up on us for the last hour. Looks as if she was trying to head
us off. About three points forward of the beam now, I should say. Isn't
this vessel off her course, Jones?"
He walked over to the binnacle, and took a look at the compass.
"No, you're right. But we certainly are farther in shore than I expected
we would be. Head her up, man, head her up!"
"Tomkins had the wheel while I was below," said I. "He said he kept her
just as you told him. That stranger's flying the English flag." The
Skipper shook his head, looked at the Union Jack, and then over the side
of the Yankee Blade.
"Didn't know there was any currents around here. Strange! Strange!"
Cynthia stood sniffing and wrinkling up her handsome nose.
"What is it smells so sweet?" she asked.
"The land," said I.
"Yes, I know, of course. But I never smelled land so sweet as this
before. Now, off Martin----"
"The wind has fallen light, Captain," said I.
"How monotonous you are," said Cynthia, "not to call it----"
"Damn the wind!" said the Skipper. He wet his finger in his mouth and
held it up.
"Why don't you throw the cat overboard, and shoot an albatross?"
questioned Cynthia, who was versed in sea lore.
"The cat was left behind at Martinique," replied the Skipper. "I guess
with some of those girls Jones was hanging round, and any fool knows
that no one ever saw an albatross in these waters."
"Well, please don't damn the wind, Uncle, while I'm on board." Cynthia
spoke with some asperity, and turned her back squarely on me. "You know
very well you promised Aunt Mary 'Zekel----"
"Damning the wind ain't anything; _want_ a blow!" said the Skipper.
"Do we? Why?"
"That's our safety," growled he, with his eyes glued to the glass.
"Are you really afraid, Uncle Antony?"
"Well, no, not what you might call afraid. Wouldn't be very agreeable to
be taken prisoner just now. Damn if I don't believe that's a letter of
marque, that fellow!"
I laughed.
"Don't be afraid, Miss Archer," I said; "there are no letters of marque
nowadays."
"Oh, do let me see! I hope he is one. I never saw a letter of marque."
The Skipper growled in my ear, "Pirates are just as bad."
"Will he take my cassava bread, and capture Solomon?"
"He'll capture you and the whole bilin' if we don't get ahead a little
faster. I'd like to head her up. Can't, till we pass those nubbles on
the starboard bow. Jones, we may have some tough work. You go below and
get a bite, while I take the deck. May have to run."
"Where to?" asked Cynthia.
"Ashore, I guess," answered the Skipper. Most girls would have fainted.
"I'd better go below and pack my bag," said Cynthia. She turned to me
condescendingly. "I'll give you something, Mr. Jones, if you choose to
come."
Choose to come! I would have followed her to a much warmer interior. The
cabin was close and stuffy. There were some cushioned seats on either
side of the table, just too far from it to allow one to eat comfortably.
The most of my bread dropped, between my knees and rolled away on the
deck.
"What does he carry that ridiculous picture all around the world for?" I
growled.
Cynthia turned and looked at the coloured picture of a falcon which hung
in its frame at the end of the small cabin.
"Doesn't he look foolish? He's so out of drawing. He makes me seasick,"
said I.
"It is an excellent picture," said Cynthia.
"And a plain Yankee skipper coming to sea with a coat of arms and a
motto. It's positively silly!"
"It belongs to him just as much as his name does. I can't see why he
shouldn't bring it. It isn't a coat of arms, either. You can't say such
things to me about the hooded hawk, Mr. Jones, though I am not a
Schuyler exactly. But I have a great respect for the family."
"And a Latin text," I added.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Mr. Jones. Even the bird will be
shocked. Do you know what the motto means?"
"It's Latin," I answered. That was conclusive. At Belleville we had
other things to do besides study Latin.
She turned on her transom and surveyed the coat of arms, her head on one
side, her handsome eyes screwed out of all shape. They rested upon a
very fat bird holding with difficulty to a wrist to which it bore no
proportion. The wrist was as large as the trunk of a tree.
"Aunt Mary 'Zekel did it," said Cynthia. "Uncle says it means, 'A bird
in the hand is worth two in the bush'--the motto, I mean."
"Well, so it is," I answered. "A bird in a white sunbonnet is worth----"
"William Brown is waiting at home on the dock for me," said Cynthia, as
she removed the sunbonnet.
I sat silent and drained my cup.
"Have some more coffee, Mr. Jones?" She took my cup and replenished it.
"I said that William Brown is waiting on the dock for me."
"He can't; a dock's a hole."
"Well, anyway, he's waiting." A short silence, during which she wrinkled
her forehead.
"Wharf, then! William Brown's----"
"I should think Brown was synonymous with synopsis," said I
absent-mindedly.
"Some people have no dictionary knowledge," sniffed Cynthia. "He is,
really."
"Is what?"
"Waiting. We're going to keep house."
"On what?"
"What? On what?"
"Keep house on what?"
"Well, I'm going to begin with the parrot. That's what I got him for."
"Stew him first day. What'll you do next?"
"I decline to talk with you," said Cynthia, twisting huffily around on
the old red plush cushion. "William may be very rich some day. His great
aunt was a Schuyler. He has a share in the Belleville copper mines."[B]
[B] It has been rumoured lately that there is a project on foot to
resume the working of these mines.--AUTHOR.
"You still have faith in them, have you? Now, Miss Archer, let me tell
you----"
Plim! Splash! The water was dashed through the open stern ports.
"What was that?" said Cynthia, rising. "A whale or a hurricane?" And
then, as she sat looking questioningly at me, we heard a report. The
report of a gun. This was followed by the pounding of the Skipper's feet
on the deck above our heads. Cynthia ran out of the cabin door and up
the companion way to the poop. I heard her calling as she went: "Don't
be afraid, Uncle Tony! I'm coming."
"Where's Jones?" I heard him growl, as I followed close at his heels.
"Fainted away in the cabin."
"Damn coward!"
"What's the matter?" said I.
Bill Ware had let go the wheel, and the vessel was yawing round. We were
in the trough of the sea.
The Captain seemed incapable through astonishment. I jumped to the wheel
and got her on her course again.
"That damn fellow fired at me across our bows. Next he'll cut us
amidships."
"Shouldn't wonder," said Cynthia, "if he takes the stern for the bow."
She stood looking calmly at the approaching vessel.
"I should think he'd fire straighter than that. Looks as if he had
something in him."
Her acceptance of the situation threw the Skipper into a towering rage.
He stammered and stuttered. Cynthia paid no attention to his angry
words.
"Shall I take the wheel, Uncle?" she asked.
This seemed to bring the Captain to his senses.
"Take the wheel, Mr. Jones." I had had it for a minute.
"On deck, everybody!" The men came tumbling up in lively fashion. They
could have heard our Skipper on board the other vessel.
"Jump to the lee braces, men! Brace everything sharp up! Get a small
pull of the spanker sheet! Haul all the bow lines! Let her luff! Luff,
you beggar! Bring her close by the wind!"
The Captain stood, his chin raised in the air, his eyes on the yards.
"Well! The main yard!" The men ceased hauling, and belayed the braces.
"Well! The maintops'l yard. Belay the lee braces!"
"Do you think we'll get ahead of that other ship?" said Cynthia.
I looked critically to windward.
"No, I don't," said I.
"Then what will happen?"
"Depends on the other fellow; if----"
"Think we might weather the nubbles, Mr. Jones?" And then, before I
could answer, "Ready about!" he roared.
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"He's bound to catch us on this tack," confided I into the funnel as I
ran to my station.
The men ran willingly to obey the orders; all but Tomkins.
"Blank you, Tomkins! why don't you move? Got rheumatism, or what? Why
don't those sails fill? Darn it all! We're in irons. No, there she goes!
We're forging ahead. Think I'll run for that cove when we tack again.
Might stand 'em off with two four-poun----"
The Skipper was interrupted. He stood with open mouth, from which no
sound issued. We were all, as we stood, swayed slowly forward, then as
slowly backward, with a motion that made me sick and dizzy. There was a
shaking of the hull, an ominous creaking of the masts, as the Yankee
Blade careened slightly and stood still. At that moment a shot struck
the foremast, cutting it in two. It fell to leeward, a mass of
splintered wood and tangled rigging. The crashing of the top into the
water sent the foam flying over us.
"He wants you to stop," said Cynthia.
"Well, haven't I?" said the Skipper dryly.
"Yes, you have certainly," answered Cynthia in a tone of conviction. The
Skipper turned on Cynthia in a sudden rage.
"Can't you cry or do something? Why don't you act womanly. I wish to God
you was home with your Aunt Mary 'Zekel!"
The Skipper seemed to have lost his nerve.
"What shall we do, Jones? Cut away the mast, I suppose."
"Better lower some boats, sir, at once," said I. "We're no match for
them."
Cynthia had the glass raised to her eyes.
"They're getting out a boat," she said.
"Let me see."
The Skipper seized the spyglass from Cynthia so roughly that he pulled
her sunbonnet from her head. She stood beside him bareheaded, the gentle
tropic breeze blowing her hair into a thousand little brown rings. I ran
close to her as I was hurrying to get the boats lowered. Her mouth was
set, as if she did not fancy her Uncle's rough treatment.
"He doesn't mean it, Miss Archer," I said in as sympathetic a tone as I
could command. "He's worried and----"
"You need not apologize to me for my Uncle, Mr. Jones. We understand
each other thoroughly." She went up to the old man and laid her hand
upon his shoulder. He shook it off impatiently.
"Lower a boat, Mr. Jones!" he said. "Lower a boat at once!"
Cynthia put on her sunbonnet to hide, I thought, her mortification.
"I have given the order, sir," said I. "Better lower two, sir. The men
don't want to be captured any more than we do."
"Couldn't wish the stranger any worse luck than to capture them all,
Cook included," said the Skipper with a scowl at the men.
"I guess they did their best, Captain," said I, in a louder voice than
was necessary, with an eye to a possible future.
"Don't answer me, Mr. Jones! Get a boat down!"
"Lay aft there to lower the dinghy! Stand by!"
"How can you worry Uncle so, Mr. Jones, when you know how----"
Two or three of the men lay aft with alacrity at my order. Among them
was Tomkins. He worked with a will.
"Where's Ned Chudleigh?" asked the Skipper.
"In the foc's'l, sir," said the Bo's'n.
"Send him up here. On deck, everybody!"
"Says he's sick, sir."
"Sick, is he? Guess he'll be sick before we've--Why don't you get out
that boat, you rascals?"
"Shall we lower a third one, Captain?" said I. The shore looked
inhospitable. We might as well be on the right side of the men.
"Bear a hand there, whatever you do! They've got their boat in the
water. The men are climbing down the falls now. Put a cask of salt pork
under the thwarts, Mr. Jones, and a breaker of water."
I gave the order, and added thereto a bag of hard bread, some coffee,
tea, and sugar. I saw that the Bo's'n was adding the necessary utensils.
Cynthia watched these preparations with disapproving mien. She came over
to where I stood, her eyes flashing fire.
"Do you mean to tell me," she asked fiercely, "that you'll run from
those letter-of-marque people without even a struggle? There are all my
shells and that West Indian dress of mine down in my box. Do you intend
to let them be taken without so much as----"
"I'm not Captain of this craft," said I, "but he's doing the only----"
"Don't hide your cowardice behind my poor old Uncle. If no one else will
do anything, I'll--Get me a slow match; light it quickly, do you hear?"
with a stamp of the foot at the cabin boy.
"Shall we put any blankets in the boat, Mr. Jones, sir?" asked the
Bo's'n. "Something for the lady----"
I ran down below into Cynthia's cabin. Even with all the hurry,
confusion, and excitement of the moment, I did not fail to note the
neatness of that white little room. I tore the blanket from the smoothly
made bed and seized a pillow from its place. I stood looking around a
moment to see if there was anything more that she might want. I saw on
the dresser a little note-book, with a pencil slipped into the loops.
This I put into my pocket with a picture done by a Belleville artist of
Aunt Mary 'Zekel. Another of a very meek-looking man, with his hair
brushed forward over his ears, and a collar the points of which ran up
nearly to his eyes, I took it to be William Brown. This I detached from
the hook on which it hung, and, going to the open port, I thrust my arm
through and tossed it up in the air, hoping that Cynthia would in this
way look her last on the face of my rival. Simultaneously with my toss
of the picture there came a report from overhead, and I saw some
fragments of shattered glass. I knew that the six-pounder on the poop
had been fired.
I hurried on deck, encumbered with the pillow and blanket. The smell of
gunpowder was in the air. Cynthia was standing defiantly by the gun. She
had just dropped the slow match. The Skipper was dancing in rage on the
poop.
"Now you've done it! Now you've done it!" he screamed. "You've made 'em
so angry there's no telling what they'll do.--Are the boats all ready,
Mr. Jones?"
"If we are going to run, we may as well show them a little Yankee spirit
first," said Cynthia. "I wish I could make them hear me. I would tell
them that the only man on board this vessel's a girl."
I had picked up the glass and was trying to get a sight on the long
boat. She was a little way from the end of the ship, and Cynthia through
sheer luck had struck her amidships. I saw that there were five or six
men struggling to keep afloat. A boat was being lowered to pick them up.
"Seems to me now's our time to go," said the Skipper. "Just look at the
guns on board that fellow!" He turned on Cynthia, his face crimson, his
eyes fierce and angry. "How dare you accuse me of being a coward?" He
shook his fist in her face. "I'm thinking of you more than anybody. We
haven't a ghost of a chance with those fellows if they're what I think
they are. You may talk to Jones there; he's weak enough to stand it, but
by----"
"Mr. Jones has taken the precaution to have a comfortable time, at all
events," said Cynthia, with a scornful glance at the blanket and pillow.
"If you're really going ashore, Uncle, I'll just step below and get my
bag. I'm glad I packed it now."
She disappeared down the companion way, and after a few moments, during
which we were getting the Jacob's ladder slung so that she could descend
into the long boat, she came on deck again. A sound of stumbling and a
banging of metal preceded her.
When she appeared above the hatchcombings, I saw that she held a worked
canvas bag in one hand and a large, square parrot's cage in the other. A
shot from the stranger went over our heads at that moment, doing no
damage beyond cutting away a few threads of rope, which fell upon the
cage.
"Damn those Britishers!" said the parrot.
"They didn't do much that time--only cut off those Irish pennants.
That's a very sensible bird of yours, Cynthy," said the Skipper, who
remembered the late war only too well.
"I'm glad there are some brains on board," answered Cynthia, "if only a
bird's."
"Get in the boat and stop sassin' me!" ordered the Skipper.
I handed the blanket and pillow to the Bo's'n, who placed them in the
bow, thus making a comfortable seat.
"You'd better go up in the bows," I said to Cynthia, as I helped her
down from the wobbling Jacob's ladder. She stepped exactly on the middle
of the seat. I never saw another girl step anywhere but on the gun'l.
The Skipper took the steering oar.
"I'll keep the Yankee Blade between us and them," said he.
"I haven't the slightest doubt of it," remarked Cynthia gratuitously.
I sat forward of the men, next to Cynthia.
"Where's William Brown?" I asked. We were about three boats' lengths
from the ship. Cynthia arose in her seat.
"O Uncle! wait!" she called; "I must go back a moment. I have forgotten
something."
The Skipper paid no more attention than if she had not spoken.
"Not too short a stroke, Bill," he said, "but strong, strong. Am I
keeping the Yankee Blade between us?"
"You be, sir," answered the stroke.
Cynthia sat down, impelled to do so partly by the jerk of the oars and
partly by the silence of her Uncle.
"I thought you never forgot him for a moment."
"I never do. That was the only time all this voyage. If it hadn't been
for you, Mr. Jones----"
This sentence was subject to two constructions. I tried to look upon it
as an admission.
A shot fell over the Yankee Blade and pierced the water just behind us.
"Damn those Britishers!" said the parrot.
"I'll give you fifty dollars for that bird when you get him home,
Cynthy," said the Skipper. "Did you teach him that?"
"_I!_" There was a world of wrath in Cynthia's tones. "He was probably
taught by the Minion when he took the cage out to clean it."
Cynthia jumped excitedly to her feet.
"Oh! See there, Mr. Jones, they are firing on the flag! There goes a
shot through it! I don't suppose they know we have left yet. The Yankee
careened so."
It was true. Our emblem, which we had left floating at the masthead,
had been shot directly through the field, and some of the stars were
carried away with the ball. Cynthia wrung her hands.
"Uncle Antony," she screamed, if that sweet voice could ever have been
said to do anything so vulgar, "let us go back! Don't you see? They have
fired on the flag."
"Don't get flustered," said the Skipper to the stroke. "Steady and
strong wins to-day. My niece's a little excitable."
Cynthia heard the words. She turned on me, her lips white with
suppressed passion.
"You know what the trouble with the English is, don't you, Mr. Jones?"
"Yes, I know of several failings they have; first, they----"
She took the words out of my mouth.
"They haven't a cowardly hair in their heads," she said. "I am ashamed
to-day, for the first time in my life, of being an American."
Of course, she did not see that it would have been worse than foolhardy
to remain, and I did not try to convince her.
"I see a man on the foc's'l," said Cynthia.
"Nonsense!" roared the Skipper from the stern. "We ain't goin' back for
anybody. They had their chance.--Is there any one on board, Bill?"
"There is, sir."
"What's his name when he's sober?" asked the Skipper viciously.
"Ned Chudleigh, sir."
"Didn't you call him?"
"I did, sir," puffed Bill.
"Why didn't he come, then?"
"Said he was _English_, sir; 'd _like_, to go back. Waited a _purpose_
for them Britishers. _Wanted_ 'em to capture him."
"I am afraid he has mistaken their nationality," said I.
"Damn the Britishers!" remarked the parrot.
"We have no quarrel with the British at present," I remarked. "What's
your antediluvian bird talking about, Miss Archer?"
"I should think that with two six-pounders in the waist, and a gun that
none of you had the pluck to fire on the poop, you might have----"
"Too much noise in the bows!" growled the Skipper.
I was sitting in the bows, facing Cynthia, as we left the Yankee Blade.
I had watched the citadel on its far distant height grow lower and lower
to the eye, and finally sink behind its seaward hills and masses of
foliage. I noticed, however, that our course was laid in an almost
direct line for it; a little to the left, but still so that the position
of the castle was impressed upon my mind. As we neared the shore, white
rocks began to show, and the water, from having been blue, of a dark and
beautiful shade, began to fade into tints no less lovely. There were
streaks of pale green upon darker green, streaks of yellow upon blue.
This was caused by the depth or shallowness of the water which flowed
between us and the white rocks. Cocoanut tufts fringed the shore, and
behind them were the various species of trees that thrive in the
tropics. The gri-gri, the mahogany, reared their tall heads and
vari-coloured leaves. Masses of green of all shades clothed the hills,
which sloped upward a short distance from the level of the beach.
"O Uncle! See those lovely pieces of coral! Stop a moment, do, and let
me get a piece to take home to Aunt Mary 'Zekel."
The stroke trailed his oar.
"What are you about, Bill Tomkins, stopping for coral! I never saw a
mite round here. You stop when I give the order.--Don't be too much of a
fool, Cynthy! Do you know we're running for our lives? Look back at
that Yankee of ours, and see if there are any other----"
"I see only one lonely man. He looks repentant, as well as I can make
out. Let's go back and--Why, yes! There are some other people, too. They
seem to----"
"Go slow there, ahead!" called out the Skipper, standing up as he spoke.
He held the steering oar firmly and looked for a landing place, trying
vainly to see over the heads of those in the boat.
"Tom, jump up there in the bows, and see if you see any----"
"There goes another piece of the flag! O Uncle Tony! they've almost shot
our flag away."
The spyglass dropped with a bump into the bottom of the boat, and
Cynthia put her hands inside the funnel and over her eyes, and burst
into floods of tears. She did not cry like a young lady. She cried like
a young cyclone.
"Damn those Britishers!" shrieked the parrot.
"Yes, damn them, Solomon dear! Damn them again, since there's no one
here to even----"
Her words ended in a rain of sobs. They issued from the sunbonnet
wringing wet and soaked through. They might have come out of the
washtub. She stood up the better to see the extent of her misery.
"Down in the bows! You will be overboard."
"There comes the Union Jack! I see it over the Yankee. That letter of
marque's getting closer. Shame on us all! Oh, shame!"
The grounding of the boat seated Cynthia rather suddenly again in a
manner which would have been undignified in any girl in the world but
Cynthia.
The bow of our boat had not reached the shore. Some of the men dropped
overboard and tried to get her clear. She had grounded amidships. As
they pushed, she swung round as if on a pivot. I joined the men.
"We'll have to lighten the load," said I, and without more words I took
Cynthia in my arms and waded with her ashore. I set her high and dry on
the beach. She surveyed me with anger and scorn glowering from her eyes.
"Your Uncle was steering," I explained humbly, "and the men----"
She cast a comprehensive glance at Bill and Tanby.
"Yes, I suppose you are better than----"
"William Brown will have to possess his soul in patience," said I. "Do
you think he'll wait?"
"Yes, he will, but he _will_----"
"What! On that dock?"
"Yes, and I'll wait here."
"I wouldn't; at least, not too long," hazarded I.
"Where's that kag of salt pork and that bag of hard bread?" roared the
Skipper. "Is the breaker ashore?"
"Looks hospitable, don't it?" said I.
She raised her eyes to the wooded heights above us, and then looked up
along the coast.
"I see the other boat has landed."
I looked along the beach, and saw that the men were leaving the dinghy
and were carrying some heavy weights high up on the beach. Cynthia
seated herself upon a rock. She deposited the cage on one side and the
worked bag on the other.
"Jones," said the Skipper, "I wish you'd keep the glass on those people
out there while the men get the provisions up."
I took the glass willingly and seated myself by Cynthia. Before I put my
eyes to the glass, they rested upon the bag which reposed at Cynthia's
side.
"I'm so glad I brought it," said she. "Aunt Mary 'Zekel worked it for
me."
"It's a curious-looking bag," ventured I. "What are those funny-looking
white things on the side, made of glass beads?"
"There's nothing funny at all about that bag, Mr. Jones. That's our
family plot."
"Your what?"
"Plot--our family plot. Aunt Mary 'Zekel worked it for me. She said she
thought it would be a pleasant reminder of home. That's her tomb in the
middle. Don't you see her initials: 'M. S. A.'--Mary Schuyler Archer?"
"Is she inside of it?"
"Who? Aunt Mary 'Zekel? Mercy, no! She's just as much alive as you are.
At least, she was when I left home. There's her tomb in the middle.
Uncle 'Zekel's buried inside of it."
I withdrew my eyes from the Yankee Blade.
"Isn't he rather heavy to carry round?"
"Don't be silly, Mr. Jones. His name's on the other side. It doesn't
show on the bag. On the right you see Antony's shaft, and then little
Peter's--there was always a Peter in the family--and on the left comes
Gertrude, and then Mary--Aunt Mary 'Zekel's little girl. The beginning
of that next one is for Adoniah. She didn't have time to work that in."
"Oh, I see! She chose the time to depict the plot when a burial was in
progress. There are the horses' tails."
"How can you joke on such a solemn subject, Mr. Jones?" I dropped the
glass at her evident displeasure, and it rolled down the slight
declivity. "Those are not horse tails, as you know very well. Besides,
they are green. Any one can see that they are weeping willows. She
didn't have time to work the trunks. She's going to do that when I come
back. Please do not add stupidity to your other failings, Mr. Jones."
She moved the bag to a safe distance from me with a reverential and
disappointed air.
"Where is that glass?" she said.
Every man on the beach ran for the spyglass. The Cook got it first.
"Thank you, Cook," she said, with a radiant smile.
"You never looked at me as you did at that Cook just now," I whispered
under my breath.
"The Cook never presumes," she answered in a low tone. "Lend me your
shoulder, Cook."
The Cook knelt on the beach with Spartan firmness. I did not envy him
his cushion of sharp and jagged rocks. I gloated with joy over the wince
into which his features were twisted. The Skipper turned and waved his
arm at me.
"Come here, Jones! One would think you were at a picnic, the whole of
you."
I walked over to where the Skipper stood, fanning himself violently with
his panama.
"You told me to keep my eye on them, sir," said I. "Hadn't that Cook
better build a fire?"
"What! Think he's hungry so soon?" with a grim smile. "We must husband
our resources, Mr. Jones."
"Sounds just like a shipwreck," called Cynthia, who had caught the
Skipper's words. "'Husband our resources!' Isn't that delightful!"
"We've got no place to sleep to-night, sir," said I, pursuing my theme.
"There are all sorts of crawlers in the bushes yonder. A fire will clear
up the place, and will cool off before night."
"You've got more sense than I credited you with," said the Skipper.
"Cook, build a fire up there under those trees." The Cook arose, joy and
regret intermingled in his looks.
"Thank you, Cook. I never rested the glass on so steady a shoulder."
She had rested it on mine a hundred times.
Thus we each took our turn at the glass, and each told each other what
we saw.
"If they're looking for money, they'll be almighty disappointed," said
the Skipper in a low tone to his niece and myself. "I took all there
was."
Then in an undertone, and with that rashness of statement that sometimes
we live to regret, "I wish I could strike a flint in that magazine. What
was that, Mr. Jones?"
We saw a puff of smoke out at sea, and some moments later a report.
"Why should the British attack us, Uncle?" asked Cynthia. "I thought we
were at peace now."
I shook my head at the Skipper.
"Don't know as they have," answered the old man for want of a better
explanation.
Cynthia jumped from her seat and ran back to a slight ascent which rose
above the beach. To the top of this she climbed, and, shadowing those
wondrous eyes with her hand, gazed out to sea.
"It's another vessel! An American, I am sure! Yes, I can see the flag;
probably a man-of-war. Regular officers, of course. They won't know how
to spell R-U-N--Run!"
"Did you hear me tell you to stop sassin' me a while back? 'Twas the
best we could do. Some one got us off our course on purpose. They tell
me some one's got a Haitien wife down here."
At these words Cynthia, who at this time seemed to live to make me
miserable, surveyed me with unconcealed scorn.
"You had the wheel while Uncle was taking his nap," said she.
"I turned it over to Tomkins a half hour before I called you, Miss
Archer. I have never been here before, give you my word," said I.
"I think they're leaving the Yankee now," said the Skipper. "When they
take what they want and clear out, we can right her and get her on her
course, and I'll take care how I get in these waters again."
Cynthia took the glass from her Uncle without permission.
"Yes, they are," said she. "Don't you see those black figures climbing
over the bulwarks? There, to the right of the mainmast."
"Guess I must be looking through the other end," said the Skipper.
Cynthia restored the magnifying medium with some reluctance.
"My eyes are so much better than yours, Uncle Tony," she urged.
"Use 'em, then!" said the Skipper shortly, as he screwed the glass to a
focus. "Yes, they certainly have gone. Yes, by cracky! there goes
another shot from the American." He ran a little higher up the hill to a
better vantage point. We followed. "I can see 'em now over the bulwarks
of the old Yankee. They're pulling like Satan for the Britisher. Hope
the Americans 'll knock Ned Chudleigh's head off!"
He changed his focus, and fixed his gaze on the newcomer.
"That last fellow's an American, sure! The other has turned his
attention to him."
As the Skipper looked through the glass and reported what he saw, there
were several shots interchanged between the two vessels.
"Hope they'll knock seven bells out of 'em!"
"Cook, send up a smoke. They will see us, perhaps, and take us off. Are
those our colours, Mr. Jones? Perhaps you can make----"
I almost snatched the glass from his hand. I raised it hurriedly to my
eyes.
"It's--yes--no--yes--it is--the----"
"What a lucid description!" remarked Cynthia.
"Don't devil the man, girl! Can't you speak, Jones? It's the----"
"Stars and Stripes," said I.
The Skipper at this juncture snatched the glass from me. He fixed it
upon a nearer point.
"My God!" he ejaculated.
CHAPTER II.
OUR FIRST VIEW OF THE NATIVES.
The Skipper's tone was reverent, but full of horror. We all, even to the
Cook, ran up to a higher spot to see what had so disturbed the old man.
"You'll see it just as well from the beach," said the Skipper. "They've
set the old Yankee afire!"
It was true. We could not see very clearly for the smoke which the
firing had made, but as we gazed anxiously, knowing what the entire loss
of the ship would mean for us, we saw that smoke had begun to pour from
the ports and hatches. First appeared the misty stream which the Skipper
had discovered, then it grew thicker.
As we gazed, fascinated with the horrible spectacle, the flames began to
shoot upward. They curled round the lower mast, they ran up the rigging,
they licked their way up the shrouds. They ran aloft, and swallowed the
crosstrees, first having eaten into the very tops. The smoke was thicker
than ever, and made a dark background for the points and jets of flame,
which leaped through its walls. And now, as we watched breathless, each
one glued to his post, no word spoken between us, a long, low, ominous
rumble came to our ears. There were two or three sharp cracks, the
flames leaped to the sky, there was a final thunderous crash, and the
air was a mass of flying timbers. I turned to look at the Skipper. The
glass had fallen unheeded from his fingers, the tears were dropping off
the end of his nose. He winked hard, and took out a bandana and wiped
his forehead to hide his emotion.
"I suppose you think I'm an old fool to stand here and cry like a baby.
Perhaps you don't think I should feel anything to see my handsome ship
go up in smoke." The old man's lips quivered. "She's been home and wife
and children to me for a good many years, the old Yankee Blade has--yes,
and a livin'. I ought to have stayed at home. I never should have tried
it again. I was foolish; I deserted her; I never should have done it but
for that damn' girl, who don't appreciate it any more----"
Cynthia's arms were round the old man's neck.
"Dear Uncle Tony! I do appreciate it. I do! I do! I didn't know you were
doing it for me. I thought----"
"And I thought they would leave, and we could perhaps get her afloat
again. Is there anything left of her, Jones? I suspect we've seen the
last of the old Yankee Blade." He turned and walked down the hill. I
stooped and picked up the glass and handed it to Cynthia.
She turned it on the spot where the Yankee had gone on the rocks. A
dull, thick smoke overhung the place. On the hither side we could see a
mass of wreckage. Some large splinters of wood were floating in the
water. We heard repeated shots, but the other vessels were obscured from
view by the smoke which they themselves had made, as well as that which
enveloped the wreck of the Yankee.
"I think there's a little of her left, Uncle Tony," said Cynthia. "She
seems to stand up on the rock, part of her. Oh, if they could only see
us! We haven't anything to signal with, not even an apron."
She seized the sunbonnet from her head and waved it wildly in the air.
"They must see us!" she said. "They must!" But her action was of no
avail. Our sight could not penetrate the smoke, and the vessels, even if
their crews could have seen us, were too busy to notice us. Cynthia
waved until her arm dropped tired at her side.
"We'll have to give it up, I suppose," she said. "Good-bye, old Yankee
Blade, good-bye!" And together we descended the hill. Captain Schuyler
had turned his back on the ocean and was talking with the Cook.
"No use crying over spilt milk," I heard him say. The Cook regarded him
as surlily as he dared. The pudding lay heavy in his interior, mental
and physical.
"We'd better get some food ready and then put out the fire. No knowing
who's lurking round."
"Why, Uncle Tony, isn't Haiti a friendly country?"
"Friendly enough, girl, but we don't know what's happened since we were
here before. Might have had forty revolutions. These fellows are always
revolutin'.--Now, my men, stir round and beat out that fire! Reckon the
crawlers are all killed or scattered. Come, men, stir your stumps! Do
you hear me?"
The Skipper looked round at the men.
They were standing apart, conversing in low tones. They did not move at
once.
"Isn't it exciting?" whispered Cynthia, her eyes shooting out light from
the funnel. "Do you believe it's a mutiny? I hope it is. I never saw a
mutiny. I believe they usually say: 'Now look a-here, Cap'n, we ain't
a-goin' to stand this sort of thing! It's a-goin' to be share and share
alike. There ain't no officers and there ain't no men. We're all equal
on this here island.'"
I laughed.
"You must have read some very instructive books in your time, Miss
Archer," I said.
"Yes, I have. I seem to know exactly what they are saying. Don't you
think I understand pretty well how they conduct a mutiny?"
"Yes--in books," I said. I laughed, more to disabuse her mind than
anything else. I remembered a very pretty mutiny a few years back. For
weeks I never slept without seeing those men strung up to the yard-arm
with not a moment in which to say a prayer. I thought this a good time
to advance myself a little in her favour, and at the same time make her
forget the loneliness of her situation. I saw that the Skipper seemed to
be arguing with the sailors, and that he seemed to want no help from me.
"I wish that I could express to you, Miss Archer, how really beautiful I
think you. The English language is feeble to convey all that----"
"When we get home, Mr. Jones," Cynthia broke in, "I will lend you a book
which contains all the adjectives you could possibly need----"
I looked at her to see if she was in earnest.
"It is called 'The Complete Idiot.' Now do stop your nonsense and look
at those sailors. What do you suppose they are saying to Uncle?"
I withdrew my gaze from her face and regarded the men as they stood in a
group near the Skipper. Their attitude did savour somewhat of
insubordination. We could not hear their words or the Skipper's as he
answered them.
When they had finished, they proceeded to the glade where the fire had
been kindled, and began to beat the bushes with a will. Then, with
brooms improvised of thickly leaved branches, they swept the place
clean.
"Will that do, Cap'n?" asked Bill Tomkins.
"Yes, I call that a pretty handsome clean up," answered the Skipper.
"Now you men go and sit down upon the beach and I'll send you some
food."
They withdrew in a cluster, and sat down on the beach as directed. The
Cook, who had been broiling some pork, handed us our shares first, each
slice on a piece of hard bread. Then he served the men.
Cynthia took her ration and ate as heartily as the rest of us.
"Is it mutiny, Uncle? I was never in a mutiny."
"Wasn't you, really? Well, it is mutiny, if you like to call it so,
Cynthy.--Give me some tobacco, Cook; and you, Minion, just run up the
hill and see if those ships are in sight."
The Cook handed the Skipper the tobacco with a look that expressed the
wish that it had been gunpowder instead, and the thin young lad, who was
at everybody's beck and call, ran as fast as his legs could carry him up
to the little knoll. The Skipper seated himself in the shade and puffed
away. Cynthia hung anxiously on every puff, every breath.
"Uncle, will you never speak? If you knew how interested I am----"
Captain Schuyler sat, his pipe in his mouth, and talked one-sidedly
between the puffs.
"The idiots want to walk to Cap Haitien," said the Skipper. "I tell 'em
it's worse than foolish, but they seem pretty determined. They say they
can do it in two days' time. Must be twenty miles or more, following the
shore. They say they can bring back horses for the rest of us."
"That's an excellent idea!" said Cynthia. "I don't believe I shall get
tired of pork in two days' time. I don't know about the third. Have we
enough food for two days, Uncle?"
"Lord, yes! We'll get along a week easy.--What do you think, Jones?"
"I'd let 'em try it," said I. "Of course, they'll never come back. I've
seen 'em start off before this to bring aid and succour. They never
returned, except in story-books."
"If I was sure of that, I'd let 'em go mighty quick," said the Skipper.
"We're better off without 'em."
He turned to the group. "How many of you want to go?" He raised his
voice, so that it would carry to where they sat.
Tomkins stood up and answered respectfully:
"All but the Bo's'n and the Minion, sir."
There was a certain decision in Tomkins' tone, which revealed the fact
to me that they intended going, permission or not.
"The Cook, too?" asked Cynthia.
The Cook looked down and shuffled his feet.
"I can cook, Cap'n, miss, sir, beggin' your pardon, ma'm, Mr. Jones,"
volunteered the Bo's'n.
"Good enough!" said the Skipper. "Let Cook fit you out with vittles,
men. What have you got for water?"
Bill Ware spoke up eagerly:
"Tomkins says as there's two or three springs on the way, sir----"
"How does he know?" asked the astonished Skipper.
"Been here before, sir, so he was a-tellin' us last night. Says it's a
puffec pair-o-dice."
"Oh, he does, does he?--So you've been here before, have you, Tomkins?"
Tomkins looked daggers at Bill Ware.
"Yessir, I was here some years back."
"Know the coast pretty well?"
"Yessir, pretty well."
"Thought so," muttered the Skipper in a low tone. "Knew it better than I
did." Then aloud: "Very well, my man. Now do you think you can get
horses from whoever's governor down there, and be back in a week?"
"Sartin sure, sir," answered Tomkins unblushingly.
While Tomkins was speaking, the Skipper was muttering under his breath,
"Better get rid of the rascals, anyway."
"You don't think----" said I.
"I do think----" said he.
"What! Wrecked the vessel?" asked Cynthia breathlessly.
"Yes; drove her ashore."
"Why?"
"Hush!" said the Skipper.
"Tomkins!" called Cynthia.
"For God's sake, Cynthia, don't----"
"Miss Archer, I'm usually called, sir! I believe in always going to the
root of every matter."
Cynthia arose from her sitting posture. She stood tall and stately. Her
dignified air recalled to my mind a young woman by the name of Portia,
of whom I had once read somewhere.
"Be quiet!" said the Skipper, pulling her skirt with a rough jerk. "Sit
down!"
Cynthia gently disengaged her skirt from the Skipper's hand. She removed
her sunbonnet, and with her pure face turned toward the sheepish
Tomkins, she looked like a very young Daniel come to judgment.
It was a strange scene, one which I shall never forget. The tropic
shore, the shipwrecked crew, the young girl standing forth as the
exponent of right--foolhardy, if you like, but fearless in her righteous
indignation.
She raised her hand, commanding the attention of the men.
"Tomkins," she said, "as you shall answer at the day of judgment, when
the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed, did you wreck the Yankee
Blade?"
The man shifted from one foot to the other, his head hanging down. He
looked up with ferret eyes from under his sparse eyebrows.
"'Fore God----" began Tomkins.
"You are before God!" said Cynthia sternly.
He ground his feet restlessly, making little pools in the gravel of the
shore.
"O Lord!" groaned the Skipper helplessly.
"Well, then, miss, 'fore God, I didn't!"
"Remember you're on oath, Tomkins. Well, then, who did?"
"Beg his pardon, ma'm, it was Mr. Jones!"
"_I!_"
Cynthia turned upon me a glance of most withering scorn and horror.
"You hear what this honest sailor says, Mr. Jones?"
"Tell you how it was, ma'm," said Tomkins. "I come on deck this mornin',
long 'bout 'leven o'clock, and I see we was goin' straight for the land.
Skipper was below, you was below. Mr. Jones, he had the wheel. I says,
'Fer Gord's sake, Mr. Jones,' I says, 'what are you a-doin', sir?' He
says, says he, 'You, Tomkins, mind your da--, mind your busi----'"
"Shut up, Tomkins!" said the Skipper. "If you're goin', you'd better get
ready."
Cynthia turned on me.
"What could possess you to do such a thing?"
"I was so anxious to get home to see William Brown," said I. "Haven't we
had enough of this farce, Miss Archer?"
The Skipper laughed aloud, and I saw the backs of some of the men
shaking.
"Don't be any more kinds of a fool than you can help, Cynthy. Sit down
and keep cool until we can get rid of those rascals. Thank God they've
elected to go! The sooner they take up their march the better for all
hands."
"Do you mean to tell me, Uncle Tony, that you don't believe Tomkins on
his oath?"
"What!" The Skipper's voice had the rising inflection. The word was
uttered in a tone between a roar and an incredulous scream. "Believe a
sailor?" roared the Skipper. "What are you talking about, Cynthy?
Believe a sailor? O Lord!"
The men saw the Skipper's amusement, and doubtless judged of the cause.
"No use in threatening Tomkins," he said in my ear. "Better treat it as
a joke, and let them go."
"As you say, Captain Schuyler; but when Mr. Tomkins and I meet again,
there will be a reckoning that he won't forget, I'll warrant."
"Perhaps he really thought so," said Cynthia. "Hadn't they better wait
until morning? It's getting so late now. They might be lonely without
us."
"Now, Cynthy, don't you go and suggest any such a thing. We shan't be
lonely without _them_. We shall be well rid of 'em, the Lord
knows.--Here, you, Cook, fry some pork for those lunatics! Give 'em two
days' rations, and let each man carry his own."
While the Cook was frying the pork, I noticed that the men were busy
behind some guava trees at a little distance from the place where we
were sitting. I had placed the pillow and blanket at the root of an
enormous tree, and had made as comfortable a seat for Cynthia and the
Skipper as my limited means would allow. The Skipper had his coat off,
and was fanning himself with his great panama hat. The sun was broiling
down upon us, but Cynthia looked as cool as a piece of ice from the
Passaic River. I never saw such a provoking girl. While every one else
was sweltering, she appeared perfectly comfortable. I was trying to
balance myself upon a rather sharp piece of rock and to keep the men in
my eye at the same time. We could not see much of them. They were
stooping down, with their backs toward us.
The Skipper turned lazily round. Suddenly he straightened himself and
glared at the group in the bushes.
"What have you got there, Bill Ware?" shouted he.
The Skipper's tone of authority startled the men.
They arose to a standing posture. Bill Ware turned his face toward us.
"We've--we've found some guavas, sir, that's all. I'll bring you over
some."
"No, no, I'll come over. I don't know as I remember ever having seen
guavas growing on----"
But Bill Ware had started toward us with great alacrity.
"Don't come here, sir, for the Lord's sake! The place is alive with
scorpions."
The Skipper thought better of it, and waited until Bill Ware's arrival.
The man walked across, holding something in his hand. When he came near,
we discovered two very small and very unripe guavas.
He came close to Cynthia and handed the fruits to her. His face was very
red. His breath was almost upon her cheek. She started back.
"Are those guavas? What a curious odour guavas have, Uncle!"
"I never noticed it," said he.
"How queerly Bill Ware walks!" said Cynthia, as she watched his return
to his mates. "I never noticed it on board ship. I suppose he hasn't got
his land legs on yet."
The Skipper raised himself and looked critically at the man.
"Those are the legs he always has on when he goes ashore," said he.
I had my suspicions, and I saw that the Skipper had his, but I did not
want to frighten the girl and anger the men. Besides, she might not be
frightened. She seemed to think that she had been sent into this world
to set things right, and no one knew what tack she might take next.
The Skipper took out his silver watch. "Come, men, you'd better start!
It's gettin' late. You'll want to pick out a good place for the night.
It comes down in a minute in the tropics, you know.--Cook, are you
ready?"
The men arose, turned one after the other, and came lingeringly out of
the bushes.
"Are there any more of those guavas?"
"It's a little early, sir," said Tomkins. "They don't ripen well until
the last of May."
Bill Tomkins's tongue seemed thick and his speech halting.
"Well, it's time to start. Cook'll give you your rations. Come, now!
Good-bye, my men. Don't forget to bring those horses. We shall expect
you by daybreak on Saturday." (We had gone ashore on a Monday.)
"Yessir, you expect us, sir," answered Tomkins.
The men took their rations from the Cook, then they one and all paid a
last visit to the bushes to seek for a few more guavas before they left
us, and then, with a hang-dog nod and touch of their caps, they took up
their straggling march. We sat watching them as they moved westward in a
wavering line.
"It must be very hard work walking up that beach," said Cynthia. "Did
you remark what a difficult time Bill Ware had to get pointed straight,
Uncle Tony?"
The Skipper and I sat and watched them. There was no need to answer
Cynthia. The men made a line as straight as the fences which we were
beginning to use about Belleville. The idea came from Virginia. We
called them Virginia rail fences. As the last man of them staggered
round the point and was lost behind the trunks of the cocoanut grove,
the Skipper arose and approached the thicket where the mango tree stood.
I followed a close second, and Cynthia came behind.
"I thought as much!" exclaimed the Skipper. He had parted the bushes and
stood looking downward. I gazed over his shoulder, and Cynthia
condescended to stand on tiptoe and cast her eyes over mine.
"What is it, Uncle Tony?" asked she.
"Those blanked rascals! In the confusion, Jones, do you see? Broke into
my store-room, of course. I wanted to bring some myself, but it's never
safe with such a crew. Got that at Santo Domingo for medicinal purposes.
Wish to Heaven it would physic them all! Darned if I don't! Wish now I'd
put arsenic in it." And then followed some language which I will not
weary you by repeating. The Skipper was not the most profane man that I
ever sailed with, but in those days of which I write--days long past, ah
me!--that is saying a great deal more than any one to-day would imagine.
Men, and particularly men who followed the sea, did not regard profanity
as we do nowadays. Cynthia was used to the Skipper's ordinary looseness
of speech, and, having heard it all her life, was astonished at very
little that he said. I have learned to look upon such language with
disgust, and I thank the refining influences of the day in which we live
for making me see how much worse than silly it was, and, though I shall
try to make the Skipper's speech sound more like the Skipper of modern
times, still to make him seem at all the man that his friends knew him,
I must occasionally point his marks as he himself pointed them.
Cynthia stood looking steadily at her Uncle as his adjectived
indignation poured forth. When his vocabulary was exhausted, he sat down
on the ground, weak from his exertion. Cynthia stood looking fixedly at
him. Then, as the enormity of his offence overcame him, he drew out his
bandana and mopped his face.
"Beg pardon, Cynthy, but you shouldn't have been here."
Cynthia fixed him with her glances as long as she could hold her tongue
between her teeth, then turned and walked away with dignity.
"Now that girl's mad! And she'll go and tell Mary 'Zekel, and I promised
Mary 'Zekel--Where'd we better put that damn thing, anyway?"
I aided the old man as he rolled the cask nearer our camping place, if
the spot where we had deposited our few belongings could be called such.
We had placed our cooking utensils--or the Bo's'n had for us--the
parrot's cage, and the mortuary bag in a secluded spot among the trees.
There happened to be a depression in the earth near where we sat, up
beyond the line of the beach in the soft earth. We tumbled the cask in
and covered it well with leaves and branches. Cynthia, whose curiosity
would not allow her to remain longer away, had returned, and was
watching our efforts.
"If they come back, they will demand it," remarked Cynthia.
"What! Those honest sailors?" inquired I.
I was still sore from her ill treatment of me. Cynthia's face, as much
as I could see of it, was a brilliant crimson.
"Have they any weapons, Uncle Tony?" she asked, ignoring me entirely.
"Got pistols, I'll be bound, every man Jack of 'em!--By the way, Jones,
what have we got in the way of firearms?"
I threw back my thin coat and displayed a pistol stuck in my belt in
either side.
"Oh!" exclaimed Cynthia. "If I had known that you carried those
murderous weapons, I should have refused to come ashore with you."
"From the ship, or the boat?" I asked.
She blushed again, and drooped her head so that I could see nothing but
the white top of the funnel.
"I've got a fine knife," said the Skipper, "and so has the Bo's'n. He
has brought some ammunition ashore, and I've got my old musket, of
course."
"Do you really suppose that we shall need all those dreadful things?"
asked Cynthia, her lips white and quivering.
"And you're the girl who fired on the letter of marque?" said I, for
want of a more non-committal name. "What sort of a girl are you,
anyway?"
Here was an anomaly, indeed! A girl who had had the courage not only to
defy her Uncle and the whole ship's company, but to fire a gun which
made a pretty good deal of noise when close to one's ear, afraid to
listen to a simple discussion of weapons of defence! The Skipper at
this moment hitched himself up a little higher, and threw his whole
weight against the trunk on which he was leaning. I heard a softy, mushy
crumble, and his head and shoulders disappeared from view.
I arose and ran to his aid, and at once clasped his outstretched hands
and pulled with all my might. He finally, with my help, succeeded in
regaining his position. He spluttered and coughed, his eyes and mouth
full of the dust of decay. He rose to his feet and kicked viciously at
the crumbling bark. A large piece fell inward, making an opening, into
which a man could have squeezed himself. At that very moment, so
mysterious are the ways of Providence, there was a short, sharp whiz and
ping, and a bullet struck the tree just above my head. I lost no time in
looking for the cause of this assault, but only the thick green of the
near wood rewarded my searching glance. I seized Cynthia by the wrist
and bent her almost to her knees. I forced her to push her way into the
opening.
"It may be an attack," I said, hurriedly, to the Skipper. "Go in
quickly! I will follow."
No one who has not seen the great trees of Santo Domingo and Haiti can
believe to what a grand extent they grow. I have heard of the so-called
"big trees" of California. The only one which I have seen is one placed
in the grounds of the Smithsonian Institution at Washington. I made that
trip with my wife lately. We were both of us a trifle infirm for so long
a jaunt, but she agreed with me, and she has also been among the great
trees of Haiti, that nothing that she had ever seen, with the exception
of this one curiosity, exceeded the size of those trees in the island.
As yet we had not caught a glimpse of our secret foe. Whether he had
caught sight of us or not I did not know, but, as a second bullet
whizzed past my head, I hastily secreted myself also within the hollow
trunk. I whispered to Cynthia to push over more to the side, and give
room to her Uncle and myself. I could hear the beating of her heart, I
stood so near her. Several bullets struck the tree, and one entered and
dropped upon my foot. And now I heard some cries of anger. My curiosity
became too much for me. I stood as near the opening as I could and
placed my eye just over the edge of it. The voices grew louder, the
bullets flew faster, and then from the bushes emerged a retreating
party. Their backs were toward us. They were firing as they retreated.
They were dark men, but not of pure African type.
They were unclothed, except for some trousers of white linen and a thin
sort of shirt. They wore belts and carried the national weapon, the
machete, stuck through the leather bands.
"Are you afraid of fainting?" I asked Cynthia. "Here, take a whiff of
this." I had a little kit in my pocket which I had seized upon as I left
the ship. I felt for the vial of sal-volatile, telling what it was by
the smell of the cork, and pressing it into her hand.
"Faint!" she replied with scorn. "If I could only see something, I
should enjoy it hugely."
"It would not be safe," I whispered. "Stand farther back. They may
discover us, in any case."
"Stand farther in, Cynthy," whispered the Skipper. "I'd like nothing
better than to join one side or the other, but I can't risk it with you
here."
I pushed my knife through the soft, spongy wood where the bullet had
entered, and made the hole larger. Here I could see, myself unseen.
"Do let me look, Mr. Jones," said Cynthia.
As any bullet which struck the tree might enter it, and she was in equal
danger anywhere inside the tree, I saw no reason why she should not look
if she felt so inclined. I gave up my place to her, and had to content
myself with peeping through the large hole through which we had entered.
The line of retreat was now changed, for I saw the Haitiens veer to the
right, toward the beach, still firing as they retreated. There were
yells and wild noises. The attacking party seemed close to us, and these
sounds did not seem unfamiliar. As we gazed at this unexpected sight, we
perceived that the retreating party had with, them a young girl. She was
tied by the wrists to the belt of one of the men, who fired as he backed
toward us. The girl did not struggle to free herself, but ran backward
as the men ran. She seemed a not unwilling captive. The tall, thin
mulatto would fire a shot, turn and pull his captive after him, then
load and fire again. There was blood upon the girl's clothing and upon
the clothes of her captors.
"Oh, that poor child!" whispered Cynthia. "I must go out and take her
away from that brute!" I barred the way.
"It would be death for us all, perhaps," said I. "Wait! The attacking
party may be her friends. Whatever we do, I beg of you keep concealed.
That is your only safety."
"Don't be a fool, Cynthy!" whispered the Skipper hoarsely. "No one knows
what's going to happen." And so prophetic were his words that, as we
listened, we heard a thoroughly American whoop, participated in by
several voices, and who should burst from the undergrowth, shouting as
they came, but Bill Tomkins, followed by McCorkle, Bill Ware, the
Growler, Hummocks, Tanby, and all the rest of them.
CHAPTER III.
WE CHANGE OUR CAMP, AND CYNTHIA DISCOVERS A DISTURBING ELEMENT.
The attacking party seemed to remember the little camp where they had
remained for so short a time. As they advanced upon the Haitiens, they
gazed around, as if the place were familiar to them, but at the same
time they continued to come forward, and to fire as fast as they could
load their pistols. They outnumbered the Haitiens, as they were thirteen
and the Haitiens only four. As the Haitiens backed toward the shore and
to the eastward of our shelter, we lost sight of them entirely. I took
the Skipper by the shoulders and drew him away from his position. I
opened my knife and tried to pierce a hole through the tree on the side
toward the water, so that I could follow the men with my eyes, but the
wood was more firm than at the place where we had entered the cavity,
and I could not manage it. We heard the sound of bullets rattling among
the leaves, and fierce cries and oaths, mingled with long sobbing wails
from the young captive, but we could now see nothing of the battle.
It was exasperating to be obliged to remain in seclusion. We might have
joined the attacking party, but, though no one enjoyed a scrimmage more
than I, I reflected that if the Captain or I should be killed the
chances were that Cynthia would be left at the mercy of the sailors or
the Haitiens, and I could not decide in my own mind which would be the
worst. The sailors were all very well so long as they had the eye and
nerve of two men to oppose them, but if either one of us should be
killed, the girl would be left with only one protector, and should
anything befall him she might better be dead than to fall into the hands
of the Haitiens or of that drunken crew of sailors.
Thinking of the Haitiens brought to my mind the keg of rum. I turned to
the Skipper--rather, to the place where I knew him to be--and said:
"Captain, we do not know what may happen. These brutes may return and
find the cask, and we ought to have a little of that liquor."
"No danger of their finding it," whispered the Skipper.
"Well, perhaps not," said I. "But I think I had better steal out, now
that they have passed by, and get what I can. Where did the Bo's'n put
the cup?"
"No need to look for that, Jones; here's my flat bottle. I didn't fill
it last time I used it. Knew I had plenty on board. Take this."
I groped in the dark and my hand met the Skipper's. I took the bottle
from him and went to the opening in the tree. I put my head out
cautiously and listened. Shots were still being exchanged, though they
sounded much farther away. I withdrew inside the tree again.
"I think," said I, speaking aloud, "that if you and Miss Archer will lie
close I can manage it."
"I don't want any rum, of course," said Cynthia, "but I am dying of
thirst. Do you think that you could manage to get to the breaker, Mr.
Jones, and bring me a little water?"
"Where did they put the breaker?" I asked.
"Just up along the bed of that little dry creek. Not more than a hundred
feet away. Directly back from the shore."
"If it is a possibility, you shall have it," I answered.
I advanced with caution from my hiding place. The trees were so thick to
the eastward that I was now completely concealed from the two parties.
I wanted much to follow them and discover, if possible, how the battle
had waged, but Cynthia wanted the water. That was enough for me. They
might take it into their heads to return, and then we should again be
imprisoned. Without more ado I hastened back through the glade, and
found the water breaker just where Cynthia had told me it was. I found
and filled one of our two cups and returned, carrying the water
carefully, so that it would not spill. When I reached the place where
the rum keg lay, I uncovered it. To my surprise, I found that the bung
had fallen out. In the haste with which we had moved it we had not
noticed this. I saw that much of the precious liquid had been lost.
There was, however, enough and to spare. I placed my bottle upon the
ground, raised the cask, and tipped it so that the bottle would fill.
The position of the keg was awkward, and I lost much of the liquor. Some
large bees flew near and settled on the stones wet with the rum. The air
was filled with the odour which they had noticed almost as soon as I
had. I laid the keg down, bringing the bung right side up, and, having
no stopper, I proceeded to fill the opening with leaves. These I
gathered in handfuls, and stuffed them into the orifice. The mass that I
squeezed together in my hand was not large enough to fill the hole, and
the leaves fell inside the keg. This happened twice or more, but finally
I seized a double handful and forced them into the bunghole, and pressed
them compactly down. This time I was successful; then I took up the cup
of water, and proceeded upon my way back to our refuge.
I still heard distant shouts, and the sound of an occasional shot from a
gun. There were voices from the water, as well as from the land. I
wondered what new danger threatened us. When I got opposite the tree
where Cynthia and her Uncle were concealed, I set the cup and the bottle
upon the ground, and, crouching down, I stole toward the line of the
beach. I passed from tree to tree with great care. Finally I reached a
vantage point where I could survey all the actors in the drama.
The first thing I discovered was that our two boats were a hundred yards
or so out on the waters of the bay, and that the foremost one only was
occupied. The dinghy was being towed behind the long boat. There were
two persons in the boat, and, as I shaded my eyes from the rays of the
setting sun, which struck obliquely down the long beach, I managed to
make out the Bo's'n and the Minion. The Bo's'n was paddling slowly along
with an easy motion, which did not seem to argue at all that he had any
intention of leaving the island, and the Minion was standing up in the
stern sheets and executing what we should call nowadays a double shuffle
or a breakdown. He made derisive motions toward those on shore, whistled
and laughed unrestrainedly, patted his legs as we would if calling a
dog, and, in fact, was so outrageous in his insults that he had worked
the men into a perfect frenzy. I truly think that his life would not
have been worth a moment's purchase had the sailors on shore been able
to lay hands on him. The Haitiens were nowhere to be seen, and of the
sailors there remained but nine. Whether some of the men had pursued the
Haitiens or whether they had been killed, I could not determine. I saw
that Bill Tomkins, the acknowledged leader of the men, had the young
girl in his possession. The cords were still around her wrists; the
other ends he had twisted round his hand, as one holds the reins in
driving a frisky horse. The girl had her hands over her eyes, and was
weaving back and forth, as if in great agony of mind. If we had had the
Bo's'n and Minion on our side, we might have attacked the sailors and
rescued the girl. But the men were just enough inflamed with liquor to
care nothing for the authority of either Captain Schuyler or myself, and
I thought it more prudent to wait a little and see what resulted. For,
terrible as it was to see that young girl in the clutches of those rough
men, it would be death to us three to have them obtain possession of
Cynthia.
I now saw that the men, with fists shaking in air, and uttering bitter
and profane imprecations at the Bo's'n and the Minion, had turned their
heads our way again. I retreated hastily, and picked up my bottle and
the cup of water. I had hardly reached the hollow tree when I heard the
sound of running footsteps, and just as I got safely inside they rushed
past us, Bill Tomkins pulling the young captive after him. The poor
child was forced to run with him, or to be dragged along the beach.
The sailors ran straight for the mango tree, whooping and hallooing as
they came. Tomkins tied the cords which he held in his hand to a stout
limb, thus fettering his captive, and then, with his comrades, proceeded
to search the thicket. I knew at once for what they were searching.
I heard some reference to "the old man," which I understood, of course.
When they spoke of "the popinjay," I was at a loss to comprehend to whom
they referred. Bill Tomkins seemed to take charge and give orders. He
remained close to the tree and near his captive. There was blood upon
his hands and clothes, and upon the young girl's skirt. The girl leaned
against the tree in the most abject state of misery and fear. Each time
that Tomkins moved she raised her large eyes to his in a frightened,
imploring manner, as if begging for mercy.
"I _must_ go and rescue that child!" whispered Cynthia to me in fierce
tones. I seized her wrists and held her in a viselike grasp.
"You will do nothing of the kind," I whispered back. "We should be at
the mercy of those ruffians. Wait until the case gets desperate. They
may mean to liberate her themselves."
The men had always been fairly good sailors on board ship, and had been
respectful to the officers during the voyage, but the enemy that a man
takes into his mouth to steal away his brains had made them fiends. They
ran about in a sort of frenzy, looking for the keg, uttering wild oaths
and imprecations against the Skipper and that "blanked popinjay," whom I
was finally forced to mentally acknowledge was myself. I could see no
way out of the difficulty. I hoped that they would resume their march
along the coast, and yet I did not purpose that they should take the
young girl with them. I thought that should they discover the keg, no
bounds would be placed upon the excesses which they might commit.
We watched them with anxiety through our vantage holes, and at last,
just when we hoped that they had missed the keg, some one stumbled
exactly upon it. My heart fell with a thump like lead as I heard
Hummocks's foot strike against the hoop. A shout of joy went up from the
men which made me heartsick. Even Tomkins left his captive and joined
the others. They threw themselves upon the ground one and all, and
struggled like wild men for the first draught of the madly desired
liquor. Blows began to rain down, and pistols and machetes were drawn. I
began to hope that they would kill, or at least maim each other
sufficiently to allow of our capturing them with the aid of the Bo's'n
and the Minion. But Tomkins, seeing how things were going, interposed.
He called a halt in an authoritative tone of voice.
"Belay there, boys!" he cried; "let's be fair. What do you say to
drawing lots?" He stooped and picked some blades of grass, and broke
them in different lengths.
"Somebody's got to drink first. You can't all drink to onct." As he
spoke he arranged the blades between his fingers so that they appeared
the same length. The men stopped quarrelling and faced Tomkins.
"Shortest drinks first," said he. "Step up, Growls, and take a chance."
Growls drew a short blade, Hummocks a shorter, Bill Ware a very short
one, and, at last, the longest of all was left in Tomkins's hand. The
men crowded close together with an eagerness which should have been
inspired by a more worthy motive.
"It's Bill Ware," said Tomkins; and, without wasting time unnecessarily,
Bill Ware plumped himself upon the ground, his mouth to the bunghole.
Tomkins held a battered old watch in his hand, and kept his eyes fixed
upon the second hand.
"Ten seconds apiece," said Tomkins. "Time!" he cried suddenly. Bill Ware
had almost to be dragged from the keg by sheer force.
"You, Hummocks!" said Tomkins and the scene was repeated. The thirsty
crew had even a harder tussle to pull Hummocks from the keg than they
had with Bill Ware, Ware himself tugging at Hummocks's legs, while the
rest endeavoured to unclasp his arms from the keg.
"My turn," muttered Growls, in that tone which had procured him his
name. "Time me, boys, but time me fair."
"That cask's gettin' light," remarked Tomkins in an anxious tone of
voice.
"It's just like a play," whispered Cynthia. "I never saw a play but
once. Aunt Mary 'Zekel thinks it's wicked. It was a more refined play
than this, but I consider this all very interesting."
"What about the girl?" asked I.
"I have not forgotten her," said Cynthia. "I am hoping that those brutes
will fall asleep; then I can go out and rescue her."
"What, from those honest sailors?" I asked. I could not resist it.
For some time I had been conscious of a distinct burning sensation in
the palms of my hands. I could not account for it except that I had had
my hands in salt water a great deal during the day, and, as we had been
unprotected from the sun much of the time, I thought that the
combination had affected them unpleasantly. However, no one had
complained, and Cynthia's skin was certainly much more tender than mine.
My palms itched incessantly, and when I rubbed them to quiet this
unpleasant sensation, the skin suddenly puffed up and my wrists pained
me intensely. My fingers swelled, and the pains shot up to my shoulders.
I bore it without a word, hoping that it would soon abate. I would not
have had Cynthia hear me complain for the entire world. I had been
obliged to play the part of coward in her estimation too often during
the last few hours to wish her to see another exhibition of that
attribute from me. So when she whispered to me to pick up the blanket
which had been trodden under foot, I seized the rough thing and handed
it to her, though its contact seemed to scorch my flesh like living
coals.
I had fancied that the men might drink themselves into a state of
insensibility, but I did not dream that this condition would overcome
them so speedily. In a very few moments after they had taken each one
his allotted amount of the rum, each man had rolled over on the grass
and laid there like a log--all but Tomkins, who was the last, according
to lot, to be served. When he found that there was very little of the
liquor remaining for him, he swore frightful oaths, and used such
language as would have precipitated a general quarrel had not the rum
taken an almost immediate effect upon those who had drank of it. His
vile epithets fell upon unheeding ears so far as his mates were
concerned, and, in fact, in a very few moments he, too, was breathing
heavily.
"I never did a kind action in my whole blamed life," snarled Tomkins,
"but what I got my come-uppance," and I must say that, painful as is
the reflection, I have noticed much the same circumstance in my dealings
with my fellow-men.
Before Tomkins had ended his grumblings his utterance became thick, and
he followed his comrades to the borderland of death.
"Do you think they're asleep?" whispered Cynthia softly in my ear.
Eleven distinct and stertorous snores answered her more plainly than any
assurances of mine could have done, and a twelfth, from the interior of
our tree, chorussed them and made the round dozen.
"Poor dear Uncle Tony! I had forgotten all about him. I remember now
that he has not spoken for some time," said Cynthia in her gentlest
voice.
She felt for her pillow and then for the old man's head. "Strike a
light, Mr. Jones," she added, more kindly than she had spoken hitherto.
I did as she requested, repeatedly striking my fire until she had made
the unconscious Skipper comfortable. When this was accomplished we
stepped outside. Although the sun was getting low, I found it difficult
to face the glare and the heat after the darkness and cool seclusion of
our hiding place.
The young captive was still endeavouring to pull her hands loose from
the cords. They were black and swollen. I say black, for, though the
girl was a Haitien, she evidently had a mixture of French blood in her
veins, being much lighter coloured than the men in whose custody we
first discovered her. I thought that should she smile and her face
recover from the storm of grief which had swept across it for the last
half hour, she would be very pretty. She had soft, large eyes like a
deer's, but they were swollen with crying, and her face was drawn with
pain.
Cynthia emerged from the tree just after me. The girl, hearing the roll
of a stone upon which I stepped, turned in a terrified way and
confronted us. It was not to be wondered at that she should be
horrified at seeing two persons whom she had not seen before, appear
upon the now quiet scene. She raised her manacled arms to heaven and
shrieked as if for aid, then threw herself upon the beach, and screamed
and beat her head against the ground.
The education of this child had taught her to fear the mysterious, and
when the beautiful white girl emerged like a hamadryad from a tree in
the depths of the forest, the child imagined her an avenging angel. What
vengeance she intended to take upon a young girl of such tender years
the girl herself had not knowledge enough to imagine. Later developments
taught us what she had feared.
The poor child continued to wail and beat her head against the ground. I
glanced at Cynthia. Her lovely eyes were dimmed with tears. At once she
became all gentleness, all tenderness. She approached the girl slowly,
as she would a frightened bird, holding out her hand and making soft,
cooing noises. As she drew near, the girl shrank behind the tree,
peering out with terrified eyes at this strange apparition. Cynthia
continued to advance, still making those sweet sounds. The prisoner
trembled in every limb, and drew away as far as the cords would allow.
She looked wildly over her shoulder, as if longing to escape. Cynthia
came nearer, and put out her hand. She laid it gently on the girl's
shoulder, when the young savage twisted her head suddenly and with a
snap like that of a wild beast buried her teeth in the tender flesh. A
blow from my hand laid her sprawling. Cynthia turned angrily on me,
forgetful of her own pain.
"Don't you dare to interfere with me!" she said angrily. "I shall never
get her confidence now."
The Haitienne lay where I had thrown her, and watched our movements with
glittering eyes. Cynthia took me by the shoulder and marched me off to
the hollow trunk, where the Skipper lay snoring his antiphonal response
to the louder snores of the sailors. Then Cynthia returned to the attack
of kindness and humanity.
The prisoner, seeing that I was quite gone, and that it was Cynthia's
wish that I should be gone, lay looking at her as she again approached
her. This time Cynthia knelt upon the ground, and, seemingly without
fear, she stretched out her hand and gently stroked the captive's head.
The girl did not renew her attack upon Cynthia, but suffered her to
stroke her head and coo and murmur over her.
"Bring me some water, Mr. Jones!" Cynthia ordered.
I stretched my hand inside the tree and felt for the cup; then I ran to
the place where we had left the breaker of water. I drew some and
carried it to Cynthia. She took it from me, saying at the same time:
"What is the matter with your hand?"
"Don't mind me!" I said shortly. By this time my fingers were puffed out
of all semblance to their original shape, and when I endeavoured to move
them the pain was intense.
Cynthia put the cup to the girl's lips. She shook her head and closed
her lips tightly together. Then Cynthia drank a little of the water, and
again held it toward the girl. This time she drained the water eagerly
and to the last drop.
"Some more!" demanded Cynthia, holding out the cup to me. When I had
replenished it, Cynthia took her handkerchief from her pocket, dipped it
in the water, and bathed the girl's face and hands, whereupon the
prisoner drew a long sigh of satisfaction.
"Bring me your knife, Mr. Jones," ordered Cynthia.
"If you free her, she will run away," protested I.
"Bring it at once!" responded Cynthia.
It was with difficulty that I opened the blade with my swollen fingers,
but, after slipping the lanyard over my head, I managed to do so. Then
I walked with the open knife toward the pair. When the captive saw me
coming she began to cry and scream and roll on the ground in an agony of
terror.
Bill Tomkins heard the cry, and turned over in his sleep, opened his
eyes a crack or so, asked how the weather was, and went off again into a
profound slumber. I argued that if he who had drank so little of the rum
was thus stupefied, the others would not awake for many hours.
"Lay your knife within reach and go away again, Mr. Jones," said
Cynthia.
I obeyed, as I was willing to obey her every word and gesture.
As Cynthia took the knife up from the stone where I had laid it, the
girl sobbed and wailed and clutched at the grass.
"Go away," said Cynthia; "quite away."
I did as I was bid, and sat again at the foot of our sheltering tree.
Then Cynthia, with motions and signs that she did not intend to injure
her, drew near the captive, and, taking her unawares and with dexterous
movement, inserted the point of the knife under first one and then the
other of the cords, and the captive was free. The girl looked up in a
dazed sort of surprise. Cynthia smiled down on her as only the angels in
heaven smile. Then she again dipped the handkerchief in water and again
cared for the swollen hands. The girl ceased her crying, knelt down and
laid a caressing cheek on Cynthia's feet, then sprang up and ran into
the forest.
"You have seen the last of her," said I.
Perhaps I was a little jealous of this new favourite.
"If I have, you are to blame," said Cynthia, "and I shall never forgive
you."
But I had prophesied falsely, for the child came back to us in a moment
with her hands full of leaves. She gave them to Cynthia, and by signs
persuaded her to bind them on her own hands and wrists.
The girl then stood up and beckoned to Cynthia to follow her into the
wood. They walked together a few steps. Then she stopped and pointed to
a strange arrow-shaped leaf. She shook her head and held up her hands as
if in horror, and displayed various signs of fear. I noticed from where
I stood the leaves to which she pointed. They were the same kind with
which I stopped the bunghole in the keg.
"The Skipper did not need the arsenic," I muttered to myself as I
surveyed the sleeping men.
I went inside the tree and awoke the Skipper. He turned over drowsily at
first, and asked how we were heading, and if she was off her course. I
shook him pretty roughly then, and he asked me how many bells.
I answered, and truly, that it was four bells, and the dog watch. Dog's
watch, I might have said; I had certainly had one. I then hurriedly
explained the situation to the Skipper.
"Captain Schuyler," I said, "I think we had better get away from here
before these wretches wake up. There is no knowing what they may do.
They may wake up sober and they may wake up drunk. They may possibly
awake in a pleasant and friendly state of mind, but it's my opinion that
they will be pretty vicious when they find the rum all gone and also
that I have liberated that young girl."
"What young girl?" asked the Skipper.
"The young girl they rescued from the Haitiens."
"What Haitiens?" asked the Skipper.
I saw that it was no use to consult the Skipper; he was hardly awake,
and could not yet comprehend what had happened during the last hour. I
left him with Cynthia, to do what he could toward gathering up the
articles hidden in the bushes, and ran down to the beach. I saw that the
two boats were farther out than they had been, and, when I put my hands
to my mouth and shouted my loudest to the Bo's'n, I could but just make
him hear. He and the boy laid to their oars with a will, but I soon
perceived that they were making little progress. I saw the Bo's'n drop
his oars, stand up in the boat and gaze around him, and, as there was no
one but the Minion to help him row, it was plain that he could not
overcome the current, which I now saw was taking the boats out to sea. I
saw the Bo's'n take a sight on shore and watch it for a moment, like a
true sailor; then he shook his head, stepped to the stern, and, drawing
the boats close together, he cut the painter short off at the bows and
set the dinghy adrift. I was sorry to see this, but I knew that unless
it was done we should lose both boats, and the Bo's'n and boy as well.
Then the Bo's'n sat down and began to pull with vigorous strokes, and
soon the boat was quite near the shore.
"Beg your pardon, sir, Mr. Jones, but where's them crew?"
I pointed over my shoulder, and made him understand that they were
incapable of injuring us. He did not ask how this had come about, but
pulled up to the beach. I saw that the boy was rowing with one hand; the
other was bound up with a piece of cloth, and was bleeding a little, the
result, probably, of the defiance which I had witnessed. The Bo's'n had
torn away a part of his shirt sleeve to bind up the boy's hand. This, I
thought, argued well for us. I had fancied that I could trust the other
men, and how mistaken I had been! This kind trait, however, in a man on
whom we must depend more or less, gave me courage.
"Where are those Haitiens?" I asked.
"Dead, sir, as far's I know."
"Where is Wilson?"
"Saw him fall--and Tanby, too. Guess they're all down the beach there
together."
I did not investigate. We had no time. It was growing late, and I
wished to get away before the men should awaken. I hurried my little
party together. They ran into the bushes, one and all, picking up and
carrying what they could. Captain Schuyler and the Bo's'n rolled the keg
of pork and the breaker down to the water's edge; the boy held the boat
while we deposited our few belongings therein.
"If you'll take the bag, I'll carry the parrot," said Cynthia.
I lifted the mortuary receptacle from its hiding place among the leaves.
"Why, just look at that crab!" said Cynthia. "That's a very good
discovery. If we can find crabs, we'll----"
I seized her by the arm, with horror, no doubt, in my look. I pushed her
roughly toward the beach.
"Run," I said, "for God's sake!"
"How rough you are!" said Cynthia; but she ran a little way, as I
impelled and commanded. I hastily set the parrot's cage on the ground
and drew my pistol, and, difficult as it was, I pulled the trigger. I
aimed straight at the black, hairy thing; but my bullet missed, and I
seized up the cage, preparing for flight, when I saw the animal turn to
crawl sluggishly away. I looked with astonishment at this movement of
the tarantula, for it was that dread scourge of the tropic forest that
Cynthia had taken for a crab. I saw that it was moving from the spot
where the rum had been spilled, and found in its low and halting pace
additional reason to believe that the liquor which I had sought to
protect with the leaves from evaporation I had unconsciously drugged,
perhaps poisoned. There was nothing to do. I had no remedies, and such
men, I argued, are better off, or rather we are better off with them
dead than alive. I took a second shot at the tarantula, and this time I
was successful. I had shot it through the body. The body was as large as
an egg, the legs long and hairy, and the proboscis curved, pointed, and
vicious-looking. Cynthia's hurried departure had left me to carry the
bag and the parrot. My hands were extremely sore, and, somehow or other,
as I lifted the cage I swung it against a rock. The catch was loosened,
the bottom fell out. In my nervousness I dropped the cage, and before I
knew it I heard a voice over my head, saying, "There's no fool like an
old fool!"
Here was a nice mess! Cynthia's parrot gone! The pride of her heart
sitting over my head in a tropic wood, where he could fly away, if he
wanted to, hundreds of miles, and always find a resting place.
"Why don't you come, Mr. Jones?" It was Cynthia's voice.
I hastily picked up the cloth which always went with the cage, and which
had covered the bird on its voyage ashore, threw it over the wire top,
and covered the cage. I refastened the catch, and came stumbling down to
the beach with my two burdens.
"Miss Archer, you had better sit in the stern," said I, as I proceeded
to place the cage in the bow.
"I prefer the bow, thank you," said Cynthia.
I waded out in the water and set the cage in the stern sheets. At this
Cynthia began to climb over the seats. She reached the stern just as I
removed the cage and waded with it back to the bow. At this Cynthia
stood up, preparing to move again.
"Sit down, Cynthy; you can't crawl over me."
"But, Uncle Tony, I want to hold Solomon," said Cynthia. "He gets so
frightened without me."
"He won't this time," I said. "Besides, the yellow girl will have to
come in here." We had left the stranger on the beach purposely until the
last. She watched our preparations with interest, crouching on the
beach, staring at every movement of Cynthia's, and occasionally turning
a look of horror in the direction of the men. When she was sure that
Cynthia was seated in the boat, and that she had no intention of
returning, the girl stretched out her arms and said something which we
could not understand. Without more ado I took her up from the beach and
placed her beside Cynthia. A flock of parrots had settled in the mango
tree, and Cynthia looked at them with interest. I pushed the boat from
shore and jumped in. As I did so I heard from the tree the words, "Damn
those Britishers!"
"How far off that sounds, Mr. Jones! Was that Solomon?"
"I think it was, undoubtedly," said I.
"It sounded up in that tree. Do you think that perhaps while we were in
hiding some wild parrots have come around and learned to speak as he
does?"
"It is barely possible," said I. "Now, Bo's'n, look out there; what are
you doing? We don't want to run ashore too soon."
"Are we putting out to sea in an open boat, Uncle?"
"Ask Jones," growled the Skipper. "He seems to be the captain of this
expedition."
I saw that the old man's feelings were hurt because I had not consulted
him, but there had not been time. I felt that the party must obey my
orders first and protest afterward.
"I only want to run back along the beach a mile or so," I said, "to get
away from the crew. The chances are that they'll think that we have
tried to get to Cap Haitien and follow along the coast; but from what I
heard at Santo Domingo of Christophe's latest didos, I don't believe we
want to go to Cap Haitien just now."
"Why, Mr. Jones! And you let the men go! They might all have been
killed!"
"Just what I was hoping for," said I. "A little more lively with those
oars, Bo's'n; it's growing dark."
"How quiet Solomon is!" said Cynthia. Just then there came the distant
words, "No fool like an old fool."
"It certainly is among those parrots there," said the Skipper.
"Yes, I think it is," said I.
"I never heard of wild birds learning to talk so soon," said Cynthia. "I
don't believe you will get any one to believe it at home."
"Neither do I," said I.
The night had come down upon us suddenly, but there was a fine line of
light in the east, which betokened an early moonrise. As we looked out
to sea, we could still perceive a faint glow round the wreck through the
haze which overspread the water in that direction, but of other ships we
saw none. We had forgotten about the fight between the pirate and the
American while watching the fight on shore, and whatever had happened
there was no one to tell us. I had hoped that the American would have
sunk the pirate, and then we could have pushed out to him in our boats
and gone home in one of our own bottoms, but the two vessels had
vanished as completely as if they had never existed. It has seemed to me
since that the privateer, as we called him, had tried to run away, and
the American in chasing him had been led either very far out to sea or
else round some point which hid them both from view. And now the moon,
which had arisen many hours earlier, flooded the world. Its light came
across the water a beam of silver. Our boat seemed always in its rays.
This worried me somewhat, as I felt that we must be silhouetted against
the eastern glow, and that any one on shore with hostile intent could
follow us to our hiding place by simply walking along the beach. We kept
rather close in shore on this account. When we had rowed about a mile
and a half, we came to a little indentation, which I thought betokened
the presence of a stream or rivulet from the hills.
"What do you think of this place for a landing, Captain?" asked I.
"This isn't my expedition," said the Skipper surlily. I wasted no words
in explanation. I ordered the Bo's'n to pull for the beach, and we were
soon ashore.
It was a pretty place, this, at which we had landed; an ideal one, I
have thought since, for a modern picnic, but God forbid that any of the
young women of the present day should have to go through what we had
suffered, and what was to come, for the sake of finding so pleasant a
picnic ground. We rowed the boat directly into the small inlet, and the
Bo's'n, the Skipper, and I hauled her up a little way on the shelving
beach. It was hard to know just what was best to do--whether to prepare
for a land flight or for a sea flight. We took the stores out of the
boat, but laid them near it, so that we could replace them at a moment's
notice. We dared not build a fire, as the strange vessel might return,
so eating some hard bread and drinking some water had to content us. We
laid the blanket upon the ground and the pillow at its head. I motioned
to Cynthia to take her position there. She beckoned to the girl, who
laid down by her. The Skipper stretched himself at Cynthia's feet, and
the Bo's'n, the Minion, and I removed ourselves to a spot at a little
distance.
I laid awake the early part of the night, partly because I was anxious
and worried, and partly because I was suffering a good deal from what I
now felt sure was poison. If my simply touching those leaves had had
that effect, I wondered what would be the result to the men of the
Yankee's crew. I laid on my back, looking up into the sky. The moon had
set, the heavens were deep and dark, but studded with stars. The
Southern Cross stood out beautiful and brilliant. I had seen it so many
times when cruising in these waters, and here it was again to welcome me
as an old friend. Strange how one feels a personal right to, almost
ownership of, these splendid works of God when again one meets them
after a long or short separation. A swelling comes up in the heart and
a pride in seeing again the thing which one has known for years, but
which, so sad and persistent is fate, ignores us in return, unknown
atoms that we are!
It must have been much after midnight. I had dropped off into an uneasy
slumber, when suddenly I was awakened by the sound of a stealthy
footstep. A pebble rattled against another pebble; I raised myself upon
my elbow. The stars were obscured by heavy black clouds, which had
arisen after we had settled ourselves for the night. I saw nothing
unusual among us. I could dimly distinguish some recumbent forms, and
could trace the spot where Cynthia and the stranger had laid themselves
down. The Skipper, if one could judge from the sounds, was enjoying his
first sleep hugely. I have never seen a being with such a capacity for
sleep. I did not disturb the old man, but turned quietly and raised
myself to my feet. I looked in all directions, but there was nothing to
be seen. I walked on tiptoe to where the Skipper snored and dreamed
probably of his lost Yankee Blade. I could dimly see one sleeping form,
and from the position in which it lay I felt sure that it was Cynthia.
The rescued girl was nowhere to be seen. I returned to my sleeping place
and laid myself down again and watched, lifting my head occasionally and
scanning the edge of the wood and the near hill. Finally my search was
rewarded by seeing two forms come out from behind a clump of trees and
stand a moment in earnest conversation. Then one of the figures vanished
from sight, and the other came without noise toward the camp. As it
passed me by, I recognised the form and height of the young Haitien
girl. She stepped lightly and quickly, making no noise as she went, and
laid down again by Cynthia without disturbing her.
We were all awake early. When I opened my eyes I found that both Cynthia
and the girl were absent. In a few moments, however, they came toward
us, Cynthia fresh and smiling from her bath in the stream. One could
follow this stream a hundred yards up toward the hills, and the bushes
drooped, so that they made for the bather a perfect screen. The Haitien
girl followed in Cynthia's footsteps, like a devoted and faithful
animal. The rest which she had obtained made her look almost handsome,
and she had evidently imitated Cynthia in bathing and in arranging her
hair.
Cynthia had in her hand a large bunch of stems and flowers, behind which
her head was nearly hidden.
"Do I look like Birnam Wood?" she called as she came toward us.
"Throw those down, I beg of you, Miss Archer," I shouted, "if you don't
want your hands to look as mine do. It is most dangerous to pick flowers
in any woods, and here----"
Cynthia continued arranging her flowers.
"You should let Lacelle show you where to get that remedy which she
gathered for herself yesterday," said she.
Lacelle seemed to understand, for the moment that Cynthia called her
attention to my swollen hands she ran hastily toward the bank. Again I
urged, "Do throw away those flowers." Cynthia at my request flung them
on the beach. As they fell, a strange metallic sound struck upon our
ears.
"I have thrown something away with them," said Cynthia. "What can it be?
I have no rings or jewellery. Can it be my scissors or my thimble?" But
a search of the interior of the little bag depending from her belt
disclosed the fact that she was still in possession of those useful
articles. I stooped over the weeds and, as well as I could, pulled the
bunch apart. I searched among its leaves. Upon the very central
branch--a branch of thin wood with heavy green stems jutting out from
either side--I discovered the cause of the strange sound. I found a
large twisted circle of some dark metal, dull in some places, in others
so bright that it hurt my eyes. The circle was made by the curving of
the tail of a serpent, whose body formed the ring. Where the seal is
usually placed there was the head of an animal. It looked like the head
of a sheep or a lamb. There were no horns, but ears were there, and laid
back viciously close to the head. The eyes were formed of strange red
gems, which glittered wonderfully in the morning sun. They seemed to
shoot forth rays of light, and as I looked into them I fancied that they
gave back an answering gleam of intelligence. There was a barbaric
splendour about the trinket which attracted while it repelled. I wonder
how Cynthia could have broken the stem and not have seen the ring; but
she said she was trying to keep her eye on the harbour, as she was
convinced that shortly some ship would heave in sight, and she wished to
be the first to see it. The strange trinket had evidently been dropped
by its owner, and it had fallen circling just over the tender shoot of
green. This sprout had grown into a stem, and the stem into a strong
plant, and in growing had carried the bauble with it into the air.
Cynthia put it jokingly over her thumb.
"You could almost get it over your hand," said the Skipper. "It would
make a splendid bracelet."
"What a curious find!" I exclaimed.
"How long do you suppose it has been there?" asked Cynthia.
"I can't say; since this stem began to sprout, anyway. This is May. Say
since March, or even earlier; you see that the stem is very well grown."
"Then the person who dropped it was here, on this very spot, in March,"
said Cynthia.
"Oh, that does not follow at all," said the Skipper, who had drawn near,
much interested. "The ring might have laid there a long time before the
stem decided to grow through it."
"No," said I, "I don't agree with you. I think the ring was dropped by
its owner exactly over the young and tender shoot, and it has had the
strength----"
"Of mind----" interpolated Cynthia.
"Or of purpose----" chimed in the Skipper.
A shriek interrupted our nonsensical parleying. The Haitienne had come
shyly up to us, wondering doubtless what we had found to so interest us
all. She had thrust her head forward into the circle close to Cynthia's
arm. The shriek that she gave utterance to was blood-curdling. It was
between a howl and a wail. It chilled me through and through. The girl
put her hand quickly to her heart, looked at each of us as if in great
terror, and, turning, fled to the near woods. The Bo's'n joined the
group, and stood respectfully on the edge, waiting to ask if he should
build a fire and prepare breakfast. He craned his long neck forward and
looked over my shoulder at the curious bauble. When his eye lighted upon
its barbaric strangeness, he drew a short, sharp breath and turned away,
running in a different direction from that which the girl had taken; but
before he started I heard his horrified voice mutter in distinct tones:
"THE GOAT WITHOUT HORNS!"
CHAPTER IV.
THE SKIPPER MAKES A PRAYER.
The girl's strange behaviour did not surprise me. In the short time that
she had been among us I had become quite used to her vagaries. I have
spoken of her as a savage, but only as one would call any human being a
savage, either black or white, who had attacked another as viciously as
this girl had attacked Cynthia. The girl was not a savage in the common
acceptation of the term. She was of mixed blood, a French octoroon,
probably from the country districts; at least so the simple chemisette
and short skirt which comprised her costume would imply. Her hair was
black and wavy, her lips red, her teeth white and small. She was plump
and prettily formed, and looked in reality like a girl of eighteen,
though we afterward learned that she was just then in her fourteenth
year.
A large tree, which had fallen across the stream up near the cliff,
formed a bridge over the deep little river. To this the Haitienne flew,
and, springing upon its trunk, she crossed to the other side as if she
had been a rope-walker. I watched her as she fled down the beach. I did
not care when she returned to us, or, indeed, whether she came back at
all, but the pangs of hunger were beginning to tell upon me, and the
Bo's'n was the only one who could assuage them. So I turned from
contemplating the flying figure of the girl and gazed in the opposite
direction. The Bo's'n, too, was still running, as if pursued by some
horrid nightmare. I watched until I saw that he had abandoned his pace,
then ran slowly, then settled down into a walk, looking furtively over
his shoulder the while, and finally stopped. I beckoned to him, but he
shook his head. I started up the beach to meet him, but he began to run
to the westward again. I returned to Cynthia.
"Give that fellow up as a bad job," said I. "Did you ever cook anything,
Miss Archer?"
"I can make calves'-foot jelly," said Cynthia, "and oley-koeks. I always
made those for Christmas dinner at home."
I looked around the shore scrutinizingly.
"I don't see any little calf sticking up his feet to be chopped
off--except the Minion," I added, after a moment's survey of the sloping
sand, where the cabin boy was disporting himself upon his back with his
feet in the air. "I suppose oily what-you-call-'ems need butter and
eggs----"
"As I haven't the necessary materials, suppose I cook some pork," said
Cynthia. "I suppose"--looking quietly at me--"it isn't so very
difficult. You will have to build a fire, you know, and wash the
frying-pan and cut the pork."
"And lay it in the spider and let it cook itself," said I. "I am sorry
to put you to so much trouble."
"Don't mention it," said Cynthia good-naturedly. "Now, you know, by
rights a piece of the old Yankee should come floating ashore with a
dozen fowls, a pail of milk, and a keg of butter planted safely on the
upper side and----"
"A barrel of flour," added I. "Well, stranger things have happened----"
"Not much," said Cynthia.
This silly badinage served to while away the time while I cut the pork,
made the fire, and started the breakfast on its way. I brought the water
and hard bread, and then told Cynthia that if she would watch the
breakfast I would go and take a bath. I had something on my mind which
depressed me greatly. When I took the parrot's cage ashore on the
previous evening, I had hung it on the limb of a ceiba too high for
Cynthia to reach. That was very well for the night, but this was the
next morning, and, like many another next morning, its light ushered in
a day of reckoning. I had told Cynthia, I am ashamed to say, that I
would give Solomon his food and water, and I am also humiliated to
confess that I did actually fill the bird's cup and take it with a bit
of hard bread to the secluded place which I had chosen for the scene of
my base deception. Let me state here, with the entire reliability of all
explorers, that it was not entirely the fear of what Cynthia would think
of me for the part which I had played in what was to me a comedy, and
which might prove to her a tragedy, but that I really could not bear the
thought of seeing her sorrow when she first heard the dreadful news that
Solomon had escaped. I had often longed to wring the neck of the
feathered brute, for he had repaid me, as many kindnesses are repaid in
this world, by biting my finger to the bone when I had tried to tempt
him with some dainty. However, Cynthia loved him, and, notwithstanding
his viciousness, I had tried to make friends with him for her sake. Kick
a man's dog, and he is done with you. Ill treat a woman's parrot, and if
that woman is the woman you adore, you had better be dead. I had left
the cover drawn tightly over the cage, telling Cynthia that it would
protect the bird from the night dews, _Facilis descensus Averno_. Little
Adoniah says that means tell one lie and you will have to tell a
hundred. I had stuck to the letter of the truth, but I really cared very
little whether the dews of evening or the deluges of the tropics
descended in floods upon that wretched bird. When I left Cynthia I
walked directly up the bank of the stream, and was soon lost to sight
behind the low foliage which fringed its western slope. So soon as
Cynthia could no longer see me, I struck to the right, and, circling
round, I was again in the vicinity of the camp. I could see that her
back was turned toward me as she stooped over the frying-pan, scorching
her hands and face doubtless in doing this menial work. I went to the
tree where the cage hung, reached up and pulled down the limb, seized
upon the cage, loosened the catches, and quietly released the floor.
This I laid upon the ground half upon edge, as if it had fallen so. I
then returned to the stream and took my bath, which much refreshed me,
and appeared in camp with my guilty heart thumping and my pulses ringing
in my ears. The Skipper was narrating a wonderful tale to Cynthia, to
which she was listening, as if she wished some confirmatory evidence
before quite believing him.
"Oysters growing on trees!" Cynthia exclaimed as I joined them. "Uncle
Tony, you should not try to practice upon my credulity in that way, and
you a member of the church in good and regular standing! But then you
don't carry the deacons to sea with you, or----"
The Skipper asserted his discovery in loud and positive tones, which
drowned Cynthia's softer ones.
"Don't be a fool, girl! Shows you never travelled. Here's one now! See
it? Shell and all! Here's where I broke it off the branch!"
"Well! It beats Robinson Crusoe," said Cynthia. She turned to me. "Do
you believe it, Mr. Jones?"
"It is nothing new," said I. "I will take a pail, if you like, and get
some for breakfast."
"I will go with you," said Cynthia. "I know there's some catch about it.
I never saw oysters growing on trees."
"That's strange!" said the Skipper with ill-concealed scorn; "since you
have seen everything else in the whole blessed world----"
"Where are they, Captain?" I inquired, interrupting the controversy.
"Along there, where that girl's standing. You go and get 'em, and I'll
fry some more pork."
I took the pail which the Bo's'n had left near the fire and we started
across the tree and along the beach in the direction which the Haitien
girl had taken. When she saw Cynthia approaching, she began to run with
the fleetness of a deer.
"I guess she's gone for good," I said.
Long before we reached the low mangrove growth we heard a curious
snapping, like quick, sharp taps with a hammer. "Click!" "click!"
"click!" it sounded, until, as we drew close, the noise was confusing,
and we had to raise our voices somewhat in speaking. We came to a little
inlet, a sort of marshy place, where thousands of the low mangrove trees
grew and pushed their roots and hooplike ends into the salt water.
"Now where are your trees?" asked Cynthia.
"Why, there they are, those mangrove trees."
"Oh, you call those trees, do you? Explosion of story number one."
"Story?"
"I didn't like to call it by its real name," said Cynthia, "as Uncle
Tony told it. Don't you think, Mr. Jones, that going to sea is very bad
for the mor----"
The conversation was taking too personal a turn. I pushed in among the
hooplike roots.
"See here!" I said, "and here! and here!" as I pulled the oysters from
their holding places and threw them into the pail. All about us the
shells were opening and shutting, as if they longed for the return of
the tide, which was about two feet below them.
"Now that's exactly like so many of the stories one hears. I expected to
stand under a very high tree and see you climb it as you would a hickory
at home. I meant to stand under the branches and hold my dress and
catch--Oh, pshaw! Why do I talk to you?"
"You have too much imagination," said I. "Just taste one before you
begin to abuse us all so."
"I am not abusing any one, Mr. Jones; I only said----"
"Halloo! Halloo!"
It was the Skipper's voice. Fearing that something of an unpleasant
nature had occurred, we started quickly back again.
"Breakfast's ready," said the Skipper, with his mouth full of pork.
As I approached the camp I saw a signal in the distance. I discovered
after a moment's scrutiny that it was a signal from the Bo's'n. I
beckoned him to come to me, but he only shook his head, and waved more
wildly than before, pointing with sharp, quick jerks of his thumb over
his shoulder to the westward.
"Are you going to see what that fool wants?" asked the Skipper.
"No," returned I. "I am tired of playing tag with the Bo's'n and the
Haitien girl. Besides, I am famished."
We sat down on the rocks and ate our salt pork from a plate made of hard
bread. We washed it down with water from the spring at the base of the
rocks, and I heard no remarks upon the coarse fare.
Cynthia said only that she had never known how good salt pork and ship's
biscuits were, and that she should get Aunt Mary 'Zekel to have them
three times a week when she got home.
"Where's that Minion?" asked the Skipper, with his mouth full.
As nothing was to be seen of the boy, we left his breakfast with the
Bo's'n's share and that reserved for the Haitien girl, and I started to
go to the rescue of the Bo's'n, who was still waving violently. I had
taken but a few steps when I heard a call from Cynthia.
"Mr. Jones," she called, "bring me a biscuit before you go." My heart
sank down like lead. In the pleasure of gathering the oysters and the
walk which I had had with her alone I had forgotten that the day of
reckoning was near at hand. I took a piece of bread from the cask and
ran to meet her.
"Hungry again?" I asked, outwardly smiling. There was a singing in my
ears. I could hardly see.
"Oh, no," said she in answer; "but 'a merciful man,' you know, and my
poor beast must be starving."
"Yes, I think he is," said I. I forgot the Bo's'n's signal; I forgot
everything.
I seated myself miserably on a stone and waited for the deluge. It came.
I heard:
"Oh! Oh! Uncle! Mr. Jones, do come here; Solomon's gone!"
"We ought to sing the doxology," said the Skipper to me in an undertone.
He called to her in a well-simulated tone of regret:
"Oh, no, Cynthy, it can't be possible!"
So there were two cowards of us.
"How can she tell? She can't reach the cage," said I.
"How can you tell he's gone?" called the Skipper, in tones whose joy was
but poorly concealed. "You can't reach the cage."
"I'm standing right under the cage, Uncle; I can see right into it. O
Solomon, Solomon! my dear, darling, beautiful bird!"
"Never knew she could look through a piece of tin. Guess I'll go and
see."
I put my fingers in my ears and ran toward the Bo's'n, who was still
waving. The Minion trotted along by my side. The strange thing about the
Minion was that, unlike most boys, he seldom spoke; I should have
thought that he was dumb had it not been that occasionally, when hard
pressed, he did open his childish lips and pour forth words of wisdom.
There is an old saying that actions speak louder than words. The Minion
seemed to prefer to communicate his thoughts in this way. He pointed to
the beach, where I still saw the Bo's'n making his gestures. I turned
and looked back to the camp. I put my hands to my mouth and hallooed to
the Skipper, who had emerged from the shadow of the trees.
"It's a flag of truce, I think," said I.
I saw the Skipper shake his head and look despondently on the ground.
What he said was: "O Lord! those wretched sailors again."
I wondered if he was correct in his surmise as I ran along toward where
the Bo's'n stood. When he saw that I was really coming, he dropped the
flag of truce and put it on, for it was his shirt which he had fastened
to a branch to use for this purpose.
"How silly you are, Bo's'n!" I said. "I can't be following you all over
the island. You had better come back to the camp and behave like a
Christian."
A look of horror overspread his face as I spoke of his return to the
camp, but he shook his head and said:
"I should not have called you, sir, Mr. Jones, sir, but I have
discovered something. I thought you would like to know it." He turned
and walked briskly away.
"Hold on!" I said. "I am tired of this tomfoolery. Do you know what a
hot morning it is?"
"Yessir, I know, sir," said the Bo's'n. "Come here, sir."
The Bo's'n's air of mystery overcame my desire to sit down in the shade.
I followed where he led.
"It's the result of the battle, sir," he explained.
"What battle?" I asked, as I walked beside him.
"The fight between the sailors and the Haitiens, sir."
"You don't mean," I said, "that the sailors have come down here to----"
"No, only those are here who were left here." He parted the shoreward
bushes and revealed to me three men lying there. Two of them were white
men. They were our sailors Wilson and Tanby. The other was a Haitien.
He was lying by a partly dug grave. Indeed, so nearly ready was the
grave that I had some thought of confiscating it for the body of one of
our sailors. There were two other graves; at least, so I took them to
be. They were finished, and their occupants were at rest under that
wonderful leafy bower which only the tropics can afford. I thought that
I heard a rustling in the bushes, and told the Bo's'n my suspicions. The
Minion pointed to the thicket, and with a wild yell disappeared. One
never knew what the Minion would do. One always knew what he would say,
and that was nothing. There seemed to be an air of mystery about this
secluded spot. I watched the bushes, expecting the Minion's return, and,
as I watched, I felt that a pair of eyes was fixed on me. I pierced the
undergrowth right and left with my gaze, but only the mompoja leaves
moved languidly in the baby breeze which was now stirring, the precursor
of a later wind. I followed the Minion into the thicket, but saw no one.
Even the Minion had vanished. It was a great relief to me to be able to
act like a man with courage once more, instead of guarding my words for
fear that they would agitate the being the dearest in the world to me.
"Did you see any one as you came along the beach, Bo's'n?" said I.
"No, sir, Mr. Jones, sir; I was not looking or thinking of any one when
I stumbled right on them bodies. I was running to get away, sir."
Again the look of horror overspread his features, and he glanced
backward over his shoulders toward the camp.
I believe in always going to the root of a matter with the ignorant and
superstitious.
"Now, Bo's'n," I said, with an air of logical argument, "what should you
see in that simple, plain, iron trinket--" But he stopped me with a
gesture which was strangely authoritative from an inferior to a
superior, and in hushed, scared tones he said:
"Don't speak of it, Mr. Jones. Don't mention it, sir. Don't think of it.
Make the young lady throw it away."
"_Make!_"
"Yessir, Mr. Jones, make her throw it away, sir."
I laughed to reassure him, though I must acknowledge that I was
impressed by his manner. My laughter had the effect of reassuring myself
somewhat also.
"Shall I take the boat and row out and sink this dangerous bauble with
its snake's body"--a tremor seemed to seize my listener, and he shook as
if with a chill--"and its sheep's head?"
"Do not make fun of it, sir. You will be sor----"
"We will go and get it, Bo's'n, and you shall row me out while I----"
"Do not ask me to touch it, sir. There is doom in that sign." I noticed
that he did not call it a ring, as I had done; and then he came close to
me and looked into my eyes with impressive and beseeching earnestness,
and said in a whisper:
"You may take it out to sea, far, far out to sea, and drop it beneath
the waves, but the storms will come, the waves will roll, and the
breakers will dash it again on the shore. You may bury it in a pit so
deep that you can hardly get yourself out again from its grave, but an
earthquake will rumble beneath it and with its cracks will upheave it,
and it will be here again. You may take it to the top of yonder mountain
and lay it on the topmost peak, but the tempests will come and the
hurricane will blow and will toss it again at your feet. She has found
it, and it will follow her to the end--to the end."
The mysterious tone of the man, the ghostlike voice in which he spoke,
made me feel unpleasantly, although it was broad day and the sun was
shining brightly. He seemed to be lifted out of himself, and to speak
in a voice and tone not his own. I tried to laugh. I reasoned with
myself thus. How utterly absurd that a man of little education, of the
most ordinary ability, and, withal, a man holding that absurd position
Bo's'n of a merchant craft, should have an insight into mystical and
occult things which none of the rest of us possess! But as he still
stood staring at me, and directly into my eyes, as if he would read into
the very depths of my mind, I began to have what is commonly called a
creepy sensation. Little shivers ran up my backbone, and I longed for
other companionship. I cast a glance at the dead men, and felt that if I
were to retain the strength to go for aid to bury them, the sooner I
went the better for me. With difficulty I withdrew my gaze from the
man's eyes.
"Come, come, Bo's'n!" I said, forcing a laugh, "you are overwrought and
nervous. Come back with me, and I will give you my word that you shall
not see the ring again while you remain with us."
He stood gazing irresolutely out to sea.
"It is no ring!" he muttered. "A circle, a sign, an emblem of horror--of
dread--of vengeance!"
"I am hungry, Bo's'n," I said, dropping from the height to which he had
raised me and endeavouring to drag him down with me. "You left your
post, and Miss Archer is doing your work. I shall return for my
breakfast, and then get the Captain to come back here with me and bury
our men. That will be only decent."
These matter-of-fact statements brought the Bo's'n down to earth again.
"I see crumbs on your shirt front," said he. He spoke now in his natural
voice. His eyes had lost their far-seeing look. I left him and ran back
to the camp, calling him to follow. I told the Skipper what he had
found, also his strange and unreasonable terror of the ring. Cynthia
looked sad and downcast, but entered into this new subject with
interest.
"If he's afraid of the ring, I can conceal it," said she, "but don't ask
me to throw it away. I wouldn't give it up now for the world."
"For some reason," said I, "the man is half dead with fright. Just hide
it, Miss Archer, and I will tell the Bo's'n that you have thrown it
away."
_Another!_
People will tell you that it is only wicked women who lead men astray.
Here was the best and sweetest woman that I had ever known, and I had
told three absolute falsehoods in less than an hour's time, and was
ready to tell another--many others, in fact--should circumstances demand
it.
"I think it very wrong to tell a falsehood," said Cynthia. "I never tell
one"--a short pause--"_unless it is absolutely necessary_."
Meanwhile she was feeling under her collar. When her fingers came to
view again, they held a little gold chain and locket. I looked at the
locket curiously.
"My lover's portrait," said Cynthia, looking up at me with a saucy
smile. She calmly and with patience prepared to pull apart the two
pieces of the slide or clasp that held the delicate chain together.
"This was my baby chain; I have worn it ever since I was a little
thing.--How old, Uncle Tony?"
The Skipper blew his nose.
"I remember my sister putting that chain on you before you could walk,
Cynthy," he said. "I remember she said it was big enough to grow in."
"I have never taken it off but twice," said Cynthia; "once to slip the
locket on empty, and once to slip it on after I put the picture in it."
"Let us have a look at William," said I, chagrined that I had not
destroyed the only likeness extant of that hated individual.
"You shall see it some time," returned Cynthia. "There!" She took the
ring from her pocket, slipped the chain through the circle made by the
serpent's body, and clasped it around her neck.
"Don't do it!" I remonstrated. "There may be something in the Bo's'n's
fears, after all."
"Nonsense!" laughed Cynthia, as she tucked the ring down below her
collar and rearranged her tie. Her dress was still neat and fresh, but
as I looked at her I wondered how long it would be before she would
appear like other shipwrecked women.
And now I beckoned to the Bo's'n. He started and came haltingly up the
beach. I cast my eyes on the loose pebbles at my feet for a moment and
discovered what I wanted. As children we had often played with what we
called lucky stones. A lucky stone was a little stone washed by the
motion of the water into an open circle. The lucky stone that I picked
up was a glittering piece of rock, and shone in the sun.
"We can not spare the Bo's'n's services," I said, "and he won't come
back to camp until the ring is thrown away, so here goes."
The Bo's'n was nearing us slowly on the left, and the Haitien girl as
reluctantly upon the right. When the Bo's'n was perhaps a hundred feet
away, I threw back my arm and hurled the pebble as far away as I could.
It glittered as it flew through the air, and entered the water with a
splash at about three hundred feet from the shore. I was considered a
good thrower in my time.
The Bo's'n advanced now with more confidence, though he looked
continually out into the bay at the concentric rings in the water, which
were approaching the beach where we stood.
"Expect that fool is looking to see it bob up and swim ashore," laughed
the Skipper. The Haitien girl now returned also. She drew close to
Cynthia, and laid her cheek down on her skirt in a respectful way.
"_Li negue a peu_," she whispered. She looked at the place where the
stone had gone down and shuddered. She shook her head several times.
"_Ca, retou'! Ca retou'!_" she said.
"I understand her talk a little, sir," volunteered the Bo's'n. "I lived
with a Dominican, Mr. Jones, sir, for a year. I was with Toussaint's
army when he marched to Haiti." That seemed ancient history to me, and I
gazed on the Bo's'n with respect. "It was then I learned about----" He
broke off suddenly.
"What did Lacelle say, Bo's'n?" asked Miss Archer.
"She says the negro is afraid, miss. That's what she meant to say, miss.
The Haitiens don't speak what they call the fine French, miss. It's half
African and half French, miss."
"Captain," I said, "we are wasting a good deal of time over nothing,
seems to me. There is something that we should do as soon as possible."
I drew him aside and told him about the dead sailors.
"Come on," said the Skipper readily. "Bo's'n, you stay and watch the
camp, and if any danger threatens, signal us."
"What with, Cap'n, sir?"
"Why, as you did before."
The Bo's'n became very red, looked at Miss Archer sheepishly, and said,
"Yessir." The Minion had now appeared mysteriously from somewhere, and,
after ordering him to stay with the party and help the Bo's'n "clean
up," we started. We pushed the boat into the water. The Skipper took the
steering oar and I took the sculls, and we pulled westward. When we
arrived at our destination, I beached the boat and walked with the
Captain up the slope to where the dead sailors were lying.
"Dear! dear!" said the Captain. "Wilson and Tanby! How natural they
look! Poor fellows! You'll never tumble up again to the sound of the
Bo's'n's whistle, my lads."
"And he'll never pipe any more to your crew," said I, as I thought of
the sleeping forms we had left behind us the night before. I stood
looking about me. "Captain, there's something queer about this place.
It's uncanny, it seems to me. When I left the men here, a half hour ago,
there were three--our two men and the Haitien, and two graves. Now there
is no Haitien, and three graves instead of two."
"Lord! you don't say so! Well, I have seen queer things in my time, a
sight of queer things. Nothing ever surprises me. Let's give the poor
fellows a decent burial and get back to camp. I don't quite like leaving
Cynthy with that crazy Bo's'n----"
"We have no spades, Captain," said I.
He saw what I meant, for he turned and looked at the graves.
"How's that?" he asked, jerking his head over his shoulder toward the
water.
"The only way now," I answered.
We lifted the poor fellows and laid them gently in the bows side by
side, and then pulled for the open water.
The dinghy's painter was lying in the bottom of the boat, and as I rowed
the Skipper untwisted and split the rope. Of course, I had known quite
well why he lifted two heavy rocks from the beach and laid them under
the thwarts. When I had rowed for about ten minutes, the Skipper said,
"Way enough!" I trailed my oars, and together we prepared the men for
the last sad rites. With one end of a rope around the body of each, and
the other fastened securely around one of the rocks, we lowered them one
after another into that deep over which for so many years they had
sailed happy-go-lucky fellows. As they sank below the surface, the
Skipper shifted his squatting position into a kneeling one, raised his
eyes to the blue above him, clasped his weather-beaten hands, and said:
"Oh, Thou who holdest the oceans of the earth in the hollow of Thy
hands, hold these poor sailors, we pray Thee, within Thy tender keeping,
and when the sea gives up its dead, good Lord, and they are called aft
to Thy mast, where they must answer up, no shirking, remember the many
trials and temptations of poor Jack, dear Father, and judge them _as_
sailors, and _not as human beings_!"
"Amen!" said I.
CHAPTER V.
A MYSTERIOUS FLIGHT.
I could not restrain a smile, even at this most solemn moment, as I
heard the Skipper's ending. I sat looking at the water for a little--at
the resting place of the men, which was marked for a short time by the
bubbles which came to the surface; and then a light wind ruffled the
water, and I closed my eyes, breathing a few words for the living as
well as for the dead. When I opened them again, I had lost trace of
those nameless graves for all time.
As I rowed the boat swiftly toward shore, away from that scene of
sadness, I pondered upon the situation. It seemed to me that the others
had not considered seriously enough our strangely exceptional fate. In
most accounts of shipwreck and adventure the castaways are left upon a
desolate island with savages more or less gentle, who help and care for
them; or else the natives are bloodthirsty wretches, who, if they come
in contact with the shipwrecked people, are outnumbered and overcome.
Then a vessel heaves in sight at the right moment, and takes the
unfortunates to home and happiness. There was the alternative of being
shipwrecked upon an utterly desolate land, where provisions were few and
enemies none. Our case was not any one of these three. We had not been
obliged to seek refuge upon a desert island, far from home and friends.
On the contrary, we were but twelve hundred miles at the most from
Belleville, which was the centre of our world. The anxiety which filled
my thoughts was caused by recent facts in our history, which followed
each other rapidly through my mind, and which gave me reason to fear
that if we could not quickly get safe passage away from the island
something of a dangerous nature might befall us. That black monarch,
"King Henry of the North," as he chose to style himself, was at this
time reigning over the island of Haiti with resolute and powerful sway.
No absolute monarch ever ruled a people with as decided and unbrooked a
will as Henri Christophe. The French occupation, which had lasted about
one hundred years, had been finally ended with the revolution of 1793.
Toussaint l'Ouverture had instigated and led the most bloody rebellion
of modern times. The slave of the Breda plantation, through
insurrection, wars, and bloodshed, had become a great general, and so
the dictator of the entire island known as Santo Domingo. It is an
almost incredible fact that Toussaint was a gentle and humane man, even
though he rose against and massacred the whites that his people with him
might throw off the yoke of slavery. Had Toussaint been alive at this
day, I knew that we should have had nothing to fear, but his mantle had
fallen upon other shoulders, and those who had succeeded him had lost
sight of the primary cause of the uprising. Like some other reformers,
his path ran with blood, but it was either that or continued slavery for
himself and his people. Toussaint was the grand figure of the Haitien
revolution. The Marquis d'Hermonas said of him, "God in this terrestrial
globe could not commune with a purer spirit." It was well known that
Toussaint's enemies were treated with a gentleness and consideration
which was abnormal in those days of bloodthirsty cruelty and excess. But
at the time of which I write Toussaint had died in the Alps. The French,
short-sighted as to a policy which should have urged upon them the
recognition of Toussaint as the best governor which the island could
procure, instead of treating with him, and forming an honourable peace,
decoyed him on board one of their ships. He was sent to France, where he
died in the Chateau de Joux. His death was caused by Alpine rigour, and
it is hinted that it was aided by unnatural means. Toussaint was a
courageous general, a keen legislator, an astute philosopher, a good
citizen, a generous enemy, and a faithful friend. Had we but had such a
man to turn to, I should have felt no fear, but there had been wars and
bloodshed since Toussaint's time. His generals, Dessalines, Christophe,
and Petion, had continued the war with the greatest bitterness. They had
driven out the French, who, however, had left their various mixed
progeny behind them. That progeny, the product of two races, who
despised their black mothers and hated their white fathers, were always
at war with the blacks and whites alike. Then Dessalines, following the
example of Bonaparte, in 1804, crowned himself emperor, saying, "I am
the only noble in Haiti." This would be laughable if the results had not
been so disastrous and far reaching. Then came the downfall of
Dessalines. Then Petion was elected president. There were more
conspirings, more treachery, and more bloodshed, and finally Christophe
crowned himself king. This was in 1811, about ten years before the last
cruise of the Yankee Blade.
Back from the coast, about eight to ten miles as the crow flies, upon a
mountain height which overlooks the sea and land as far as the eye can
reach, Christophe had built his wonderful citadel, the tragic erection
of which cost a life for each stone laid.
This black prince lived in the greatest luxury and, as far as his light
shone, in unbounded magnificence. No refusal was ever brooked by him. If
a workman was ordered to accomplish the impossible, and the article
desired was not forthcoming at the time set by the despot, the
unfortunate being was dragged from his hiding place and hurled off the
precipice of the citadel. I had heard that thirty thousand men had
perished in this way. I remember now the words of a historian whose book
I have lately read:
"As long as a stone of this wall shall stand, so long will there remain
a monument to one of the greatest savages and murderers who has ever
disgraced God's earth."
Christophe's palace at "Sans Souci" was one of the wonders of the world.
It would have graced any country; have reflected glory upon any people.
The earthquake of '42 damaged its fair beauty, but its remains stand
to-day a proof of the power, the determination, and the inventive genius
of that terrible black king. Seated under a camaito tree, which spread
its green shade over the marble terrace, this absolute monarch held
court. No one dared to look upon his face. Officers, soldiers, and
prisoners alike trembled and hid their eyes as they knelt before him. If
any one displeased or unconsciously thwarted the king, he was haled away
to a dungeon, which generally meant death.
Is it wonderful, then, that I regarded our going to the interior of the
island as little less than suicidal? We were in danger of lawless bands
from the West and from the East, for there was discontent with the black
king Henri, and irresponsible parties of griffes and mulattoes, not to
speak of outlawed whites who had no standing at home, were in hiding
among the rocks and caves of that extraordinary formation known as the
island of Santo Domingo. I had wondered how Captain Schuyler had dared
to bring his niece with him on this cruise of the Yankee Blade, for the
buccaneers were still pursuing helpless craft upon the high seas. They
usually feared a close proximity to civilized lands, but carried on
their nefarious business upon the open ocean, making sudden and
unexpected dashes from the Isle of Pines, which was their stronghold.
I think that I have written enough without going further into detail to
show why, though we had been ashore barely twenty-four hours, I was
anxious to escape from this place of horrors. These reflections ran
through my brain in the space of a very few seconds, as thoughts will,
and I trailed my oars and spoke.
"Captain Schuyler," I said, "why did you run the risk of bringing your
niece on such a dangerous voyage?"
The Skipper looked up at me for a moment, as if not comprehending my
question.
"God bless your soul! Dangerous? Dangerous? What do you mean, Mr.
Jones?"
"I consider it a very foolish thing, Captain, to----"
"What! Mr. Jones, do you know who you are speaking to, sir? This is
mutiny, Mr. Jones, rank mutiny! Rank----"
"No, Captain," I answered calmly and slowly, "it is no mutiny. I must
speak my mind. I can not understand your action, with pirates still
roaming the high seas----"
"Yes, yes, high seas," broke in the Skipper; "but who ever dreamed of
their coming so close to shore? Why, I've been sailing these waters now
for seven years, since I gave up the Calcutta trade, and I never so much
as saw a pirate craft. I've hugged the shore pretty close, it's true,
and----Pshaw, Mr. Jones, you're nervous! I recognise the signs. A man's
always nervous when he's in love. I used to be; I----"
"I am not unnecessarily nervous," said I. "Your niece is a very
beautiful young girl----"
"Do you think so?" said the Skipper in a surprised tone. "Why, do you
know, Jones, I never thought her even good-looking. You should have seen
her Aunt Mary 'Zekel at her age!"
"I regret my loss," I said. "But that's neither here nor there----"
"You are foolish, Jones! You imagine things."
"I suppose the loss of the Yankee and the balls of those pirates are all
in my fancy."
"Good God! No! I wish they were. I can't say that," answered the
Skipper, "but----"
"Hardly, I fancy," said I impatiently, "with the old Yankee sunk and our
party ashore, half of them dead, some of them buried, the others----"
"Don't go on so, Jones. Those men may not have been pirates. Sometimes
people pretend they are pi----"
"Don't split hairs, Captain. I think if a Britisher or an American
should capture them, and knew what they done, they would give them a
short shrift. I can't see how you can be so unimpressed with our
dreadful situation."
I looked up at the Skipper and saw the tears welling over from his eyes.
"Don't scold me, Jones," he said in a broken voice. "God knows I can't
see my way clear to anything! Tell me what you think best, and I'll do
it."
I saw that the old man's nerve was gone, and I suspected that with it
had departed some of the good judgment for which he had been noted, I
had heard, in years gone by. Had I started from Coenties Slip with the
ship, I should have remonstrated with him, if possible, for taking a
young girl on so hazardous a voyage; but I had joined the ship at
Martinique, my own vessel having been lost off that island in a
hurricane, of which more another time. The Captain had quarreled with
his Mate, he had deserted, and I had taken the job, and glad to get it,
too. My surprise was great when I found Miss Archer on board. I had
always been pessimistic about her presence there, and now something like
what I had anticipated had happened, and here was I left to care for a
Captain who was broken and old, and a young girl of my own nation, for
whose welfare I found that I cared more than was good for my peace of
mind, and a boy who was of no use except to give us an occasional
laugh, and a Bo's'n who went off into strange, mysterious attacks, and
talked at such times miles over my head, as well as his own--a
sublimated Bo's'n, who, though entirely illiterate in his normal
moments, in attacks such as I have described spoke like a professor; who
one moment was soaring in the skies, and raving of things spiritual and
supernatural, and the next moment was talking like the veriest old Jacky
that ever came out of a forecastle. I, too, was feeling upset with all
that we had gone through, but I must keep my courage up if we were to
escape from that accursed island.
"Jones, what do you say to rowing back up along the beach and seeing if
those fellows are alive? We ought to bury them decently if they have
died since yesterday." The Skipper seemed suddenly to have developed a
fancy for the role of Chaplain. Having tasted the pleasure of being in
close communication with Heaven, on a confidential footing, so to speak,
with Providence, the apologist and recommender of the dead of his crew,
he hated to give up the job. I have noticed the same sort of frenzy in
my wife at times. She (to speak mildly) used to dissipate, at certain
seasons, in church meetings, going to Wednesday evening and Friday
evening meetings, to noon prayer meetings, and three times to church.
On Sundays many's the time I've walked the floor with little Adoniah
Schuyler second, while she was listening to Reverend Vandenwater thunder
hell and damnation at the unrepentant. She has come in with an uplifted
look on her face and an air of holy calm, which assured me that the next
world held no place for such degenerates as myself. The Reverend
Vandenwater demanded all her time and attention for the "Refuge for the
Progeny of the Bondsman." But the Reverend Vandenwater disappeared with
the funds of the Refuge, and she has not dissipated so extensively
since. I used to tell her when she talked about the love of the Lord
that it was spelled with a "V," which at times created a coolness in the
family. But I have digressed.
I told the Skipper that I thought we had been enjoying ourselves long
enough away from the camp, and that we should now return as soon as
possible. As I spoke, I rested for a moment on my oars and turned my
head in the direction of the camp.
"Strange!" said I; "there's no one on the beach." The Skipper stood up
in the boat.
"No," he said, "there isn't. Perhaps they have gone a little farther
into the shade." There were no figures moving about, no Cynthia, no
Bo's'n, no Minion. One never knew what Lacelle would be up to, so I did
not worry myself at not seeing her. I turned again to face the Skipper,
and all at once I perceived a strange vessel coming rapidly toward the
coast, and as I looked, the French flag which she bore was supplemented
by another. I could not believe my eyes. I did really rub them and look
again. Yes, it was true. The Jolly Roger fluttered for a moment at the
masthead, and as suddenly was lowered to the rail. It confirmed my
suspicions as to the pass to which the island had come, that a pirate
craft could sail openly along the coast in broad daylight, displaying
her signal of murder and death! That it was a signal to some one in
waiting on the shore, I could not hesitate to believe. Then, in what
terrible danger were we and our party from an assault both on the land
and on the water. We were, indeed, between the devil and the deep sea.
"Captain," said I, scrambling hastily over the middle seat, "take the
other pair, for God's sake!"
"What's the matter with the man?" exclaimed the Captain, as I tumbled
hastily into the bows and picked up the extra pair of oars. "Just when
one begins to feel peaceful and calm, communing with his Maker, as it
were, you----"
"You'll commune with your Maker sooner than you care to, Captain," said
I, "if you don't pick up those oars. That pirate's come back, or else
it's another one. I saw the Roger----"
The Skipper had by this time turned about, deliberately removed his
coat, and taken up the oars.
"What! that vessel? She's no more a pirate than you are."
"I tell you I saw the crossbones as plain as I see your back. Pull,
Captain, for the love of God!"
The Skipper did bend to his oars, but his mutterings were proof that he
had little confidence in my judgment or eyesight.
"Just thinking peacefully of my latter end----"
"You'll have your latter end closer in view, Captain," said I, "if you
don't pull like hell."
My violent word brought him down from his heavenly flight, and pull he
did, but we had quite a distance yet to go.
"She's a beauty," said the Skipper. "She's so long and low and rakish,
but so was the Yankee Blade. Not quite so much free board as the Yankee,
has she, now?"
"Captain, excuse me, but if you would pull more and talk less----"
"Well, I'll pull, Mr. Jones, I'll pull, but I'll remember your language,
Mr. Jones, and when I get----"
I looked over my shoulder as I rowed.
"Our people are nowhere to be seen, Captain. Do you think they could
have noticed that signal?"
"You are crazy, man, utterly and entirely out of your head. I told you
that men in love were insane. They would never show that flag if they
had it."
"They know what they are about, sir," said I. "They wouldn't do it for
fun. Let us beach the boat and run for it."
The Skipper suddenly seemed to catch my fear. We beached the boat some
hundred yards from the camp.
"Which way, Jones?"
"For the camp, Cap'n, the camp! If you ever ran in your life, run now."
I sped along the beach, taking it just where the retreating water had
left the sand hard and firm, the Skipper pounding along after me on his
fat, short legs. I did not think of the danger of being seen by those on
board the vessel, and, had I done so, I should have been sure that they
were busy with their signals and their rounding to. As I ran, I turned
my head now and then to watch the approach of the craft. She was a
beautiful sight, the long, low schooner, all sails set, pointing
directly for the shore. She ran so far in, that one would think that
they meant to run directly up on the beach, but I argued that their
confidence bespoke their knowledge of these waters. The wind had risen,
and the trades were blowing freshly along, parallel with the shore line.
We had reached the camp now. No one was to be seen. I turned for one
more glimpse of the dreadful vessel, and as I looked she began to haul
down her jibs. She rounded to, shot up head to wind, and lowered her
foresail and dropped anchor pretty nearly together.
"You see, she knows her ground," said I.
The Skipper looked blankly about him. There was no sign of any of our
party. There was no trace of any of the provisions or of our occupation
of the place except a broken leaf or two and the remains of the fire,
and that was heaped with wet sand, which was fast drying between the
embers and the sun. I called "Cynthia! Cynthia!" frantically, regardless
of the proprieties or of what the Skipper would think, or of her
resentment if she heard me. There was no response. I ran here and there.
I hallooed, I shouted, with no thought of whom else might hear. The four
living, breathing human beings whom we had left at our camp had
vanished out of life as if they had never existed! I ran anxiously
through the undergrowth, and as I ran I stumbled over the one thing
which the party in their flight or imprisonment, I knew not which, had
forgotten.
It was the spyglass, lying closely hidden under some large leaves that
grew upon the bank of the stream. I took it up and pointed it at the
strange vessel. Her decks seemed alive with men. I saw that they were
lowering some boats. They were coming ashore, then! We took turns in
watching the movements of the crew, and discovered that they had got
down two boats, and were preparing to lower a third. The first two were
pulling directly for the cove or mouth of the stream.
"Comin' ashore for water, probably," said the Skipper. "Bo's'n has seen
'em probably, and has come down from his high horse long enough to hide
the party. We're all right, Jones. Don't be so dreadful scared. They
won't stay above half an hour."
I devoutly hoped not.
We now ran up the bank of the stream toward the face of rock which rose
precipitately from the grass-grown valley. As I looked toward it, I
could not fail to admire the beauty of its vine-covered precipice. On
either side the hills sloped backward, but the cliff stood bold and
vertical, like a verdure-covered fortress. Behind those leafy hiding
places the guns of an enemy might lie secure until the day of need.
"Cynthia! Cynthia!" I shouted again. I never thought of calling any
other name. "Cynthia" was all that I wanted to find. As we neared the
face of the rock we perceived that the stream ran exactly out from its
centre, through which it had made in the ages past an archway for
itself. We stooped and drank of it. It was cold, as if it had emerged
from a glacier. I bathed my head and my hands. The Skipper did the same.
And then I took up my cry of "Cynthia! Cynthia!" I had begun to call
now as a matter of habit, not at all as if I expected to obtain a
response, and was looking around for a place where the Skipper and I
could secrete ourselves until the pirates had procured their water, when
I heard a whistle or sort of chirrup from somewhere above. I raised my
eyes toward the sheer straight wall of rock, and saw a human face
looking down. It was forty feet over my head, but I knew it better than
I knew any face in the world. It was the face of Cynthia, smiling down
on me as if we had never had any tiffs, as if no danger threatened, as
if it were the most natural place for her to be, and, above all, as if
she were glad to welcome me.
I could see nothing of Cynthia's body. Her head only protruded from a
mass of vines which covered the face of the rock, from vines rooted in a
spot a hundred feet above her head, and falling to the ground where I
stood. The Skipper looked upward at the signal from Cynthia.
"Always knew you was a tomboy, Cynthy. But for the Lord's sake, how did
you climb up there?"
"Better hurry, Uncle," answered Cynthia; "they're getting near land."
"But how?" asked the puzzled Skipper. "How? I don't see any vine that'll
hold my weight. Besides, they'd see me climbin' up the face."
"Round to the right, your right, and up the hill!" It was Cynthia's
voice again, and we eagerly obeyed. We skirted the base of the ragged
cliff. The last words that we heard from Cynthia were, "the ceiba tree,"
and we took them as our guide. We pushed through the low underbrush and
climbed the broken shale, sending down shovel loads of small stones at
every step. It was hot work. I panted and dripped, and the poor
Skipper's face was the colour of fire. I was glad for both our sakes
when we reached the ceiba tree and stood leaning against it, fanning
ourselves with our hats. Here we were concealed from the men in the
boats by the trees that fringed the shore, and felt in no hurry to start
on again. We were at a loss as to how to proceed farther when, as I
looked about for a continuing path, a hand protruded from the bushes
which grew against the cliff, and I saw some beckoning fingers. I pushed
the Skipper forward. He grasped the hand in his and disappeared. I heard
what sounded like "Atton." This might mean anything. I took it to be an
order from Lacelle, and that the word was spoken in her Haitien French,
and was intended for "_attendez_." I was not and never have been a
scholar of the French language, but one who follows the sea for a
livelihood picks up more or less of the words of various nations, and I
thought that I must be right in my surmise. So I waited. I did not think
that they would leave me alone, and, if they did, I had no fear of the
strangers coming up the hill in that blazing sun when they had landed
merely for the purpose of securing water. As I leaned against the rock
waiting for developments--for that developments of some kind must come I
was certain--the hand was put forth again, and I was drawn within the
recess. The bushes grew so close to the face of the cliff that I had
left them behind me and had entered an archway of rock before I realized
the change. The darkness and the cold of this strange interior were the
more obvious because of our exertion under a fierce tropical sun, and
they told me that I was treading a passage well surrounded by rock
masses within the deep interior of the great cliff. I could see
absolutely nothing, and I groped stumblingly along. As I walked I
dragged the fingers of my left hand against the wall upon that side of
me. The other was clasped in the hand of my leader. We proceeded some
distance in this way upon a level, and then began to descend a sharp
declivity. Here my feet would have gone too fast for safety had not my
guide restrained me with a grasp of iron. At the foot of this incline we
found a level, along which we proceeded for some distance, and then we
began to ascend again. Our footsteps resounded hollowly as we felt along
the mysterious way.
Among the strange feelings that surged like a flood through my being,
the one which impressed me the most was the fact that one of my hands
was held in a cold, moist grasp. It was held firmly and steadily. I
withdrew my other hand from the wall and endeavoured to lay it suddenly
upon the wrist of the leader. But it was as if my guide could penetrate
the gloom, for as I attempted this my fingers were at once released, and
I was left to grope alone. I struggled miserably for a moment, fearing
to stand still, fearing to move, not knowing into what black abyss I
might plunge at any moment; and then I shouted, "Come back! Come back!"
Terrible echoes answered me; but the hand, the horrible moist hand, was
again laid upon mine, and I was being led _somewhere_, as before.
My wish was to slide my fingers up along the arm of my guide and
discover, if possible, what manner of being this was who led me. My
manoeuvre had been foiled, however, and after two of these attempts I
heard the words whispered softly in my ear, in tone of warning it seemed
to me, "Pe'nez gar'." Then I resigned myself to being led blindly
onward, feeling that I must trust to my leader or be lost.
I wondered if I were to meet Cynthia, or if this were some ghostly trap
into which I had fallen. The air was full of mystery. I had heard weird
tales of the old caves of Santo Domingo, of which Haiti was a part, and
of strange disappearances--of men with a spirit for adventure groping
their way in those caverns and appearing never more to human eye.
Strange odours arose. The air seemed heavy and weighed down upon my
head. I seemed to breathe the atmosphere of a charnel house. The
blackness of darkness was upon me, but I resigned myself hopelessly to
the leadership of that ghostly hand. I shudder now when I recall that
mysterious contact. The very memory of it strikes a chill to my heart.
My head whirls when I remember my stumbling and halting movement through
that passage of dread, shivering with fear that the next step might dash
me into an unfathomable pit. Perhaps the Skipper had already met his
fate! Cynthia was safe; at least, we had heard her voice. But was she
not perhaps reserved for some terrible future, when we, her protectors,
should be gone? With these agonizing thoughts in my mind, I groped and
stumbled on.
The ghostly presence was as elusive as the soap in the bath tub. When I
endeavoured to clasp the hand with both of mine, and thought that I had
my fingers on something tangible, they closed together upon themselves.
I felt a pressure against my side, my back. My hand touched a cold form
that it gave me a chill to feel, and I tried to prove to myself that it
was no delusion; but even as I groped in the darkness the form eluded
me, and I was alone.
CHAPTER VI.
THE PIRATES RETURN.
Suddenly my guide had released my hand, and I was left to myself. I saw
a faint glimmer of light ahead. And now I was conscious that there was
no one in front of me. I faced quickly about. The blackness of darkness
met my gaze.
I hoped to discover what manner of guide mine had been, but I looked
into the depths of an inky funnel, whose grim background outlined no
mysterious or other form against its dreadful perspective. I turned in
the direction of the ray again, and walked a few steps. As I proceeded,
the light grew stronger. I heard voices and laughter, intermingled with
the ripple of one gentle voice that I knew, and I walked ahead now with
confidence, and emerged at last into a large open room. I perceived at
once that all our party were assembled here. I thought that Cynthia
greeted me with some degree of pleasure. She held out her hand to me and
asked me if my walk through the passage had not been intensely
interesting.
_Interesting!_
I found that my entrance had interrupted Cynthia's explanation to the
Skipper, which she now resumed.
"We had nowhere to leave a message," said Cynthia. "You know, Uncle,
that I should never have run away from any ordinary boat. I knew that
you thought that we ought to hide if strangers came, and I was willing
to go, of course, only I did hope that we might stay our week out, or at
least while the pork lasted. When I saw the Stars and Stripes I called
to the others and waved to you. You paid no sort of attention to me. You
had your back to me, and were leaning over the boat so far that I
thought you would go over into the water. I told the Minion that you
were looking, I thought, to see if there were any clams in these waters.
And then the Bo's'n came running and begged me not to wave to you, or to
make any sign until we found out what sort of craft that was."
"Beg the lady's pardon," said the Bo's'n, "but I have cruised in these
waters before, and we didn't have no ladies, either."
"Well, well, Cynthy, go on! go on! How did you find this place?"
"Well, then, I took up the glass. The Bo's'n was flying round hiding our
things. He rolled the casks some distance back among the underbrush.
Meanwhile I was looking through the glass, and when I saw the Stars and
Stripes I must confess that I was a little disappointed, because I knew,
Uncle Tony, you would want to leave at once. But, Uncle, while I was
looking, right across my field of vision there floated that horrible
skull and crossbones. It was only for a second, but that was long enough
for me. When I told the Bo's'n what I had seen he could hardly believe
me. He told Lacelle that we must hide ourselves until we saw what the
people in the boat intended to do. She took my hand and said, 'Li negue
pas peu',' and drew me into a running step along the bank of the
stream."
"Yes, yes, Cynthy; but how did you find this hiding place? It seems just
hollowed by natur' a purpose."
"That I can't tell you, Uncle. We ran up the bank of the stream, and
when we reached the straight face of the cliff Lacelle turned to the
right. She hurried along the base of the rock and skirted it. Round the
corner we went, and up that hill we flew. Lacelle got over the ground
like a young fawn, but it was rough climbing for me. Then I asked the
Bo's'n to take my hand, and the Minion took the other, and they pulled
me up to the level under the ceiba tree."
"And how did you find----"
"Wait, Uncle, I can't tell all at once. She parted the bushes and pushed
me some distance into the darkness, and then some one took my hand and
led me along. I don't know who that was. I was so confused.--Was it you,
Bo's'n?--And then----"
"Begging your pardon, miss," said the Bo's'n, "I followed _you_."
"We walked along the passage, Uncle----"
"So did we," said the Skipper. "It's all very curious. Did that girl--.
By the way, why don't you ask the girl how you----"
"How can I ask her anything, Uncle?"
"Then how did you know her name?"
"Oh, I wish there was no more difficulty in learning her language than
in learning her name. She just pointed to herself and said 'Lacelle,'
'Lacelle,' over and over. Then she ran away. I called 'Lacelle!' and she
came running back, smiling. I'm sure that's very easy."
"Yes," said I. "I wish that we had no more difficult problem to solve."
"Well, it's a pretty nice kind of a hole," said the Skipper, beaming
upon us all contentedly.
One who has not explored the island of Santo Domingo, with its western
division of Haiti, can form no idea of its wonderful formation. Its
gigantic cliffs rise in perpendicular grandeur from grassy or thickly
wooded plains, in whose caves and recesses bandits have made their
homes. There even the redoubtable Captain Kidd is said to have found a
refuge!
The place in which I found my friends was a grand chamber of about sixty
feet in depth, measuring back from the face of the rock, and about forty
feet in width. There was an opening across the front of perhaps twenty
feet in width and nine or ten feet in height, but no one looking at it
from the shore would perceive that the vines which trailed their masses
of leaves across the opening concealed anything but the simple face of
the rock. We had not dreamed that there was any opening in the cliff
until we heard Cynthia's whistle. The vines seemed to start from the top
of the rock, fifty feet overhead, perhaps, from where we were concealed,
and grow directly downward. When they reached the ground they fastened
themselves in the rich earth with long-reaching fingers; then having
made their holding good, began to climb upon themselves again to the
very top of this lofty natural fort. There they had started fresh roots,
and again the vine began to descend, making a new pilgrimage to earth.
So back and forth it ran, its green vines hardening to woody stems, and
then to the thickness of branches, curling and twisting upon one
another, until the leaf screen had become hardly penetrable. I suppose
that it would have been quite safe to have leaned one's entire weight
against this natural lattice work, but prudence, the Skipper, and I
forbade.
I looked around the interior of the chamber, and saw that it was formed
like most caverns which I had seen in my time. There were projections of
rock upon the sides and around the base of the walls, which might have
been the work of Nature or of man. Perhaps Nature, somewhat aided by
man. As I stood facing the opening and the small hole which Cynthia had
made in the screen, I turned to scrutinize the wall upon my right,
opposite where we had entered the cavern. It was about twenty feet in
height. Along the very top there were some small openings, or natural
embrasures, and through these a faint light percolated. I should much
have liked to climb to the top and see what was on the other side of our
party wall, but I was helpless. There was no possible way of getting up
there, and I withdrew my eyes disappointedly. At the back of the
chamber in which we had taken refuge there were some large natural
pillars of stone, grand, ragged, and uneven. As I glanced at these I saw
that Lacelle leaned thoughtfully against one of them, her gaze fixed
upon Cynthia with a tender and earnest expression, as if she wondered
what could be done to save this beautiful and beloved creature. As I
looked, I thought that I saw the skirt of the girl's dress twitched
gently, as if some power other than I knew was urging her backward into
the gloom; and as I gazed, the girl, obedient to the mysterious summons,
melted from my sight.
"The boats are getting nearer," called Cynthia. "Look, Uncle, they are
probably coming for water from our bathing place."
The Skipper took the glass from Cynthia and rested it on one of the
strong vines which twisted across the window of the cave.
"Two boats are pushing into the stream," the Skipper informed us. "Did
you ever see such a fiendish looking lot of ruffians?"
"Do let me see, Uncle. This is the most delightful thing that I ever
experienced."
"God grant that we can keep her in that frame of mind!" I whispered to
the Skipper.
He gave me a look full of anxiety as he handed to Cynthia the eagerly
desired glass.
"They are pulling up against the current. Now they'll come to our
bathing place for water," said Cynthia. "Oh, how I wish I had some!"
"If they find our provisions we're done for," whispered the Skipper in
my ear. But, as Providence willed, the men did not disembark upon our
side of the stream, or rather the side where we had made our camp, but
upon the other, or right bank, if the right bank of a stream is the same
as that of a river, the one on your right when you are looking toward
its mouth. They hauled their boats up on the shelving beach, and then
the man in the stern stood up and gave orders. We could hear him now. He
spoke in a singularly musical voice, in a sort of broken English. The
others called him Mauresco, as near as we could understand.
It seems incredible that but a few years before the time when I was cast
away the United States Government, and the other reputable nations of
the earth as well, were paying yearly tribute to the Dey of Algiers. And
although peace had been declared in the year 1805, it was a hollow one
so far as the roaming bands of pirates were concerned. Many of them made
their refuge on the Isle of Pines, and were so strongly intrenched there
that it seemed that no one had ever thought of trying to dislodge them.
Vessels started from American ports hoping to arrive at their
destinations in spite of these maurauders, and that Captain Schuyler had
not been annoyed by them in his southern voyages argues in favour of his
luck, and not of his prudence.
The Skipper looked again.
"Those ain't empty casks," he said. He talked slowly, moving the glass
about as he followed the movements of the landing party. "See how that
one thumped down on the beach. I believe I heard it. Bet a red herring
to a sperm whale there's something in those casks!"
"Good Santo Domingo or Jamaica rum, probably," said I.
"Maybe, in some of 'em."
I wish that I could describe the strange appearance of those lawless men
as they surrounded the casks and rolled them up on the beach. I thought
it strange that blue, yellow, green, and purple predominated. There was
also the shade which my wife calls pink, but of a rich or darker colour,
red or crimson, there was none to be seen. I discovered the reason of
this, however, when the third boat put her nose against the beach.
"Those fellows mean to make a night of it," said the Skipper. "Call me a
soldier if they don't."
"Oh, I am so thirsty!" said Cynthia again. She stood leaning against the
wall of the cavern close to the opening, peering down, more, I thought,
upon the water glancing below than at the strangers. I have been reading
of late a very pretty tale written by a gentleman of the name of Irving,
and as I read of that wonderful palace of the Moors called the Alhambra,
and of the lattice work across the windows from which the court beauties
gazed forth, themselves unseen, my mind ran back over fifty years, and I
saw Cynthia again, as I saw her that morning, a fairer, sweeter beauty,
looking down from her latticed window, than any houri who ever graced
the court of Boabdil of Grenada.
"Don't worry about water, Cynthy, child," said the Skipper. "Sorry
you're thirsty, but they'll go away presently, and then you can have all
you want. If they would only go off a little way, we could make a dash
for the boats and row to Floridy."
"Begging your pardon, sir, you forget the schooner, sir," said the
Bo's'n.
"Seem to have a good many men for the size of the schooner." The Skipper
remarked this as the boats were pushing into the stream. "I don't
believe they are all crew." And one could see that they were not. The
crew were well-fed-looking ruffians, dressed in picturesque fashion
after the manner somewhat of their masters, but there were six or eight
of the men in the boats who had little clothing, and that of the
simplest sort. They looked sad and downcast, and one could see that they
must be prisoners, even without discovering the ropes or heavy cords
which tied their wrists to the rowlocks where they were seated. They
gazed anxiously at the shore, as if they would be glad to rest for a
while upon the sweet green grass.
"How can they live so far off!" said Cynthia, gazing down at the
piratical crew in wonder.
"Far off from where?" I asked.
"Why, from Belleville, of course."
For the moment I had forgotten that Belleville was the axis of the
earth.
"I wish to God they were nearer Belleville and farther from us at this
moment!" said I fiercely.
"I wish that fool girl had never come away from Belleville at all,"
whispered the Skipper to me. He shook his head anxiously as he stood
gazing at Cynthia with a puzzled expression, as if to say, "What will
become of her?"
I could not withdraw my eyes from those strange men. From the moment my
eye fell upon the one they called Mauresco I hated him with a deadly
hatred, and yet I think I never looked upon so comely a man. Tall, well
formed, with shoulders like an athlete, you did not take him for a large
man, and yet after looking at others and turning again to him he seemed
like a giant. After letting your gaze rest on him for a time, and then
turning to the others again, they looked like pigmies, their heads
contracted, their colour faded, their eyes small and dull. What there
was in this man to so fascinate every one with whom he came in contact I
do not know. I never got very near to him but on one occasion, and then
but for the space of a few tragic moments, but I found that he left
behind him wherever he passed a memory that would not die. Mauresco was
the finest of his boat's crew, as far as we could see. His coat, of some
greenish colour, was thrown aside, and his fine white shirt was
apparently his only covering above the waist. He wore trunk hose and
half boots. Upon his head was the broad straw hat of the tropics, and
around his waist was a wide green sash, in which were stuck two or three
knives. Some pistols lay on the seats in the bows. I suppose that the
men had disburdened themselves of these because of the heat of the day.
In each boat there seemed to be a leader, or captain, who was dressed
much as was Mauresco. The costumes of the sailor men were a
modification of his.
"He's very handsome," said Cynthia, her eyes glued to the glass.
"For God's sake, don't speak so loud!" said I.
"He looks like that picture of the Moor we have at home, Uncle. His
voice is very sweet. I don't believe he would do us any harm. Now
suppose we throw ourselves upon his mercy, and----"
"Fool!" ejaculated the Skipper, and, snatching the glass, he turned his
back upon her. "If you speak a loud word," he whispered fiercely, "I'll
throw you off the cliff."
"I don't see how that would save my life," whispered Cynthia to me; but
her Uncle's rough words and tones had the desired effect, and we spoke
no more aloud.
From the second boat there stepped a young boy of perhaps fourteen
years. He had, I thought, a dazed, cowed look. The leader in the second
boat was a bluff, red-faced Englishman. He limped and was awkward in his
movements, and I saw that he had a wooden leg. He got over the ground,
however, as fast as most of the men, and his strength and power even
with this drawback made him seem uncanny. He whistled and sang by
snatches in a fine barytone voice, which would not have disgraced a
concert stage. When this man was not whistling and singing, he was
laughing and swearing, which proved a diversion, if not an agreeable
one.
As soon as the young man stood up in the boat, he looked anxiously at
the burly man.
"After you, my lord," said the burly man, bowing low. "I am nothing but
plain Jonas--Captain Jonas, at your service. It's so long since we had a
real lord among us that we don't quite know how to treat him.--Mauresco,
rise up and greet my lord."
The man we now knew as Mauresco half arose and said in his musical
voice, as he smiled and showed his handsome teeth:
"I salute you, Lord George."
The boy had a rope round his wrist, which trailed after him as he
walked.
"Let me remove that darby, my lord," said Mauresco.
He drew a crooked cimetar from his belt and rose into a sitting posture.
The boy looked shrinkingly at the knife and advanced, trembling and
pale.
"Oh, come, come! Have courage, my lad!" said Mauresco. He cut the rope
and the boy was free.
"Am I to be left upon this island?" asked the boy, looking at Mauresco
anxiously.
"And why should we leave Lord George Trevelyan upon this island? To
wander to the interior, and tell King Christophe that this is one of our
stopping places?"
"How am I to be killed, then? Am I to be made to walk out upon that
dreadful plank?" The boy shuddered, as if he had lately witnessed that
dread execution. "Tell me my fate, Captain. I can bear it, only tell
me."
"No, no! We have another plan for you, Lord George. We will take you
back to the coast of England. We will stand in near the estate of your
mother, the countess, some late evening. Then you shall write her a
letter asking the ransom that I shall dictate, unless, indeed, the
Admiral of the Red demands more."
"You mistake my position," said the boy. "My mother is not a rich woman,
even though she has a title. She is not a countess, she----"
"But your brother is a lord."
"Yes, but I am not. I have no money in my own right, and never shall
have. If I had, I would promise it all to you if you would take me home
or to any civilized land."
"Lady Trevelyan could raise the money, and then----"
"She could raise next to nothing, Captain. The estates have been
encumbered for years. She is trying to pay off the indebtedness before
my brother comes of age; she----"
"What would she say to sixty thousand pounds?"
The boy's face blanched.
"I may as well be frank with you, Captain; she could not procure
anything like that sum."
"Well, well, say forty thousand; we won't be particular about a little
less. Suppose, now, I should leave you here, Lord George, with
provisions for a certain length of time, in a safe place which I know of
in this neighbourhood, and you give me a letter to your mother the
countess, saying----"
"It is useless," said the boy, hanging his head. "She could not give it
to you."
"I'm afraid, then, we'll have to do with you as we have with many a
fellow twice your size. It would never do to let you go home and set the
English law working against Captain Jonas, plain Captain Jonas."
Jonas laughed his burly, fat laugh.
"Not to speak of Mauresco," he said, "handsome Mauresco!"
"But if I promise never to say a word to a soul of where I have been,
whom I saw, what was said, when we----"
"We've heard those promises afore," said Captain Jonas. "Remember,
Mauresco? When we caught that damned Spanish don, and all the promises
he made, and then that infernal chase! No, no, boy--Lord George, I
should have said. We know too much about the faith of a prisoner of
war."
"My family have always been noted for their honour and faith!" The boy
drew himself up with pride as he said these words. "I would die before
I would tell if I promised not----"
"That will be the case anyway," said Mauresco with a careless laugh.
"Will you shoot me? Will you make me walk that horr----"
The boy shuddered and turned paler than he had been.
"No, no, boy, on the word of the buccaneer, we have no such intention.
We shall neither shoot you, hang you, nor make you walk the plank. Don't
be so anxious. You have got some fine stories into your head about us,
but really at bottom we are the most humane of men.--Aren't we, Jonas? I
beg pardon, Captain Jonas."
"So they tell me," said Jonas pleasantly.
The third boat had now come into the cove, and had landed near the first
two. The Captain of the third boat was a squat, little red-faced man,
with a hump on his back to make him seem smaller--in fact, he was a
dwarf. His legs were bowed, his arms long. He had small ferret eyes and
an ugly grin.
"Your fate will be decided by the Admiral of the Red," said Mauresco,
with a wave of the hand toward the newcomer.
As the third boat grounded, in answer to the punting oars, the men on
the bank, Mauresco and Captain Jonas among them, arose from, their
sitting postures and stood with an air almost of respect. The little man
scrambled over the seats and tumbled himself down on the beach.
"Some of you fellows come and carry me," he said. "It's too damnably hot
to walk."
At a glance from Mauresco three or four of the strongest of the men ran
to the help of the Admiral of the Red and lifted him upon their
shoulders. Some one else ran to the boat and seized a boat cloak which
lay in the stern sheets and placed it in the shade under a mahogany
tree. The Admiral of the Red, or the Red Admiral, as he might better be
called, gave each of the bearers a vicious kick as they deposited their
share of him upon the ground; at which they laughed as if it were a
delightful joke, and ran down to the boat to help land the Admiral's
belongings.
"Broach a keg!" squeaked the Admiral.
"We have just broached one," answered Captain Jonas.
"It was rum," whispered the Skipper to me. "I told you so. I'll take
that sperm whale, if you please."
I was glad that the Skipper could joke under such horrible
circumstances; it seemed to make our situation less hopeless.
The Admiral now squeaked for his horse pistol, and, while some one was
concocting a drink for him out of various fiery compounds, he laid under
the tree and amused himself in taking aim at the prisoners in the
different boats. The men turned pale and shook as each shot flew over
their heads or about their ears, and watched the Admiral with
apprehensive eye, and dodged as they saw him pull the trigger. They kept
their hopeless gaze fixed upon him, not knowing at which boat or which
man he intended to aim.
"Why don't they push the boats off and row for it?" whispered I
indignantly.
"Can't, sir," answered the Bo's'n. "Even if they could jump out of the
boats and push them off they must punt to the mouth of the stream, and
they would be riddled with bullets before they got that far, sir.
Besides, you don't suppose, sir, those hellions would leave an oar where
they could get it?"
I looked where he pointed, and saw that the oars had all been taken from
the boats and were piled together some distance from the little beach.
We stood and watched those dreadful men for an hour or more. They were
repulsive, but they fascinated those who had never been near persons of
such notorious fame. I left Cynthia to watch the pirates and joined the
Skipper.
"Captain," said I, when I could speak to him alone, "who brought you
into this cavern?"
"Didn't notice exactly; that girl, I suppose. Lacelle, they call her."
"Well, she didn't bring me in. She was here when I came. She was the
first person I saw. They were all here. She and the Bo's'n, Cynthia,
your niece, and the Minion."
"You've got fanciful, Jones; who else could it be? Answer me that."
I did not answer him, but asked him another question.
"Did you notice, Captain, when we went along the beach this morning,
when we went to bury those men, I mean----" I stopped suddenly. "It
doesn't seem only a day, does it--in fact, only a few hours--since that
happened?"
"Hardly twenty-four hours since we came ashore," added the Skipper.
"Well, you remember when we went along the shore, don't you?" The
Skipper nodded. "When we got to the place where the sailors were lying,
there were three graves on the beach."
"Yes, what of that?"
"I want you to corroborate my statement, that is all. When I left the
spot with the Bo's'n, you remember, when he was so afraid of the ring
that your niece found----" The Skipper nodded again.
"Well, when I left that place with the Bo's'n there were two graves,
another partly dug, and a dead Haitien lying on the edge of it. When I
went back there with you there were three graves, as I have said, and no
Haitien. How do you account for that?"
"Don't account for it at all," said the Captain.
"That's the way I account for it. The idee of your askin' me to account
for anything in this devil's hole. If it was a little later in the day,
and we were on board the old Yankee, I should say you had been looking
at the sun through the bottom of a glass. About those graves now,"
continued the Skipper ruminatingly, "you remember what I said about a
man in love, don't you?"
The old man looked at me with his eyes half closed and a peculiar
expression of countenance.
"Leaving the strangeness of the completed burial aside," said I, "can
you explain why there were only three graves when there were four men
concerned in carrying off Lacelle?"
"I'm not good at guessing riddles," answered the old man. "Why should
you care, anyway?"
"Well, Captain," said I, "there's an air of mystery about things down
here that I don't like. Some strange compelling power seems to have
taken forcible possession of all of us. Whose hand was it that pushed
out from between the leaves and beckoned to you? And when you had
entered the darkness of the archway, so that you could not recognise its
owner, who took your hand and led you into the cave?"
"That girl, I told you," said the Skipper. "That girl Lacelle."
"It wasn't the girl who guided me," said I. "Her hand is small and
plump, probably warm to the touch. The hand that held mine was long and
thin, and very clammy and cold."
"The devil!" ejaculated the old man.
"No, I don't think it was the devil himself," said I. "It may have been
one of his chief mates."
I looked at the Skipper, and saw that the beads of perspiration were
standing on his forehead and running down the crack alongside his nose.
"Don't, man! You make the creeps go all over me. What's the use of being
so damned unpleasant? Ain't we uncomfortable enough without your
ringin' the changes on ghosts and spooks and spectres?"
"You may as well look the thing in the face," said I. "There's something
uncanny about the place, and, though it has worked in our favour thus
far, who knows what may be in store."
"For God's sake, Jones, let's get away, then! Call Cynthy and the others
to come, and let's run for it."
"Where to?" inquired I. "We might run right into the arms of those
villains. If even one of them were to see us, our secret would be
theirs, and then farewell to hope."
"No, that wouldn't do. I wouldn't have those wretches see Cynthy for the
world," said the Skipper.
"God forbid!" said I. My heart almost burst its bounds at the thought.
"O Captain Schuyler!" I pleaded, "if you have a particle of power over
that niece of yours, make her lie quiet until they are gone."
"_Make!_" said the Skipper, with much the same emphasis that he had used
a little while before.
"There's something to be said for 'em after all," said the Skipper in a
low tone, gazing down contemplatively on the strangers. "They're
probably married men. Had to get away from home. Don't suppose they can
stand it."
At this the Bo's'n turned on the Skipper with a determined air. His
words let me into the secret of his life.
"Begging your pardon, Cap'n Schuyler, sir," he said, "but darned if you
know everything, Cap'n Schuyler, sir! I've got a wife, and if she ain't
a angel----"
"Darned if you know anything at all, sir," replied the Skipper in a
thunderous whisper, "except how to be insubordinate!"
Cynthia had withdrawn to one of the stone projections and was sitting
there, her head leaning back against the wall.
She looked pale and seemed faint. I went near her to see what I could
do. She opened her eyes when she heard my footsteps on the rocky floor.
"They mean to stay," she whispered. "How shall we ever get any water?"
"I will get you some water," said I.
This statement sounded extremely brave, but how was I to get it?
Cynthia's look of appeal and suffering pierced me to the heart. That she
should really suffer for a sip of that water which we saw so plainly
bubbling out of the cavern below our hiding place made me wretched.
"If I had a cup," said I.
I walked to the latticed window, where the Skipper was again gazing down
upon the pirates below.
"What do you say," said I, "to our beginning a fusillade on those
fellows and picking off all we can, and then rushing out and fighting
the rest?"
The Skipper shook his head. "It won't do. We are only three--the boy
don't count; he has no pistol, and we have little ammunition. They would
discover and overpower us. And then my little Cynthy----" The Skipper
sniffed and shook his head. "No, no, Mr. Jones, we had best lay by until
they go. They must go soon. The sun is setting, and I'm sure they won't
stay after dark. Darned if I don't wish I had our six-pounder up here!
I'd clear 'em out of there mighty quick."
"Have you a cup, Captain?" said I.
"Only that flat bottle, and that's filled with rum," answered the
Skipper; "but when the sun's over the foreyard I intend to wet my
whistle, and I'll ask you to join me, pirates or no pirates."
"The sun's been over the foreyard this long time," said I, "but you
can't drink clear liquor."
At this moment Lacelle issued from the archway at the back of the room.
She held in her hand Cynthia's funereal bag. She looked questioningly at
Cynthia, and laid her finger on the catch. Cynthia nodded, Lacelle
pressed the spring, and handed the open bag to Cynthia, who took from
that wonderful receptacle a little silver cup.
"My baby cup," she said, as she held it out to me. I looked at the
engraved letters, and read:
"_Cynthia Schuyler Archer, June 15, 1803._"
I laughed as I read the date aloud.
"As bad as the family Bible," said I.
"For Heaven's sake," urged the Skipper, "go to the back of the cave if
you mean to make so much noise. One of those wretches looked up here
just now when you laughed."
Familiarity with danger always makes it appear less.
I took the cup from Cynthia's hand and started for the passage through
which we had entered the cave.
"Oh, don't go!" said Cynthia, but very faintly, I thought.
"Whatever you do, don't let 'em see you," said the Skipper. "They must
imagine themselves quite alone on the shore."
"I think I can steal down this side of the cliff," said I, "and get
through the underbrush to the shore of the stream. Remember they are
across on the other side, and they are sleepy after their liquor. The
only persons who could see me would be the prisoners, and I don't
believe they would give the alarm."
"No, the last ones to," said the Bo's'n. "If they could only get free,
sir, we could, I believe, combine, sir, and kill those wretches and take
the schooner, Mr. Jones, sir."
"Turn pirate yourself!" said Cynthia with a look of horror at the poor
Bo's'n. "How can you suggest anything so wicked! I thought you
were----"
"Don't be such a fool, Cynthy! It would be a good job to rid the earth
of those brutes."
"O Uncle! if you kill them, promise me that I shall not see it,
especially that handsome one they call Mauresco. I don't know but I
could bear to see the Admiral----"
"Her mother was a real bright woman, too," said the Skipper, turning to
me with an expression of scorn. "You wouldn't believe it, now would
you?"
Cynthia now arose from her rock.
"Uncle," she said, "you have called me a fool several times to-day, and
before these gentlemen. I don't mind it if it amuses you, but I do have
clever inspirations at times. I have one now; a very bright idea has
come to me. How would it do if I should go and get the water myself? If
that handsome pirate should see me, he might release the young lord, and
he would give us, I am sure, anything we asked. I think they usually
respect a lady's wishes, don't you?"
"No," said I, "not that I ever heard of."
"Girl, you will certainly drive me off my head," said the Skipper. "Talk
about swearing! I'll--I'll--I'll--Lazy, take that girl away!" The
Skipper's lips moved rapidly, and I saw that he was whispering a few
oaths to point his remark. I turned and faced the blackness of the
passage. I groped my way along, feeling certain that I could slip
quietly down the slope, dip up a cupful of water, and return without
being seen. There was a spice of adventure in all this, and I was not
averse to showing Cynthia that I was not quite so cowardly as I had been
forced to appear. Had I reflected a little, I might have wondered what
use it would be to try to appear brave in the estimation of a girl who
herself was not afraid to meet the pirates--in fact, rather courted such
an encounter.
My soul filled with inspiring thoughts, I started boldly into the
passage. I had come safely to the chamber; naturally I could find my
way to the outside by simply walking forward. I had reached the point
where the passage descends sharply to the level when my hand was taken
in another. This gave me a shock for a moment, and I uttered an
involuntary exclamation. "A pa' peu," whispered a soft voice in my ear.
The tone was reassuring, and I knew the tones were intended to convey
the idea that I was to feel no fear. As I remember now, it seemed as if
I were suddenly turned about at right angles with the way that I had
been travelling, and then gently impelled from behind. After a little I
saw a gleam of light at a distance. All at once curiosity impelled me,
and I walked eagerly ahead, fear and distrust vanishing like the mist of
the morning.
I followed this new passageway, striking my flint as I went, lighting up
the dismal place for a moment, and finding myself in blacker darkness
when my light was gone. The spirit of discovery was now rampant within
me, and I could not hold my feet, they ran unchecked. The light
increased, the darkness became a little less overpowering as I
proceeded, and finally I found myself walking in a sort of
semi-daylight, which prefaced my coming to what seemed real light after
the utter darkness which had enveloped me. The passage grew wider, there
was better air, and all at once I came out upon a narrow gallery, with a
wall of stone in front of me. A screen of vines like those before our
cave hung from the noble arch over
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