for sea for a week; the men were tired of the beach, and here was a
fine prospect of excitement, if no more. So some sixty men and officers
embarked in the boats of the two ships, well furnished with small-arms
and victuals, pulled out of the lagoon one morning, and vanished into
the unknown. The agent, Morgan Leroux, and myself were left to finish
the work of fitting the _Blessed Endeavour_ for sea, with the rest of
the men, to the number of twenty-five or thirty. There was plenty to
be done, for, when the ship came to be examined for defects, it was
evident she had never been properly overhauled before sailing from
Bristol docks--another instance of the owners’ sinful negligence.
“These damned fat burgesses,” said the agent, with great bitterness,
“would sooner see the whole expedition founder in sight of land than
fetch a guinea out of their bursting money-bags.”
But, we gained three weeks’ respite by reason of this last bit of
parsimony. The men worked fairly, after a fit of insubordination which
brought six of them to the whipping-post the very day after Dawkins
left. The agent stood by with a pistol in each hand and had three dozen
well laid on, and there was but little trouble with them after that
salutary example.
The Indians of those parts, a brown and peaceable folk, came out of the
woods and trafficked fresh meat, hog’s flesh and turtle, yams and green
stuff, for knives and beads and such toys. They made an encampment near
by, and with their huts of branches and palm-leaves and our tents of
sailcloth, and the camp-fires burning night and day, we made quite a
settled little colony by the still waters of the great lagoon. As for
Brandon Pomfrett, he followed Morgan Leroux like her shadow, greedily
snatching a certain feverish pleasure in her society, though it is
likely that the suspense in which we lived--except when we forgot all
in the present, which happened oftener than you might suppose--infused
a deal of discomfort into those tantalising relations. Soon or late,
the inevitable Dawkins would come merrily back to us, with all his
crew; ever the shadow of Murch menaced us from afar; there was the
mysterious visitation at night of the strange boat, with its answering
challenge, “_Dead or alive_,” still unexplained; and, looming ahead
of us, the problem of the return voyage, sure to be long, hazardous,
difficult, and very likely fatal. True, there was one solution, one way
of escape, that Morgan Leroux urged us to follow--to set sail there
and then in the _Blessed Endeavour_, with the crew we had, for the
nearest port in English possession, fill up the complement, and away
to England. But Pomfrett would not have it. He was bound, he said, to
respect his compact with Dawkins.
“And do you suppose,” said Morgan, “that he won’t break faith with you,
as soon as he gets a chance? I thought you had more sense.”
But the agent was firm. “Very well,” said Morgan, “you must even stay
and be damned, if you’re so squeamish. But it’s hard on me, I’m bound
to say, it’s hard on me. I never swore a silly oath to a treacherous
old dog that couldn’t keep his word if he tried.”
“And what, in God’s name, does it matter _who_ you swore to, if you
did swear,” cried the wretched Pomfrett. And then they began to
wrangle, and I left them to settle it between themselves. Be warned,
ye bachelors, by this example; and when you ride with fortune, do not
take a lady on the crupper. I think it likely that, if Morgan had
persisted in her expostulations, Brandon would have yielded at last.
Had she made a direct issue of the matter, and challenged him to choose
between herself and Dawkins, between Morgan Leroux and his plighted
word, I am sure he would have whistled his pledges down the wind and
taken the lady; and I, for one, would not blame him. But Morgan never
went so far; it was a temptation that must have allured her constantly,
yet she never yielded. She had a good heart, this Morgan, as I always
said. So we stayed, and in good time we were damned, even as Morgan had
prophesied.
Dawkins and his party had been absent for three weeks; the _Blessed
Endeavour_, all sound and seaworthy once more, had been warped off at
high water, and lay out in the lagoon, moored fore and aft; and we
were hoisting her heavy cargo in against Dawkins’s return, which we
were hourly expecting. There was no watch kept; we were all extremely
busy; and so, when there came the sudden boom of a heavy gun, fired
somewhere close at hand, the echoes ringing from rock to rock, we were
properly alarmed.
There, lying off the lagoon, was a great ship, the sun shining on her
tower of canvas, turning her to a full-sailed ship of pearl. As we
looked, the little black ball of a flag ran up the main halliards,
broke free, and flew broad and black at the mast-head, flaunting its
white device of the figure of death. It was the _Wheel of Fortune_.
Murch had come at last.
XIV
CAPTAIN MURCH TAKES COMMAND
Those of Mr Murch’s men who were of our party set up a cheer for
the _Wheel of Fortune_, but we ourselves were far from any such
demonstration. Mr Murch was a dangerous enigma; we lay at his mercy;
there was not a gunner left aboard, and there was no question of
resistance. But pirates never fight for fun, and we did not anticipate
bloodshed. We ran up English colours in response to their salute,
and we saw them lowering a boat, which glided towards us across the
intolerable glitter of the water, silent, save for the splash of oars,
with Murch’s great figure sitting immobile in the stern-sheets. Morgan
Leroux clasped Pomfrett’s arm. It was the first sign of dependence I
had remarked in that courageous lady. The boatswain piped all hands to
the side as she drew near, and Murch stepped aboard between the files
of saluting men, as stately as an admiral. He greeted us with his
customary solemn courtesy; his large and solemn countenance, netted
all over with fine lines, betrayed no more emotion than a bronze mask;
and, though he must have known of Morgan’s escape in _La Modeste_, yet,
for all we knew to the contrary, he had supposed that the agent and his
clerk were still ranging the woods by Porto-Bello. And here we were,
a little family party on the quarterdeck of the _Blessed Endeavour;_
and I leave you to imagine which of us felt the less at ease on that
occasion.
“I am glad, Mr Pomfrett, to perceive you have found your ship again,”
said Mr Murch, politely.
“I think,” retorted Pomfrett, “I can scarce thank you for carrying out
that part of your agreement, Mr Murch.”
“You think not?” says Murch. “Well, well, I would not be too hasty,
neither, sir. Youth is prone to be hasty. But we’ll talk of that, too,
among other matters. I’ll have no knots in the cable--all shall be
clear before we’ve done, Mr Pomfrett, be sure of that.”
I own that, for my part, my heart sank to hear the old spider closing
upon us once more with his web of fine speeches, that seemed, as
I fancied, to answer in some mysterious way to the net-work of
hieroglyphics on his sombre countenance. We went down, then, to finish
our talk in the privacy of the great cabin, which Mr Dawkins had left
in a wretched disorder: books, charts, and instruments tossed pell-mell
on the lockers, empty bottles rolling on the floor, and a heavy reek of
tobacco.
“Mr Dawkins keeps a dirty ship, it seems,” quoth Murch. “But you and I
will soon alter that, Mr Pomfrett.”
The owners’ agent fixed his blue eyes on the speaker. His glance had
lost its look of mild and innocent enquiry of late; it was hard, even
menacing, the eyelids drawn obliquely at their outer corners. Mr
Pomfrett was beginning to know his own mind, you see.
“I stop not to enquire how you came hither,” continued Murch, returning
look for look. “I make it a rule to deal with a situation as I find it;
and I may tell you, we have no time at present to be swapping stories
of adventure. They will serve for our amusement when we are fairly on
the high seas, with Mr Dawkins hull-down on the lee. It’s with Dawkins
we are first concerned, Mr Pomfrett--dead or alive, you know, dead or
alive,” says Murch, with a peculiar intonation.
“Then it was your boat paid us a visit by night, under Cape Gracias?”
said Pomfrett.
“Did you take us for ghosts, sir? Well, I may tell you, I have a
singular belief that the grave would not hold me--no, nor the deep
sea--had I a duty left undone. I have the highest opinion of your
integrity, Mr Pomfrett; as a guardian of youth, your qualifications
are, I doubt not, superior to my own; but even that belief cannot
absolve me from my trust to a dead friend; nor can a similar confidence
pretermit the obligations of my ward.”
He glanced sternly at Morgan Leroux, who was seated in her usual
attitude, chin on hand, regarding him composedly, though she had gone,
I thought, a little pale.
“But I accuse no one of such ingratitude,” Murch went on, “for, had
you desired to escape me indeed, you would surely not have left two or
three plundered ships to mark your way, broad as sign-posts, when it
were so easy to scuttle them. No, no. I prefer to believe that you did
but anticipate my plans a little, and to save time, the while I was
engaged in Porto-Bello, you went to find Mr Dawkins for me. I thank
you. You have found him. And so have I--in Cartagena. Of course, all
the inhabitants had taken to the woods, with their possessions; it is
singular how a man of Dawkins’s experience will never learn to close
the earths before he bolts the prey; but there it is, and I was able to
save him the trouble of collecting their dues from them. I have a bag
or two of diamonds aboard the _Wheel of Fortune_, Mr Pomfrett, as to
which I should like your opinion.”
He paused, thrusting his lower jaw a little forward, so that the
semicircular wrinkles curving from nostril to chin deepened; his narrow
eyes roved from face to face with a sort of stealthy derision, highly
disagreeable to his audience. The old beast of prey had tracked us
leisurely across the trackless sea, kept his ship out of sight while we
lay under Cape Gracias à Dios, where he spied upon us with boats, and
waited until we had settled with Dawkins for peace or war, as we were
bound to settle soon or late. Had we fought with Dawkins, both sides
would have been weakened, to Mr Murch’s advantage; but, as we concluded
a treaty together, Mr Murch bided his time a little longer, until we
were separated from Dawkins. Then, having us safely on the beach,
Murch followed Dawkins up the River Coco and swept up the plunder of
Cartagena while Dawkins did the fighting. Evidently, it were better to
have Murch on our side than against us.
“Is Dawkins returning?” Pomfrett asked, curtly.
“I reckon Mr Dawkins is on the road,” answered Murch. “That is, unless
the Spaniards have cut off his retreat, which they might have done, for
Dawkins mislaid his boats. It was a pity they should be lost, so I even
brought them down-stream myself; you can’t have too many boats, as a
general rule.”
Pomfrett considered this intelligence; then he turned sharply upon
Murch.
“Come, Mr Murch,” says he, “let us be clear, and no misunderstanding at
all, as you might say yourself. You took Dawkins’s boats, you say. Was
there any fighting?”
“I’m always charmed to answer questions when they bear to the point,”
says Murch. “If you mean, was there any collision betwixt Dawkins and
myself, I may tell you that the two parties never saw each other, with
the exception of a trifling few men Mr Dawkins left to guard the boats.”
“Then I may take it that Dawkins, having captured the town and driven
the inhabitants into the woods”--Pomfrett was conscientiously mastering
the situation, as usual--“you robbed them and then came away in
Dawkins’s boats, leaving him----”
“To pad the hoof, sir, like the old cut-purse he is,” Murch concluded,
with a grave nod. “Now, are you satisfied, Mr Pomfrett? Very well. Then
I have a proposal to make to you two gentlemen, to which I beg your
serious attention.”
He leaned forward, rapping the table once or twice with the knuckles of
his clenched fist, and glowering upon us like a thunderstorm.
“You and me have got to square accounts, Mr Pomfrett,” says he. “Now,
I’m not a man that wastes two words where one will serve, and so I’ll
ask but this question: Are you prepared to take my ward here, Morgan
Leroux, in lawful and honourable marriage? Yes or no?”
“Yes.” Pomfrett answered prompt as an echo.
Mr Murch, his arm outstretched, the great corded hand resting on the
table, stared at Pomfrett, quiet as a man of stone, for perhaps five
seconds. Then, without moving any other part of him, he turned his eyes
on Morgan Leroux.
“And what do you say, wench?”
Morgan’s wide black eyes blinked swiftly once or twice. “Yes,” said
she, and closed her mouth and sat composedly watching, as before.
Murch’s whole figure relaxed, and he slowly drew himself upright. Then
he nodded again, two or three times, very solemnly.
“I notice, Mr Pomfrett,” said he, “that you have not, at present, made
any reference to myself in this matter.”
“Do you wonder at that, Mr Murch?” said Brandon.
“Ah,” said Mr Murch. “Hasty, hasty--hot and hasty, Mr Pomfrett, never
got to church. If I am willing to forget the past, sir, surely you
should be. I would have marooned you for reasons of my own, which
figure well enough in the account betwixt my Maker and myself, let
me tell you. But you have stolen away my ward, Mr Pomfrett--you took
advantage of the ignorance and credulity of an innocent girl, unused to
the world’s ways.”
“Let it go at that, uncle,” Morgan put in. “You’ll not better it. Cry
quits, now.”
Murch was just a hair taken aback. “Here’s too much talk altogether,”
he cried roughly. “Come. Yea or nay, and be done. Will you sail
to-night for England, Mr Pomfrett?”
“With you?”
“Under me,” Mr Murch corrected him.
Pomfrett glanced at Morgan Leroux. There was no mistaking the look in
her eyes.
“See, now, how simple stands the matter,” Murch went on, with his
weighty deliberation. “We sail in this ship, this very _Blessed
Endeavour_, that has cost us so much endeavour, blessed or not;
transfer the cargo from the _Wheel of Fortune_, take her to Barbadoes,
and sell her there; the Governor will be glad to have her back again,
for I may tell you, Mr Pomfrett, to show how fenced by the law is an
enterprise, that his Excellency hath a share in the adventure. We will
take your little bark as a tender, and sell her or not, as we find
convenient. After Barbadoes, we cut sail for England, sir.”
Pomfrett sat silent, with his eyes on the floor. Morgan was steadfastly
regarding him, with a distressed, appealing look that I could never
have withstood for a moment, myself.
“Perhaps you think it strange in me to propose this arrangement,”
continued Murch. “But if you will so consider the matter, ’tis entirely
natural. My motive is pure self-interest--the mainspring of man’s
actions here below. There is no other worth mentioning that influences
any one; therefore, why deny it? I want to see my ward settled in
marriage; the single estate is dangerous for females. I want to settle
myself, in a manner which shall enable me to move in the society of my
equals--a society,” says Murch, with dignity, “from which I have been
too long estranged. I see in you, Mr Pomfrett, a respectable gentleman
who shall serve me to both these ends. I need not, I think, say more.”
Still the owners’ agent sat silent, frowning at the floor. He was inly
writhing on the horns of a most savage dilemma. All he valued in life
drew him to close with Murch. On the one hand, he could see his owners
satisfied and himself married and wealthy, all his troubles done.
And on the other, only poor old Dawkins and a famine-stricken crew
struggling down the river-banks, through the forest, with nothing in
the world to hope for save the agent’s word of honour--the good faith
of the supercargo with whom Mr Dawkins had dealt so crookedly. And why
should a man keep faith with that treacherous old person, Dawkins?
Perhaps in this painful crisis Mr Pomfrett recalled his own proud
words: “What does it matter whom you swore to, if you did swear?” And,
again, what use to Dawkins in refusing to take advantage of Murch’s
offer. Murch, with his men and guns, had us all in the hollow of his
hand. Still, the fact remained, that Mr Dawkins was rightful captain of
the _Blessed Endeavour_, ostensibly commanding her for the owners; and
for the owners’ agent to acquiesce in Murch’s suggestion were nothing
less than to make terms with a thief and a robber. In some such guise
must the problem have framed itself in the agent’s mind while he sat
with his face averted from Morgan’s burning eyes. He broke silence at
last, raising his head and turning to Murch, without looking towards
Morgan.
“It seems to me, Mr Murch, I’ve no more choice in the matter than any
skipper of an unarmed merchant ship you choose to lay aboard.”
“Why, there’s always the beach, Mr Pomfrett,” Murch returned. “I shall
be glad to have you with me, sir, but God knows I’ll force my kindness
on no man living, and there you have it, once for all. Now, I would not
hurry you, sir, but time presses. Which is it to be?”
“I’ll sail under you, Mr Murch,” said Pomfrett, and the face of Morgan
Leroux lightened like a breaking sky. Murch never altered a line of his
countenance--that great dark face, which began to oppress me, like some
monstrous visage seen in a dream.
“And really, Mr Pomfrett, I think you are well advised,” said Murch;
and for my part, I agreed with the old buccaneer. I did not guess, as
you will see, the extent of the supercargo’s mental reservations.
And that evening, before sunset, three ships sailed from Caratasca
Cays. Mr Murch and his ward sailed in his ship, the _Wheel of Fortune_,
Murch’s first mate had charge of ours, the _Blessed Endeavour_, while
the owners’ agent, all forsworn, and his accomplice, Harry Winter, had
command of his _Modesty_ ship, with her original crew. But, before
these arrangements were complete, I have a little episode to relate, of
a nature so tender that it demands a chapter to itself.
XV
WHICH CONTAINS THE ONLY OSTENSIBLE LOVE-SCENE IN THE BOOK
The conversation of lovers, as related by poet and romancer, is apt
to raise a serious doubt in the mind of the reader. For, it is the
very nature and rule of such intercourse that it be not carried on
in presence of a witness, and that nothing concerning it be divulged
by the parties themselves. How, then, did the chronicler gain the
information he is so incontinent to impart, if not by hearing
and observation? He might, indeed, write of his own experience,
disguisedly; but, he should be ashamed to do that, and we can place
little faith in the records of a gentleman so unscrupulous. He may, of
course, paint from imagination, but, obviously, in that case, we are as
far from the truth as ever. So difficult is this problem that some have
even averred that the passion of love, as depicted by the said poet
and romancer, is nothing but an invention of the ingenious artist--an
unsubstantial paradise created by them for their pleasure. The mark
of the true lover, say the precisians, is a contented silence. For my
own part, I would not be taken to possess an opinion on the subject.
But I have to record what did actually fall under my own observation;
and if it be a rare distinction to have listened to a pair of lovers
conversing, that distinction is mine. I did not seek the occasion; I
could not avoid it; it came to me.
When the conversation related in the last chapter was ended, Mr Murch
left the cabin and went on deck. We could hear his great voice booming
out a string of peremptory orders. Now, you must understand that the
declining sun, shooting a brilliant beam through the porthole, divided
the cabin into dusky halves, so that, from where I sat humbly in the
background, Pomfrett’s face, seen through the shaft of misty radiance,
appeared as though floating bodiless in the brown shadow. He was
staring at Morgan Leroux with a most tragical expression. Of the lady I
could see no more than a shadowy apparition. So they sat, silent, for a
long minute. Then Morgan spoke.
“Well, are you happy now?” she said. It was a new voice; the masculine
tone had given place to an accent of such a caressing endearment that I
behooved to remind them of the presence of a third party. But neither
took any heed.
Pomfrett made no reply, gazing upon the lady with a look of such
despair you would think he was under sentence of hanging, instead of
promotion to matrimony. Then Morgan arose and came to him, and it was a
woman, and no wild hoyden playing the gallant, who kneeled down beside
him.
“Well, are you happy now?” she said, again.
Still Pomfrett answered nothing, nor did he lift his hand to touch the
pretty head that was bowed upon his knee, but the muscles of his cheek
twitched a little, and his mouth set hard. Poor owners’ agent! he was
sore beset.
“Why don’t you speak to me?” said Morgan, lifting a face all melted and
broken, as the thin ice on still water breaks and melts in the winter
sun.
“My dear, my dear,” said Pomfrett, “I don’t know what to say.” He
stopped.
“Say nothing, then,” quoth Morgan, contentedly.
“Ah, but I must,” groaned Pomfrett. “I must keep faith with my owners,
and I must keep faith with you, and how to do both?”
“We’ll find a way, somehow,” Morgan answered, soothing him as though he
were a child.
“But will you trust me, whatever I do--whatever I have to do?” he cried.
“That means you are going to do something foolish,” said Morgan. “What
are you planning, my dear?”
“Ay, but will you?” said he, with what seemed to the listener a
superfluous anxiety.
“You are but a foolish boy,” Morgan answered, and reached forth her
hands to draw down his stubborn head. I rose and stole from the cabin.
And a little later, as I have said, the three ships stood out from
Caratasca, and those lovers were parted. Murch would have his ward
aboard with him, and very right. We found the _Modesty_ ship but a
dismal craft without the gentleman-adventurer. But the two had had
their time, the time and chance that come to all, they say; and never
again were we three shipmates to sail in company.
XVI
MR DAWKINS GIVES US A LITTLE SURPRISE
Now, from Caratasca Cays to the island of Barbadoes is near eight
hundred sea-miles; say a week’s voyage with a fair wind; and in about
that time we entered the muddy water that for several leagues surrounds
the island of Barbadoes. That evening Admiral Murch signalled to us to
lay-to, since he would not make the harbour in the dark. Night came at
a stride, and ere the other two ships had their riding-lights displayed
Pomfrett had set sail, had gone about, and the _Modesty_ ship was
heading back again for Caratasca.