THE ONE-LEGGED MAN AND THE IRISH MAID
The next morning I was occupied for several hours in checking over
the needs of our trading-stations with Peter Corlaer, so that it was
the middle of the forenoon before I was able to leave the
counting-room to go aboard Captain Farraday’s ship and concert with
her people the lightering of that portion of the cargo which was
destined for our warehouse.
Darby McGraw eyed me so wistfully when I took my hat that I sent him
to the kitchen to secure a bag of fresh-killed chickens and Winter
greens, knowing such food would be welcome to sailors after a long
voyage, and bade him carry it to the dock. He was as pleased as if
he had been presented with his freedom, and skipped along whistling
like a skylark.
We walked down Pearl Street to Broad Street, where the landing-basin
indents the land; and I was passing on, with intent to secure a
wherry from the foot of Whitehall Street to row me out to the Bristol
packet, when Darby drew my attention to the soaring masts and tangled
cordage of a great ship lying at anchor in the East River anchorage.
“’Tis a frigate, Master Robert!” he exclaimed.
There was no mistaking the rows of painted gun-ports and the solid
bulwarks; and for a moment I fancied Commodore Burrage had
anticipated our needs. Then the flag at her mizzen truck rippled
out, and I beheld the red-and-gold banner of Spain.
“D’ye suppose he hath come after the pirate?” whispered Darby, all
agog.
“Not he,” I answered, laughing. “’Tis a Spaniard, and he and his
kidney are not hungry for pirate gore, Darby.”
“Whisht, but if he would only make to shoot off a cannon or two!”
sighed Darby. “Or maybe hang a poor soul at the yardarm the while we
watched. Oh, Master Robert, wouldn’t it be grand?”
“Go to,” said I, laughing again at the quaint fancies of the lad.
“You are as bloodthirsty as any pirate that sails the Spanish Main.”
“I’ll warrant you I am,” returned Darby sturdily. “I’d be a grand
pirate, I would--and I’d make naught of frigates, be they Spaniard or
King’s ship; aye, or Frenchies. I’d take ’em all!”
“Certes, you would,” I agreed. “But look, Darby! There’s another
strange vessel--beyond the frigate.”
I pointed to a battered little brig with patched and dirty sails and
a spatter of white showing in her black-painted hull where a
roundshot had sent the splinters flying.
“And he hath seen the pirates, or I am amiss,” I added. “His escape
must have been exceeding narrow.”
Darby’s eyes waxed as large as a cat’s in the dark.
“Whurra, whurra, do but look to the shot-hole in the side of him!
’Tis he will have made a noble prayer. And now will ye mock me for
saying there are pirates abroad, Master Robert?”
“Not I, Darby. Yon fellow has been closer to death than I like to
think of,” I answered.
“Now there was as true a word as ever was heard spoke,” proclaimed a
pleasant voice behind me. “And shows most unaccountable
understanding and humanitee, so it do, seeing as there’s precious few
landsmen as stop to figger out the chances a poor sailor must take
and never a thankee from his owners nor aught but curses from his
skipper, like as not. True as true, young gentleman. I makes you my
duty, and says as how, seeing I was one of them vouchsafed a
miraculous salvation, I hopes you’ll permit me to offer my most
humble thanks.”
I swung around to scrutinize the owner of the voice and saw a
handsome, open-faced man in the prime of life, big and strong of his
body, but with only one leg. The other, the left, had been lopped
off high up near the hip, and he supported himself upon a long crutch
of very fine-carved hardwood--mahogany, I afterward discovered. This
crutch he employed with all the dexterity of his missing limb. A
thong from a hole under the armpiece was looped around his neck, so
that when he chose to sit down his support could never fall out of
his reach; and in its butt was set a sharp spur of steel to give it a
grip upon rough ground or slippery decks.
While I looked at him and he was first speaking he hopped up beside
me with a confidential air that was very flattering to a young man
and impressed Darby even more than it did me.
“Are you from the brig yonder?” I asked curiously.
“Aye, aye, young gentleman, I am; and one of the miserable sinners as
was saved by an inscrootable Providence as takes no account o’ men’s
deserts, just or unjust, as the preachers’ sayin’ is. Out of
Barbaders, I am, in the brig _Constant_. Name o’ Silver, sir--John,
says my sponsors in baptism.
“But my mates most generally calls me ‘Barbecue’ ’count o’ my being
held a monstrous fine cook. And there’s a tale to that, young sir.
Ah, yes! This weren’t the first time I suffered at the hands o’ them
pirates that scourge and ravage the seas to the despite of poor,
honest sailormen.”
He lowered his voice.
“D’ye see this lopsided carcass of mine now? You do, says you. Yes,
yes; there ain’t no mistakin’ a one-legged man. And how do you
suppose I lost my left stick, eh? Can’t say, says you--nor it ain’t
strange, seein’ as we’ve never met afore this.
“Well, I’ll tell ye, sir. You ha’ a young face, and kind, and I can
see you take an interest in an unfortunate sailor-man’s sorrows--aye,
and this good lad wi’ ye, too--from Ireland, ain’t ye, my hearty? I
knowed it, I knowed it!
“But what was I a-sayin’? Oh, yes, to be sure. I was tellin’ ye of
my lost leg--and glad I am it wasn’t my flipper as went. ’Cause why,
says you? ’Cause a man can set himself to makin’ good a lost leg,
which ain’t no use for nothin’ except walking.
“But a hand now? Figger it out, my master! No hand, and ye can’t
work, ye can’t fight, ye can’t scarcely eat. That’s why I says I’m
lucky.”
The man attracted me by his originality, and I own frankly I would
have pressed him for further information whether Darby had been with
me or not; but ’twas Darby brought him back to the main point of
interest.
“Did ye see the pirates?” panted the lad in excitement.
John Silver drew himself erect upon his crutch and frowned out at the
shot-scarred brig.
“See ’em?” he repeated. “Well now, my lad, that depends. Aye, aye,
it all depends.
“This last time, d’ye mean? No, I can’t conscientiously say I seen
’em this time. In the matter o’ my leg ’twas different--and the time
Flint marooned me.”
“You know Flint then?” I broke in upon him.
He shook his head.
“Know him? Oh, no, young gentleman; I don’t know no bloody villains
like that. I ha’ seen ’em, yes--a sight too many of ’em, as ye might
say. And suffered most terrible at their hands; but I make no doubt
the Lord is decided I ha’ suffered my portion, seein’ that this last
time He delivered me safe and sound out o’ the scoundrels’ hands.”
“Was it off Sandy Hook they attacked you?” I inquired.
“Off Sandy Hook?” he repeated. “Maybe ’twas so, young gentleman. We
took small reckoning o’ where we were. Our one thought was to make
port whole and safe.”
“But I see they hulled you?” I pressed him.
“That?” he answered. “Oh, yes; but-- May I make bold to ask, sir,
ha’ other vessels been chased off New York port, do you know?”
I pointed to where Captain Farraday’s craft swung at her anchor a
scant quarter-mile above the brig.
“That Bristol packet ran the notorious Captain Rip-Rap tops’ls down
but yester-morning,” I told him.
His brows knit together in a frown, apparently of thought.
“Captain Rip-Rap you says it was! Blister me, young gentleman, but
that’s dreadful news. Well, well, well! A fortunate escape as ever
was. And ’tis good hearing that others was ekal lucky. But I dare
say the King’s ships will be after him by now?”
“No, there’s none nearer than Boston,” I answered. “’Twill be a week
at the least before we can hunt the scoundrels hence.”
He wagged his head dolefully.
“Blister me, but that’s ill news. Fortunate, indeed, I was to draw
clear. He was after me till darkness and sheered off more in fear o’
the sands than for aught else, I dare swear.”
“So it was yesterday he chased you?” I asked.
“To be sure, young sir. Wasn’t that what I told ye? Yesterday,
about the noon glass, he came a-thunderin’ up, and towards dusk he
could bring his bow-chasers to bear, and was for droppin’ a spar to
hinder us. But we took his shot in the hull, as ye see, and got off
safe in spite of all he could do.”
One of the wherrymen was sculling toward us along the shore, and I
waved to him to pull under the piling on which we stood.
“I must be off,” I said. “I congratulate you, Master Silver, on your
escape. Whatever dangers you may have encountered in the past, your
good luck was with you yesterday.”
He bobbed his head and pulled at his forelock.
“Thank’ee kindly, young gentleman. Here, sir, let me catch the
painter. Right! Will ye ha’ the basket on the thwart by ye? And
this nice lad here, doesn’t he go, too? No?
“Maybe then ye’d add a mite to your kindness and let me borry his
time for a half-glass or so for to show me a couple o’ landmarks I
must make in the town. I wouldn’t ask it of ye, sir, only as ye see,
I’m half-crippled in a manner o’ speakin’, and this is a strange port
to me, as plies usual to the West Injies.”
“Use the lad by all means,” I answered. “Darby, take Master Silver
wherever he wishes to go.”
Darby’s freckled face gleamed at the prospect of more of the company
of this one-legged sailorman, who talked so easily of pirate fights
and flights.
“Oh, aye, Master Robert,” says he. “I’ll help him all I know.”
“O’ course he will,” spoke up Silver. “I never seed a boy wi’ a
kinder face. A kind face means a kind heart, I always says, young
gentleman.”
My wherryman was on the point of laying to his oars when a sudden
thought caused me to check him.
“By the way, Master Silver,” I called, “it occurs to me that perhaps
Darby may be unable to serve you in all that you wish. Do you seek
any one in especial?”
He hesitated for just the fraction of a minute.
“Why, not especially in particklar, sir,” he answered at last. “I am
for the Whale’s Head Tavern, if ye happen to know o’ such a place.”
I nodded.
“’Tis in the East Ward close by. Darby can show you.”
He shouted renewed thanks and stumped off agilely on his crutch,
Darby strutting beside him with a comical pride.
Aboard the _Anne_ I found all in confusion. Captain Farraday, as I
had expected, had not returned since he landed the preceding
afternoon and undoubtedly was sleeping off an accumulation of divers
liquors in the George Tavern. The mate had gone ashore that morning
to search for him, and would probably take advantage of the
opportunity to emulate his skipper’s example. Master Jenkins, who
had missed drowning at the red hands of the redoubtable Rip-Rap and
Flint, was in charge of the ship. He was a melancholy, sour-visaged
East-countryman, who moved with a deliberation as pronounced as Peter
Corlaer’s, and inspecting the manifests with him was a tedious
business. I accepted an invitation to share his midday meal, and the
afternoon was gone when we concluded our work, agreed upon the time
of arrival of the lighters on the morrow and returned to the deck.
My wherry had been dismissed long ago, and he bade the bosun muster a
crew to row me ashore. Standing by the gangway, I commented idly
upon the two ships which had come in since morning.
“The brig had a close go of it with your friend Rip-Rap,” I remarked.
“Aye,” returned Jenkins glumly. “’Tis passing queer a Barbadan
should be fetching sugar and rum to New York. They leave that mostly
to the Yankees.”
“True,” I admitted; “yet there’s an exception to every rule.”
A silvery whistle-blast sounded on the deck of the Spanish frigate
up-stream.
“Too bad that’s not one of ours now,” I commented. “Rip-Rap should
have a dose of his own medicine.”
Master Jenkins expressed utter disapprobation without a wrinkle on
his features.
“They Spaniards!” he snorted. “What are they a-doin’ here anyway,
I’d like to know?”
“He may have been blown north on his crossing,” I hazarded.
Master Jenkins snorted a second time.
“He hasn’t started a rope. Mischief they’re up to. Never knowed it
to fail.”
“What kind of mischief?” I inquired.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Not knowin’, can’t say. But no good ever came from they Spaniards,
Master Ormerod, and ye may lay to that.”
Before I could answer him the bosun reported the small boat all clear
and lying at the ladder-foot, and I bade Master Jenkins a hasty good
evening, for his stolid pessimism became mighty irksome upon close
acquaintance.
As my boat straightened away from the Bristol packet’s side a barge
shot around the hull of the Spaniard and pulled after us, a dozen
brawny fellows tugging at the oars. A single cloaked figure sat in
the stern sheets beside the officer in command. The two boats made
the Broad Street slip almost together, and I leaped ashore, tossed
several coins to the sailors who had rowed me and started to walk
off, bent upon reporting to my father, who, I knew, would be provoked
by the length of time my errand had consumed. But I had not walked
far when a man called after me from the wharf-head.
“_Señor_! Sirr-rr-rah!”
I turned to face the coxswain of the frigate’s barge and a farrago of
Spanish gibberish of which I understood not a word. And upon my
saying as much, a second person stepped forward into the yellow glow
of an oil lanthorn which hung from a bracket upon a warehouse wall
hard by. ’Twas the cloaked figure of the barge, and instead of a
midshipman or under-officer the scanty light revealed a young woman
whose lissome grace was vibrant through the cumbersome folds of her
wrap. A single ejaculation of sibilant Spanish, and the coxswain was
hushed.
“Sir,” said she then in English as good as my own, “can you direct me
to the Whale’s Head Tavern?”
I could bring forth no better than a stammer in answer. She was the
second stranger that day to ask for the Whale’s Head, which my father
had remarked the previous evening for a noted resort of bad
characters; and certes, she appeared to be the last sort of woman who
might be expected to have anything to do with the kind of roistering
wickedness which went on there. Also, I could not forbear asking
myself how came so fair a maid aboard a Spanish frigate.
In the soft lanthorn-light she was anything but Spanish in her looks.
Dark, yes, with hair that shone a misty-black, but her eyes were as
blue as Darby McGraw’s, and her nose had the least suspicion of a
tilt to it. Her mouth was wide, with a kind of twist at the ends
that quirked up oddly when she laughed and drooped with a sorrow fit
to crack open your heart if she wept. And she was little more than a
child in years, with a manifest innocence which went oddly with the
question she had asked me.
A slim foot tapped impatiently upon the cobbles as I stared.
“Well, sir,” she said coldly, “does it happen you do not know English
better than Spanish?”
“N-no,” I managed to get out. “But--but the truth is, the Whale’s
Head is no place for such as you, mistress.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I do not catch your meaning, perhaps,” she answered. “It is my
father I go to meet there.”
“But he would never favor your coming there at this hour,” I
protested.
She permitted herself a trill of laughter.
“You speak as if you had full knowledge of his ways,” she admitted.
“But the nuns at St. Bridget’s were telling me oft and oft how I was
going out into the wicked world, and sorra a look at wickedness have
I had yet. So I decided this evening I should have some savor of
adventure to make up for being cooped all these weeks in that horrid,
dirty old ship; and I made Don Pablo, who was officer of the deck,
call away a boat for me--and he wringing his hands and pleading would
I bring about his ruin.”
I laughed, myself, at the wonderful spontaneity of her mood. Faith,
I could imagine how the young dons aboard the frigate philandered
themselves sick over her.
“But that has naught to do with your going to the Whale’s Head
tonight,” I reminded her. “Indeed, you should never think of it.”
“I will be the judge of that,” she retorted, instantly haughty. “And
if my father is there I can come to no harm.”
“If he is,” I said. “I doubt you have mistaken his ordinary.”
“No, no,” she said decidedly. “I heard him speaking with them of it.
But it may be you are right, sir, and I will not be so ungrateful as
to flout a kindly stranger’s well-meant advice. Juan can go into the
tavern when we come to it, and I will bide outside. But somewhere I
must walk, for my feet are all dancey with the sway of the sea, and
we shall be away again with the tide in the morning. This is the
last dry land I shall tread in many a week.”
“If you will allow me, I’ll put you on your way for the Whale’s
Head,” I offered. “I must walk in that direction.”
“Sure, sir, it is a great favor you offer,” she answered. “I can not
but thank you.”
And she gave an order in Spanish which fetched the under-officer she
called Juan and one of his men out from the shadows. They fell in
behind us as we walked off along the line of the warehouses.
“You are upon a long voyage?” I ventured.
“You may well say so,” she cried. “From here to the Floridas, and
after that on to the Havana and the cities of the Main.”
“You will soon have no need to regret a lack of adventures,” I said.
“There are few men, let alone maids, who fare so far afield.”
“Ah, sir, that is what I like to think upon! I was near mad with
delight when my father came to the convent and took me from the
sisters. Until the ship’s decks were under my feet I could not
believe it was true that I was really free.”
“But you are never Spanish!” I said. “I ask not in idle curiosity,
though----”
Her laughter was like a chime of bells.
“Sure, they say I am as Irish as the pigs in the Wicklow hills where
I was born.”
And all of a sudden she was grave again.
“I am not knowing your politics, sir, but there’s maybe no harm in
just telling you my father was of those who opposed the Hanoverian
and fought for King James and Bonnie Charlie. And because his own
King can not employ him, he serves Spain.”
“It is not pleasant for an Englishman to think of all the brave
gentlemen must serve foreign monarchs,” I acknowledged. “But I hope
you will be happy in the Indies, mistress.”
“Oh, we shall not be staying there long,” she answered blithely. “My
father is an engineer officer, and he must inspect the fortifications
on the Main and elsewhere. We shall be returning to Spain within the
year. But look, sir! Is not that sign intended to be a whale’s
head?”
“Yes,” I said. “This is the tavern.”
One look at its flaring windows and the cut-throat gentry who
swaggered in and out of the low door convinced my companion that I
had not misrepresented the character of the place. She drew back to
the curb, and the corners of her mouth drooped sadly.
“Glory, what an ill hole!” she murmured. “Now for why would the
_padre_ come hither? Business, says he; but----”
And she shook her head with a vague doubting emphasis.
“I would not seem to be thrusting myself upon you, mistress,” I said,
“yet I am fearful your Spaniards can not make themselves understood.
Will it please you that I inquire within for your father?”
She considered, catching a corner of her lip betwixt white teeth.
“Troth, sir,” she answered finally, “I see not how I can avoid going
the deeper in debt to you.”
There was a moment’s pause.
“And how shall I----”
“Ay de mi!” she exclaimed with a bubble of laughter. “How stupid of
me to be forgetting I am just a maid off the sea to you. Ask for
Colonel O’Donnell, sir, and tell him his daughter waits without.”
And as I started toward the door she added gayly:
“It is not every girl could step upon a strange shore and find a
cavalier waiting to aid her. But what would Mother Seraphina say to
such brazenness? Ah, I can see her now! The blessed saints preserve
us, Moira! Have ye no manners or modesty into yourself at all? A
hundred Aves and the Stations of the Cross twice before you sup.”
Her voice was still ringing in my ears as I shouldered a drunken
sailor from my path, lowered my head to pass under the lintel of the
tavern’s entrance and so gained the hazy blue atmosphere of the
taproom, cluttered with tables, foul with smoke and stale alelees,
abuzz with rough voices bawling oaths and sea-songs.
It was the chorus of one of these songs which first distracted my
thoughts from the Irish girl outside--a wild, roaring lilt of blood
and ribaldry:
“Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”
I looked to the corner whence it came, and discovered the one-legged
sailor, John Silver, thumping the time with a pewter mug on the
table-top as he led the group around him, foremost amongst whom,
after himself, was Darby McGraw, flaming red mop standing out like a
buccaneer ensign, shrill voice carrying above the thundering basses
of his companions--as villainous a crew, to outward seeming, as I had
ever looked upon. I noted especially a pasty, tallowy-faced man,
whose shifty eyes were masked by a skrim of greasy black hair, and a
big, lusty, mahogany-brown fellow with a tarry pigtail, who evidently
found as much satisfaction in the song as poor, fuddled Darby.
Silver saw me almost as soon as I spotted him, and with a quick word
to the others, got to his feet and stumped across the room, dragging
Darby after him by the arm. His large, good-humored features were
wreathed in a smile tinged with mortification.
“So you come after him, Master Ormerod, did you?” he shouted to make
himself heard in the confusion. “And ashamed o’ myself I oughter be,
says you, and with reason, too. But I’m not one to lead a likely lad
astray, and all Darby’s had was good, ripe ale and two earsful o’
sea-gossip as’ll give him things to dream o’ for nights to come. I
shouldn’t oughter o’ let him come back, sir, but when he stuck that
red mop o’ his in the door an hour past I hadn’t the heart to send
him away. He’s come to no harm, so you won’t hold it against him for
a extry mug or two of ale; will you, sir?”
“I did not come after him,” I answered; “but as I am here he had best
return home with me. Where did you get my name, Silver?”
He pulled his forelock knowingly.
“Why, from Darby, o’ course, sir--not that anybody on the water-front
couldn’t ha’ told me, seein’ what a kind-hearted, friendly young
gentleman you are. But asking your pardon for the liberty, sir, can
I serve you in any way?”
“I don’t think so,” I told him. “I am seeking a Colonel O’Donnell.”
I fancied a flicker of surprise stirred the bluff friendliness
mirrored in his face. He stared around the room.
“Never heard o’ the gentleman, sir, which ain’t surprizin’, seein’ I
was never here before this morning, myself; but I ran into some old
shipmates of mine as gave me the run o’ the place, and it may be I
can find out for you from one o’ them. Just you wait here a shake,
Master Ormerod, and I’ll see what I can do.”
This seemed the wisest course, inasmuch as it was apparent there was
nobody in the taproom of the quality of Colonel O’Donnell, so I
nodded assent; and as Silver stumped away, threading a nimble passage
in and out of the crowded tables, I asked Darby what he had been
doing. Somewhat to my astonishment, the boy lapsed into sullenness
and answered in monosyllables. Only once he revealed a flare of
interest, when I remarked:
“That was a sufficiently devilish song you were singing, Darby.”
“That it was!” he exclaimed. “Whisht, whiles singing it ye can
_feel_ the blood a-dripping from your cutlass.”
“And who were the others singing with you?”
The sullen look covered his face like a curtain.
“Oh, just shipmates.”
“Of yours?”
“No, of Master Silver’s.”
“What are their names?”
“I know not.”
“Oh, come now, Darby!”
“Well, the one he calls Bill Bones and the other Black Dog--but
there’s no meaning in nature in that last.”
Silver had disappeared through a door at the rear in company with one
of the drawers, and now he came swinging in again on his crutch,
ahead of a tall, lantern-jawed man in a rich dress of
black-and-silver, whose gold-hilted sword claimed the gentleman.
This man Silver ushered to me with a crudely hearty courtesy.
“Here’s luck, Master Ormerod,” he called when he was within earshot.
“My friend had heard tell the colonel was above-stairs. This here’s
the young gentleman I spoke of, your honor. My duty to ye both,
sirs, and always pleased to serve.”
And off he swung on his crutch again to be received with acclamations
by his cronies in the corner.
The lantern-jawed man gave me a keen glance, almost a suspicious
glance, I should have said. He had a nervous manner, and there was a
kind of restless glow in his eyes.
“Well, sir?” he said. “I understand you desired speech with me?”
“If you are Colonel O’Donnell----”
He nodded curtly.
“--I am to tell you that your daughter awaits you outside,” I
concluded.
He was genuinely startled.
“My daughter? But who are you, sir, who act as her guardian?”
I was nettled, and did not hesitate to show it.
“She asked me the way hither when she came ashore,” I retorted, “and,
deeming it scarce probable that you would care to have her enter the
taproom, I even offered my services to fetch you forth to her.”
I saw now his resemblance to her, for the corners of his mouth
twitched down in the same way her’s had. And he muttered something
like a curse in Spanish.
“It seems I am beholden to you, sir,” he answered stiffly. “She is a
child, and vastly ignorant of the world, and I must be both father
and mother to her.”
I bowed and stood aside to make room for him to pass out.
“Master Ormerod, the seaman called you, did he not?” continued
O’Donnell. “Perhaps, sir, you will permit an older man to compliment
you upon an honorable deportment.”
A slightly pompous tone invaded his speech.
“I am not unfamiliar with the chief centers of our Old World society,
Master Ormerod, and I have the honor to hold the office of
chamberlain to a monarch, who, though he may not be named upon
English soil, will some day recover the estate a usurper has deprived
him of. I need say no more, I am sure.”
“I understand, sir,” I replied. “And may I suggest that Mistress
O’Donnell is awaiting you?”
He brushed by me with a click of impatience, and Darby and I followed
him to the street, Darby thrilled anew by the sight of his luxurious
habit, the five-pound ruffles that covered his wrists and the worked
hilt of his sword. As we all three emerged, Mistress O’Donnell
darted up to her father and caught at the lapels of his coat.
“Ah, _padre_,” she cried in a brogue that clotted and slurred her
words, “you’ll not be holding it against me because I wearied of the
ship and would feel the earth crumbling underfoot, and me so lonely
for lack of you I was near to weeping the while I sat in my cabin
with naught to do but read my Hours!”
He wilted, as must any man have done, flinging his arm around her
with a gesture that verged on the theatrical.
“Tush, tush, Moira,” he rebuked her gently; “’twas unbecoming in you,
and in Spanish lands such conduct would lead to trouble. See that
you do it not a second time. I will give you in charge of Juan; and,
having had your taste of freedom, you must return aboard, for I have
matters yet requiring my attention. Ah, yes, and you must thank this
gentleman properly for his gallantry. Master Ormerod, my dear! His
father is a great merchant of this town.”
Mistress O’Donnell swept me a willowy curtsey, and as I bowed
acknowledgment I wondered where he had secured such exact information
about me. He had seemed totally ignorant of who I was when we met.
“Sure, I’ll not be after trying to thank you,” says my lady to me
with a twinkle in her eye. “For I couldn’t find the words would
express my gratitude. But for you, ’tis an awful fool I’d have made
of myself this quarter-hour past.”
Colonel O’Donnell hemmed reprovingly.
“Let it be a lesson to you, my girl. My thanks to you again, Master
Ormerod. My compliments to your father, if it please you. Good
night, sir.”
I understood that he wished to be rid of me, and accepted the cue.
“Good night, sir,” I replied. “And a fair voyage to you, mistress.
If I can be of further service, pray command me.”
“No, Master Ormerod, here our paths diverge,” she answered softly,
and placed her hand upon her father’s arm.
A moment later I was hurrying north and west, Darby McGraw chattering
beside me, for the lady’s bright beauty seemed to have scoured the
sulkiness from his spirits.
“Ah, there was the lovely, gracious maid for ye, Master Robert!” he
cried. “Did ye hark to the song in her voice? And did ye see the
blue in her eyes, like lake-water with green fields all around and
the sun shining faint? She’s the breath of the Ould Sod; and oh,
whirra, it’s never more I’ll see it, for they say I’m to be a pirate.”
“You talk nonsense,” I returned harshly.
“Nonsense?” he repeated. “It’s a grand word, nonsense, Master
Robert. But whisht, now, ye’ll say a good word for me with the old
master, won’t ye?”
I told him I would, mostly to stop the clacking of his tongue; and he
skipped high like a colt that has just had its first meal of oats.
“She put the comether on ye, that elegant young maid,” he continued.
“She had a way with her, she did. Aye, for her I’d give over being a
pirate.”
“We’ll never see her again, Darby,” I said. “She’ll be beyond the
Caribbees a few weeks hence, and we plodding at our tasks here in New
York.”
He gave me a shrewd glance.
“Indeed, and it’s a wiser man than the Pope can see beyond the weeks,
Master Robert,” says he.