A WICKED OLD MAN’S DREAM
My great-uncle sank into his chair with a gesture of disgust and
poured three fingers of brandy into a wine-glass.
“Phaugh!” he exclaimed. “At times I am nauseated by the company
perforce I keep.”
He rang the silver bell.
“Gunn,” he said as the steward sidled in, “we are awaiting the food I
ordered. But stay! Open a window before you go. This place reeks
with the stench of decayed honor.”
I laughed, and he put the glass from his lips, peering at me across
its rim as if surprized.
“You find occasion for mirth in my remark, Robert?”
“I find myself in extraordinary agreement with you for the nonce,” I
returned. “You are correct. This place doth reek of ‘decayed
honor.’”
“Ah!”
He finished his drink, wiped his mouth carefully and set down the
glass.
“You are, I suspect, attempting sarcasm,” he continued. “’Tis a
diversion frequently favored by the young.”
“No,” I said; “I am only expressing to you my feeling that you have
as little claim to possession of a sense of honor as the man who was
just here.”
Gunn unbolted one of the stern windows, and a fine breath of salty
air was blown in our faces. Murray inhaled it deeply, and Peter,
whose face had become leaden in the cabin’s close atmosphere,
regained a touch of color and edged forward in his seat. My
great-uncle turned to him courteously, ignoring me for the moment.
“I fear you have been suffering from my thoughtlessness, friend
Peter. Let me recommend a draft of this aqua vitae. ’Tis excellent
for settling the stomach.”
“_Ja_,” nodded Peter.
“We shall presently have a chicken broiled over a slow fire,” pursued
Murray. “A few slices of the breast should be easy for your
digestion and assist in the filling of the void which our rough fare
on the brig was unable to satisfy.
“But Robert and I were discussing a question of honor. Pardon me if
I return to it.”
His large face, with its powerful, craggy features, glowed with the
radiance of an intense personal conviction.
“What is honor? Or dishonor? Certes, here we have a call for close
reasoning. No hasty generalities can dismiss so vexed a problem,
which hath consumed the attention of gentlemen since gentility’s
institution.”
“I should call it dishonorable to assure your grandnephew that you
had kidnaped him for desire of his aid and to make his fortune, when
actually you intended only to employ him as a hostage to further your
personal schemes,” I said deliberately.
And if I spoke restrainedly ’twas by no mean effort, for inwardly I
seethed with resentment.
“The situation is susceptible to the interpretation which you place
upon it,” he admitted evenly. “Yet a reasonable temperament must
concede ’twas necessary for me to place the consummation of my
project before the claims of kinship. And though you appear not to
be disposed to accept my assertions for fact, I will say once and for
all that my intentions toward you are benevolent and
affectionate--and this despite the contumely you have heaped upon me
with no regard for the disparity of our ages.”
I was nonplussed, but dissatisfied.
“If that were my only count against your honor--if, indeed, a pirate
can have honor----”
“And why not?” says he sharply. “I conceive of honor as the quality
of being faithful to oneself, to the ethical standard one has
established for this life we pass through so precariously.”
“So that if a man practices dishonesty toward all save himself he
preserves his honor!” I protested.
“Now do you twist my thoughts,” replied my great-uncle. “And in the
same breath you raise a complementary question: What is
dishonesty--or honesty? As I have told you before, I take from those
who have much, those who prey upon others. I am no more dishonest
than that William of Normandy, who seized upon England and farmed it
out to his barons in payment for their assistance.”
“You are clever with words,” I sneered; “but I’ll not be fooled.
What have you to say of your craft in deluding O’Donnell into risking
his daughter aboard this treasure-ship? Do you call it honorable to
persuade a foolish unbalanced fellow to take an innocent young girl
out of a convent, carry her half across the world, and then, to cloak
a miserable conspiracy, plunge her into the society of such
scoundrels as Flint and yourself?”
Instead of losing his temper, as I had expected, my great-uncle
stared at me very earnestly throughout this tongue-lashing. A
speculative look came into his eyes.
“You have seen this maid, I believe,” he said.
“I met her by accident. ’Twas I saved her from walking into the
Whale’s Head after her father.”
“You did well,” he approved warmly. “And you spoke to her? Prithee,
Robert, what manner of maid is she?”
“Oh, fair enough,” I answered, wondering what he was driving at.
“And well-spoken?” he pressed. “I have never encountered her.”
“She has the Irish way of speech.”
“But is she nice in her ways? A lady?”
“Yes.”
Ben Gunn fetched in the chicken upon a salver, and my great-uncle
busied himself in carving. ’Twas comical to see how Peter’s stolid
face lighted up. As he carved Murray talked.
“She should be an exquisite chit, Robert. She has good blood in her.
Her mother was a younger sister of the Duke of Leitrim, and her
father’s father was a younger son of Lord Donegal. She will be much
to the fore when King James returns to Whitehall.”
“If he does!” I jeered. “I marvel that you should use so hardly a
maid of such birth.”
“Hardly?” He looked up from his carving. “Why do you say that?”
“Oh, an end to your shabby deceits and subterfuge!” I shouted. “I
ha’ told you already I know she is to be dragged aboard your ship
when you take the _Santissima Trinidad_. What good will the Duke of
Leitrim and Lord Donegal and Jamey Stuart and all their string of
Popish knaves be to her then? Bah! I could stomach your treatment
of me, Murray. But to expose a slip of a girl, scarce more than a
child, to life on this floating hell and the attentions of Flint and
his lambs!”
My great-uncle pursed his lips.
“What a vehement youth! Friend Peter, I trust that chicken is done
to your taste?”
“_Ja_,” grunted Peter, plying a ready knife and fork.
“Will a thigh be satisfactory, Robert? This dish contains potatoes
which were fresh when we started our voyage and should be so still.
Serve Master Ormerod, Gunn. So! We will resume our debate.
“As to the maid’s inclusion in our scheme, ’twas manifestly of the
chiefest importance that Colonel O’Donnell’s connection with me be
not suspected. And the best way to cloak that was to have his
daughter accompany him. Not even a Spanish official--than which
there is no more suspicious breed--can carp at O’Donnell’s movements
whilst she is with him.”
“But why?” I persisted. “Why all this devious deceit? Why mix a
young maid in an unsavory intrigue? Why make her father disloyal to
his master?”
Murray flushed crimson.
“He is not disloyal to his master,” he replied with his first show of
anger. “Colonel O’Donnell’s master, my master--aye, your master--is
King James! What doth O’Donnell care for the paltry Spaniard who
sits in the palace at Madrid? What do any of us care for the
Spaniards, who have not been men enough to live up to their
declarations of support of the Stuarts? Why, this girl you mouth
about would cheerfully suffer death, dishonor, any torment, to win
for her king the means of power we shall afford him. And this
treasure, which the Spaniards have wrung from the lands they stole
from the poor Indians, we wring from them as remorselessly that we
may apply it to a purpose infinitely higher than the placating of
royal favorites and mistresses, which is the way ’twould go in
Madrid. An unsavory business, forsooth! Boy, are you a fool?”
There was that about his rage which benumbed my own and awakened
again the reluctant admiration which puzzled and embarrassed me.
What was it my father had said of him?
“He is sincere in a queer, twisted way.”
Past doubt, he was. I sensed a warped nobility of mind which stirred
me to sympathy and pity. I felt of a sudden as if our places had
been reversed, as if his white hairs were mine, and his my unlined
face.
“Perhaps I am a fool,” I said. “Yet if I know nothing of your plan
and so am inclined to misconstrue it, whose fault is that?”
He dropped knife and fork and fixed me with his eyes, so marvelously
alive and bright in their setting of crow’s feet and wrinkles, so
luminous with youth.
“Those are the first words you have spoken which have had any tinge
of kindness to them,” he answered.
“I am not kind,” I denied; “but curious. You have torn me out of my
natural course and thrown me into a network of intrigue of which I
know nothing. You would have me think well of you and work with you,
but you have not taken the ordinary pains to acquaint me with your
purposes and the part you have designed for me.”
Peter sat back with a sigh of content, his plate empty.
“_Ja_, Murray, you don’t say much,” he said in his squeaky voice.
“You don’t tell dot feller Flint so much as wouldt gife him der
trail.”
I had not observed this, and I felt secretly ashamed. My great-uncle
smiled.
“Stap me, but I might ha’ known you would see it, Peter!” he
exclaimed. “Now, tell me: Why did not Flint ask me the
treasure-ship’s course and port o’ sailing? Did he not think to in
his fuddlement with the rum? Or did he know I would not tell him and
reckon to save his tongue?”
“He knows you, _ja_,” answered Peter.
Murray nodded.
“Yes, that would be it, and it took you to see it. You have not
lived with the red Indians for naught, Peter. But this doth not
answer Nephew Robert’s question. ’Tis my fault you are so far
ignorant, Robert, and I will endeavor to repair the error. I did not
seek to delude you when I told you I carried you from New York
because I needed your assistance, and that is so far true that I
admit without hesitation I must have your help before I can achieve
aught of my future plans for bettering your station in life. In
fine, Robert, I need you at this time being more than you can need
me; and your hostageship with Flint is but the least of the services
I hope from you.”
“That is frank,” I replied. “And I will match it. I have told you
I’ll not help in piracy; nor will I. The taking of this
treasure-ship is----”
“Bide, bide,” he interrupted. “Before you commit yourself further
let me tell my story. I ask only your promise to hold it secret from
all men on these two ships.”
“I’ll promise that,” I said.
“_Ja_,” assented Peter.
“So be it.”
He left the table and took from a cupboard in the wall a rolled map
which he spread upon the table between us, shoving aside the plates
and glasses to make room for it. I saw at a glance ’twas a chart of
the Caribbean Sea and the Spanish Main and the islands which
stretched from the tip of the Floridas to the Brazils.
“This is for reference,” he remarked. “My story begins in Europe,
and we require no map for that. Your father, Robert, was a stout
Jacobite at your age. He has since changed his convictions; but
we’ll say nothing on that score. I, on the contrary, was born a
Jacobite and am one still, heart and soul. I shall never rest until
the Hanoverian usurper has been displaced.
“I was on the other side of Africa when I first had word Prince
Charles had raised the White Cockade in Scotland in the ’45. I
sailed for home, as you have heard, and was many months too late to
be of service. But I established touch with friends in France who
work for the cause, and so learned that the good work was going
merrily on. We all know now that Prince Charles might have remedied
his plight after Culloden had he been more fortunate in his advisers.
I will tell you beyond that that the disarming measures in the
Highlands have been a failure and the clans have only turned sullen
from the oppression they have received. All that is wanted for
another rising is money--gold!”
His luminous, dark eyes looked from one to the other of us, and I
thought the tawny flecks in the pupils increased in brilliancy as he
cried out that last word on a rising note that thrilled and disturbed
me.
“Gold!” he said over again. “Why, there is one little hoard of
treasure Prince Charles had to leave behind him--the Loch Arkaig
treasure they call it. Cluny MacPherson and Locheil’s brother have
had the keeping of it, and you’d scarce believe the source of trouble
it has been to the English! And it not more than forty thousand
louis at the beginning, and dribbling fast before it was turned to
account. It has set all the Highlands by the ears--forty thousand
louis, spent by fives and tens, a good bit of it going to feed
gillies in the heather or gambled away in some clachan of the Cameron
country, if what I hear be right.
“Think what a real treasure would accomplish! Think what-- But I am
going too fast.”
He paused, and a slow, strange smile shadowed his face as he drew a
finger across the map upon the table.
“I said I would tell you a story,” he went on. “But after all ’tis
only a dream--a wicked old man’s dream, Robert. ’Tis so you think of
me, I know--and your father--and Peter there--and--I wonder what the
little maid you spoke with would think! Or the poor, throneless old
king who huddles over his brazier for warmth in the dreary palace in
Rome that is all he has left of his majesty! Or Prince Charlie, who
flits back and forth from France to the Low Countries, scheming and
plotting and always curbed for lack of--gold!
“Gold! We stumble for lack of it in every enterprise. With
sufficient of it you may upset kingdoms, buy pardons, obtain patents
and honors and place. ’Tis a definite substance, mark you, hard and
shining and heavy in the hand--not such thistle-down as dreams are
made o’.
“But the virtue of dreams, Robert--” he addressed himself direct to
me, seeming to forget that Peter was present--“is that they can be
transmuted into that which is palpable and finite, aye, even into
gold. And the dreams of a wicked old man may become as efficacious
to right wrong or to throw down the mighty or to redeem the weak and
the persecuted as the gold which Indian slaves mine under the whip of
Spanish masters. For the dream may lead to the gold. What is the
ancient saw? ‘First the thought, then the deed.’
“When was the thought born? I can not say. Flint and I had often
sought the yearly treasure-ship, but never had sight of her. Then
one day the idea came to me to utilize my Jacobite friends in France
and Spain. They leaped at the suggestion, for to say truth, Robert,
both Spaniards and Frenchmen have treated our party shabbily. An
intrigue was set afoot through the medium of a cardinal who is
partial to King James, and so we gained access to the Council of the
Indies. A bribe, which I supplied, procured for O’Donnell, already
an officer on the regular establishment of the Spanish forces,
appointment as an Inspector of Fortifications of the ports on the
Main. And with the prestige of this post and the assistance of our
friend the cardinal ’twas easy for O’Donnell to secure complete
information as to the Council’s plans for the dispatch of this year’s
treasure-ship.”
His forefinger explored the chart before us and came to rest upon a
dot on the flank of the narrow neck of land which joins the two
Americas.
“There is Porto Bello, which was the port of the old treasure
galleons and discarded as such by the Spaniards after Morgan sacked
it. But later they restored and strengthened the fortifications,
although in the late war our Admiral Vernon carried it by surprize.
At that time Cartagena was the treasure center, and when Vernon
attempted it he was repulsed with loss. Two years since the Council
of the Indies decided to resume sailings from Porto Bello, which is
the most advantageously situated of all ports on the Main for the
collection of the treasure.
“See! ’Tis about midway betwixt Mexico and Peru, and the mines of
Veragua are at its back door. The treasures of the South Sea islands
can be fetched by sea to Panama and thence carried overland by the
_recoes_, the royal mule-trains which are the link betwixt Panama and
the West Coast and the cities of the Main. The Peruvian treasures
come by the same route. Those from Mexico are fetched south from La
Vera Cruz by a ship under escort of the Garda Costas and transferred
at Porto Bello to the ship for Spain, which puts forth about the
beginning or middle of September.
“This is a strong ship and well manned, but the Spaniards have been
taught by centuries of experience to accept no risk for her. Her
identity is never known in advance, even to her captain. He sails
from Cadiz for the Main under sealed orders which he doth not open
until mid-Atlantic is passed, and these orders do but carry him to
Porto Bello. There a strict embargo is laid upon him and his crew,
and the port is rigidly closed the while the assembling of the
treasure is under way. So soon as that is accomplished ’tis laded
aboard him, and he sails in the night, the hour known to no more than
the Governor and higher officers; and to make assurance surer the
port is kept closed for two weeks additional.”
“Then how shall you have word of her sailing?” I broke in, swept off
my feet by the rush of this amazing narrative.
“That is O’Donnell’s task. He will reach Porto Bello during the
Summer and be so concerned for the state of the fortifications that
he’ll refuse to leave until he has put them in defensible condition.”
My great-uncle gave me a chiding smile.
“You ha’ been vastly concerned for the well-being of the maid his
daughter, Robert--and I am bound to say your feeling is highly
becoming--but you might better fret for her health in that ---- hole
at the most pestilent time o’ year. I hope, for her sake, she will
be sent away with the officers’ ladies into one of the mountain
retreats the Spaniards have erected for their refreshment.”
“Better Porto Bello and pestilence than a pirate ship,” I muttered
angrily.
“You will harp upon that word,” he answered sorrowfully. “I am yet
far from converting you, I perceive. Well, well! To my story again.
“Whilst he is there he will receive dispatches from Spain summoning
him home on urgent affairs. He will elect to embark upon the
treasure-ship because she is large and commodious and likewise safe.
And thanks to his position, he will have accurate knowledge some days
in advance of her sailing-date. When he has obtained this fact he
will convey it secretly to one Diego Salvez, an agent I maintain in
that port, as I maintain others in almost every place of importance
along the coast of the Main and in the islands. Diego, by
O’Donnell’s help, will get out of the town and put to sea in a fast
sloop he hath in a little river near where was the ancient town of
Nombre de Dios, so that we shall have sure tidings of the _Santissima
Trinidad’s_ coming and be prepared for her.”
“But what of her course?” I scrutinized the map. “There are three
several exits from the Caribbean into the Atlantic.”
And I pointed them out in order: The Straits of Florida to the north
of Cuba; the Windward Passage between Cuba and Hispaniola, with the
great island of Jamaica lying to the westward of it; and last, the
Mona Passage between Hispaniola and Porto Rico.
“She would never point up for the gaps between the lesser islands in
the south,” I added.
My great-uncle chuckled with a keenness of relish that was new to him.
“You read the chart well for a landsman, boy,” he said. “What say
you, Peter? Here is a stout sailor in the making.”
“_Neen_,” answered Peter earnestly. “You stick to der landt, Bob.”
And for the first time my great-uncle and I laughed together, so
comical was the Dutchman’s repudiation of the sea and its folk.
“You have clapped on to the nub of our problem,” said Murray. “’Twas
the piece of information I was at most pains to obtain. The
_Santissima Trinidad_ will head for the Mona Passage. I will show
you why. The first aim of the Spaniards is to conceal her voyage;
she sails a course which keeps her as much as possible in open seas.
And the best exit for that purpose is the opening between Hispaniola
and Porto Rico. There are no islands in the Caribbean on that
course, and once through the passage she fetches south and east of
the Bahamas and so beats up for the Cape Verdes.
“My intent is that the _Royal James_ shall ply off the westerly mouth
of the passage from about the end of August, avoiding all intercourse
with shipping and keeping as far out to sea as is practicable. When
Diego appears we will restrict the space of our beat, and ’twill be
impossible for the treasure-ship to escape us. If she runs we can
catch her, and at fighting I can take any don under a
ship-o’-the-line.”
“So much I heard you declare to Colonel O’Donnell aboard the brig,” I
said. “But what comes next? You take the _Santissima Trinidad_--and
then?”
He moved his forefinger over the surface of the map and brought it to
rest in front of a tiny outline sketched in ink on the expanse of sea
east of Cuba and somewhat to the north of Hispaniola. Northward of
this spot stretched the far-flung myriads of the Bahamas.
“That is what you have heard Flint and me refer to as the Rendezvous
and Spygass Island,” he answered. “It has other names, I believe.
Some have called it Treasure Island, although I know of no treasure
upon it. In truth, its one value is that it doth not appear upon any
map, and its comfortable isolation and sheltered havens supply an
excellent resort for such outlaws as ourselves. ’Tis said that Kidd
discovered it, and certes, others of the old-time buccaneers were
wont to maintain themselves there. Flint had the secret of it from a
tarry-breeks who claimed to have sailed on the _Adventure_ galley.
We are bound thither now to refit and careen, and when we have the
treasure safe under hatches we will return to the island to divide it
and concert arrangements for delivering their share to Colonel
O’Donnell’s friends.”
“What will Flint say to your fetching in strangers to your
hiding-place?” I asked.
A furrow deepened betwixt my great-uncle’s lambent eyes.
“He’ll not like it, Robert,” he admitted. “I have O’Donnell’s word
to betray none of our secrets, and indeed ’tis to his own interest to
keep hidden his part in this affair; but Flint may well make trouble.
’Tis a determined dog, and a greedy. Look you, boy, will you stand
by me in the affair? For the girl’s sake, if for no other reason?”
“Why not leave her aboard the treasure-ship?”
He regarded me askance.
“It may be we must sink----”
I started up.
“Now, that I’ll ha’ naught to do with! I ha’ told you I’d fight if
you butchered the defenseless.”
He waved me back.
“Peace, peace! We can not carry off all the Spaniards in any case,
and----”
He hesitated.
“--O’Donnell must be protected,” he concluded.
“Against what?”
“Wagging tongues. I tell you his part must never be known. The
_Santissima Trinidad_ disappears, and with her the treasure and all
her company. There’s no other way.”
“But if O’Donnell and his daughter survive to reach Europe there must
be talk,” I pointed out.
“True,” he agreed; “but they will have their story ready. A
shipwreck, perhaps, and they alone contriving to reach shore.”
“Who beliefes dot?” Peter interjected contemptuously.
“What else can we do?” countered Murray.
“Take the treasure, if you must,” I retorted; “but do not stain your
hands with the blood of men who have not harmed you.”
“I must slay some of them in all probability,” returned my
great-uncle. “What difference between that and slaying all?”
I remembered the thrill of reprobation with which even the most
devoted adherents of King George had heard of the butchery of the
Scots wounded after Culloden.
“’Tis not yourself alone must bear the disgrace of such a deed,” I
tried again. “’Twill attach an irremovable stigma to your cause. No
honest Jacobite can ever afterward call Cumberland butcher. Aye, and
if I know aught of Mistress O’Donnell she will refuse to have
anything to do with so horrible a crime. Be sure ’twill bring a
trail of ill-luck will swamp the Pretender and all his train.”
He took snuff with his accustomed fastidiousness.
“Your arguments carry weight, I am bound to admit,” he said,
returning the box to his pocket. “What alternative have you to
suggest?”
“Cripple the ship to give you time to escape.”
“That’s well enough,” he argued; “but you take no thought to Colonel
O’Donnell’s plight. What will be said of him after he is brought
aboard the _James_?”
The idea which came to me then I put away as distasteful, but rack my
brain as I would I could produce no substitute for it.
“There’s but one thing to do,” I said. “You must make pretense of
bearing off the daughter, and you can imprison the father, too, in
order to silence his objections.”
“A fit rôle for a pirate captain,” mused my great-uncle. “_El
capitán_ Rrrip-Rrrap and how he devoured the virgin! I can hear the
stories that will be told in the Havana wine-shops. But I must have
my price, Robert. If I spare such Spaniards as escape our great guns
and the boarding-cutlasses, will you agree to stand back of me in the
division of the spoils with Flint?”
“I’ll not become lieutenant in your piracies, if that be your
meaning,” I returned.
“No; my meaning is plain, boy. I wish you and Peter to help me to
get clear of Flint with the O’Donnells and their portion of the
treasure.”
“But why return to the Rendezvous at all? Bear off with the
O’Donnells, and land them and their treasure before you deliver Flint
his share.”
My great-uncle shook his head.
“’Tis not so simple as all that. The action with the _Santissima
Trinidad_ will require cannonading, and that will be heard. Probably
we shall be seen sailing away. We may be pursued. The surviving
Spaniards, whom you will have me spare, will speedily have out their
frigates after us. We must remain under cover for a period. And
finally, for various reasons too complex for discussion, I can not
make delivery of the treasure to my friends in France before the
Spring. Seven hundred thousand pounds in gold and silver bullion is
no easy mass to handle. Preparations must be made for its landing
and transportation.
“No, Robert, the Rendezvous is necessary to my plans. Furthermore, I
am surprized that you, who prate so much of honor, should seek to
encourage me to act dishonorably toward my associates by withholding
from them, for however short a time, their just share of our spoils.
You will grant me, I hope, the credit of being at least an honorable
pirate.”
He spoke at the last with a kind of mincing solemnity which was
vastly funny, and both Peter and I fell a-laughing for it. Read me
for a fool or a knave if you will, but I protest I was conscious of a
growing inclination for my relative. So whimsical a scoundrel could
not be altogether without redeeming qualities; and sure, his courage
and resource by themselves were sufficient to set him apart from
ordinary men.
“Very well,” I said. “I will do what you ask for the maid’s sake--if
Peter is willing.”
“_Ja_,” assented Peter.
Murray caught my hand in a quick, firm clasp.
“Good!” he cried. “’Twill be the first o’ many times we stand
shoulder to shoulder. Ah, Robert, I ha’ dreamed a splendid dream,
and any man who helps in its achievement will not have lived in vain.
We’ll take this gold and build an avenue of victories for the king’s
ride to Whitehall. What will we not do? We’ll rouse the claymores
from the hills! We’ll carry the Irish Brigade to London town! We’ll
fetch home the Wild Geese from their haunts of exile! We’ll ha’ the
beacon fires ablaze from end to end of the Three Kingdoms! And the
White Cockade over all!
“There’ll be no talk of pirates then! ’Twill be my Lord Duke of
Jedburgh, Marquis of Cobbielaw and Earl and Baron Broomfield; aye,
and an English peerage to boot. We’ll ride high, Robert--aye, with
the highest!”
He broke off short, and the glow in his eyes charred out.
“’Tis not a bad vision for a wicked old man to dream; eh, boy?
Remember it when you hear the crowds a-cheering us in the Strand.”
Almost he made me believe him, this outlaw of the sea. But Peter
broke the spell.
“Me, I don’t beliefe in dreams,” yawned the Dutchman. “_Neen_.”
Murray glared at him.
“What you believe is of little account, Corlaer,” he said curtly, and
strode from the cabin.
Peter took a sip of aqua vitae.
“He is a great dreamer, Murray,” he squeaked. “_Ja_, all der time he
dreams. He dreamed when we fight wit’ him before, me andt your
father, Bob. It is not goodt to dream too much, _neen_.”
He sighed.
“My stomach is better. We finish der chicken, _ja_?”