HOW I FOUGHT IN THE DARK WITH ONE POMPEY, A GREAT BLACKAMOOR
I was yet upon my knees when came Job the quartermaster with two men
who, at his command, dragged me to my feet and out upon deck; cursing my
hampering fetters, they tumbled me down the quarter-ladder and so down into
the waist of the ship.
Now as I went I kept my eyes upraised to the serene majesty of the heavens;
the moon rode high amid a glory of stars, and as I looked it seemed I had
never seen them so bright and wonderful, never felt the air so good and
sweet upon my lips.
Being come to the fore-hatchway I checked there, despite my captors'
buffets and curses, to cast a final, long look up, above and round about
me, for I had a sudden uneasy feeling, a dreadful suspicion that once I
descended into the gloom below I never should come forth alive. So I stared
eagerly upon these ever-restless waters, so bright beneath the moon, upon
the white sands of Deliverance Beach, on lofty palmetto and bush-girt cliff
and then, shivering despite all my resolution, I suffered them to drag me
down into that place of shadows.
I remember a sharp, acrid smell, the reek of bilge and thick, mephitic air
as I stumbled on betwixt my captors through this foul-breathing dimness
until a door creaked, yawning suddenly upon a denser blackness, into which
I was thrust so suddenly that I fell, clashing my fetters, and lying thus,
heard the door slammed and bolted.
So here lay I in sweating, breathless expectation of I knew not what, my
ears on the stretch, my manacled hands tight-clenched and every nerve
a-tingle with this dreadful uncertainty. For a great while it seemed I lay
thus, my ears full of strange noises, faint sighings, unchancy rustlings
and a thousand sly, unaccountable sounds that at first caused me direful
apprehensions but which, as I grew more calm, I knew for no more than the
flow of the tide and the working of the vessel's timbers as she strained at
her anchors. All at once I sat up, crouching in the dark, as from somewhere
about me, soft yet plain to hear, came a sound that told me some one was
stealthily drawing the bolts of the door. Rising to my feet I stood,
shackled fists clenched, ready to leap and smite so soon as chance should
offer. Then came a hissing whisper:
"Easy all, brother! Soft it is, comrade! 'Tis me, messmate, old Resolution,
friend, come to loose thy bilboes, for fair is fair. Ha, 'tis plaguey dark,
the pit o' Acheron ain't blacker, where d'ye lay--speak soft for there's
ears a-hearkening very nigh us."
In the dark a hand touched me and then I felt the muzzle of a pistol at my
throat.
"No tricks, lad--no running for't if I loose ye--you'll bide here--come
life, come death? Is't agreed?"
"It is!" I whispered. Whereupon and with no more ado, he freed me from my
gyves, making scarcely any sound, despite the dark.
"I'll take these wi' me, friend and--my finger's on trigger."
"Resolution, how am I to die?"
"Black Pompey!" came the hissing whisper.
"Hath Joanna ordered this?"
"Never think it, mate--she's ashore and I swam aboard, having my
suspicions."
"Resolution, a dying man thanks you heartily, purely never, after all, was
there pirate the like o' you for holiness. Could I but find some weapon to
my defence now--a knife, say." In the dark came a griping hand that found
mine and was gone again, but in my grasp was a stout, broad-bladed knife.
"'Let the heathen rage,' saith Holy Writ, so rage it is, says I, only smite
first, brother and smite--hard. And 'ware the starboard scuttle!" Hereafter
was the rustle of his stealthy departure, the soft noise of bolts, and
silence.
And now in this pitchy gloom, wondering what and where this scuttle might
be, I crouched, a very wild and desperate creature, peering into the gloom
and starting at every sound; thus presently I heard the scrape of a viol
somewhere beyond the bulkheads that shut me in and therewith a voice that
sang, the words very clear and distinct:
"Oh, Moll she lives in Deptford town,
In Deptford town lives she;
Let maid be white or black or brown.
Still Moll's the lass for me;
Sweet Moll as lives in Deptford town,
Yo-ho, shipmates, for Deptford town,
Tis there as I would be."
Mingled with this singing I thought to hear the heavy thud of an unshod
foot on the planking above my head, and setting my teeth I gripped my knife
in sweating palm.
But now (and to my despair) came the singing again to drown all else,
hearken how I would:
"Come whistle, messmates all.
For a breeze, for a breeze
Come pipe up, messmates all,
For a breeze.
When to Deptford town we've rolled
Wi' our pockets full o' gold;
Then our lasses we will hold
On our knees, on our knees."
Somewhere in the dark was the sudden, thin complaint of a rusty and
unwilling bolt, though if this were to my right or left, above or below
me, I could not discover and my passionate listening was once more vain by
reason of this accursed rant:
"Who will not drink a glass,
Let him drown, let him drown;
Who will not drink a glass,
Let him drown.
Who will not drink a glass
For to toast a pretty lass,
Is no more than fool and ass;
So let him drown, let him drown!"
A sudden glow upon the gloom overhead, a thin line of light that widened
suddenly to a square of blinding radiance and down through the trap came
a lanthorn grasped in a hugeous, black fist and, beyond this, an arm, a
mighty shoulder, two rows of flashing teeth, two eyes that glared here and
there, rolling in horrid fashion; thus much I made out as I sprang and,
grappling this arm, smote upwards with my knife. The lanthorn fell,
clattering, and was extinguished, but beyond the writhing, shapeless thing
that blocked the scuttle, I might, ever and anon, behold a star twinkling
down upon me where I wrestled with this mighty arm that whirled me from my
feet, and swung me, staggering, to and fro as I strove to get home with
my knife at the vast bulk that loomed above me. Once and twice I stabbed
vainly, but my third stroke seemed more successful, for the animal-like
howl he uttered nigh deafened me; then (whether by my efforts or his own,
I know not) down he came upon me headlong, dashing the good knife from my
grasp and whirling me half-stunned against the bulkhead, and as I leaned
there, sick and faint, a hand clapped-to the scuttle. And now in this
dreadful dark I heard a deep and gusty breathing, like that of some
monstrous beast, heard this breathing checked while he listened for me a
stealthy rustling as he felt here and there to discover my whereabouts. But
I stood utterly still, breathless and sweating, with a horror of death at
this great blackamoor's hands, since, what with the palsy of fear by reason
of the loss of my knife, I did not doubt but that this monster would soon
make an end of me and in horrid fashion.
Presently I heard him move again and (judging by the sound) creeping on
hands and knees, therefore as he approached I edged myself silently along
the bulkhead and thus (as I do think) we made the complete circuit of the
place; once it seemed he came upon the lanthorn and dashing it fiercely
aside, paused awhile to listen again, and my heart pounding within me so
that I sweated afresh lest he catch the sound of it. And sometimes I would
hear the soft, slurring whisper his fingers made against deck or bulkhead
where he groped for me, and once a snorting gasp and the crunch of his
murderous knife-point biting into wood and thereafter a hoarse and
outlandish muttering. And ever as I crept thus, moving but when he moved,
I felt before me with my foot, praying that I might discover my knife and,
this in hand, face him and end matters one way or another and be done with
the horror. And whiles we crawled thus round and round within this narrow
space, ever and anon above the stealthy rustle of his movements, above his
stertorous breathing and evil muttering, above the wild throbbing of my
heart rose the wail of the fiddle and the singing:
"Who will not kiss a maid,
Let him hang, let him hang;
Who fears to kiss a maid,
Let him hang.
Who will not kiss a maid
Who of woman is afraid,
Is no better than a shade;
So let him hang, let him hang!"
until this foolish, ranting ditty seemed to mock me, my breath came and
went to it, my heart beat to it; yet even so, I was praying passionately
and this my prayer, viz: That whoso was waiting above us for my death-cry
should not again lift the scuttle lest I be discovered to this man-thing
that crept and crept upon me in the dark. Even as I prayed thus, the
scuttle was raised and, blinded by the sudden glare of a lanthorn, I heard
Job's hoarse voice:
"Below there! Pompey, ahoy! Ha'n't ye done yet an' be curst?"
And suddenly I found in this thing I had so much dreaded the one chance to
my preservation, for I espied the great blackamoor huddled on his knees,
shading his eyes with both hands from the dazzling light and, lying on the
deck before him a long knife.
"Oh, marse mate," he cried, "me done fin' no curs' man here'bouts--"
Then I leaped and kicking the knife out of reach, had him in my grip, my
right hand fast about his throat. I remember his roar, the crash of the
trap as it closed, and after this a grim and desperate scuffling in the
dark; now he had me down, rolling and struggling and now we were up, locked
breast to breast, swaying and staggering, stumbling and slipping, crashing
into bulkheads, panting and groaning; and ever he beat and buffeted me with
mighty fists, but my head bowed low betwixt my arms, took small hurt, while
ever my two hands squeezed and wrenched and twisted at his great, fleshy
throat. I remember an awful gasping that changed to a strangling whistle,
choked to a feeble, hissing whine; his great body grew all suddenly lax,
swaying weakly in my grasp, and then, as I momentarily eased my grip, with
a sudden, mighty effort he broke free. I heard a crash of splintering wood,
felt a rush of sweet, pure air, saw him reel out through the shattered door
and sink upon his knees; but as I sprang towards him he was up and fleeing
along the deck amidships, screaming as he ran.
All about me was a babel of shouts and cries, a rush and trampling of feet,
but I sped all unheeding, my gaze ever upon the loathed, fleeing shape
of this vile blackamoor. I was hard on his heels as he scrambled up the
quarter-ladder and within a yard of him as he gained the deck, while behind
us in the waist were men who ran pell-mell, filling the night with raving
clamour and drunken halloo. Now as I reached the quarter-deck, some one of
these hurled after me a belaying pin and this, catching me on the thigh,
staggered me so that I should have fallen but for the rail; so there clung
I in a smother of sweat and blood while great moon and glittering stars
span dizzily; but crouched before me on his hams, almost within arm's
reach, was this accursed negro who gaped upon me with grinning teeth and
rolled starting eyeballs, his breath coming in great, hoarse gasps. And I
knew great joy to see him in no better case than I, his clothes hanging in
blood-stained tatters so that I might see all the monstrous bulk of him.
Now, as he caught his breath and glared upon me, I suffered my aching body
to droop lower and lower over the rail like one nigh to swooning, yet very
watchful of his every move. Suddenly as we faced each other thus, from the
deck below rose a chorus of confused cries:
"At him, Pompey! Now's ye time, boy! Lay 'im aboard, lad, 'e be
a-swounding! Ha--out wi' his liver, Pompey--at him, he's yourn!"
Heartened by these shouts and moreover seeing how feebly I clutched at the
quarter-rail, the great negro uttered a shrill cry of triumph and leapt at
me; but as he came I sprang to meet his rush and stooping swiftly, caught
him below the knees and in that same moment, straining every nerve, every
muscle and sinew to the uttermost, I rose up and hove him whirling over my
shoulder.
I heard a scream, a scurry of feet, and then the thudding crash of his fall
on the deck below and coming to the rail I leaned down and saw him lie,
his mighty limbs hideously twisted and all about him men who peered and
whispered. But suddenly they found their voices to rage against me, shaking
their fists and brandishing their steel; a pistol flashed and roared and
the bullet hummed by my ear, but standing above them I laughed as a madman
might, jibing at them and daring them to come on how they would, since
indeed death had no terrors for me now. And doubtless steel or shot would
have ended me there and then but for the man Diccon who quelled their
clamour and held them from me by voice and fist:
"Arrest, ye fools--stand by!" he roared. "Yon man be the property o'
Captain Jo--'tis Joanna's man and whoso harms him swings--"
"Aye, but he've murdered Pompey, ain't 'e?" demanded Job.
"Aye, aye--an' so 'e have, for sure!" cried a voice.
"Well an' good--murder's an 'anging matter, ain't it?"
"An' so it be, Job--up wi' him--hang him--hang him!"
"Well an' good!" cried Job again. "'Ang 'im we will, lads, all on us, every
man's fist to the rope--she can't hang us all, d'ye see. You, Diccon, where
be Belvedere; he shall be in it--"
"Safe fuddled wi' rum, surely. Lord, Job, you do be takin' uncommon risks
for a hatful o' guineas--"
So they took me and, all unresisting, I was dragged amidships beneath the
main yard where a noose was for my destruction; and though hanging had
seemed a clean death by contrast with that I had so lately escaped at
the obscene hands of this loathly blackamoor, yet none the less a sick
trembling took me as I felt the rope about my neck, insomuch that I sank to
my knees and closed my eyes.
Kneeling thus and nigh to fainting, I heard a sudden, quick patter of
light-running feet, a gasping sigh and, glancing up, beheld Job before
me, also upon his knees and staring down with wide and awful eyes at an
ever-spreading stain that fouled the bosom of his shirt; and as he knelt
thus, I saw above his stooping head the blue glitter of a long blade that
lightly tapped his brawny neck.
"The noose--here, Diccon, here, yes!"
As one in a dream I felt the rope lifted from me and saw it set about the
neck of Job.
"So! Ready there? Now--heave all!"
I heard the creak of the block, the quick tramp of feet, a strangling cry,
and Job the quartermaster was snatched aloft to kick and writhe and dangle
against the moon.
"Diccon, we have lost our quartermaster and we sail on the flood; you are
quartermaster henceforth, yes. Ha--look--see, my Englishman is sick! Dowse
a bucket o' water over him, then let him be ironed and take him forward to
the fo'castle; he shall serve you all for sport--but no killing, mind."
Thus lay I to be kicked and buffeted and half-drowned; yet when they had
shackled me, cometh the man Diccon to clap me heartily on the shoulder and
after him Resolution to nod at me and blink with his single, twinkling eye:
"Oh, friend," quoth he, "Oh, brother, saw ye ever the like of our Captain
Jo? Had Davy been here to-day he might perchance ha' wrote a psalm to her."
That morning with the flood tide we hove anchor and the _Happy Despatch_
stood out to sea and, as she heeled to the freshening wind, Job's
stiffening body lurched and swayed and twisted from the main yard. And thus
it was I saw the last of my island.