HOW I HEARD A SONG IN THE WOOD AT MIDNIGHT
Headlong went I, staying for nought and heedless of all direction, but
presently, being weary and short of breath, I halted and leaning
against a tree stood thus very full of bitter thought. The storm was
quite passed, but a chill wind was abroad that moaned dismally, while
all about me sodden trees dripped with mournful, sobbing noises. And
hearkening to all this, what should I be thinking but of the sweet,
soft tones of a woman's voice that had stirred within me memories of
better days, a voice that had set me to dreams of a future, to fond and
foolish imaginings. For, though shamed and brutalised by my
sufferings, I was a man and in this past hour (strange though it do
seem) felt scorn of myself and a yearning for higher things, and all
this by no greater reason than the sound of a woman's voice in the dark
and the touch of her warm lips on my hand--and she a Brandon! And now
as the bitter mockery of it all rushed upon me, fierce anger swept me
and I broke forth into vile oaths and cursings, English and Spanish,
foul invectives picked up from the rogues, my fellows in misery; and
feeling a new shame therefore, did but curse the more. So there
crouched I 'gainst the tree, shivering like the miserable wretch I was
and consumed with a ravening hunger. At last, becoming aware that I
yet grasped a weapon in either hand, I thrust my knife in my girdle and
fell to handling this other, judging it by touch since it was yet too
dark for eyes to serve me. And by its feel I knew it for no honest
knife; here was a thing wrought by foreign hands, a haft cunningly
shaped and wrought, a blade curiously slender and long and three-edged,
a very deadly thing I judged by the feel. Now since it had no sheath
(and it so sharp) I twisted my neckerchief about it from pommel to
needle-point, and thrusting it into the leathern wallet at my belt,
went on some way further 'mid the trees, seeking some place where I
might be sheltered from the cold wind. Then, all at once, I heard that
which brought me to a stand.
A man was singing and at no great distance, a strange, merry air and
stranger words; and the voice was loud, yet tuneful and mellow, and the
words (the which I came to know all too well) were these:
"Cheerly O and cheerly O,
Right cheerly I'll sing O,
Whiles at the mainyard to and fro
We watch a dead man swing O.
With a rumbelow and to and fro
He by the neck doth swing O!
One by the knife did part wi' life
And three the bullet took O,
But three times three died plaguily
A-wriggling on a hook O.
A hook both strong and bright and long,
They died by gash o' hook O.
So cheerly O and cheerly O,
Come shake a leg, lads, all O.
Wi' a yo-ho-ho and a rumbelow
And main-haul, shipmates, haul O.
Some swam in rum to kingdom come,
Full many a lusty fellow.
And since they're dead I'll lay my head
They're flaming now in hell O.
So cheerly O, so cheerly O"--
Waiting for no more of the vile rant I strode forward and thus
presently came on a small dell or dingle full of the light of a fire
that crackled right merrily; at the which most welcome sight I made
shift to scramble down the steepy bank forthright and approached the
blaze on eager feet. Drawing near, I saw the fire burned within a
small cave beneath the bank, and as I came within its radiance the song
broke off suddenly and a man rose up, facing me across the fire and
with one hand hid under the flap of his side pocket.
"Fibs off your popps, cull!" quoth in the vernacular of the roads.
"Here's none but a pal as lacketh warmth and a bite!"
"Aha!" quoth the fellow, peering across the blaze, "And who be you?
Stand and give a show o' your figurehead!" Obediently I stood with
hands outspread to the flame, warming my shivering body at its grateful
heat.
"Well?" says I.
"Why," quoth he, nodding, "You're big enough and wild enough and as
likely a cut-throat as another--what's the lay?"
"The high pad!" says I.
"Where away?"
"'Tis no matter!"
"All I asks is," quoth the fellow with a quizzical look, "how you've
fobbed the nubbing-cheat so long!"
"And what I ask is," quoth I, "how a sailor-man comes to know the
patter o' the flash coves!"
"'Tis no matter," says he, "but since you're o' the Brotherhood sit ye
and welcome, 'tis dry enough here in this cave."
Staying for no second bidding I entered the little cave and sat me down
in the comforting warmth of the fire. The man was a comely fellow of a
hectoring, swashing air, bright of eyes and instant of gesture; close
to hand lay a short cutting-sword, pistols bulged his deep
coat-pockets, while betwixt his knees was a battered case-bottle.
"Well," says he, eyeing me over, "what's the word?"
"Food!" says I.
"Nary a bite!" he answered, shaking his head. "But here's rum now if
you've a mind to sluice the ivories--ha?"
"Not a drop!" says I.
"Good! The more for me!" he nodded. "Rum--ha--
"Some swam in rum to kingdom come"--
"You sing a mighty strange song!" quoth I.
"Ha--d'ye like it?"
"No, I don't!"
"And wherefore no?"
"There seems overmuch death in it."
"Death?" cries he with a great laugh and hugging his case-bottle.
"Death says you--aye, aye, says I and so there is, death in every line
on't. 'Tis song as was made for dead men, of dead men, by a dead man,
and there's for ye now!" Here he lifted the bottle, drank, and
thereafter smacked his lips with great gusto. "Made by a dead man," he
repeated, "for dead men, of dead men, and there's for ye!"
"I like your song less and less!"
"You've a cursed queasy stomach I think!" he hiccupped.
"And an empty one!" says I.
"'Tis a song well bethought on by--by better men nor you, for all your
size!" says he, glancing at me over his bottle with a truculent eye,
and though his glance was steady, I perceived the drink was affecting
him more and more. "Aye, many a better man!" he nodded, frowning.
"As who?" I questioned.
"First, there's Abnegation Mings as you shall hear tell of on the Main
from Panama to St. Catherine's, aye, by the horns of Nick there be none
of all the coastwise Brotherhood quicker or readier when there's aught
i' the wind than Abnegation, and you can lay to that, my delicate cove!"
"And who's he?"
"Myself!" Here he took another draught and nodded at me in drunken
solemnity. "And look'ee, my dainty cull, when you've seen as much o'
death as Abnegation Mings you'll know as Death's none so bad a thing,
so long as it leaves you alone. And I for one say 'tis a good song and
there's for ye!"
"And who else?"
"Well, there's Montbars as do they call the Exterminator, and there's
young Harry Morgan--a likely lad, and there's Roger Tressady and Sol
Aiken and Penfeather--sink him!"
"And Abner!" said I at a venture.
"Aye for sure!" he nodded, and then, "Ha, d'ye know Abner then?"
"I've met him."
"Where away?"
"In a tavern some mile hence."
"A tavern!" quoth he, "A tavern, 'od rot 'em and here's me hove short
in this plaguy hole! A tavern, and here's my bottle out--dog bite me!
But a mouthful left--well, here's to a bloody shirt and the Brotherhood
o' the Coast."
"You drink to the buccaneers, I think?" says I.
"And what if I do?"
"'Tis said they be no better than pirates--"
"Would ye call me a pirate then?" cried he, scowling.
"I would." Quick as flash he clapped hand to pocket, but the pistol
caught on the lining, and before he could free it I had covered him
with mine, whereat he grew suddenly rigid and still. "Up wi' your
fambles!" says I. Obediently he raised his hands and, taking his
pistols, I opened the pan of each one and, having blown out the
primings, tossed them back.
"Snake sting me!" says he, laughing ruefully as he re-pocketed his
weapons. "This comes o' harbouring a lousy rogue as balks good liquor.
The man as won't take good rum hath the head of a chicken, the heart of
a yellow dog, and the bowels of a w-worm, and bone-rot him, says I.
Lord love me, but I've seen many a better throat than yours slit ere
now, my buxom lad!"
"And aided too, belike?" says I.
"Why, here's a leading question--but mum! Here's a hand that knoweth
not what doth its fellow--mum, boy, mum!" And tilting back his head he
brake forth anew into his villainous song:
"Two on a knife did end their life
And three the bullet took O,
But three times three died plaguily
A-wriggling on a hook O.
Sing cheerly O and cheerly O,
They died by gash o' hook O."
"And look'ee, my ben cull, if I was to offer ye all Bartlemy's
treasure--which I can't, mark me--still you'd never gather just what
manner o' hook that was. Anan, says you--mum, boy, says I. Howbeit, I
say, 'tis a good song," quoth he, blinking drowsily at the fire,
"here's battle in't, murder and sudden death and wha--what more could
ye expect of any song--aye, and there's women in't too!" Here he fell
to singing certain lewd ribaldry that I will not here set down, until
what with the rum and the drowsy heat of the fire that I had
replenished, he yawned, stretched, and laying himself down, very soon
fell a-snoring, to my no small comfort. As for me, I sat there waiting
for the dayspring; the fire sank lower and lower, filling the little
cave with a rosy glow falling athwart the sprawling form of the sleeper
and making his red face seem purplish and suffused like the face of one
I had once seen dead of strangulation; howbeit, he slept well enough,
judging from his lusty snoring. Now presently in the surrounding dark
beyond the smouldering fire was a glimmer, a vague blur of sloping,
trampled bank backed by misty trees; so came the dawn, very chill and
full of eddying mists that crawled phantom-like, filling the little
dingle brimful and blotting out the surrounding trees. In a little I
arose and, coming without the cave, shivered in the colder air, shaken
with raging hunger. And now remembering my utter destitution, I stooped
to peer down at the sleeper, half minded to go through his pockets, but
in a while I turned away and left him sprawled in his sottish slumber.